The Turning of the Tide
LADY JOCASTA ENTERED the audience chamber clutching a large, cylindrical roll of parchment under her arm. Sir George Dray sat alone at the chamber's table with an expectant look on his wrinkled face.
'Sir George, I have brought the map as you requested,' Lady Jocasta beamed. Not waiting for an invitation, she delicately placed the parchment upon the table and rolled it out, placing small brass weights at each corner, smoothing the creases. 'In but a few hours, Nastasi and his Scarabs will deposit the vials of poison in the positions marked. Egypt will soon be crippled, and by then…it will be far, far too late to turn the tide.' She looked to Dray for approval.
He offered Lady Jocasta a broad smile – in contrast, the cold glare in his green eyes told an altogether different story. Grasping his walking cane, he pulled himself to his feet. Without a word, he slid the four brass weights from each corner of the map. The parchment curled its edges up like a snail retreating into its shell. The Greek woman watched, pleasantly enthralled by Dray's actions, but her expression faded as she saw Cornelius Quaint step from the shadows.
Lady Jocasta looked at the two men's faces, matching their nondescript expressions with one of her own. Dray held the parchment in his skeletal fingers and silently passed it into Quaint's hands.
There was no word of thanks during the exchange.
That was not part of the deal.
'Sir George?' Lady Jocasta enquired, seeking an explanation.
Dray ignored her. 'Consider our debt repaid, Cornelius. Take it and leave this place whilst you still can. You've got ten minutes, no more.' Quaint opened his mouth to speak. 'Don't bother thanking me…just pray our paths never cross again. This changes nothing between us.'
With an accepting nod, Quaint retreated back into the shadows as if he had never been there at all.
Lady Jocasta scowled incredulously as her whole world ground to a sudden halt.
'That was the map!' she said, unable to hide the ire in her voice.
'I'm aware of that, lass,' replied Dray.
'Then…may I ask why you gave it to Quaint, sir?' Lady Jocasta asked.
Dray replied, 'As I said…I was repaying a debt.'
'To him? What debt can you possibly owe that it is worth risking everything I have worked to achieve?' demanded Lady Jocasta. She had either forgotten her position, or was in full acknowledgement of it, it was difficult to judge. Whatever the answer, her rage was unrestrained. 'Now he has the means to destroy us – surely you must know that?'
'I know only that I have made this game a wee bit more interesting.' Sir George grinned maliciously. 'It's midnight in only a few hours. Even if he knows where the poison is being deposited, he is still just one man…he cannot be in nine places at once. It would take a miracle to stop what's in motion.'
Lady Jocasta's bile did not recede. 'But why take that risk?'
'Because if any man alive can do it, it's him!' Dray shuffled his form around the table to stand behind her. 'You have disappointed me, Lady Jocasta…and you have brought shame upon Baron Remus's tutelage. This will serve as a reminder of what happens when every eventuality is not catered for.'
'You have risked the success of my plot merely to reprimand me?' Lady Jocasta lowered her head upon her chest and closed her eyes. 'So…failure is to be my punishment.'
'No, Lady Jocasta.' Dray took his walking cane within both hands and pulled swiftly at the handle – removing a slender sword from within. With surprising ferocity, he slashed the blade's keen edge into Lady Jocasta's exposed, olive neck. Her head was cleaved from her shoulders. It rolled around directionless on the table, spilling a fine fountain of rich red blood as it went, coming to rest in the centre of the table with her big brown dead eyes staring at the ceiling.
'That was your punishment,' said Sir George. He consulted his pocket watch.
Cornelius Quaint had eight minutes.
Not enough time for a miracle, but still plenty of time to die…