The Fleeing Free
CORNELIUS QUAINT COULDN'T believe his eyes as he pelted his bulk through the dusty labyrinthine corridors towards the Hades Consortium's prison cells.
Madame Destine walked slowly towards him, supporting Faroud. The Scarab winced in excruciating pain with each step, clutching at his tender ribs with his free hand.
'You always did have an eye for a charity case, Madame,' Quaint said.
He ran as fast as he could towards her. Destine braced for impact as the locomotive of a man thundered into her. He lifted her into his arms and swung her around in circles like a carousel. They needed no words, these two. It was enough that they were in each other's arms once again.
Aksak Faroud cleared his throat, forcing apart their embrace.
'Do not think me unfeeling…but can this wait? It is not exactly safe here!'
'I can't argue with that,' said Quaint. 'We've got about five minutes to get as far away from this place as we can.' He slapped the map into his palm. 'This is what we needed! The locations along the Nile where Nastasi's men are going to deploy the poison. This is what we need to put an end to this plot!'
'You did it!' gasped Faroud. 'But I do not understand…you were done for…only death waited for us…how did you get hold of such a thing?'
'I gave the Devil his due,' Quaint said.
'You are truly a marvel, Cornelius Quaint,' grinned Faroud.
'I'm more than that, my friend,' grinned Quaint right back at him. 'I'm bloody spectacular. So, how about you, Aksak? You look terrible.'
'I have had better days, it is true.'
'Can you walk unaided?'
'Slowly…but yes, I think so,' replied Faroud.
'Good, then let's be going. Madame, you're with me!' trumpeted Quaint, as he snatched Destine's wrist and ran off down the tunnel, with a limping Faroud trailing behind.
Quaint was his usual self – thundering on until his bones snapped, until his muscles tore. But Aksak Faroud was not at all himself. The beating that he had suffered at the hands of his jailer had dislodged something inside him – a fact confirmed when he coughed a sticky wet clot of blood into the palm of his hand.
Retracing his steps, Quaint led Faroud and Destine through the deserted main audience chamber. They froze as they saw the headless body of Lady Jocasta, still sat in the same position at the table.
'I warned her not to stick her neck out,' said Quaint.
They continued through the chamber towards the main doors. Destine screamed as she stumbled over another lifeless corpse – that of Godfrey Joyce. His stumps still wept the last of his body's blood, and his two severed limbs lay on the floor like discarded cigar butts. He had suffered until his last breath if the contorted expression on his face was anything to go by.
Quaint grinned. 'You know, Faroud, you said we couldn't trust him, but deep down, I always knew Joyce was ar-'
'Hush, Cornelius!' reprimanded Destine, pushing her finger against his lips. 'One glib comment is sufficient amusement; we have more important matters at hand!'
Quaint nodded like an admonished pupil. 'Quite right, Madame, come on!'
With Faroud still bringing up the rear, they quickly reached the huge wooden beam that barred the two stone doors.
'Faroud, help me with this!' Quaint yelled.
Groaning madly as the pain scorched his guts, Faroud aided Quaint and they parted the massive doors that reached from floor to ceiling.
A thick curtain of dust dropped down before their eyes, and a gust of smoke evacuated the confined tunnel past them into the cavern. As it cleared, the sight before his eyes brought a lump to Cornelius Quaint's throat. Just inside the tunnel, littering the ground everywhere, were the charred and scorched corpses of the brigade of Consortium guards. Huge chunks of rock from the stone ceiling were strewn amongst (and crushing) the bodies. Quaint looked down at them, remembering how they had come to lose their lives and his part in it.
'You obviously came this way,' said Destine.
Quaint clamped his eyes shut. He prayed that she could not see the shame carved onto his face, but it was ever so difficult to hide anything from a woman who could sense his emotions as easily as if she shared half his heart.
'Cornelius, listen!' snapped Faroud, breaking the conjuror's thoughts.
It was the unmistakable sound of many footsteps mobilising in their direction, emanating from deep within the adjoining tunnels.
Quaint checked his fob watch. 'George was true to his word for once. The guards are on the move, people. We don't have much time!'
They set off as fast as they could, stepping over corpses and rocks, following the scarred crack in the tunnel roof towards the exit.
However, as they rounded the final corner towards freedom, Quaint's heart sank – the way out was completely barred by fallen rocks.
'A trifle overzealous with the explosive perhaps?' said Faroud sarcastically, as he brushed his hands over the rocks that blocked the entire tunnel. 'Now what? We're trapped!'
Reinforcing his statement, the heavy footsteps grew louder. The guards were catching up. Quaint and company were facing a dead end – in more ways than one.
A grinding, scraping sound came from the other side of the rocks behind them. Cracks in the boulders appeared as they shifted position and thin seams of bright white light appeared like incandescent veins.
Sobek's unmistakable voice reverberated through the rocks: 'Put your backs into it, Scarabs! I want these rocks cleared!'
'Sobek?' Faroud's face lit up. 'At last – we are free! We are safe.'
'Don't count your chickens, Aksak,' said Quaint, cupping a hand to his ear.
Faroud heard the sounds of their pursuers growing ever louder too and wished that he had kept his mouth shut. 'Sobek! It is me, Aksak!' he shouted towards a thin crack in the rocks. 'Hurry, we do not have much time!'
Destine tugged on Quaint's robes. 'Who are these men?'
'The cavalry, Madame!' Quaint replied. 'And for once their timing is impeccable!'
At that moment, a contingent of Consortium guards burst onto the scene. Crammed into the confines of the catacombs, they halted twenty feet away from Quaint, Faroud and Destine, blocking the tunnel completely. Each one brandished a weapon, each face twisted into a malevolent sneer.
Quaint considered his situation and the outlook was bleak. Just then, the huge boulders came tumbling down from the barred exit and great spears of illumination breached into the tunnel, flooding everywhere in a blast of raw sunlight. Quaint and his band were lucky, their backs were turned to the rocks, but it was the brigade of soldiers, who had all been glaring with wide, enraged eyes, that bore the full brunt of the explosion of brightness.
They were blinded, but it would not last long.
Sobek's face peered through the gap in the rocks. Spotting Quaint and Faroud, he beamed a relieved smile at them as he thrust his huge, fat arm through the hole.
'Come!' he boomed.
Quaint knew they had seconds to act before the guards would regain their sight.
He looked at Destine. 'You first, Madame!'
As Quaint grabbed her corseted waist, Destine could tell that there was no room for discussion. She looked up with uncertain eyes as Sobek's hairy arms grabbed her wrists and lifted her up into the light.
Several of the Consortium guards' sight had returned and they began to advance.
Quaint and Faroud had precious seconds to act.
'You're next!' Quaint yelled, grasping the Aksak by his hand.
Faroud shook his head violently. 'No, Cornelius, leave me! I can go no further.' He coughed, spitting congealed blood into his hands, a dark, maroon red, almost black, dredged from the very depths of his stomach. He was bleeding internally, his lungs punctured by broken ribs. 'I am done for, my friend…a gift from my jailer.'
'Faroud, we're getting out of here right now!' Quaint yelled. 'Together! Now hold on tight, I'm going to-'
'No!' snarled Faroud fiercely.
'But we can make it!' pleaded Quaint. 'It's right there! Just a stretch away!'
'Leave me, I say!' growled Faroud. 'Someone…has to watch your back.'
Quaint he knew he was right. Faroud was in no condition to go anywhere and the guards were inches away. The conjuror reached into the folds of his commandeered robes and pulled out a stick of explosive.
'I held one back…just in case,' he said, pushing it into Faroud's fingers. 'Consider it a parting gift.'
'Just what I always wanted,' Faroud grinned. 'Now go…whilst I still…have the strength to do any good.'
Quaint grasped Faroud firmly around the back of his neck and bent him towards him, touching the Scarab's forehead to his own. 'I'm sorry I got you into this mess.'
Faroud managed a weak grin. 'For an Aksak…there are no easy choices, remember? Tell Sobek to take care of Rakmun…and make sure that my men make Nastasi pay.'
With a firm nod, Faroud gripped the explosive in his shaking hands and bit the fuse off with his teeth. Once lit, the explosives would explode practically instantly. Quaint tore a torch from the wall and offered it to the Scarab.
'Aksak Faroud, I have been proud to call you my friend,' he said.
'As have I…Cornelius Quaint.'
With a last nod of respect, Quaint reached for Sobek's grasp. Reaching solid ground, he fell to his knees as Destine rushed to support him.
'Clear the entrance!' he bellowed.
Sobek looked at the breach in the rocks. 'But, the Aksak…?'
'It's too late, Sobek. Everyone to cover!'
The band of Scarabs scattered in every direction as a great explosion rocked the land. The deafening roar filled the ears of thieves, conjuror and fortune-teller alike. Ancient obelisks that had stood in Fantoma for thousands of years shook and toppled, crashing into each other, in turn striking others, pummelling the buildings at their feet. Thick walls of dust rose into the air as columns of ancient stone crumbled like chalk, collapsing onto the entrance to the lair of the Hades Consortium.
In a moment, all was still.
A fitting monument, thought Quaint, as he looked at the devastation around him. The area was cloaked in a wall of impenetrable dust. Surely all inside the sanctum sanctorum would have perished. If there was any justice in the world, not even Hell would take their souls.
'I have been away from you too long, my sweet,' Destine said by the conjuror's side, brushing flecks of masonry from his curls like a doting mother. 'I'd forgotten how much mess you can make.'
'How are you?' the conjuror asked her.
'Exhausted, my sweet. You?'
'Absolutely worn out,' Quaint replied. 'Which is a shame.'
'A shame, Cornelius. How so?'
'Because this battle is only half won and getting out of there alive was the easy part!' Quaint snapped.