The Eleventh Plague
'MADAME, WHAT DOES that note mean?' asked Quaint, staring at the fortune-teller's wide eyes.
'This was the third marker…this letter!' Destine exclaimed.
'You've had more than one of these?' Quaint asked.
'Oui! This latest is but one of three. The others I stumbled across in Agra Bazaar when I was reunited with Ahman. We set forth from Agra desperately trying to piece together the legacy that my younger self had left for me. I had to discover what Aloysius was trying to tell me.'
'Yes, but this note talks about Aloysius's journal,' said Quaint. 'The same journal that Godfrey Joyce was going on about last night. He seemed awfully keen on getting his hands on it. He was convinced that I had it, for some unknown reason.'
'No, it is all right, Cornelius,' said Ahman, happy to join the conversation. 'I took the journal from Destine. It must be right here with my things.'
'The book!' Destine snapped impatiently. 'We must destroy it if the Pharaoh's Cradle is never to be found.'
'The Pharaoh's Cradle?' asked Quaint. 'But that's the artefact that Polly was after. Why would you not want it to be found? What does this letter mean?'
'It is my last warning,' said Destine.
'Yes, but a warning about what?' snapped Quaint. 'Is anyone going to explain any of this to me?'
Madame Destine huffed at his impetuousness. 'Cornelius, on our journey here, I explained to you that I was in Umkaza in 1833 when Joyce and Nastasi attacked, remember? They wanted to get hold of the Pharaoh's Cradle, but I learned that it was a most dangerous treasure, and one that if it saw the light of day again would trigger a catastrophic event.'
'Define "catastrophic event",' said Quaint warily.
'Back then, my premonitions warned me that the tomb was not all it seemed. It was infected with a bacterium that could be passed on by the merest touch of flesh upon flesh. It was deadly within one month of infection,' explained Destine. 'Once Aloysius learned of his benefactor's plot, he dug up the Pharaoh's Cradle and hid it away so that the Eleventh Plague would be contained…killing himself in the process.'
Quaint scratched his curls, lost in confusion, but then he clamped his hand onto Destine's shoulder. 'What did you just say?'
Destine began, 'Killing himself in the-'
'Not that bit!' yelled Quaint, startling the fortune-teller. 'What did you mean about his benefactor's plot? Which plot?'
'The plot to use Aloysius as a means to transport the bacterium to England, where he would unknowingly infect the greatest minds of the Empire…not to mention anyone else whom he came in contact with,' said Destine, lowering her head. 'Aloysius was tricked and betrayed by so many. Godfrey Joyce, Nastasi…and finally by his benefactor, a Chinaman named-'
'Cho-zen Li,' Quaint gasped. 'Professor North's benefactor.'
'Professor North…your companion?' asked Destine.
'The very same,' said Quaint grimly. 'Cho-zen Li sponsored her dig…her dig to Umkaza…to find the-'
'Pharaoh's Cradle?' Destine gasped. 'Just like he did in 1833. When was this?'
'Recently…' mumbled Quaint, pacing the floor.
Madame Destine's hand darted to her mouth. 'How recently?'
'As in right now!' Quaint snapped. 'That's why she was in Umkaza! To find the bloody thing – and on Cho-zen Li's instructions, to boot. He promised her that it was there…'
'That is what he told poor Aloysius also,' said Destine.
Quaint snatched at the air in frustration. It was as if the truth was playing hide and seek within him. 'But this is utterly preposterous! Why would Cho-zen Li hire the Professor?'
'To finish what he began?' suggested Destine. 'As preposterous as it sounds, is it any less so than the other coincidences that have befallen us, Cornelius.' She folded her arms and presented Quaint with a cold glare. 'Think about it, my sweet: I arrive in Egypt to discover an unknown past from twenty years ago, when I was a friend to Aloysius – a man who just happened to be your old school tutor and father of your old flame! Meanwhile, you have allied yourself with a professor who just happened to be searching for the exact same artefact that Aloysius was seeking in 1833 – and just happened to be sponsored by the very same man.'
'All just happenings, Destine,' said Quaint.
'These are twists of fate, my sweet – they are not just happenings! Aloysius told me last night that his journal pointed the way, but I just assumed that he meant his account of Joyce's betrayal. He told me that I must warn others of the danger that sleeps beneath the sand. He said that I must warn them of the danger of the Eleventh Plague.'
Quaint scowled. 'Now I'm even more confused. You just said that Aloysius told you this last night. I thought he was supposed to be dead.'
'He is,' confirmed Destine. 'His ghost told me.'
'His what?' asked Quaint.
'His ghost,' Destine repeated.
'His ghost?' asked Quaint.
Destine stamped her foot resolutely. 'Merde, this is insufferable! This letter must have been hidden in the journal all along. Curse me for not spotting it! I could have saved us a long journey and a heap of trouble, Ahman.'
Quaint turned to Ahman; he had forgotten he was in the room. 'Bedford's journal, can I see it?'
'Yah, it is right here,' said Ahman, pushing himself unsteadily onto his elbows. He searched amongst his pile of clothes, frowning intensely. 'At least it…it was right here.' He produced a folded piece of paper and handed it to Destine. 'Look! You have written another letter! Perhaps this explains things in more detail, ah?'
Destine's heart missed a beat as she darted to pick up the letter, but her anxiety quickly subsided. 'Non, mon cher, this appears to be a note from someone called "Pollyanna". It is not one of mine and I am thankful for that!'
'Pollyanna?' asked Quaint, as he snatched the note from Destine's hand.
The moments that it took him to read the words seemed to hang in the air for ever, and his face grew steadily darker by the second.
'Oh, Polly…what have you done?' he whispered, before reading aloud:
'30th December 1853.
Mr Ahman, I pray that when you wake you can forgive me. Please know that I only have the truest intentions. As an archaeologist, just as Aloysius Bedford was, I have a zest to see the truth unburied. When he disappeared all those years ago, all his findings vanished with him, as well as his fantastic journal. There is enough in this book alone to spend a lifetime decoding. Now, at last I have a chance to complete the work that he began in Umkaza.
Pollyanna.'
Destine grabbed for Quaint's arm as he concluded the note.
'But, Cornelius…if this woman has Aloysius's journal…then she knows where he buried the Pharaoh's Cradle! If she is going to Umkaza, then all my efforts to avert a tragedy will be undone!'
'Was going to Umkaza, you mean,' corrected Ahman. 'Look at the date at the top of that letter. Today is New Year's Eve, ah?' The room fell silent as realization dawned. 'This letter was written yesterday.'
'C'est mauvais!' said Destine.
'It's worse than that, Madame,' said Quaint, chewing his lip. 'The Professor told me that she's got to get back to England in time for a function in her honour at Buckingham Palace…in the presence of Queen Victoria herself.'
'But…if she has opened that tomb-' started Destine.
'Then she'll be giving the Queen a hell of a lot more than just treasure,' Quaint said, completing the sentence. 'Just when I thought this thing was at an end…'