The Rat Trap
AS THANKFUL AS she was that she was not yet dead, Madame Destine's situation was not all that improved. Blindfolded and flanked on either side by the two silent assassins that had attacked her, with Heinrich Nadir trailing behind, she was brusquely steered through the winding white corridors of the British Embassy.
The ride from the outskirts of Umkaza to Cairo had taken quite some time, and everything was a haze in her mind. The last thing she recalled with any certainty was seeing Ahman fall from the cart. How could she not recall it? Her mind replayed the moment repeatedly. She feared that Ahman was now almost certainly dead. Even if the assassins had not finished him off, the harsh desert heat surely would have.
As she was pushed roughly through the carpeted corridors, her next thought was of Cornelius Quaint, and how he must be going out of his mind with worry by now at her disappearance – and then she remembered her words in the letter. If her younger self's premonitions were correct, at that moment Cornelius was beset by a challenge of his own.
She prayed that he was having better luck than she was.
Hearing one of her captors knock loudly upon a heavy door in front of her, Destine was yanked to an abrupt stop. She had reached her destination, the end of the line – in perhaps more ways than one.
'Enter,' said Godfrey Joyce.
He watched the quartet file sombrely into his office. Ignoring the two assassins and oblivious to Nadir, it was Destine that he was most anxious to see. His quarry was older than he had imagined her to be, if he was honest, and she looked disappointingly lacking in spiritual prowess.
'I think we can dispense with the blindfold now, gentlemen,' Joyce said, greeting the Frenchwoman's blinking eyes with a wide grin. 'Madame Destine, I presume?'
'Who are you? How do you know my name?' she demanded. 'What do you want with me? Where am I?'
'Questions, questions!' said Joyce. 'But this is my party, so I get to go first. Mr Nadir, where did you find our guest?'
'Just outside Umkaza, travelling with a companion in a horse-drawn cart,' said Nadir.
The hazy fog that clouded Destine's mind cleared as she recognised the German's voice. 'The man from the Silver Swan? What are you doing here?'
'I am flattered you remember me, Fraulein,' Nadir said with a swift nod. 'And to answer your question…I work here.'
'Nadir, you mentioned a companion. Where is this man now?' asked Joyce.
'Dead, sir,' replied Nadir, 'to the best of my knowledge.'
Fresh tears filled Destine's eyes at the German's words. Her legs lost their strength and she collapsed onto the floor lifelessly. Godfrey Joyce snapped his fingers and pointed to a chair opposite his desk. The two hooded assassins lifted Destine like a doll and deposited her firmly into the seat. She slumped into the leather, her head in her hands.
'You made the right decision for once, Nadir…any more prisoners in this room and I would need to lay on extra chairs,' said Joyce, with a genial flutter to his voice. 'Although I must admit, I had expected this prize to be a little more lucid. By the looks of the bedraggled old witch, she'll be no use to anyone! And she's supposed to tell the future?' His grin was as thin as a sheet of paper. 'It obviously didn't do her much good, did it? Madame Fortune-Teller…I wish to see a demonstration of your clairvoyant gifts.'
Destine looked up through bleary eyes. 'Clairvoyant? How do you know that?'
Godfrey Joyce gave a cheery smile. 'Mr Nadir here has told me such wonderful tales about the little boat trip that the two of you shared together, and he's also told me all about your wonderful abilities, Madame. I must admit to being rather intrigued. I'm dying to know how you do it. What is it? Tea leaves? Rune stones? Voices in your head?'
'I once was clairvoyant, that much is correct,' replied Destine, as she untied her headscarf and wiped away her tears. 'But I am afraid that your little spy's information is woefully out of date. I no longer have the ability to see the future. I have not been able to for some weeks now. And were I in possession of such ability, do you honestly believe that I would demonstrate it for the likes of you, monsieur?'
'She lies, Herr Joyce,' spat Nadir. 'I have it from an impeccable source…someone who knows all about her little gift.'
'Whoever it was – they were wrong!' Destine said, throwing her headscarf down onto the floor angrily. 'My abilities were taken from me. I am clairvoyant no more.'
'Nadir…this had better not be a waste of my time,' said Joyce.
'She is lying!' insisted Nadir. 'You witch, I know all about you and what you can do, why do you not just admit it?'
'I should have listened to Cornelius and had you thrown overboard, you treacherous little worm!' Destine snapped.
'Cornelius?' Joyce's ears pricked up. 'Cornelius Quaint, by any chance?' Destine's awed expression confirmed his enquiry. 'Now isn't that a coincidence. Until a few moments ago I had never heard mention of that name in my entire life, and now I have heard it twice within an hour!'
'What do you know of Cornelius?' demanded Destine.
'Not much, other than he seems to be making quite a reputation for himself.'
That sounds like Cornelius, thought Destine.
Joyce cackled victoriously. 'Your friend is on his way as we speak – accompanied by the leader of the Clan Scarabs. Whoever this man Cornelius is, he certainly likes to mix in dangerous circles…dangerous for him, that is.' He tapped out a rhythm on his desk with the blade of a golden letter-opener. By its side lay a neatly opened envelope. He plucked the note from inside and displayed it proudly. 'My old friend Nastasi has warned me that Mr Quaint intends to cause me grief…so it seems only sporting of me to cause him some back.'
'Did you just say…Nastasi?' asked Destine, her mouth falling open. 'That name…surely it cannot be? But that must mean…' Her eyes caught sight of a plaque on Joyce's desk. 'You are Godfrey Joyce! You betrayed Aloysius Bedford!'
The smug grin disappeared from Joyce's face in a flash and he shifted his position uncomfortably. 'How do you know of my association with him?'
'You are the man from his journal!' Destine snapped. 'The traitor!'
Joyce grabbed hold of the letter-opener and plunged its blade deep into his desk in anger. He stared at Destine with the ferociousness of a wild animal. With the mention of Aloysius Bedford's name, it seemed that Madame Destine had just touched a raw nerve.
A very raw nerve indeed…