“Of course not.” The torch hissed and spat in the professor’s hand. “But Malazar believes it.”
Molly swiveled to look at Addison. She mouthed the words, Who is Malazar?
Addison did his best to shrug—no easy feat when tied to a stake.
“Why be loyal to him?” asked Uncle Nigel. “He’s a murderer.”
“Ten years I rotted in that prison. Malazar saved me from the gates of hell.” Ragar pressed his angry, mottled burn scars close to Uncle Nigel’s face. “This is—how do you say?—the least I can do.”
Ragar set his torch to the kindling. The timbers smoked, sparked, and ignited.
He stood back to admire the growing flames. “Now,” Professor Ragar said, turning to smile at Addison, “you will die like your parents.”
• • •
Ragar turned on his heel. His men followed him out of the chamber and into the treasure vault.
Addison wriggled to face his uncle. “What is this prophecy? And who is Malazar?”
“And what does Ragar know about our parents?” asked Molly.
“Our family has many secrets,” Aunt Delia said sadly. “There is a lot we haven’t told you yet.”
Addison watched the forked tongues of flames licking higher. “Now might be a good time!”
“It doesn’t matter now.” Aunt Delia closed her eyes. “You were too young, and you’re still too young.”
The flames snapped and jumped, devouring the kindling. Addison felt the growing heat inching closer to his toes. He decided this was it. He took a deep breath. “Molly, Eddie, Raj, I’m sorry I got you into this. Aunt D and Uncle N, I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”
Eddie perked up his ears. “Addison, are you getting all sentimental again?”
Addison’s eyes watered from the rising smoke.
“We’re the ones who are sorry,” said Aunt Delia. “We never wanted any of this for you.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t spend more time with you guys when I had the chance,” said Uncle Nigel.
“I’m sorry everyone’s so sorry,” said Molly.
“I’m sorry I have to listen to this,” said Eddie.
“I’m not sorry about anything!” said Raj.
The crackling flames grew louder. Addison coughed from the smoke. He tried to ignore the heat growing by his feet.
“Well, I’m sorry we’re all going to die,” said Addison.
The flames rose ever higher. There was no way of slowing the spreading fire. Raj, Eddie, and the Cooke family were going to be burned alive.
Chapter Twenty
Atahualpa’s Curse
ADDISON SHUT HIS EYES, clenched his teeth, and waited for the pain to come. He thought about the ancient samurai and realized he didn’t want to die afraid. He forced himself to open his eyes.
He watched Ragar’s men struggle to push a cartload of gold out of the treasure vault, ignoring Uncle Nigel’s warning. The cart must have weighed half a ton and was tricky to maneuver through the doorway. The men rolled the gold along the corridor toward the open jaws of the stone skull.
Addison looked down at his feet to see smoke rising from his dress shoes. The flames crept dangerously close to his pants. He looked over at Raj, whose pants were sawed away at the legs. Raj was gritting his teeth.
“Hang on, Raj!” he shouted.
“Hang on for what?” asked Raj.
“Atahualpa’s curse!”
Ragar’s men pushed their gold cart out of the mouth of the giant skull and felt a stone slab shift. The men froze in their spot, worried they had sprung some sort of booby trap, and probably not a good one. They listened for a few seconds in anxious silence, but no trap revealed itself.
The men sighed in relief.
Addison watched the rising flames dart higher around the cuffs of his pants.
“Wait, did you hear that?” asked Molly.
Addison listened intently and became aware of a distant rumbling deep within the mountain. A growing thunder of ancient gears grinding and churning, building to a roar that shook the rock walls of the cavern.
Ragar’s guards set down their heavy gold cart and wondered, for the first time, if perhaps they should have heeded Dr. Cooke’s warnings.
Hindsight is always 20/20.
The massive stone jaws of the skull slammed shut, trapping the bodyguards inside the corridor. The treasure vault door also crashed shut, sealing Ragar, Zubov, and their men inside. The main entrance to the chamber boomed shut as well, sealing in Addison’s team.
The ceiling was lined with hundreds of stone-carved skulls. Their jaws opened wide and blasted sand into the chamber. The sand jetted into the cavern from all sides, forming massive torrents that quickly spread across the floor.
Addison heard Professor Ragar, Zubov, and their bodyguards pounding against the door of the treasure vault, screaming as they were slowly buried alive. In Addison’s own chamber, the sand continued to rocket from the carved skulls. It covered the floor one inch deep . . . two inches deep . . . three . . .
The raging flames touched Addison. The cuffs of his pants ignited, the blaze racing up his legs. Just when he could no longer stand the heat, the sand reached him. It enveloped his feet and ankles, gradually extinguishing the flames. Soon, the sands squelched the fire entirely. Addison’s team cheered in relief. But the sands only rose faster, filling the chamber . . .
“Not to be picky,” said Eddie, “but this also isn’t how I would prefer to die.”
“Well, what do we do about it?” cried Aunt Delia.
Addison looked to Uncle Nigel and remembered his advice. “Always use your environment,” he said confidently. Addison realized, however, that at the present moment he was tied and bound to a stake. So he wasn’t entirely sure if this advice was applicable. It’s all well and good to go around saying things like “Use your environment,” but Addison’s useful environment was currently restricted to the few square inches he could actually reach with his tied hands. Yet as the sand quickly pooled around his knees, thighs, and waist, Addison realized he had options. His bound hands could, in fact, reach into his own back pocket. And there he discovered something significant. Something truly useful. Something undeniably helpful when one is tied up in rope . . .
Zubov’s butterfly knife.
Addison managed to frantically saw through his ropes by the time the sand reached his stomach. He quickly reached Raj and cut him free before the sand reached Raj’s shoulders. Together they reached Eddie, Aunt Delia, and Uncle Nigel.
Molly screamed for help. “Addison,” she called before her mouth disappeared under the rising sands, “I’m the shortest!”
Addison looked over in time to see Molly disappear beneath the sands.
• • •
Addison fought desperately to reach Molly, but found himself mired in the sand. “Help! Molly’s trapped down there!”
Raj did not believe in destiny. But he occasionally suspected that he must have a purpose in life, that all the survival books he devoured in the library would someday, somehow, amount to something.
He realized this was his moment. “I know what to do,” Raj said, amazed. “This is like quicksand, and the way to survive quicksand is to lie flat—it evenly distributes your body weight.” He grabbed Addison’s butterfly knife and wriggled across the sand on his belly. He was able to cross the rising dunes without sinking. “Hang on, Molly!” Raj reached the spot where Molly had disappeared. “BHAAAAAAAANDARI!!!” he shouted with all his might. He plunged his head into the sand.
Raj burrowed down until only his bare ankles stuck out of the dune. Addison marine-crawled across the sand as he saw Raj do. He drew closer and pulled on Raj’s ankles. Uncle Nigel yanked on Addison’s ankles.
Inch by inch, Raj emerged from the sands, followed by Molly. She coughed and sputtered, but she was alive.
/> Addison was stunned. “Raj, one of your survival skills actually worked!”
Molly smiled up at Raj and gasped, “Thank you, Raj!”
Raj brushed sand from his hair and smiled shyly.
Still the sands rose. It shot from the mouths of the stone skulls in gushing torrents. The mounting pressure blasted several skulls clear off the walls, so the sand poured into the room even faster. It pounded Addison’s head with crushing weight. His team coughed and gagged from the billowing dust, swirling clouds of dirt clogging their eyes, ears, noses, and mouths. They choked and struggled for breath.
“What do we do?” Eddie shouted.
“Stick together,” called Addison.
Following Raj’s lead, Uncle Nigel belly-crawled his way to a stone pillar. He clung to it like the mast of a sinking ship. The group managed to drag one another, hand over hand, toward the pillar. But fresh sand piled on their shoulders and backs, freezing their movement.
The blasting sand, in stinging jets, rose high enough to extinguish the wall torches. The chamber gradually plunged into darkness. The mountain creaked and groaned, giant cracks fissuring the rock.
“Either we suffocate in here, or the ceiling collapses on us!” shouted Uncle Nigel.
Addison didn’t favor either of those two options.
Cracks splintered the cavern ceiling, raining debris in a deadly cascade. The overhead crevice widened as the ancient rock crumbled. High above, a shaft of light pierced the gloom, illuminating the growing cleft.
“There!” Addison cried. He eyed the thickly knotted stone vines carved around the pillars. The image of his mother clinging for her life on the battlement flashed across his mind, but he swallowed it down. “We climb.”
Addison’s team gripped the stone vines encircling the giant pillars. It took all their strength to hoist their bodies free of the mounting sand. The pillars held strong, and Addison’s group pulled themselves higher, grappling their way up the rock.
“Up there!” called Raj. A sliver of sunbeam glimmered from the crag in the cave wall. Working together, they clambered toward the light.
“Take my hand,” said Molly.
“Thanks,” said Addison. And she helped him up.
Hands gripping stone, they reached the crevice where the sunlight broke through.
• • •
The group crawled out onto the summit of the mountain, pulling themselves up with the last of their strength. They coughed and sputtered, blinking sand from their eyes and patting it from their hair. They inhaled the fresh air in deep gulps like floundering fish.
The Cooke family, plus Eddie and Raj, struggled to their feet and took their bearings. They were standing in Machu Picchu, the Lost City of the Incas. The white stone palaces of the ancient city, terraced into the mountain, glowed in the auburn rays of afternoon light. The team, dirty as chimney sweeps, shook dust from their clothes and admired the view from the top of the world.
Addison was the last to rise to his feet, his fire-scorched dress shoes clattering on the rock. He set his hands on his waist, watching the dust still rising from the crag in the mountain. “All that treasure lost,” he said wistfully.
“You guys are the real treasure,” said Aunt Delia, squeezing Addison’s and Molly’s shoulders.
“Oh please,” groaned Molly, “Don’t ruin this moment.”
The team watched the setting sun inch toward the Pacific, its last rays bathing the Incan palaces in gold.
“Atahualpa’s treasure will remain where it belongs,” said Uncle Nigel. “With the people who built this temple.”
“Amen to that,” said Eddie. He turned to walk away, looking for a pathway down. A single gold coin clattered from Eddie’s pants. Another coin dropped from his sleeve. And then a torrent of treasure spilled from where it was stuffed into his shirt and pants. Spanish doubloons, Portugese cruzados, and Incan ingots of solid gold. Coins poured out of Eddie like a Vegas slot machine. It took a full minute for the last coin to clang to the ground and rattle to a stop. Eddie offered a guilty smile.
“We’re archaeologists, not treasure hunters like Professor Ragar,” said Uncle Nigel. “We have to return it, Eddie. The treasure belongs here, in Peru.”
Eddie sighed, but Addison stepped in. “Wait a second, Uncle N. Wouldn’t it help archaeology if we showed this treasure in a museum? Get more kids interested in history? Spread the story of Atahualpa? Five-hundred-year-old Incan treasure—it could be that big exhibit you’re looking for.”
Uncle Nigel frowned, but Aunt Delia spoke up. “It would help the museum, Nigel,” she said thoughtfully. “And it could save our jobs.”
“It’d be a great exhibit,” put in Molly.
“And, of course,” Addison added, “we’ll return the gold to Peru as soon as the exhibit is over.”
Uncle Nigel scratched his chin, weighing it in his mind . . .
Chapter Twenty-One
Home Again
HUNDREDS OF STUDENTS FILED into the packed exhibit at the New York Museum of Archaeology. A large replica of the Incan treasure room dominated the main foyer. Students climbed over the teeth of the massive stone skull, crept past replicas of iron-spiked booby traps, and glimpsed actual pieces of the Incan gold inside the treasure vault.
Addison, Molly, Eddie, Raj, and Uncle Nigel stood by the information booth and stared at the mob of museum visitors that looped all the way down the front steps and around the block. Raj waved across the atrium at his three sisters. They smiled and snapped photos.
“We’re a hit,” said Addison.
Uncle Nigel beamed. It was only a month since their return from Peru, yet it felt much longer. There was so much preparation required to mount the new exhibit.
A voice rang out from the crowd.
“Dr. Cooke! Dr. Cooke!” The museum director, a rotund and fussy Swede named Helmut Ingleborg, squeezed his way through the wall of people. Helmut was perpetually out of breath and red-cheeked with excitement. “What a stupendous success, no?” he cried, clutching Uncle Nigel’s hand and shaking it until Uncle Nigel’s glasses slipped down his nose.
“Thank you, Helmut,” said Dr. Nigel, embarrassed by the attention.
“This exhibit has rave reviews, isn’t it?” Helmut laughed, his eyes twinkling. His command of English was questionable at best, but he made up for it with enthusiasm. Helmut turned to Addison’s team. “The fact that tiny adults helped discover this treasure is a big news story.” He waved his arms at the immense crowd of schoolkids. “Just look at all the tiny adults coming to the museum now!”
Helmut took Addison’s hand and pumped it like he was starting a lawnmower. He pinched Molly on the cheek, which she tolerated with heroic self-control. “We’ll see you at the opening gala tonight!” chortled Helmut. And he disappeared into the throng of visitors.
Uncle Nigel turned to Addison’s team. The noisy crowd pressed in from all sides. “You guys want to get out of here?”
Addison’s team nodded as one.
“C’mon,” said Uncle Nigel, “I’ve got a surprise for you.”
• • •
Uncle Nigel led the group onto the museum’s rooftop garden. It was a secret place few people knew, offering a dazzling panorama of New York City. The garden contained dozens of private hammocks, hillocks, and hideaways that Addison felt were perfectly designed for reading a book.
“Why did you take us up here?” asked Molly. “What’s the surprise?”
“Well, I remember sending you and Addison to get dinner from the vending machine when I was too busy with work . . .”
“And we never ended up getting anything,” said Molly. “On account of being hunted by convicts.”
“The upshot is, I still owe you a proper dinner,” said Uncle Nigel.
Molly nodded her head emphatically.
Uncle Nigel led them to a Japanese pag
oda by the meditation pool. And there sat Aunt Delia with plates, napkins, and several steaming boxes of Frank’s Pizza.
Molly was so overwhelmed she nearly fainted.
Addison supported her with one arm. “Deep breaths, Mo.”
The team shared stories over dinner. Peru felt so long ago, they now found they could laugh about most of it. Raj reenacted Eddie’s wrestling match with a skeleton under the Cathedral of Lost Souls. Eddie pantomimed Raj’s brazen vine swing across the chasm in the Amazon. Twilight fell over the city, and the stars glowed in the sky.
“I’m glad we got some family time before the gala,” said Aunt Delia, finishing the last slice of pepperoni.
“Do we have to dress up tonight?” asked Molly, who would rather put on a straitjacket than be forced to wear a dress.
“A lot of important donors will be there,” said Uncle Nigel. “And they’ll want to meet the people who uncovered the Incan vault. Tonight, if all goes well, we can save the museum.”
• • •
Addison dearly loved a black-tie gala. He knew how to match his tie knot to the width of his shirt collar. He knew how to match the width of his tie to the width of his lapels. He knew three different ways to fold and fluff a pocket square. And he now wore a tie bar like the one he’d admired on Professor Ragar. Addison was a person completely at home in a suit.
The gala filled the museum’s atrium. A string quartet played Bach next to the Aztec temple. Guests in tuxedoes sipped cocktails by the reflecting pool that once held a half-dozen electrocuted bodyguards.
Addison and his team spent hours smiling and greeting donors. Addison enjoyed telling stories about Peru. He met a few city councilmembers and even the mayor. After a few hours, however, he grew tired and restless. Talking about adventures was not the same as living them.
He polished off his second Arnold Palmer and made his way to the bar. He handed his empty glass to the bartender. “Another AP, please, Trisha.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to slow down, Addison?” Trisha asked.
Addison Cooke and the Treasure of the Incas Page 21
