by Stephen Cole
Tye froze, agonised. Her friends all needed her at once. Who do I help? Who the hell can I help?
Jonah swung himself round past a pillar and into plain sight. But Traynor had anticipated his move, charged forwards, and swept back the sword ready to strike …
Then something knocked against Tye’s foot – Ramez’s bronze eagle helmet.
‘Jonah, down!’ she shouted, scooping it up. He looked at her, wild-eyed, as she hurled the heavy helmet with all her strength. It flew through the air and struck Traynor on the shoulder, knocking his sword arm aside; caught off-balance, he staggered and fell.
At the same time Tye sprinted to where Con was now taking on three men at once in unarmed combat. Tye came up behind red-mouth and delivered a karate blow to his back. Xavier spun round. She swiftly struck him in the throat and he staggered backwards into Con. She knocked his legs out from under him, then crouched and rammed her elbow down hard on his sternum. Xavier’s whole body jerked, then he lay still.
The third of Con’s assailants turned to face Tye – just as she launched herself into a flying jump kick, ignoring the way the wound in her side burned with pain. Her steel toecaps connected with the man’s ribs and probably broke a couple. He went down like a sack of sticks.
That was the last of the real muscle, surely – now she could help Jonah. But Tye found her way blocked by still more priests coming out of the smoky gloom to get them. She remembered the way they had worked at the rockshaft, and clearing the temple entrance – working closely together, methodical and precise. Relentless.
Then a shout went up. ‘The sacrifice! He’s getting away!’
Tye looked over to the exit to see three dark costumed figures vanishing through the doorway in pursuit.
‘Go on,’ Con snapped. ‘Get after Ramez. I’ll handle things here.’ As if to prove her point she grabbed hold of her nearest opponent and felled him with a single strike to the back of the neck.
Tye choked on a breath of smoke. ‘But Jonah –’
‘I will help him. If you lose Ramez now …’
If I lose him now, what? thought Tye, and as she raced for the gaping serpent’s-mouth exit she found she had no idea.
Exhausted, choking on smoke, Jonah pushed himself up from the clammy stone floor. If he could only put some of the Sixth Sunners between him and Traynor, a human shield to stop him swinging that –
‘Jonah!’ Con yelled.
He looked up at the warning, twisting aside as the rapier blade struck the ground beside him. Traynor was already back on his feet, and looked angrier than ever. He jabbed with the sword like he was trying to skewer Jonah’s heart. Jonah threw himself backwards, landing heavily back on the floor, frantically pushing himself away from Traynor with both feet, slithering towards the statue.
‘That’s right, boy, go to the goddess,’ breathed Traynor, seemingly oblivious to the chaos that surrounded him. ‘It’s time we got you gushing. Coatlicue wants to taste every last spurt of your blood.’ His eyes were dark and unblinking in the hazy torchlight. ‘What d’you want to lose first, kid – an arm or a leg?’
Jonah cried out as he cracked the back of his skull against one of the statue’s huge stone claws, reopening his old head wound. He wouldn’t have believed it was possible to feel any more scared, but for a second he was plunged into blind panic. By rights he should just have knocked through the phials of poison ranged in front of Coatlicue. But he’d felt nothing, so where the hell –
Someone darted out from behind the statue.
And suddenly Traynor staggered back, clutching at his face. Jonah saw it was dripping wet.
Coldhardt stood beside Coatlicue, half-hidden by the drifting smoke. In one hand he held an unstoppered phial. It was empty.
‘Thanks,’ croaked Jonah.
‘Sorry to be interfering again, Traynor,’ Coldhardt said. ‘But I think you’ve spilled enough blood in this cause.’
‘You old bastard!’ Traynor wiped frantically at his face with his free hand. ‘What have you done?’
‘Given you a taste of your own poison.’ Coldhardt surveyed him impassively. ‘Now, you know better than me how many people that phial could kill if it was poured into a water supply. But I’d imagine that with a concentrated dose, even the tiniest amount on your tongue …’
Traynor fell to his knees, spitting desperately, shaking his head like a wet dog trying to dry itself. The sword fell from his shaking hand and clattered to the floor.
‘I’ll take that.’ Coldhardt snatched it up. ‘Thank you.’
Jonah could see boils and blisters forming on Traynor’s good-looking, square-jawed face. Pus began to run from his eyes like thick tears. His skin began to blacken like burnt toffee. His struggles stopped. Then Coldhardt pressed one foot against Traynor’s chest and gently pushed.
Traynor toppled over backwards and lay still in the centre of the inner circle, both arms flung wide so his corpse formed a cross. A counterfeit Christ in a pagan temple.
Tye skidded to a halt on the landing beyond the sacred chamber – the air was clearer but the oily blackness was absolute. She could hear footsteps ringing out on cold stone, and stood on the top step in time to catch the last, indecisive light of a flaming torch as its owner vanished round the turn in the staircase.
The sounds of a struggle floated up to her. Blinking the glare from her eyes, heart pounding, she sprinted down the steps and into the resting place of the dead warriors.
She found three of the priests advancing on Ramez, who had retreated behind a stone bier and was now standing there, slack-jawed. The man with the torch – Tye saw it was pot-bellied Douglas – waved it threateningly in Ramez’s direction, while his two friends circled round the bier to catch him in a pincer movement.
But then Ramez burst into unexpected life. He grabbed the man to his left and kneed him in the balls, then shoved him into the path of the cultist circling from the right.
Tye tapped Douglas on the shoulder. As he whirled round she snatched his torch with one hand and punched him hard in the stomach with the other. He collapsed on his back, gasping for breath, flailing about on the flagstones like an upturned beetle.
She gave a low whistle of relief, then raised her eyebrows at Ramez. ‘Thought you were drugged?’
‘Thought you were,’ he retorted. ‘You don’t think they’d get me like that, do you? Hid the pill under my tongue and spat it out when they weren’t looking –’
‘Me too!’ She hurried round the bier to join him, squeezed his arm. ‘You son of a bitch, you could have tipped me off.’
He smiled, the smile he always used to flash when he’d promised her the world, and to her annoyance the old swagger about him sent a familiar thrill through her heart. ‘Couldn’t risk it,’ he said. ‘I was just kidding ’em, waiting till the last moment so they’d never expect –’
Tye’s vision exploded into stars as the blow smacked down on the back of her head. The torch fell from her fingers as she spun round, to see Douglas leering at her, holding one of the dead guard’s wooden clubs. She hadn’t heard him creep up behind her.
Now all she could hear was the ringing in her ears as she started to black out.
‘Don’t touch Traynor’s body,’ warned Coldhardt gravely. He raised his voice as he addressed the whole temple. ‘Listen to me. There is nothing to fight for any longer. Your leader is dead. Your dreams are over.’
‘Kill them!’ snarled the old professor. ‘Come on, we can still …’ But as Con dispatched the cultist beside him with a barrage of blows, he suddenly seemed to realise that he was the last man standing.
Quite casually, Con turned to him, seized him by his stripy cloak and bashed his head against the nearest pillar. He slid down it and lay still in a crumpled heap. She smiled proudly over at Coldhardt, wiping a trickle of blood from her mouth. ‘Now that they’re sleeping, they may have sweeter dreams, no?’
‘Where did Tye get to?’ Jonah demanded.
Con almost looked awkward. �
��She went to help Ramez.’
‘But Honor’s still around somewhere!’
‘She probably just ran out.’
‘We don’t know that.’ Anxiously, Jonah tried to rise but stopped as the temple seemed to spin. ‘My stupid head,’ he muttered through clenched teeth.
‘Con, get after Tye,’ Coldhardt instructed, examining the sword in his hands. ‘Jonah’s right, we can’t assume Miss Albrecht has departed. We must secure this site.’
‘Secure it?’ she questioned.
‘I must not be disturbed. Go, quickly. Then join Patch in assessing the treasures on the ground floor.’
Con ran from the circular chamber, and Jonah made a more determined effort to get to his feet. ‘I can’t believe you used that stuff on Traynor,’ he said. ‘You could have killed all of us.’
‘The agent was designed to be taken orally, in water,’ Coldhardt murmured, still concentrating on Cortes’s sword. ‘It was unlikely the contagion would be airborne.’
‘Where are the other phials?’
‘I moved them behind the statue so they wouldn’t be broken.’
His head pounding, Jonah crossed to check on Motti, who was starting to stir. ‘Thought you were still downstairs, anyway,’ he called to Coldhardt, ‘with Patch.’
‘I left him in the attendants’ resting place, working on the door to the treasure vaults.’ He placed the sword on the ground and crouched in front of the statue. ‘There are things I must do here.’
‘Sure.’ Jonah found he really didn’t want to know right now. ‘Mot, you OK?’ he asked.
Motti nodded, and winced. ‘What the hell happened?’
‘I think you’ll find Traynor made you his bitch.’
‘He did too. That bastard can fight.’
‘Not any more.’ Jonah glanced back at Coldhardt, and caught sight of a glint of gold in the old man’s palm. ‘What’s that?’
‘I searched the attendants’ bodies, as Traynor should have, Coldhardt explained. ‘Remember the prophecy – “when her attendants reach into their hearts”?’ He held up a circle of gold, like a wide, fat coin etched with a single symbol. ‘Where their hearts should have been, one of these had been placed.’ He placed a disc into one of the indentations for an exact fit. ‘They must have been worn round the neck like the Sixth Sun amulets, part of the ceremony of communion, placed here in a certain order.’
‘You seriously imagine you can actually talk with this presence thing –?’
‘Go to the others. They may need your help.’ He looked up angrily at Jonah and Motti. ‘Go.’
‘He’s right, come on,’ said Jonah quietly. Helping Motti to stand, he led the way to the exit.
Tye was clinging on to consciousness. She fell forwards into Ramez’s arms. They felt strong and warm while the world whirled about her. The old, familiar smell of him filled her nostrils, and for those few spinning seconds she was thirteen again and had all she needed.
There was a rustle and clatter of movement close by. ‘Aw, Jeez,’ Ramez breathed. ‘Why don’t you suckers stay down?’
‘Give it up, Ramez,’ said one of the men. ‘We’ve got you cornered.’
No, thought Tye desperately. There has to be a way out. After all we’ve been through, I won’t let him be dragged away screaming again. If I can only come up with a distraction –
‘You can’t run from us, Ramez,’ said Douglas sternly. ‘We kept our side of the bargain. We’ve given you everything you ever wanted.’
‘That’s right, you did. But guess what?’ He squeezed Tye protectively to him, his chest crushing against hers. ‘You can have it right back.’
And Tye cried out as she was pushed violently away. She fell sprawling into Douglas’s arms, knocked him backwards into the other two priests, and they all went down together. Ramez pushed past them in the confusion, ran off and away.
Tye opened her mouth to shout after him, but no words would come. She stayed silent, numb as the men hauled her up. Stared at the staircase he’d fled down, willing him to come back for her.
Then she had to shut her eyes as the flaming torch was pushed up to her face, so close she caught a crackle from her forehead, the acrid smell of burning hair.
‘We were going to have power,’ came a whining male voice. ‘Now everything’s ruined.’
‘And it’s all down to her and her friends,’ hissed Douglas. ‘Well, she’s going to pay …’
Then she heard footsteps pounding on the stone steps. Ramez. He had come back for her, of course he had –
‘Leave her alone!’ Con’s shout echoed and reechoed around the warriors’ tomb as she piled into the three men. Tye twisted free from Douglas’s grip just as Con knocked him to the ground. The torch fell with him, its heat searing Tye’s bare leg.
And as the burn shocked through her, something else ignited.
While Con tackled one of the men, Tye grabbed his friend and threw him to the floor. He landed on his back at the base of a bier. ‘Still think you’ve got power over me?’ she hissed. Grabbing one of the warrior’s wooden shields, she brought it down on the man’s face and he cried out. ‘Think I’m yours?’ He struggled so she hit him again, split open his nose. ‘That I could ever be yours?’
‘Hey. Hey.’ She felt Con pull the shield from her grip and kneel down beside her. ‘It’s OK, sweets. He’s out cold.’ Con’s arms slipped round her. ‘It’s over.’
Tye clutched blindly at Con, held her tight.
‘We won’t let you go,’ Con murmured.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Motti following right behind, Jonah came cautiously down the steps to the creepy warriors’ tomb. With a rush of relief he found Con and Tye were the only ones left standing – though from the way they seemed to be holding on to each other for support, only just. He cleared the last few steps and walked up to the girls, ready to hug them both. But Con slipped away at the last moment and it was just him and Tye.
‘Where’s Ramez?’ Motti asked.
‘History,’ said Con simply.
Jonah and Tye didn’t say a word, just held each other in silence.
Motti huffed impatiently. ‘Get a room, guys.’
‘Get into a room,’ Con corrected him, as Jonah selfconsciously pulled away from Tye. ‘Patch has been trying to get to that treasure, we must help him, no?’
Jonah nodded. ‘Surely he’ll have cracked it by now?’
‘Probably peeing his pants, alone down there,’ Motti agreed.
‘If he is alone,’ said Tye.
‘Honor?’ Jonah’s headache was getting worse. ‘Of course. All she wanted from this whole deal was the poison and the money those relics would bring her.’
Motti nodded. ‘And since the poison’s out the picture …’
‘Come on,’ said Jonah. He grabbed the torch burning on the floor and led the way down the next flight of steps.
The door to the treasure chamber stood ajar.
‘Patch?’ Motti called, squinting at the doorway through his one remaining lens. ‘Is everything cool?’
‘It’s freezing!’ he shouted back.
Cautiously Jonah pushed open the door. ‘Whoa,’ he said.
The door opened on to a large, wide chamber, lit dimly by a couple of torches set into the walls. The floor area was square, and the huge step cut into the ceiling above made Jonah feel like he was standing inside part of a giant Tetris puzzle. A pit the size of a swimming pool had been dug in the centre of the room – but instead of water, artefacts in gold and obsidian and jade sparkled in the flickering torchlight. The pit was piled high with treasures.
But there was no sign of Patch.
‘Come on, stop playing about,’ said Con sharply.
‘Excellent advice.’ Honor came out from the shadows at the far side of the room, her black hair in disarray. She was holding her sacrificial knife to Patch’s throat. ‘Now then, Coldhardt’s children. You are going to carry these treasures outside.’
‘That was kind of th
e plan,’ Motti agreed. ‘We’re thieves, see.’
‘Only now you will be stealing on my behalf, not Coldhardt’s.’
‘It’s no use,’ said Jonah. ‘Traynor’s dead, the poison’s been dealt with. It’s finished.’
‘Finished?’ She smiled, almost fondly it seemed. ‘But it’s never finished, Jonah. I have so many other irons in the fire. So many other plans to fulfill. I’ve invested a lot of time in this project, and require a return on that investment.’ She tightened her grip around Patch’s throat. ‘No more stalling. You will take as much treasure as you can carry through the jungle to my transport.’
Heart sinking, Jonah looked at Motti, then over at Tye and Con.
‘Go on, then!’ gasped Patch, as Honor pressed the blade harder against his neck. ‘I’m talking to them, not you,’ he added.
‘Looks like we’ve got no choice,’ said Tye quietly.
Honor nodded. ‘So get in that pit and start shifting. Start with the jewellery, it’ll be easiest to carry.’
Jonah walked to the edge of the pit, crouched and reached for an intricately cast gold pendant, pulling it out. Tye knelt beside him, rooting through plates and pottery and stuff.
Motti crossed casually round the edge of the pit in Honor’s direction. Con took the left-hand side while Motti moved round to the right. Jonah watched as he gingerly flipped over a wide mosaic mask with his foot, as if expecting to find something nasty underneath.
‘Did you check this place for traps, cyclops?’ asked Motti.
‘The door was full of ’em,’ he said. ‘Took me ages to crack, and I nearly got my hand skewered to the doorframe.’ He sighed. ‘I’d just got inside when she showed up.’
‘Speed it up,’ Honor ordered. ‘You –’ she gestured to Motti – ‘get into that pit and start sorting through the relics in the middle.’ She smiled at Jonah. ‘The biggest fish don’t swim in the shallows.’
Motti glared at her. ‘And if it’s booby trapped?’
‘Then you’ll be maimed or dead and your friends will have to divide your load between them,’ she said impatiently. ‘Now do it.’
