‘Not just at the moment…all of the time,’ Alexandria replied. ‘This district is not exactly a place to notice finery and good workmanship. I rely on all my overseas clients, many of which I have you to thank for their continued custom over the years. But I get by.’ She moved a large box of cotton reels and sat herself up on a bench, swinging her legs back and forth. ‘You have probably noticed that there are more garments cluttering up this place than there should be. The times are hard. Despite what I said to you when you arrived, I do give discounts…sometimes more than I can afford. Joran is growing fast, and his is a big mouth to fill.’
‘It certainly is,’ grinned Quaint. ‘So this coat…it’s a bit on the large side for a Chinese, isn’t it?’ he asked, running his hand inside the overcoat’s lapel.
‘It is not my place to question my clients’ measurements, Cornelius,’ Alexandria said, with a quick glance at Quaint’s waist. ‘You have filled out with a bit of ballast of your own, I see…and you have not purchased a suit from me in over a year! Do not tell me you have defected to Savile Row?’
‘And pay those vultures’ prices? Certainly not! Rest assured, Alex, that I shall be a loyal customer of yours until the day I die…which I have on very good authority will be a long way off yet.’ Quaint smiled to himself.
‘I am glad to hear it. So…when was it that you were last here?’ Alexandria asked, changing the subject with a distracted jerk of her head.
Quaint ruffled his curls. ‘Hmm, now you have me. I was trying to work it out earlier myself. Eighteen forty, maybe? Forty-one?’
‘That long?’ Alexandria asked. ‘And the last time we conversed, were you not some sort of circus magician? A man that pulls rabbits from hats, saws women in half, and escapes from chains in vats of water?’
‘I’m a conjuror, Alex, and rarely dabble in escapology – unless it’s on a purely personal basis. I rely on misdirection and sleight of hand, not rigged props and pretty assistants. Would you care for a little demonstration?’ Quaint reached into his trouser pocket and produced a pack of playing cards.
Alexandria stared at him. ‘You carry a deck of cards with you?’
‘Doesn’t everyone?’ Quaint replied offhandedly.
‘And so what is this trick all about?’ Alexandria asked.
Quaint greeted her question with a terse exhalation. ‘Alex, I detest the term “trick”. My craft is more than mere trickery! I usually do this blindfolded, but no matter, we shall suffice. Now…observe.’ He took the deck of cards and split it exactly in half, laying the two equal piles on the workbench behind him. Taking a pile in each hand, he locked his eyes into Alexandria’s and shuffled the cards. She tried her best to keep up with him, but he split, shuffled and cut the cards deftly with experienced fingers at a blinding speed. Quaint stacked the cards back into a full deck, fanned them out like a peacock’s tail, and offered them to Alexandria. ‘Madam, would you care to pick a card?’
A curious grin on her lips, Alexandria tentatively did as she was told.
‘Good. Now memorise it, but don’t let me see it,’ instructed Quaint.
Alexandria held the card close to her face and looked at the seven of diamonds.
‘Now, place your card back in the deck,’ said the conjuror. ‘You will agree that I have not seen the card you selected? There are no hidden mirrors hereabouts and your choice was your own, correct?’ Quaint waited for Alexandria to confirm. He relished the opportunity to step back into the shoes of a showman – he had almost forgotten what it felt like. Splaying the cards face down onto the workbench behind him, he floated his fingertips above them as if feeling for a breeze. ‘I want you to think of the card in your head. Think only of the card! I will attempt to reach into your mind and pluck it from your thoughts.’ Quaint’s eyelids flickered as he mouthed an incantation of some sort. He flicked his eyes open and stared accusingly at the row of playing cards. ‘Something’s not quite right.’ He licked his thumb and began counting out the cards onto the workbench, one at a time. Alexandria, meanwhile, had lost much of her interest in the impromptu display, and began picking at her fingernails. ‘Just as I thought. I’m a card down!’ he snapped, huffily stowing the cards back into his trouser pocket. ‘It’s not supposed to do that!’
‘That is comforting to know,’ Alexandria said, hiding her smile behind a swathe of dark hair.
‘Ha-ha,’ said Quaint without one ounce of humour.
‘Is that why you ran away to the circus? To learn how to do it properly?’ asked Alexandria. ‘Perhaps you would do better cleaning up after the elephants.’
‘I didn’t run away to join the circus, Alex! As well as being its resident conjuror, I happen to own the bloody thing – and for your information, we don’t have any elephants. Besides a tiger, we’ve no wild animals at all…unless you include a pair of sour-tempered clowns.’
‘You own a circus?’ Alexandria smirked. ‘You of all people?’
‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’
Alexandria bit her lip. ‘Can I be frank?’
‘Are you ever anything but?’ squawked Quaint.
‘You are not exactly famed for your sense of humour,’ said Alexandria, watching Quaint’s face fall. ‘I cannot imagine that any circus run by an old grump like you would be very entertaining for the audience.’
‘Madam, you offend me!’ said Quaint brusquely – and he was telling the truth. ‘My circus is fantastic! We take a great pride in our shows. We’ve got feats of strength and skill that would amaze you, marvellous acrobatic displays and hilarious clown escapades – what more could you want? “Dr Marvello’s Travelling Circus is a cornucopia of the strange and the fanciful,” they say. Even royalty loves us! Did you know that after the Great Exhibition in Hyde Park, I was personally contacted by Prince Albert himself, requesting me to perform for Queen Victoria’s birthday?’
‘Someone else not famed for her sense of humour,’ chimed in Alexandria.
‘Bah!’ snapped Quaint, turning on his heel.
Alexandria laughed even more at that. ‘I am sorry, Cornelius, I was just teasing you,’ she said, pulling him back by the crook of his arm. ‘The look on your face is irresistible! I am sure you do an admirable job running your circus, I really am, and I am sure your performers are highly skilled. Tell me, do you wear a long red coat?’
‘That’s a ringmaster…and no, I don’t,’ growled Quaint.
‘Good, because you always looked awful in red,’ Alexandria said, sliding off the bench. ‘So…how long are you here for on this business of yours?’
‘That depends.’ Quaint’s face turned a shade darker as his true motives for his visit drove back into focus. ‘We on a bit of a tight schedule. We only have until New Year’s Eve.’
‘We?’ enquired Alexandria.
Her face fell, and she did not attempt to conceal her disappointment.
‘I’m here with Madame Destine,’ Quaint explained. ‘You remember her – the French governess that I used to speak of. The woman who practically raised me?’
‘The one who pretended she could see the future?’ asked Alexandria.
Quaint scowled. ‘She can see the future!’
‘Of course…and I can whistle underwater,’ said Alexandria.
‘It’s true! Well, at least it used to be true…she seems to be having a little trouble in that department recently, but that’s another story.’
‘Cornelius, I cannot believe that you brought your governess all this way with you! Is that why you are dressed so staidly? Does she still pick out your clothes each day and lay them on your bed for you?’ mocked Alexandria.
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ Quaint said, quickly occupying his eyes around the room. The woman was uncannily (and embarrassingly) accurate, but he was not about to admit that to her and face yet more ribbing. ‘On the matter that has brought me to Egypt, I needed someone whose counsel I revere above all others…which is why Destine is here with me. But some things require another’s perspective. That
’s why I came to see you. I need your help, Alex.’
‘My help? Cornelius, it has been thirteen years and finally you return, yet not for the reason that I would have preferred,’ said Alexandria, a hint of resentment buoying every word. ‘Whatever it is, it must be of great importance.’
‘It is,’ Quaint said, taking a deep breath before ploughing ahead. ‘You see, a diabolical organisation called the Hades Consortium plans to deposit a deadly poison into the River Nile sometime very soon. That’s why I’m here – to stop it from happening! So now that you know…what do you think?’
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?’
CHAPTER XVIII
The Pain in the Backside
SIMILAR 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.’
The Eleventh Plague Page 9
