The Eleventh Plague (9 page)

The look on Alexandria’s face did not bode well. ‘
What do I think?
’ she screeched, her voice skirting dangerously close to hysterics. ‘I think that the Egyptian sun has gone to your head! What utter madness is this? You stroll back into my shop – back into my
life
– and expect me to believe that someone is going to poison the Nile?’

‘Alex, please keep your voice down.’ Quaint pushed his finger against her lips.

Alexandria slapped it away, and then slapped him.

‘Ow!’ Quaint said, rubbing his jaw. ‘I think you loosened one of my teeth.’

‘That is not the only thing loose around here! You must think me a fool, Cornelius. Poisoning the Nile? I have never heard of anything so absurd! And I suppose you have proof of this?’

Sadly, Quaint could offer nothing but a charming smile.

‘I knew it! Same old Cornelius Quaint!’

‘Alex, I’m serious, listen to me. When have I ever—’

‘Shush!’ Alexandria interrupted, brandishing her finger like a weapon.

‘What?’ interjected Quaint.

‘I know what you are about to say…so shush!’

‘What, do you read minds now?’

‘You were about to say “When have I ever lied to you?”’

‘Ah.’ Quaint winced. ‘Well, it’s true! When
have
I ever—?’

‘Have you forgotten how you left things between us?’ interrupted Alexandria. ‘You left me without so much as a kiss. No letter of explanation, no warning – nothing! It was almost a month before you wrote to explain why you had to go.’

‘Okay, I admit that one time…but this is totally different,’ Quaint said, hoping to recapture Alexandria’s trust – not that he had much of it to begin with. ‘This plot is real, whether you believe me or not…and it is going to
continue
to be real unless I do something to stop it! I’m not making this up, Alex, I swear. You have my word.’

‘And you think that is something I have come to trust?’ asked Alexandria.

‘Alex…don’t make this about you and me. I know how we left things all those years ago. There was a lot that I should have said…and probably a lot more that I should not have said, but I am begging you…
help
me.’

‘What help could I possibly give you?’ Alexandria asked.

Quaint held his tongue for a second, cementing his focus.

‘The Hades Consortium is well connected, but they couldn’t pull off a plot this big alone. I know how this country operates. They’d need someone local, someone doing the legwork, pulling the strings – someone with no love of Egypt! Look, I’m guessing, all right? I’m out of my depth here, Alex, I admit that. But you…you
know
people. You
hear
things. Gossip…rumours…boasts. Maybe you overheard something and didn’t know what it was. Anything could be important!’

Alexandria turned her back to him. He was devilishly charming, of course. He always was. If she was honest, she did not need any evidence of this dastardly plot. One look in those all-consuming, jet-black eyes of his was evidence enough.

‘All right, Cornelius,’ she said eventually, ‘maybe there is someone that might be able to tell you something. You can tell me more about how exactly you got involved in this plot on the way.’

‘Thank you,’ Quaint said. ‘Wait. On the way? On the way where?’

S
IMILAR IN THEIR
own way to the Hades Consortium – albeit far more crude – the desert thieves known as the Clan Scarabs lived an embittered existence scattered throughout the outlying regions of Egypt, splintered into nine separate clans, each under the control of district leaders called ‘Aksaks’. Each region reported to an Aksak, with a higher Council of Elders overseeing all decisions. Thievery, violence, intimidation and murder were the craft of the Scarabs, and they employed a variety of tools to get the job done. Wrapped in tattered rags from head to foot, the bindings sheltered them from the harsh desert winds. Like wild, demonic wraiths, they spread terror wherever they went.

In the flatlands surrounding the Hawass Mountains, Aksak Faroud lifted his hand to his forehead to check the sun’s position. He had been waiting for some time, and if there was one thing he loathed, it was being kept waiting. By his side, sat astride horses just as he was, two of the Aksak’s fellow Clan Scarabs waited with him.

Eventually, their wait was over.

A wisp of dust was growing on the horizon, and heading in their direction.

‘Wait here, my brothers. I shall not be long,’ Faroud said, dismounting his horse. The two Scarabs glanced nervously at each other, and their hands darted to the hilts of their swords. Faroud waved a calming hand. ‘Stand down. But be on your guard…this man can be a little slippery.’

The Scarabs relaxed at their leader’s words, and let their hands fall from their weapons. Even so, they kept their beady eyes pinpointed on the approaching horse-drawn cart carrying the figure of Godfrey Joyce.

‘Stop here!’ he commanded his driver. ‘My arse will be red raw from all this bloody travelling today. Twice in one day, Aksak? People will start to talk.’

‘You sent word for me?’ asked Faroud.

‘Indeed I did, Aksak,’ said Joyce. ‘Something important has arisen.’

‘Can I hope that now your business with the Hades Consortium is complete, you have news of my brother?’ asked Faroud.

‘Straight to business, eh? I don’t blame you, this damn heat will be the death of me!’ said Joyce. ‘Sorry, but I’ve heard nothing new. We must be patient, I told you that. I am doing what I can, but you must realise that securing your brother’s freedom is not
easy.
He did attempt to rob the British Embassy of several expensive items, after all…not to mention almost killing two of the guards in the process. I will do all I can to spare his life, but until that day do not forget that you are indebted to
me.
’

Faroud ground his teeth. ‘I do not…
cannot
…forget that. But I do not understand. If you did not ask me here to provide me with news of Rakmun’s release, what do you want?’

Joyce clapped his hands together. ‘I have another job for you.’

‘Another? But I collected the delivery from Al Fekesh as you
commanded! What next must I do to secure my brother’s release? When will these little “jobs” of yours come to an end?’

‘You must understand, Aksak – greasing the political wheels takes time. Whilst I’m doing everything I can, I’m afraid there are a few things that have cropped up to distract my attention…such as a female archaeologist digging in Umkaza. If left unchecked, that woman might well stir up a bit of a sandstorm out there in the desert.’

‘What trouble could an archaeologist cause?’ asked Faroud.

Joyce pursed his lips, battling to restrain a grin. ‘I have a few
skeletons
in my closet, you might say…and I have no wish for them to be unearthed.’

‘So who is this woman?’

‘Professor Pollyanna North,’ replied Joyce. ‘She happens to be one of England’s most eminent archaeologists, and a ruthless campaigner for the acquisition and restoration of Egyptian antiquities. She’s carved a little niche for herself out here since discovering the fabled Sceptre of Osiris in ‘49, and she fought hard for it to remain on display in Cairo’s Museum of Antiquities. Her devotion to her trade has attracted a fair amount of attention back home, most notably from Her Majesty Queen Victoria herself. The Queen does
adore
such women of substance!’

‘Once again I ask…what harm can this woman cause?’ asked Faroud.

‘Professor North must not be allowed to draw unwanted attention to my business,’ said Joyce. ‘Not right now. Not when the Hades Consortium is camped out on my doorstep! I want you to take your band of Scarabs and pay her a visit.’

‘That is a lot of men to kill one archaeologist,’ Faroud noted.

‘Christ, I don’t want her
killed
, man!’ Joyce laughed, rising up on tiptoes to grasp Faroud’s bony shoulders with both hands.
‘I just need her scared…scared enough to want to pack up her crew and get the hell out of Umkaza. She might be a pain in the backside, but she is a
very well connected
one. If she were to die out here, we’d have a British regiment arriving within the week!’

Faroud stroked his beard restlessly. ‘Those who come to steal my country’s past from under our very feet, they do not deserve the Scarabs’ mercy!’

‘Ah, but the trouble is, Aksak, your government
disagrees
with you!’ Joyce snapped. ‘The revenue that Egypt earns from Great Britain on these little archaeological shindigs pays for much of the splendour you see in the capital, not to mention the Pasha’s many beautiful sailing crafts. This country of yours has got more than enough treasure to share around.’

‘But we Egyptians are
proud
of our heritage!’ Faroud snapped back, causing his two Scarab companions to tense their muscles. ‘Proud of what we have achieved in the past, and proud of what we have become! Surely my government would not sit idly by as our lands are looted by outlanders?’

Godfrey Joyce chuckled to himself. ‘You natives really have no idea as to how deep the roots go beneath the earth, do you? A country’s borders are nothing any more. There was a time when the world was small. Everyone was fenced in, and everyone knew their place. Borders were respected. But now the world is a free for all. It’s a marketplace of commerce, nothing more. So I wouldn’t waste my energy being loyal towards this country of yours, Faroud – because it’s certainly not loyal towards
you
!’

Faroud nodded submissively. ‘For my brother’s sake, I will do this one last thing that you ask. I will order my Scarabs to attack Umkaza at once…but not my entire band. I will take but a dozen men. That is my decision.’

‘Accepted,’ said Joyce. ‘But remember…the Professor is
not
to be harmed. Not so much as a chipped fingernail. If she was to be hurt out here, as attaché, my government would ask questions of me, and that would serve neither yours nor your brother’s best interests, understand?’

Faroud bowed low. ‘I understand.’

M
ADAME
D
ESTINE SAID
goodbye to Alexandria’s brother as he gently steered his cart down the road. It was only when she lifted her hand to wave that she noticed something was missing. She snatched at her wrist frantically. Her bracelet was gone. A piercing whistle caught her attention, and she looked up to see Joran jeering at her from the end of the road – with her jewellery in his hand.

‘Magpie!’ she fumed, squeezing the handle of her parasol in frustration.

She surveyed her location. A towering stone archway served as the main entranceway to Agra Bazaar. The noise beyond it was tremendous, as if the walls had imprisoned all the sights, sounds and smells of the bazaar within and they were bursting at the seams.

Destine was drawn irresistibly inside.

Agra Bazaar was a bustling jungle of scattered shops and stalls situated within a labyrinth of twisting alleyways and narrow lanes,
culminating in one vast, sprawling marketplace in the centre of the city. The bazaar’s reputation maintained that it sold everything and anything that a person could wish for, and it was a proud boast that the city did its best to live up to. Its origins as Egypt’s centre point for trade began centuries past with caravans arriving from the Asian continent bringing spices, silks and other luxurious goods such as gemstones, precious metals and tapestries. Soon after, Europe began extending its seafaring conquests in search of warm water ports and they brought with them an increase in trade. Agra Bazaar’s revenue blossomed, and despite the fact that it was positioned at least an hour’s journey from the main port, it managed to thrive beyond all expectations. There were no homes left in Agra any more – it was a district populated solely by businesses small and large.

No wonder Cornelius recommended this place, thought Destine, it will keep me out of his hair for hours.

She walked along the main street and into an explosion of people. All the many and varied shops’ doors were carved into the rock-faces, each one a tiny cave of wonder, their facades painted in bright colours to entice the passing consumer. Destine was sorely tempted more than once, but she resisted. She knew that it was unlikely she would see Cornelius before nightfall – perhaps longer if Joran decided not to show his thieving little face again – so for now, Destine was happy floating about from shop to shop and from one stall to the next.

The unfolding bazaar and its wonderfully eclectic people occupied her attention completely. The swarm of colourfully dressed people’s myriad emotions were playing havoc with her increasing sensitivity to them. Proud boasting, desperate pleading, unyielding begging – the whole spectrum of emotions was open to her, and Destine had to consciously muffle the noise from her mind. Just
by being off the ship and able to stretch her legs, she had forgotten all about losing her clairvoyant gifts. Usually they were her guide as she navigated through life, but here in Agra Bazaar, she felt very much at home, and very much at peace. It was understandable after all. In such a public place, what could possibly cause her harm?

Plenty – was the answer.

As Destine manoeuvred her way through the street, she was oblivious to the fact that she was being watched. Heinrich Nadir followed her every move from a small table outside a tearoom. He paid close attention to the elegant woman’s ports of call, lest she strayed too far from view. His two very deadly aces up his sleeve were held in reserve on the bazaar’s outskirts. The Hades Consortium assassins would stick out like sore thumbs in Agra, and he did not want to risk frightening the Frenchwoman away. Too much was resting on her capture – more even than Godfrey Joyce was aware.

Blind to the attention she had garnered, Destine meandered along the concourse until she reached the bazaar’s central square. Colourful banners and flags from the buildings’ flat rooftops blew in the breeze. There was a large stone spire set into the centre of the square; around it tall wooden masts were dotted randomly. Lanterns were affixed midway up the masts, and streamers and ribbons were tied around every one, fluttering in the light wind. The whole place was alight with an atmosphere of colour and vibrancy. From out of nowhere, a scent floated lightly upon the air and stirred Destine’s senses. She was reminded of her youth in Toulouse as the smell of freshly baked goods wafted past her nose, and she tried to recall the scent.

Cinnamon bread – that was it!

It was unmistakably cinnamon bread. Destine was stunned. But surely she was mistaken. It could not
possibly
be coming
from within Agra Bazaar, could it? She was surrounded by stalls selling smoked fish, marinated chickens and spiced-lamb skewers, and there seemed nowhere capable of producing such an extravagant and familiar smell. It tugged at her senses, and she was desperate to find it. Leaving the hustle and bustle of the central marketplace, Destine moved towards the alleyways that branched in every direction.

Down a nearby lane, a gaggle of women gossiped like starlings at dusk. As Destine passed, one of them darted out her hand and grabbed at her wrist. Destine was stopped in her tracks as the Egyptian woman stroked her long, flowing dress and flashed a mouthful of haphazard teeth at her. She spoke with a rasping, guttural hiss and Destine knew it was not a friendly invitation to join in the conversation. This woman wanted money. Destine tried to pull her arm free, but in a flash the woman’s friends rounded upon her, enclosing her within a tight circle. Destine was shoved violently against the brick wall. She felt a hand snatch at her neck, at her wrists, and more hands grabbing at her – invading her, picking at her bones. Holding up her arms to defend herself, Destine begged the women to stop.

Although the assault seemed to last for ever, it was over within seconds.

With a sudden eruption of laughter, the women pushed Destine to the ground, towering over her with an assortment of jeers and sneers…and then they were gone. They darted down an alley and around a corner, disappearing into the maze of streets like fleeing rats.

Rising to her feet, Madame Destine steadied herself against the wall, trying to catch her breath. Her necklace of pearls was gone, as was her charm bracelet; even her earrings had been forcibly ripped from her ears.

‘
Merde!
’ she cursed, thumping her hand against the wall. ‘You
foolish
old woman, what were you thinking…wandering off alone?’

She stared down the alley in the direction the women had fled. Potent adrenalin buzzed around her veins, and Destine allowed herself to become inflamed by it. With her fists clamped into tight balls of fury, she set off in swift pursuit.

Rounding the corner of the alleyway she looked all about, but the women were nowhere to be seen. She cocked her head, listening above the hubbub of the marketplace, above the rattle of horse and carts, above the shopkeepers’ boasts. She heard a raucous laugh from somewhere down the labyrinth of alleyways. Recognising it as her attacker, she set off after the thief. She moved past a small corner store selling carpets and flattened her body against the sandstone wall of an alleyway, trying to pinpoint her foes’ location. The laughter was louder now, and she visualised the gang of women picking through her possessions. Destine approached the corner of the wall as quietly as she could. She tensed herself, ready for the confrontation and leapt into the alley with her fists raised.

The alley was empty.

The women could have been anywhere within the maze of side streets, and Destine’s adrenalin would no doubt subside long before she found them. She was just about to turn tail and head back into the main marketplace when once again her senses were inflamed. It was that luscious scent of cinnamon bread. She looked around, using her nose as a compass, desperate to track the source of the smell.

And then she found it.

The carpet store that she had just passed beckoned her towards it. The smell was emanating from the store’s rear window. Destine
moved across the street swiftly, as if the store might vanish at any moment. So determined was she that she failed to see a horse galloping towards her at speed.

‘Look out!’ a man’s voice yelled.

Destine spun around as the large, black shape loomed upon her like a great dark cloak. Something slammed into her body, wrenching her neck back like a rag doll, pushing her from the horse’s path. She landed on the pavement, her fall cushioned by several rolls of soft carpet. Her eyes rolled, waiting for gravity to resume control. Lifting her head, she made out a blurred image of a dark-skinned man astride a large black horse in the street. He was cursing madly at her, raising his fist in the air. Destine slumped back down onto the carpets, trying to summon the strength to move. Her scattershot mind was flooded with questions – not the least of which being: ‘Who is this strange little bearded man looming above me?’

‘That was quite a tumble!’ the man said. ‘Had I not pushed you out of the way, it might have been far worse, ah?’ The stranger was short and stocky, with a thick white beard skirting the circumference of his round face. Tiny spectacles sat askew on the bridge of a once-proud nose, and tufts of downy hair sprouted from the sides of his bald head. Most intriguing of all; there was something about his large, brown eyes that captivated Destine.

Something almost…familiar.

‘Are you all right?’ the little man enquired. ‘You are liable to get yourself killed, standing in the street around here. Did you not see that horse?’

‘Horse?
Non
, I…I did not,’ replied Destine, her breath shallow. ‘But,
oui
…I am fine. Just a little shaken. You saved my life, sir. I am most relieved you were passing.’

‘
Passing?
’ squawked the man. ‘My dear, I was not passing, or have you forgotten that this is my carpet store?’

‘Forgotten?’ asked Destine.

‘Ah! I do not blame you. A lot has changed since you were last here – except you, of course! You look exactly as you did twenty years ago, Destine. I cannot wait for you to fill me in on what I have missed, ah?’ the man grinned.

Madame Destine scowled at the chap, rubbing at her bruised ribs. Surely she must have also struck her head during the fall. Either that or this man was mad.

‘Since I was last here? Twenty years ago, you say?’ she asked.

The man chuckled as he helped Destine to her feet. ‘I know! It makes me feel old too, ah? Come along inside the store. I will make us a nice pot of tea, and as luck would have it, I have just baked some cinnamon bread with fresh butter and jam – just the way you like it!’

‘But, monsieur…how could you
know
how I like it?’ asked Destine, with a frown.

‘How else, Destine?’ piped the stout fellow, as he scuttled through the curtain of beads that hung from the shop’s doorway. ‘You
told
me.’

‘I…I did?’ Destine began to follow the man, but halted in her tracks. ‘Wait, monsieur…did you just call me “Destine”?’

‘Yah,’ replied the cheery little man. ‘Twice!’