“The night sky was quite dramatic,” Mabruke said. “The air is very clear up here.”
“Good for the blood, sirs. Would you care for an eve ning refreshment?”
“I think we’ll just finish up the choclatl you set out for us, Mr. Qusmi. That should conclude our eve ning quite successfully.”
“Thank you, sir. You are most kind. If you would follow me? I will show you the way.”
“There were some loud noises in the night earlier, Mr. Qusmi.” Oken decided to risk the question. “Is there anything wrong?”
“I do not know, sir. My hearing is not what it once was.”
Oken had his doubts about that, but he said nothing more.
“SO, WHERE are these delicious foreigners my brother has brought home for me?”
Oken and Mabruke were seated in the library garden, discussing the events of the previous eve ning. They both turned at the voice, a melodious, bold woman’s voice, with a lazy kind of accent that Oken found instantly appealing.
When he saw the speaker, that conclusion was enhanced. She was clearly a princess, despite her European riding habit and dusty boots. She did not need a crown. Royalty spoke in everything about her as she strode up to them with swift confidence. She was smiling and the effect was breathtaking. Her black, Andean tresses were curled European-style, piled in glorious masses around her exquisite face and pinned with golden ornaments. She wore Egyptian makeup, and an emerald choker of outstanding quality.
She put her hand out to Mabruke at once. “Usqhullu,” she said to him by way of introduction. “It means ‘Wildcat.’ ”
“Indeed, my lady,” Mabruke said as he took her hand and bowed over it. “I am Mik Mabruke, and this is my good friend, Scott Oken.”
Princess Usqhullu put her hand out to Oken. He took it in both of his, bowing as Mabruke had, marveling at the beauty of her skin and the immediacy of her presence. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lady,” he said with sincerity. “We are quite fond of your brother, and I will always be in his debt for this moment.”
“Ooh, aren’t you the fancy one!” The princess’s laughter was as bold and forthright as everything else about her. “Do you dance?”
“Only when I am not standing still, my lady.”
She laughed again, turning her brilliant smile to Mabruke. “Mama is simply livid that Lucky left you on her doorstep. I hope she hasn’t been making trouble for you?”
“No, my lady. We have had a most enjoyable stay here.” Oken said, “Mr. Qusmi has been our faithful support.”
“Dear old Smoky,” she said with a fond smile. “If Mama knew what he was really up to around here, she’d have him skinned alive!”
Mabruke said. “We have endeavored to keep his hide intact during our visit.”
The princess smiled at Mabruke as one might look at a marvelous painting. “Aren’t you something,” she said with astonished delight. “Meanwhile, however, where is that rascal, Lucky? I expected to find him here with you.”
Mabruke and Oken exchanged quick glances. Oken decided to let Mabruke field this one. “We have had some unfortunate adventures during our journey,” he said gently. “Your brother has gone to investigate at the palace. He felt we would be safer here.” “Ooh, this sounds exciting!” the princess said. “I must hear all about it.”
“We shall make every effort to entertain, my lady,” Mabruke said. “I think you will,” she said. “First, however, I really have to get out of these clothes. I have been riding since daybreak, and I stink like a horse.”
“I am actually rather fond of the way horses smell, my lady,” Mabruke said to her. “It reminds me of my childhood.” The princess looked at him with surprise, then laughed. “Ooh, you two are going to be so much fun!”
She winked at Oken then. “I’ll be back in a half an hour or so.” “Delightful, my lady,” Oken said.
“Just you wait,” she said to him. “I haven’t started yet.” She strode off with the same energy, disappearing into the library.
“Quite a family,” Mabruke observed. “I was not expecting such a surprising creature.”
“A wildcat, indeed,” Oken said with appreciation. “An imperial wildcat.”
“A little plump, don’t you think?” Mabruke said.
When Oken turned to comment, he saw Mabruke’s mischievous expression. “Voluptuous,” Oken said. “Not a bit plump.” “I think I will leave her to you. I am going to take a nap before dinner.”
“She’s quite a handful of woman,” Oken said, suppressing a smile. “I may need your help.”
“I doubt that.” Mabruke strolled off.
Oken sat down again to await Princess Usqhullu’s return.
HE FOUND the time was not wasted. Princess Usqhullu, when she returned, was transformed. She still wore the fabulous emerald necklace, with a pair of bracelets and earrings. Her silk dress was a matching green, tight at the waist and bodice, with a long, full skirt and green slippers. The décolleté was low and the sleeves a short frill.
He stood up to greet her. She strode over to him quickly, motioning to him to sit, seating herself beside him. “Where’s your tall, dark friend?”
“He usually naps before dinner. He will join us later.” Usqhullu shrugged. “So. Tell me about your adventure.” Oken had been thinking about that while waiting for her. He reasoned that there was no need to conceal anything from her, other than their true purpose for being in Tawantinsuyu. He told her about the assassin in Zulia, and the mysterious Quetzal that had been preparing to fire on Mixcomitl. She listened without interruption, clearly fascinated. Oken found himself warming to the telling. He liked the way her eyes grew wide, and the way she leaned close to him as he talked. The scent of horse had been replaced by an alluring perfume of gardenias and spice.
When he got to the end of his narrative, she shook her head in disbelief. “That makes very little sense to me. I’m sure Lucky thinks that scrawny rat Pachacuti is behind it.”
Oken raised an eyebrow in surprise. “The Inheritor?” She shrugged, a graceful gesture. “He and Lucky have been at each other’s throats since they first grew hair on their balls. Papa’s old now, and I think Kuchillu has been making plans.”
“Kuchillu?”
She shrugged again, and made a face. “It means ‘Slasher.’ He was always making holes in his clothes when he was a boy, trying to carry around concealed knives—heaven knows why. Mama threatened to make him wear patched-up clothes if he didn’t stop. Never mind, it’s an old story. Did Lucky say when he would be back?”
“Alas, no, my lady. He was in considerable haste.”
“He’s always in a haste, as you say. Always going someplace else. I was hoping he would fly us to Qusqo, but we can always ride.”
“Your brother did suggest that it was not safe for us outside of your mother’s estate.”
“Nonsense. I’ll watch out for you. Don’t worry. I have my own private guard.”
“I am sure they are most devoted, my lady.”
She laughed again and put her hand on his knee. “The finest corps of fighting ladies in the land. I think, though, I might have to protect them from you instead.”
“My lady, in your presence, no man would notice another woman was in the room.”
“Ooh,” Usqhullu said, patting his knee expressively. “I am going to keep you around for a while. Shall we go in? Smoky is in the window waving at us, which means he has dinner waiting.”
Oken rose, putting his arm out for her. She stood and took his arm in both hands, pulling herself close to him. Oken decided that, except for the occasional assassin, this was a lovely country.
In the corridor outside the dining hall, Runa came running toward them. She was smiling broadly. Usqhullu released Oken, striding off to sweep Runa up in her arms and swing her around. They were both laughing. When Runa’s feet touched the ground again, she threw her arms around Usqhullu, hugging her tightly.
Oken was well pleased to see this, and he kne
w Mabruke would be equally pleased.
Usqhullu stepped back. “Have you been behaving yourself, Petal?”
“No.”
“Oh, good. I was worried about you.”
“I was with Uncle. I was safe.”
“Is Mama being horrible?”
“Just the usual.”
“You poor thing. I didn’t know you were back until Ambrose told me yesterday eve ning. I set off at first light, but it took me all day to get here.”
“Did Uncle tell you to come here?”
“No. I came looking for him.” Usqhullu turned her smile to Oken. “Actually, I came here to meet the princes Lucky brought home for me.” She winked at him. “I see, however, that you have been keeping them to yourself!”
Runa looked down at her feet modestly.
“I’m sorry, Petal,” Usqhullu said gently. “I am only teasing you. They have not been unkind to you, have they?”
Runa looked up at her, smiling, and shook her head. “They have been most kind, Hulla. As kind as Uncle!”
Usqhullu hugged her quickly. “Good.” She tilted her head to one side and regarded her niece with a serious expression. “Your Trade Speak has gotten better. You’ve been practicing.”
Runa smiled at Oken. “They have been most kind.”
Mr. Qusmi appeared suddenly at Oken’s elbow. He bowed to Princess Usqhullu.
She went to him and hugged him gently. “Everyone is singing your praises, Smoky,” she said. “Even Mama said she was grateful.”
“You are quite generous, my lady,” Qusmi said. His smile was less weary as he looked at her.
Usqhullu took Oken’s arm. “Lead on, Smoky. I am hungry enough to eat the horse I rode in on!”
The table was a wide oval of picture agate, a mineralized landscape of purple hills, crystal meadows, and frothy forests under a layered sky. They were seated on benches of moss agate, comfortably curved. Mr. Qusmi was silent server on the gentlemen’s side of the dining table. Runa served Princess Usqhullu, trailed by her own retinue of maids carrying silver trays and covered dishes.
Over the course of the dinner, Oken and Mabruke, in response to the princess’s many questions, talked in detail about life in fabled Memphis, about the beauty of Queen Sashetah Irene, about the numbers of Quetzals flying the skies above Europe. They learned little about her in return, beyond the striking elegance with which she played her role as hostess.
They did not ask her about gods and demons fighting in the mountains.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“PLEASE, WAKE up!”
Oken threw the coverlet aside and was on his feet, adjusting his newly wakened eyes to the midnight hour. His ears told him he had wakened to Runa’s voice, even as he recognized her slight form standing in front of the beaded curtain to his bedroom.
He sat back down on the bed and yawned, wondering how gracefully he could say no.
“Quickly, sir!” she said urgently, without coming closer. “Put on your strongest shoes and warmest clothes—and quickly!”
Oken sprang up, grabbing items from the shelf, sliding the lady- trunk open with a nudge of his bare toe. He sat back down on the edge of the bed to dress, then spoke as quietly as he could, “Why?”
“I have to get you and the prince out of here before my father’s warriors reach this side of the manor!” Her voice was a fierce whisper.
Oken double-timed his dressing and dashed out to Mabruke’s room as soon as he had pulled on his boots. Mabruke was struggling into a pair of black pants. Oken pulled on his jacket, then held up the gloves for Mabruke to see, reminding him he might want a pair as well.
Runa led them out into the parlor, then motioned for them to wait while she leaned silently through the beaded entry curtain, looked both ways, then resettled it with barely a click. She dashed back across the room to the wall, braced herself against it with one hand, and reached up to her full height to press a spot hidden in the stone. The control had been invisible. A slight rumble could be felt in the floor; then a section of the wall pulled backwards and slid to the side, revealing a narrow hallway lit by sconces of Egyptian crystal. She motioned them inside, pressed the control again, then leaped in beside them just before it closed behind her. She held her finger to her lips, indicating silence, then hurried down the hall ahead of them.
Oken noticed in the brighter light here that Runa was wearing more clothes than he had ever seen on her, a belted black tunic and pants with soft leather boots up to her thigh. Her hair was bound in a simple, long braid down her back. The climate here was mild. These looked like hiking clothes. He was suddenly glad of the sturdy pair of boots he had chosen for himself.
This short hall led to a stairway going downward at a sharp angle. The light below was dim. Runa ran down these, taking two steps at a time despite her diminutive height. Oken and Mabruke exchanged troubled glances and followed her as silently as they could.
This staircase led to another short corridor, cut through the solid rock of the mountain’s roots. The air was stale and the light dimmer. Oken felt momentary concern that Mabruke’s newly found fear of confinement would slow him here. Mabruke, however, was smiling ever so slightly. Oken realized that excitement was a cure for many ills.
He returned his concerns to the more immediate moment.
The door at the end of this corridor was also of stone, a single huge slab so finely balanced that little Runa could push it open with no effort. They stepped out into the herb garden between the stables and the kitchen. Light from the kitchen windows spilled into the yard, providing wedges of illumination.
Runa pushed the door closed, and it became simply another piece fitted into the outer wall of the manor. She motioned for them to wait, then dashed across the yard to Mama Kusay’s window.
Mama Kusay was at work, kneading a huge mass of dough with the same intensity with which she wielded her blade. She did not stop in her work as Runa spoke to her. Whatever Runa asked drew a frown on her broad face, but she was nodding.
Shouts were heard from the upper floor of the manor, hard, angry words in Quechua command. Mama Kusay froze, then looked at Runa with sudden fright. She nodded quickly and gestured them into the kitchen.
Runa climbed up onto the window ledge, motioning for them to join her, and she jumped down into the kitchen. Oken and Mabruke sprinted over, leaping up onto the ledge together and into the kitchen.
The shouts from the manor sounded again, louder and more angry.
The night was rent then by an horrific wail of agony and pure rage. It went on and on, human grief expanded beyond human measure. The silence when it stopped was harsh.
Work in the kitchen stopped.
Runa stood with her hands clasped to her face. “That was the Queen Mother!” she whispered urgently. Then she repeated this in Quechua to Mother Kusay, clearly asking if she had also recognized that distorted, anguished howl.
Mama Kusay nodded curtly, her face gone cold and hard.
“What did my father do to her?” Runa’s voice was barely audible, and she turned wide, frightened eyes to Mabruke in the dark.
“Would he come here, to the queen’s manor?” Mabruke said to her calmly.
“No. He never comes here. Oh! I don’t know!”
Mama Kusay became a blur of action that quite belied her bulk. She hurried over to the cauldron of demon’s piss and hastily filled a cup and held it out to Mabruke. He took it at once, and handed it to Runa. Mama Kusay filled two more, gesturing that they finish it quickly. She then hurried around the kitchen, snapping orders to the staff and grabbing items from the tables. One of the sculleries gave her a backpack, which she filled with flat loaves of bread and fruit. A second pack appeared, then a third, and her staff began grabbing things to put into them.
Mama Kusay snapped a quick order to Runa, who responded by refilling their cups. Oken was glad of that, but he wondered if his offhand comment about the power of demon’s piss were about to become prophetic.
Once she was s
atisfied with the contents of the backpacks, she lashed them closed herself. Runa hugged Mama Kusay when she took hers. Oken and Mabruke bowed to Mama Kusay. She actually giggled, then hustled them out. She stood in the doorway of the kitchen, backlit by the ovens, watching, her hands clasped anxiously before her, as they hurried away.
Runa led them to the back wall of the compound, performed the same miracle of moving stones by standing on her toes, then motioned them into a corridor identical to the one that had led to the kitchen, inclined upward so that walking was more strenuous.
Runa tried to resettle her backpack, and Oken helped her, readjusting the straps and lacings.
“Thank you, sir,” she said quietly.
“Can you tell us anything?” Oken also spoke quietly.
She shrugged, showing sudden fear and dismay. “Uncle has been arrested. My . . . the Inheritor claims Uncle killed the Inca.” She looked back and forth at their serious faces, her eyes pleading. “You do not believe that!”
Mabruke shook his head solemnly. “Lucky is a good man, Runa. A good man, a good prince, a good son. He would not kill his father.”
Her eye were wide, rimmed with tears. “My father would.”
Both men regarded her silently; then Mabruke said gently, “His sins are not yours, little one. You are a princess, through and through. I have known that since I first met you.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“Is Usqhullu safe?” Oken said.
Runa nodded. “Father’s warriors did not come here for her.”
Oken finally understood. “They came here for us.”
She nodded as tears spilled down her cheeks.
“Then, my lady, we owe you our lives, and I pledge to you that we will not let you come to harm for it.”
She wiped tears from her face with the back of her hand. “We have to hurry.”
“Lead on, my lady, lead on,” Mabruke said.
Oken noted with gratitude that Mabruke had marked the change in address. Runa was no longer mademoiselle, no longer a slave of the empire. She was an outlaw, and their equal in this situation. Oken watched her walking ahead of them, and wondered if she and her son might not end up as the lone survivors of this crazy imperial family.
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