Rogue Angel 46: Treasure of Lima (17 page)

29

Slopes of Mount
Yglesias

Cocos Island

Incan warriors. Here, on Cocos Island.

Annja was having trouble wrapping her head around the idea. One side of her was saying,
Yes, of course it’s the Inca. Who else did you expect it to be?
while the other half was telling her how ridiculous it was to even think that the men at the foot of the pyramid were members of a civilization that had disappeared in the sixteenth century.

She might still be standing there staring if Hugo hadn’t brought his rifle up to his shoulder and aimed it down the slope of the pyramid at the newcomers below. Claire followed suit seconds later. The sudden motion broke her mental paralysis and focused her on the problem at hand.

She reached out and put a hand on Hugo’s arm while, below them, the Incan warriors reacted in predictable fashion, bringing their weapons—blowguns, bows and arrows, and long, metal-tipped spears—to bear on the four of them atop the pyramid.

“That might not be a good idea,” Annja said to Hugo gently, not wanting to spook him into accidentally pulling the trigger. She hoped that Claire was listening.

“Why not?” Hugo snarled at her, without taking his gaze away from the warriors below.

Annja kept her voice calm. “Because they’ll turn you into a human pincushion full of darts and arrows before you could even get off a second shot. And that’s if the cats don’t get you first.”

As if on cue, the cats had risen to their feet and were leaning forward, lips drawn back from their teeth and their tails twitching behind them as they stared unblinkingly at the threat above. One of them let out a snarling cry that gave no doubt as to its intentions.

“What do you want us to do? Surrender?” Hugo hissed at her, suddenly afraid to raise his voice.

“If you want to live to see tomorrow, then yes. We can’t escape if we’re dead.”

One of the warriors stepped forward and shouted up at them, gesturing at the same time. Annja didn’t understand a word, but the gist of it seemed plain enough.

Drop your weapons and come down here.

Sounded like a quick way to get themselves killed, but really, what choice did they have? They were cornered like rats, with nowhere to go. All the warriors had to do was sit there until Annja and her companions were too weak from the lack of food and water to resist, then climb the steps and take them captive, anyway. Annja didn’t see the point in going through all of that just to end up at the same place. Better to be seen as cooperating, which might gain them some mercy at a crucial time, than fighting and generating more ill will than they’d apparently already gained.

The warrior repeated himself, this time a bit more sharply.

“He wants us to drop our weapons,” Marcos said from where he stood on the other side of Claire.

Annja glanced his way, ready with a quick retort about stating the obvious, when she saw the expression on his face—surprise, wonder, amazement, confusion, all rolled up in one.

“What?” she asked sharply, concerned.

But she needn’t have worried.

“The language. I recognize it,” Marcos said. “Or at least some of it.”

Claire stared at him.

“You do?”

Marcos nodded. “It’s Quechua. Or close enough to it that I can get the gist of it.”

Quechua was one of the indigenous languages of South America, spoken by nearly eight million people throughout the nations of Bolivia, Ecuador, Columbia, Peru, Chile and Argentina.

It was also the main language of the Incan Empire throughout most of its history.

It all seemed so obvious in hindsight, but then again, that was why they said hindsight was twenty-twenty. Hard not to see the connections when you already knew the answers.

Beside her, Claire said, “Annja’s right. Do what she says, Hugo.”

Hugo grumbled beneath his breath, but complied.

Annja and Marcos raised their hands over their heads. Claire and Hugo lowered their weapons, slowly put them down on the ground by their feet and then did the same.

The leader of the warriors, the one who Annja decided to privately call Cuzco after the capital city of the Incas, shouted something else up to them and then gestured for them to come down.

Annja didn’t need Marcos to translate that one.

“What do we do?” Claire asked.

“Unless you’ve got a full case of jaguar repellent hiding in your shorts somewhere, I’d do what the man says,” Annja said laconically. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”

Hands in the air, she started down the stairs.

Behind her, the others followed.

She was halfway to the bottom when one of the warriors stepped forward and looped a leather strap—a leash, really—around the neck of the cat at the bottom of the steps. The cat barely noticed, its gaze fixed firmly on Annja as she came down the steps toward it.

Hope he’s got a good grip on that leash,
she thought and then reassured herself that she wasn’t entirely without protection if the cat somehow broke free. She really didn’t want to face off against another jaguar, but she’d do so if necessary.

When she reached the bottom, two warriors came over to her, took her by the arms and led her over to stand in front of Cuzco. They pushed her down to her knees, firmly but without any sense of anger or intent to harm that Annja could pick up. Just two guys doing their job. She was surprised a bit at their lack of curiosity. Then again, if their group had recently snatched the crew of the
Sea Dancer
as well as the members of Dr. Knowles’s dig team, they had probably seen more mainlanders in the past few weeks than they hoped or wanted.

Her three companions were forced down to their knees beside her.

“What are they going—”

Claire didn’t get a chance to finish her sentence, for the warrior behind her cuffed her across the back of the head to silence her.

Cuzco eyed them all for a long while and then said something in Quechua to Annja.

Annja frowned and, not understanding, glanced at Marcos for some help.

“He’s either asking why you’re here or where’s your lama. I’d go with the former if I were you.”

Annja had no idea if any of the warriors understood English, but she gave it a try, anyway.

“We mean you and your people no harm. We are here to find our missing friends.”

Cuzco’s expression didn’t change as Annja spoke; he just kept staring at her.

“Can you say that in Quechua?” she asked Marcos.

He shook his head. “I can barely understand it, never mind speak it.”

“Try it in Spanish, then.”

Marcos obliged, but Cuzco barely glanced in his direction and clearly didn’t understand a word that he was saying. More rapid-fire Quechua followed, all of it seemingly directed at Annja. When the Incan leader was finished, he gestured to the men standing nearby.

Annja felt her arms lifted behind her back and tied together with some kind of rough cord. A glance to the side showed Claire getting her hands tied, too. The men were searched first, the warriors removing knives from both of them and a pistol from Marcos’s belt, before they, too, were bound. Hugo started to struggle when they began to loop the cord around his wrists, but quickly subsided when one of the cat handlers walked his cat closer to where Hugo knelt on the ground. Once they were tied, blindfolds were produced and slipped over the captives’ heads.

The fact that the Inca had blindfolded them allowed Annja to relax a little. The blindfolds meant the Incans didn’t want them seeing something, most likely the route to wherever it was that they were headed, which in turn meant they weren’t going to be killed outright for violating the sanctity of the temple. They might still pay that price, but it wasn’t going to happen immediately, and that was a good sign.

Annja was pulled to her feet and, at another sharp command from Cuzco, marched forward. The Incan who had tied her hands behind her back became her minder, keeping one hand on her biceps at all times as they walked along. Initially she was worried that they were separating her from her companions, but then she heard a grunt of annoyance from Marcos as he misjudged a step, and she relaxed, confident that they were still together.

The group got under way, moving at a slightly faster pace than Annja and her companions had been traveling earlier. The bottom edge of Annja’s blindfold was just loose enough to allow her to see her feet, which kept her stumbling to a minimum, but from the regular exclamations coming from some of the others behind her, she knew they weren’t so fortunate. The same view allowed her to see that they were on a trail of some kind, perhaps even the same one they’d been on earlier. It was just wide enough for her and her minder to walk abreast of each other, with relatively little debris to step over along the way.

About an hour into their march, they left the jungle behind. Their steps took on a bit of an echoing quality. The air around them stilled and the light became greatly reduced, leading Annja to believe that they’d entered a cavern or tunnel of some kind. Her captors seemed to calm a bit; the grip her minder had on her arm lightened, as if he were no longer as worried about her making a break for it as he’d been at the start of their journey together.

A considerable time later, her minder brought her to a stop and then let go of her arm. As he hadn’t done that since the group had begun walking, Annja was momentarily alarmed, but that subsided when she felt his hands untying the knot of her blindfold. They’d been going for what felt like hours, though she knew time could be deceptive without the usual visual references to mark it. Her eyes had adjusted to the dim light that had been filtering in through the cloth, so it took a moment or two for her eyes to get used to the sudden light. But when they did she couldn’t do much more than stare ahead of her in amazement and wonder.

She stood in a massive cavern, the space stretching out before her as far as she could see and the ceiling literally hundreds of feet above her head. The enormity of the cave might have been enough to get her to stop and stare, but it was what was in the cavern that captured her attention and held her mesmerized.

An entire Incan city stretched out before her.

30

City of the
Sun

Beneath Mount Yglesias

Annja stood on a ledge about halfway up the cavern wall, giving her a bird’s-eye view of the city laid out in a gridlike pattern below her. Wide streets ran through the city center and gradually gave way to more narrow pathways once one left the main thoroughfares. Buildings rose up in orderly fashion, everything from pyramids and temples to administrative centers and residential space. Areas that could only be parks were scattered here and there throughout the city, their brilliant green competing with a plethora of other colors amid the brightly painted structures. Everywhere she looked was a riot of color, an explosion of exuberance that Annja had always imagined might be the norm for the Incan civilization but until now had never had the opportunity to prove.

Oh, the things they could learn in this place, she thought.

She heard Claire gasp in amazement behind her and knew her companions’ blindfolds had been removed, as well.

It suddenly occurred to Annja that despite being entirely underground, the city before her was bathed in the rich light of the afternoon sun. Almost reluctantly, she tore her gaze away from the city streets and looked to the walls of the cavern rising high around it, searching for the source of the light. At first it was hard to see, the light being brighter there than anywhere else in the cavern, but then she saw that an intricate series of mirrors had been put in place along the walls of the cavern. A massive mirror near the roof captured the rays of the sun and then relayed them to the other mirrors throughout the cavern, bathing the entire city in the same level of light. As the sun set outside, so, too, would it set inside. It was an incredible engineering feat for a civilization without modern tools and construction techniques, but Annja knew she shouldn’t be surprised. The Incan civilization had invented terrace farming, aqueducts and freeze-dried foods, just to name a few, so a working system of mirrors certainly wasn’t beyond their capability.

Her minder reached out and grabbed her arm again, indicating that sightseeing time was over. The group made their way down the cavern wall by means of a long series of switchbacks. At the bottom of the wall, the cat handlers and their charges separated from the group and went in a different direction while Cuzco led the rest of them into the city proper.

The city was truly beautiful. It was built entirely of cut stone and the Incas’ reputation for being master stoneworkers was clearly evident in every single building they passed. From homes to schools to official-looking buildings, each and every one of them had been constructed with the same level of care and attention to detail. An intricate system of aqueducts ran throughout the city, carrying water to and from the various buildings as well as the public gardens, which themselves were carefully tended and groomed.

It didn’t take them too long to arrive at the massive public square that was set in the city center, and as they approached Annja could see that word of their coming had traveled ahead of them. A huge crowd was waiting there to check them out. Annja guessed there had to be a couple of thousand, at least—all ages and walks of life, it seemed. Annja’s captors didn’t seem concerned, so Annja tried not to let their presence bother her, either, but if that many people suddenly decided she and her companions were a threat, there wouldn’t be much she or any of the rest of them would be able to do to stop them all.

Cuzco marched them right through the crowd and straight toward the pyramid rising in the center of the square. The crowd pressed close for a good look at the newcomers but kept their hands to themselves and made no attempt to impede their forward momentum. Cuzco led them up the stairs—Annja counted two hundred in all—and into the building at the top, which wasn’t the temple Annja had been expecting, but rather the king’s audience chamber.

That made the man sitting on the raised throne at the back of the room—a throne made entirely of gold, if Annja wasn’t mistaken—most likely the Incan king himself.

Guards stood on either side of the throne, protecting the king, and servant girls waved large palm fronds in fanlike motions to keep the king cool. Another servant stood on a small platform to the right of the throne, holding a tray of food and drink at shoulder level so the king could reach it without difficulty.

The king was a sharp-faced middle-aged man wearing a cloak of multicolored feathers around his bare shoulders, a pair of breeches made from some kind of soft and supple cloth, and leather sandals on his feet. He was busy talking with several nobles standing nearby but broke off as Cuzco and his charges approached.

Cuzco and his group stopped a few yards in front of the throne. As Cuzco bowed deeply, the prisoners were forced to their knees before the king. Annja didn’t like it, but she knew resisting would only end with her getting hurt, and she didn’t see the point in forcing a confrontation. She bowed her head, but didn’t avert her eyes.

The king eyed Cuzco up and down and then waved him forward.

Cuzco stepped up to the throne and began talking to the king in a low voice, gesturing several times back in the prisoners’ direction, no doubt informing the king of all that had taken place that morning.

Seeing the two of them together made the familial link between them obvious.
Father and son, perhaps? Older and younger cousins?
She couldn’t be sure, but there was no doubt that the two men were related.

Cuzco bowed to the king a second time when he was finished explaining and then stepped back.

Annja kept her gaze fixed firmly on the king, ready to leap to her feet and draw her sword if it looked as if things were about to end for them right here and now.

The king bent over the side of his throne and said something in the ear of an elderly man waiting there. The man disappeared into the crowd before returning with an Incan woman in tow.

The newcomer was older than the king by at least twenty years and needed to be helped into the room, but there was nothing wrong with her steely gaze or the strength in her voice as she addressed herself to Annja.

“Why have you come here?” she asked in perfectly passable English.

Annja was so surprised that she couldn’t speak. The question of where this Incan woman learned such excellent English bounced around in Annja’s head while she struggled to force out an answer.

“We mean no trespass,” Annja managed to stammer out. Annja’s voice steadied and grew stronger as she continued, “We are searching for our friends who came to the island before us and then vanished.”

“So you admit to invading the territory of Inca Amaru Tupac without provocation?”

Annja shook her head. “No, we did not invade Inca Tupac’s territory,” she said. Knowing the Incan word
inca
meant “king” allowed her to determine the king’s name from what the woman had said. Inca Amaru Tupac. King Tupac.

“Inca Tupac did not give you permission to be in his territory, and yet here you are, with weapons in hand. Tell me, sword-bearer, how is this not an invasion?”

The woman had either been listening when Cuzco made his explanations to the king or else had received updates earlier when the group had first encountered the Inca several days ago. The use of the name
sword-bearer
had Annja concerned; clearly, someone had seen her with her blade, probably more than once.

Annja started to answer but was cut off by Claire.

“You can’t be serious!” she said, the indignation clear in her voice. “Since when do four people amount to—”

She didn’t get any further.

The king’s spokeswoman gestured once with her hand, and the guard behind Claire promptly bunched his fist and struck her in the side of the head, sending her facedown on the stone floor. Since her hands were still tied behind her back, she had no way of stopping herself and barely managed to turn her head to the side before she struck the floor.

Annja winced; Claire was going to be a mass of bruises come morning.

The king said something sharply to the interpreter in his native tongue and she in turn addressed the guard. “If she speaks again, cut out her tongue,” she said calmly.

The guard dragged Claire upright. Blood spilled from her nose but she wisely kept her mouth shut and didn’t say anything to rile the king, the woman or the guard any further.

Annja didn’t miss the look in Claire’s eyes, though.

Someone is going to pay for that later.

The woman turned to face Annja again and calmly waited for an answer as if nothing had happened.

Annja thought quickly. “Invasion requires intent,” she said. “We had no intent, as we did not know that you claimed this territory. It was a simple accident, nothing more.”

The interpreter considered her words, frowned and then turned and spoke to the king for several minutes. The king turned his gaze on Annja about midway through the interpreter’s explanation, and Annja did her best to look as unthreatening as possible. It was difficult; being meek was never one of Annja’s virtues.

The king stared at Annja; she did her best not to fidget. Finally, the king turned to Cuzco, said a few words and then waved his hand in dismissal.

The guards dragged them to their feet as Cuzco walked toward them.

Beside her, Annja heard Hugo whisper, “Are they gonna let us live?” but she didn’t have an answer for him and could only shrug.

Cuzco issued a terse set of instructions to the guards and then the group turned about and left the audience chamber, their prisoners once more in tow.

They were directed back down the steps of the pyramid and over to one side, where a wheeled cart that looked like a prison cell on wheels waited for them. Annja smiled in delight when she saw the cart, prompting a remark from Marcos.

“Something about being stuck in a cage funny to you?” he asked with a snarl as the guards forced him inside.

“Not at all,” she answered coolly, climbing up into the cart on her own without giving the guards a fight. After all, it hadn’t gotten Marcos anywhere. “I was smiling at the fact that they are using wheels. The Inca, or at least those on the mainland, never invented them. A cart like this would have been something like magic to their ancestors!”

It was almost magic to Annja herself. To see an ancient culture brought to life in the twenty-first century, to walk among them like this, was an archaeologist’s dream. It didn’t matter that she was a prisoner; the opportunity she had here was priceless. She had to force herself to keep her attention on the problem at hand—namely, finding Knowles and getting everyone out of here, with or without the treasure—rather than lose herself in observing the Inca around her.

Once they were all inside the cart and seated on benches that ran along either side, facing inward, the door was secured behind them and the cart got under way. It traveled through the city at a slow pace, allowing them to take in the sights.

Gold was everywhere; the Inca used it to decorate everything, from the walls of the temples scattered about the city to the jewelry worn by many of the people they passed on the street. Annja wondered if the modern Inca thought of gold as the sweat of the sun god, Inti, as their ancestors had; they certainly seemed to attach as much importance to it.

Hugo noticed the abundance of the precious metal as well and wondered aloud where it all came from. As it turned out, they were about to get a firsthand look at the answer to that very question.