Eye of the Forest (20 page)

Dybbuk made a noise like a bassoon and rolled his eyes up to the top of his long-haired head. “Buck,” he said. “Just Buck, okay?”

G
ive me one good reason why I shouldn’t turn you into an ulcerous toad, McCreeby,” said Nimrod.

“Because he already is an ulcerous toad?” offered John.

“I say, that’s not very hospitable, Nimrod,” said McCreeby. He swallowed a mouthful of Nimrod’s cake and washed it down with some hot sweet tea. “Considering that I’m a fellow Englishman out here in the Amazon jungle and all that rot. But since you ask, I’ll give you a number of jolly good reasons why you ought to restrain yourself. And this goes for all of you.” He pointed first at the twins and then at Groanin and Muddy before stuffing some more chocolate cake into his mouth. Clearly he was enjoying it. He even managed to smear some of the chocolate icing on the handle of the gun he was still carrying.

“I’m listening,” said Nimrod. “You were about to list the reasons why I should restrain myself from turning you into a toad. And I suggest you do it very quickly.”

“Well then, let’s see.” McCreeby licked chocolate off his fingers’ ends as he started counting off the reasons. “One is that this is a holy place and I know that out of a stupid sort of respect for other belief systems, you people won’t use djinn power in a holy place.” McCreeby glanced up at the cathedral of lupuna trees. “What do they call this kind of thing? An
abadía de árboles,
isn’t it? So. As long as we’re here, I figure I’m perfectly safe. Especially with this gun in my hand. Which is, of course, another reason why you should restrain yourselves. And I will use the gun if I have to, so I advise you all not to try anything. That’s two reasons.” He slurped some tea noisily.

“But you djinn do like things in threes, don’t you? Such as wishes. Oh, yes. So I’ll give you a third reason. And perhaps you’ll think, as I do, that it’s the most important reason of all. You see, I have a hostage. My followers — druids, they call themselves, although to be honest, the little cult I have going in England these days has nothing at all to do with true pagan druidry — are holding John and Philippa’s father, Mr. Gaunt, at a secret location. Which is to say, he’s been kidnapped. But don’t worry. He’ll remain quite unharmed as long as you keep out of my way.”

“I don’t believe you,” said John.

“No? Well, naturally I didn’t expect you just to take my word for it, boy. I’ve brought some proof, of course. And you can thank your lucky stars that I’m a civilized sort of man and that I’m not about to hand over your father’s ear or little finger.”

Virgil McCreeby nodded at Dybbuk, who dropped his backpack on the ground and silently began to search inside for something. Apart from insisting that people should call him Buck, Dybbuk still hadn’t spoken. The sense of shame he was feeling in front of his former friends had, so far, prevented it.

“Mr. Gaunt was kidnapped,” explained McCreeby, “on his way to work one morning in Manhattan while you were all in New Haven.”

“Mr. Senna would never have allowed anyone to kidnap my father,” insisted John. “He’s Dad’s bodyguard as well as his driver. And he’s pretty good at it. He’s ex–Special Forces.”

“Oh, is he?” McCreeby made a face. “Well, Special Forces or not, your Mr. Senna has a stomach like anyone else. Which means it can be upset. Especially when my people managed to give him something nasty to put inside it. Such as a potion of my own devising that makes it impossible to leave the bathroom for three whole days. I mean, that’s what I really call ‘Special Forces.’” McCreeby chuckled unpleasantly. “As a result, on the particular morning in question, he just wasn’t there to drive your dad to work. One of my followers was. Mr. Haddo. Anyway, your dear old dad didn’t even notice that old Sennapod wasn’t in the driving seat. Until it was too late. Show him, Buck.”

Dybbuk took a small laptop out of his backpack. He folded open the computer, attached it to a satellite phone, switched
it on, logged on to a popular Web site featuring lots of videos, and then turned it toward John.

John tried to meet the eye of his old friend but Dybbuk avoided it.

“And here I was thinking it was Finlay who was helping McCreeby,” said John, “when it was you all along. I might have known. Why are you doing this, Buck? I thought we were friends.”

But Dybbuk did not answer. This — the moment when he faced John and Philippa — was the moment he had most dreaded. Now that he was here with his former friends, enduring their sense of disappointment in him, he felt even worse than he had expected to feel. After all the adventures they had come through together, he knew exactly what they must be thinking about him. Dybbuk winced as if someone had burned him with a hot iron when Groanin said loudly, “I never liked that lad. I always thought he were trouble. I say, I always thought he were trouble.”

Meanwhile, Groanin, Nimrod, Philippa, and Muddy had grouped around the laptop and were waiting to view what had been recorded.

In the video, Mr. Gaunt was seated on a chair inside a cage. He was wearing an orange jumpsuit and holding up a copy of the
New York Daily Post
with manacled hands. The video zoomed in on the front page and then the date of the newspaper so that the fact of his imprisonment might easily be proved to anyone’s satisfaction. He looked a little tired and unshaven but otherwise seemed quite unharmed.

“Hi, kids,” said Mr. Gaunt. “Hi, Nimrod. I guess you know by now that I’ve been kidnapped and that I’m being held hostage by three English hippie weirdos. I have no idea who they are or what they want, but they’re treating me well enough. I’m getting plenty to eat and to read and I’m watching a lot of TV. I’ve been told to tell you that if you do exactly what they say, they’ll let me go unharmed. But that if you don’t cooperate, then things might get a bit rough for me. Their words, not mine. That’s pretty much all that I’m going to be allowed to say, except that John? Philippa? I miss you both and love you very much and hope to see you again soon. And not to worry about me. We’ve come through bad times before and we’ll do so again.”

When the video ended abruptly, they watched it once more.

“Most heartwarming,” said McCreeby.

“Is it for real?” John asked Nimrod.

“Of course, it’s for real,” McCreeby said irritably. “Whatever makes you think otherwise?”

“You faked the photograph in the newspaper,” said John. “The one of the exploration party supposedly discovering the Eye of the Forest.”

“Yes I did,” admitted McCreeby. “Rather a good fake, though, don’t you think? Amazing what you can do on a computer these days.”

“So, maybe you faked the video, too,” suggested John.

“If I did, then I’d have nothing to bargain with,” said McCreeby. “Which is hardly likely. I’d be taking a
terrible risk, wouldn’t I? Risking the wrath of three powerful djinn? Four if we include your mother. It was a lucky break her not being on the scene right now, wasn’t it?” McCreeby shook his head. “No, I’m not brave enough to fake it, lad. Or sufficiently foolhardy. Besides, now that you’ve guided me here to the real Eye of the Forest, it’s not like I’m asking anything from you people except to stay out of my way. If you do that, then your father will be returned to you unharmed. You have the word of Virgil McCreeby.”

“Whatever that’s worth,” Nimrod laughed. “What exactly are you after, McCreeby?”

“I should have thought it was obvious. I intend to find the lost city of Paititi.”

“Now I’m beginning to understand,” said Nimrod. “There’s something in this for both of you. You’re planning to carry out the
kutumunkichu
ritual, aren’t you?”

“I’ve never heard of it,” McCreeby said innocently. “You’re mistaken.
Kutumunkichu?
What’s that?”

“Using the
kutumunkichu
ritual, you, McCreeby, hope to gain the power of turning base metal into gold.” He looked squarely at Dybbuk. “While you, Buck, you think you can restore your power. Like Manco Capac himself. Isn’t that right?”

“Why not? The
kutumunkichu
ritual worked for him,” said Buck. “Why not me?”

McCreeby winced. “It might have been better not to have mentioned that,” he told Dybbuk.

But Dybbuk ignored him. “It will work for me,” he told Nimrod. “It has to work.”

Philippa almost felt sorry for him.

“Is that what you’ve told him, McCreeby?” asked Nimrod.

“I haven’t told him anything.” McCreeby sounded indignant. “Buck read the ancient Incan texts for himself. In the library back at my castle in England. You remember my library, Nimrod, don’t you?”

“What ancient text might that be?” Nimrod asked. “After all, the Incas wrote nothing down.”

“The Incan priest Ti Cosi, nephew of King Titu Cusi, who was himself nephew of Atahualpa, described a number of Incan myths and legends to a Spanish chronicler in about 1550. Including the
kutumunkichu
ritual. I have the only extant copy of that chronicle. What I didn’t have was the map of how to get here. Thanks to you that’s no longer a problem. And before you suggest otherwise, it was Dybbuk who sought me out, looking for a solution to his problem. In return for my help, I’m getting not three wishes but six. That’s three from Zadie, and three from Buck. At least he will give me three wishes as soon as he gets his djinn power back. The only reason I’m not insisting that any of you give me three wishes, as well, is because even with your father under my control, I still don’t trust you not to do something unpleasant to me.”

At this mention of her father, Philippa wiped a tear from her eye.

“Ah, yes,” said McCreeby. “That reminds me. The tears of the sun that were in Zadie’s backpack? We need them for the ritual. So please, hand them over.”

When no one moved, McCreeby added, “I only have to use the satellite phone to tell Mr. Haddo that you’re being obstructive. And he’ll just post another video of your father for you to watch that won’t be as easy on the eye as the first one. Come on. Hand them over. Best save your father the heartache, eh? Oh, yes, and you’d best hand over your satellite phone, as well. Zadie told me you’ve got one.”

John went into his backpack and found the three gold disks that had been stolen from the Peabody Museum. To his surprise they were quite warm. Almost hot, even. He handed them to Dybbuk. And then the phone.

“Listen to me carefully, Buck,” said Nimrod. “It’s possible that this Incan ritual you’ve read about has something to do with the
Pachacuti.
The great earth shaking that presages the end of the world. It might very well be dangerous. Very dangerous.”

“You don’t really believe that prophecy, do you?” scoffed McCreeby. “If that kind of force had been available to the Incas, don’t you think they’d have used it against Pizarro and his conquistadors? Of course they would.”

“Manco Capac died,” Nimrod told Dybbuk, ignoring McCreeby. “Have you thought about that, boy?”

“Manco was old and sick already,” said Dybbuk. “Anyway, without djinn power, I might as well be dead. To live without djinn power is no life at all.”

“You’re still alive,” said John. “That’s something, isn’t it?”

“Easy for you to say, John,” said Dybbuk. “You still have your power. I don’t.”

“And whose fault is that?” said John.

“John is right. You were warned not to waste your power,” said Nimrod. “By everyone. Me. Your poor mother. Everyone. But you chose not to listen. You abused your gift by performing cheap magic tricks for the entertainment of mundanes.”

“That’s a little unfair, Nimrod,” said McCreeby. “They were hardly cheap tricks. Some of them were rather good, I thought.”

“On television.” Nimrod spoke the word as if it had been something disgraceful.

“I did what I did,” Dybbuk said angrily. “But it sure doesn’t make it feel any better that everyone told me not to do it. And what would you do? If you were in my position? John? Philippa? What would you do if you lost all of your power? Wouldn’t you try anything to get it back? Of course you would.”

“We all of us have to live with the consequences of our actions,” said John. “That’s what life is all about.”

“Easy to say,” said Dybbuk. “But not so easy to do.”

It was Philippa’s turn to be angry now. But not with Dybbuk. She was angry with Zadie.

“I can understand why he’s doing this,” she told Zadie. “He was always headstrong. It’s you I don’t understand. How
could you be in cahoots with them? How could you betray my confidence like that?”

Dybbuk took Zadie’s hand. “Leave her alone,” he told Philippa. “She did it for me.”

“I love him,” said Zadie. “That’s why I’ve been helping them since we got here. Delaying you with those monsters to help Buck and McCreeby catch up with us when we fell behind. Putting clues on the ground so that you would think an expedition party had gone ahead of us. I want to help Buck get his power back.” She looked at Dybbuk and smiled warmly. “I’d do anything for him. I don’t expect someone like you, Philippa, to understand something like that. After all, who could fall in love with someone like you?”

McCreeby smiled and waved his hands mysteriously in front of Zadie’s face.
“L’amour, toujours l’amour,”
he said. “Love conquers all.”

“Speaking of conquest,” said Philippa, trying to ignore Zadie’s hurtful insult. “What happened to your friend Pizarro and his conquistadors? Where are they now?”

Zadie gave Philippa her most sarcastic smile and then shrugged.

“The last time I saw them they were in a pitched battle with your friends, the Xuanaci,” she said. “And serves them right, too.”

“That’s right,” said McCreeby. “That’s right, Zadie. I agree with you. Listen to my voice and only my voice. Forget everything else. Only my voice matters.” He waved his hands in front of her face again.

“You’ve hypnotized her, haven’t you?” said Nimrod. “That’s why she’s helping you. She only thinks she’s in love with Dybbuk. Because you’ve told her she is. To help persuade her.”

“What rubbish,” said McCreeby. He glanced nervously at Dybbuk. “Of course she’s in love with my young friend.”

But Dybbuk now gave him a strange look.

“Aren’t you, Zadie?”

“Yes,” said Zadie. But there was something in her voice that sounded mechanical and automatic. “I’m in love with him. Always have been. Always will be. Love.
L’amour, toujours l’amour.
”