The Scales Unbalanced
'WELL, GODFREY?' LADY Jocasta put her bejewelled hands to her hips and glared into Joyce's eyes. 'I am waiting for an explanation. Perhaps you wouldn't mind telling me why you have led these men here?'
Joyce's lower lip wobbled. 'Well, I…I thought-'
'Did you? Did you really?' snapped Jocasta. 'You mean to tell me that you actually put thought into betraying us?'
'N-no, my Lady, no! I did not betray you,' swore Joyce, the only one of the group not restrained. 'This man here plots against you! He destroyed the tunnels and killed your men! He…he knows of your plan to poison the Nile! He said he would stop at nothing to put an end to it. I…I intended to deliver him here to you…I was only pretending to be on their side to gain their trust! It was all a part of my plan.'
'More slithering, Joyce?' asked Quaint, bound in ropes by the swarm of guards surrounding Faroud, Kulfar, Nehmet and him.
'You must be Cornelius Quaint,' Lady Jocasta said with a smile. 'Do you not know it is impolite to interrupt a lady?'
'Oh? Are there any about?' smiled Quaint in reply.
Lady Jocasta fumed. 'Guard, teach this man some manners.' The guard at Quaint's side smashed his iron gauntlet across the conjuror's face. 'So which of these men is the Aksak from Bara Mephista?' Jocasta asked.
Joyce thrust out his finger and pointed at Faroud. 'That one!'
'You snivelling rat! You set us up!' Faroud screamed, spitting a glob of saliva in Joyce's direction. One of the guards chopped his hand upon the back of the Aksak's neck and he flopped limply in his captor's grip.
'Lady Jocasta, the longer we wait, the more of a threat these men are,' Godfrey Joyce yelled. 'They have more friends positioned in the eastern hills! We must send a detachment of our troops to counter them immediately!'
'How dare you bark orders at me!' Lady Jocasta's voice rose in volume, echoing off the dry walls of the vast cavern like an operatic singer delivering the greatest performance of her career. She nodded to two guards at her side. 'This man has ceased to be a viable asset to the Hades Consortium. His employment is to be terminated immediately.'
'Terminated?' questioned Joyce. 'B-but please, my Lady…you're not…you're not going to k-kill me…are you?'
Lady Jocasta feigned surprise. 'Kill you, Mr Joyce? No, of course not, whatever gave you that idea?' she said, watching the colour flush back into Joyce's face. 'That would be far too compassionate. No, Mr Joyce…I am going to hurt you until you beg with me to kill you…and then watch it happen.'
The colour withdrew once again from Joyce's face. 'But…I brought Quaint here…to you…so that our forces could detain him, so he could no longer be a threat!'
Lady Jocasta said, 'And we thank you for that. You have at least done one thing of value…that is why you are not already dead.' She turned her back on him and walked to the top of the stone stairs. 'You have your orders, guards. Disarm him.'
Joyce wept openly. 'But, Lady Jocasta…I don't have any weapons!'
Jocasta smiled. 'Figure of speech.'
From the contingent of dark red-clad Consortium guards stepped two wraith-like men. Flanking Joyce, they grabbed each of his arms and spread them wide like a scarecrow. Joyce's head twisted back and forth, pointlessly trying to break free. The guards pulled him from both sides as if trying to wrench his arms from their sockets.
Sweat ran profusely from Joyce's forehead.
Struggling against the guards restraining him, Aksak Faroud fought to catch the conjuror's attention. 'Do you not think we should-'
'Intervene? Certainly not!' scoffed Quaint. 'Joyce deserves everything he gets.'
'How can you be so callous?'
'Not callous…calculating. I just know how to turn a situation to my advantage when I've got dozens of swords pointed at me,' said Quaint.
'You will forgive me if I seem pessimistic,' said Faroud. 'But at least then I will not be disappointed.'
'Look, if it makes you feel better, I doubt there's anything that we could say that would make any difference anyway. Once that cow is done with Joyce, we're up next in the queue to die. So best we just sit tight and hope for a miracle, eh?'
'Oh…as long as there is nothing to worry about,' said Faroud despondently.
'Don't blame me,' said Quaint. 'You wanted the pessimistic version.'
'I think I preferred the optimistic one.'
'That's the spirit!' cheered Quaint.
Lady Jocasta smiled seductively in Quaint's direction and pointed her bejewelled finger at him. 'Do not think that you have escaped my wrath, Mr Quaint. Oh, yes! I know exactly who you are! I have organised something special for your arrival.'
'You shouldn't have gone to any trouble on my account,' said Quaint.
'Oh, it will be no trouble…in fact, it will be my pleasure,' Lady Jocasta purred.
She signalled two more guards, who detached themselves from the mass of robed figures and took position in front of Joyce. He was a quivering mess of jellified flesh and bone. The two guards facing him unsheathed their swords from their scabbards, and by the sudden hush that descended upon the cavern, it quickly became evident what was about to occur. With a nod of Lady Jocasta's head, both the guards sliced their raised swords through the air in a synchronised arc and Joyce's arms were severed at the elbow, falling to the ground with a dull, wet thud. His gut-wrenching howl echoed around the cavern, filling every crack and crease in the rocks.
'God…no,' he mumbled through saliva-coated lips.
'God…yes!' screeched Lady Jocasta, her feral eyes wide with delight.
With her long white gown trailing behind her like a phantom, she walked down the steps and stood over him, dominating his blurred vision. She wanted to watch him die, she wanted to be the last thing he ever saw. She stared down at his severed arms, the fingers still grasping the air manically.
'Pick them up!' she whispered, pushing her heel into his chest until he toppled over onto his back, his stumps still seeping blood. 'Your arms, Mr Joyce…I want you to pick them up.'
'You twisted bitch, can't you see he's had enough?' shouted Quaint, his outburst surprising all in the cavernous audience chamber – including himself.
Lady Jocasta gave Joyce's ribs a dig with her toe. 'You wait your turn!'
'He's half dead anyway!' yelled Quaint. 'Leave him be!'
'Cornelius is right, lass,' said a gruff Scottish voice from the shadows. An immediate silence fell as all eyes looked to Sir George Dray, standing at the far entrance to the chamber. 'You've made your point.'
Quaint scowled through the darkness of the cavern at the owner of the strangely familiar voice. Then, as the old man stepped into the flickering torchlight, Quaint was struck by a blistering shock of recognition. The man's craggy face had grown considerably craggier since Quaint had seen it last, but there was no doubt as to its owner's identity.
'You?' Quaint gasped.
'I'm flattered you remember me, Cornelius…it's been a long time,' said Dray, as he forced a smile from his rigid mouth.
'Not long enough.'
'Careful, lad…you'll hurt my feelings.'
'I hope so.'
'Still practising a sense of humour I see,' muttered Dray.
'What are you doing here, George?' Quaint asked.
'I could ask you the same question, Cornelius…but then I already know the answer,' Dray said, manoeuvring his hunched form down the stone steps on his walking cane. 'I see by the look on your face that you weren't expecting me…but I've been expecting you. Oh, yes.'
'Cornelius, I am confused. Who is this man?' Faroud asked.
'You don't want to know,' replied Quaint bleakly.
Aksak Faroud looked at the old man, and then looked back at the cold abyss within Quaint's black eyes. 'So did things just get better…or worse?'
Quaint smiled, but not the smile of a man amused – the smile of a man who knew once again that Fate was toying with him. 'That depends on whether you want the optimistic version or the pessimistic one.'
'Surprise me,' said Faroud.
'If we might have ever had the slightest hope in hell of getting out of this mess with our lives then it just went up in smoke,' Cornelius Quaint replied.
'I see.' Faroud gulped. 'And what is the optimistic version?'
Quaint grinned. 'That was the optimistic version.'