by Stephen Cole
Jonah felt his heart hammering as Motti stepped awkwardly out on to the stockpile of treasures.
‘The rest of you, get a move on,’ called Honor.
Jonah looked down, and lifted a shield. Underneath was more jewellery, earrings and a necklace lying on a woven mat of some kind. What was a mat doing here? Hardly grade-A treasure…
He pulled it away and stared at what lay beneath.
Stone. Stone and broken pottery.
Frowning, he showed Tye, who rummaged a little deeper in her own pile. ‘Oh God. It’s the same here.’
‘This is wrong,’ Jonah announced nervously. ‘The good stuff’s only on top.’
‘No tricks,’ Honor warned him.
‘See for yourself!’ Jonah snapped. ‘Underneath there’s nothing, just landfill.’
By now, Con was sporting four or five dangling gold necklaces. ‘I’ve found plenty.’
Motti knelt awkwardly in the middle of the pit, moving masks and statuettes. ‘I got me a throw or something,’ he reported. ‘And under it …’ He reached in and picked up a couple of pieces of broken clay. ‘Well, whoopee.’ He tossed the fragments over to land at Honor’s feet. ‘So much for the big treasure trove.’
Con looked outraged. ‘Someone’s already stolen it!’
‘And dressed up a pile of rubble with a few baubles to make it seem like the whole lot was still here,’ Motti concluded.
‘So we take the baubles,’ Honor said darkly. ‘It’ll still be worth a good deal.’
‘No,’ said Jonah.
‘C’mon, Jonah,’ Patch croaked.
‘No, I mean, something’s not right. It would have taken ages to fill this pit with stone and pottery, and the attendants were still alive when the pyramid was buried. They wouldn’t have let anyone take the real treasure before it was sealed, so –’
‘So this whole goddamned place is a trap.’ Motti scrambled back to the side of the pit. ‘Jesus Christ, we gotta get out of here, and fast.’
But Honor shook her head. ‘That’s enough hysterics.’
‘Didn’t you hear him?’ Con stood up and crossed back round to Jonah and Tye, jamming a pair of gold bracelets on to her wrist. ‘This place is simply bait, yes? A greed-trap for anyone who might have got inside while Coatlicue was flying up to heaven –’
‘Just get on with clearing the good stuff,’ Honor ordered. ‘We’ve been in here for ten minutes at least and nothing’s happened. Whatever was supposed to happen, it’s clearly not working.’
The ground shifted and rumbled beneath them. A brutal, grating sound ground out from the walls. Then Jonah felt a funny sinking feeling in his stomach, like he was in a lift heading for the ground floor.
Or the underground floor.
‘What’s happening?’ Honor demanded.
‘Whaddya think’s happening, you dumb bitch!’ Motti bellowed. ‘The trap’s been sprung – the temple’s sinking back into the ground!’
Suddenly Patch twisted his body round and elbowed Honor in the stomach. Caught off guard she overbalanced, and with a short cry of anger fell into the pit. The chamber lurched and Patch staggered, almost joining her in there. But Motti grabbed hold of his hand and yanked him back.
‘Thanks for that.’ Patch grinned with relief. ‘So much for Honor among thieves.’
‘Look out!’ shouted Con, bustling Jonah and Tye away as a shower of rock dust rained down from above – together with a large chunk of masonry. It crashed into the floor of the chamber, and a large split appeared in the stone, stretching from the pit to the door.
‘The temple wasn’t designed to survive a journey back underground,’ Motti shouted.
‘Out of here!’ Jonah yelled – needlessly, since everyone was already running for their lives. He reached the doorway and looked back for Honor. But the torches had been extinguished and he could see nothing but thick, dust-choked blackness.
The others were charging up the steps to the next level. ‘I don’t get it!’ Patch shouted. ‘What happened to the real treasure?’
‘Hidden somewhere else,’ Jonah suggested, ‘if it ever really existed.’
‘But how do we get out?’ Tye yelled over the slow, deafening grind of the temple’s shifting foundations, as they emerged into the warriors’ tomb and started on the second set of steps.
‘We came in through one of the false windows in the side of the shrine,’ Con told her. ‘It’s in the upper storey, it will still be above ground –’
The whole pyramid seemed to lurch sideways. Jonah lost his footing and slipped back down the steps, the hard stone edges biting into his backbone as he tumbled. With a gasp he hit the ground – and found himself staring into the sightless sockets of one of the long-dead warriors. Its remains lay sprawled on the floor, its skull-face grinning up at him as if mocking his efforts to leave. With a shudder, Jonah got shakily to his feet and rescaled the steps in a shower of sandstone shrapnel.
Tye was waiting for him by the serpent’s mouth entrance, holding the back of her head and looking woozy. ‘You OK?’ Jonah asked.
‘Not very,’ she said, coughing hard. ‘Getting dizzy.’
Jonah opened his mouth to reply, but then heard Coldhardt almost screaming from inside. ‘Get out! Go on, all of you, get the hell away from here. Leave me!’
He followed Tye inside. Patch was struggling through the window, helped by Motti who was balancing on the narrow ledge the other side. But Con was making no attempt to get out, biting her lip, staring over at Coldhardt.
The old man was kneeling before the statue of Coatlicue, Traynor’s corpse still spread-eagled behind him. Some of the temple roof had fallen in, and in the fiery red of the setting sun the goddess looked still more terrifying. As if she were about to pounce on Coldhardt and devour him alive.
‘Con, I told you to get out!’ the old man roared, staring round. Jonah saw he was clutching the sword in both hands.
Jonah steered Tye over to Con. The ground beneath them lurched again, and the whole temple seemed to scream as it slid lower into its waiting grave. ‘Help Tye through the window,’ Jonah snapped, and Con nodded. ‘Then see if you can help some of those others.’
‘What, save Sixth Sun?’ She stared at him incredulously. ‘Why – so they can try to kill us all over again?’
‘We can’t just leave them to –’ He broke off as another pile of stonework tumbled in from the roof behind them. One of the priests screamed – then the sound choked off.
‘I can,’ Con assured him, and set about helping Tye crawl through the crumbling window.
Jonah turned from her. ‘Coldhardt, come on,’ he shouted, ‘the treasure store was a sham and it’s triggered the burglar alarm. We’ve all got to get out!’
‘Not yet,’ Coldhardt shook his head. ‘I can’t. Not now I’m so close. A chance of redemption, Jonah. Nothing else matters.’
Jonah rushed over to where he knelt. ‘Stay here much longer and you’ll be dead! We’re a long way from your vault …’ He frowned as he realised Coldhardt was kneeling in a sticky crimson puddle. ‘Is that blood –?’
‘Someone attacked me.’ Coldhardt gestured impatiently to a body lying beside the statue. Jonah saw it was Xavier, hands still clutched over the fatal gash in his stomach, but couldn’t find it within himself to feel much regret. ‘Now get the hell out, Jonah. I have to try to commune with –’
‘You can’t be serious –!’
There was a quick, metallic sliding sound that made them both stare at the statue. In the largest stone heart that hung round Coatlicue’s severed neck, a slot had opened – just wide enough for …
Coldhardt raised the sword and slammed it into the slot, as the ground rumbled ominously beneath them. The sword blade jammed, three-quarters in. He tried to twist it from side to side, but nothing happened. ‘Come on … come on!’ The temple seemed to roar like a creature in pain as the ancient foundations fell in on themselves. ‘What must I do?’ Coldhardt howled above the cacophony, heaving on the sword. ‘To take life fro
m death, what must I do?’
Then the blade snapped clean through, not far from the hilt. They both stared as the length of the severed steel blade seemed to be drawn inside the statue, like a key entering a lock.
‘The prophecy.’ Jonah stared at the statue. ‘When the bloodied sword is wiped clean …’
‘This place is sinking too fast!’ yelled Con, swinging herself out through the window. ‘Come on you two!’
Something was happening to the ground around the statue. It was starting to dissolve. The priests’ gold discs that Coldhardt had pressed into the indentations fell through the melting floor – into a shallow cache stuffed full of polychrome cups and precious stones and figurines and codices and –
Jonah reached down automatically, grabbing a handful of Aztec gold. ‘The real treasure,’ he breathed. ‘It’s here.’
‘Left in offering at her feet.’ Coldhardt reached inside and groped around the cache. He pulled out a couple of deerskin books and a shell necklace, stuffed them inside his shirt and scrabbled about for more. He looked up at Jonah, eyes shining with naked greed. ‘Help me!’
But a deep, splintering scream of stone on stone echoed up from the bowels of the temple and the floor began to tilt. Jonah shifted his weight to keep his balance, then stared in horror as two little glass phials rolled from behind the statue and fell into the cache. One of them broke open on the edge of a mosaic mask.
Jonah backed away automatically. ‘The poison! We can’t risk touching anything in there now.’
Coldhardt screamed with rage, banging his fist down on the bloody ground in frustration.
Outside Jonah could hear the others urging them to hurry.
‘You’re, like, three metres off ground level and sinking fast!’
‘Move it!’
‘Get the hell out of there!’
Jonah looked at Coldhardt. ‘If we don’t get out now –’
‘We never will.’
Jonah turned at the sound of the all-too familiar voice. Honor had followed them up, a thick slither of blood oozing from her forehead. ‘Help me carry these treasures,’ she said almost drunkenly, ‘and I’ll share them with you.’
Jonah saw she was clutching a pile of broken pottery together with chunks of slate and sandstone. Determined to salvage something, she must have grabbed for the closest objects to hand, not even realising what they were.
Jonah and Coldhardt ignored her and navigated the shaking floor over to the window. The old man swung himself through with surprising agility. ‘Now you.’
‘Didn’t you hear me?’ Honor called. ‘I said I’ll share it with you!’
‘It’s worthless!’ Jonah shouted, starting to scramble after Coldhardt. ‘Drop it and get the hell out while you can.’
Her face twisted with rage as she stumbled towards him. ‘Call yourself thieves? Help me!’
The temple lurched downwards again. Jonah was thrown backwards to the cold, crumbling floor. He could see a huge rise of mud rucked up outside, parallel to the window where the others stood waiting. Coldhardt was about to jump for it when the whole of the wall beside him fell away. He lost his balance, mistimed his leap, landed heavily and scrabbled for a purchase in the mud. Motti and Con scrambled down to help him – while the temple went on sinking.
‘Jonah!’ Tye screamed.
He climbed on to the edge of the broken wall – but Honor ran into him, dropping her pots and cups and lumps of stone as she tried to pull him back. Jonah fought to get free, but a part of him feared it was already too late. It was getting darker as the giant mud banks eclipsed the low sun. He saw Motti and Con helping Coldhardt to the top of the rise – then they slipped from view. At least they all made it, he thought numbly. It felt like he was descending into hell in a huge stone elevator that was disintegrating around him.
‘Help me, Wish,’ Honor snarled, scooping up shards of pottery and pushing them into Jonah’s hands. ‘Help me!’
‘Help yourself,’ he gasped, throwing the pieces back in her face; she recoiled on instinct, fell backwards. ‘What else have you ever done?’
Jonah climbed back up on to the wall – and his heart caught in his throat as he saw his chance had gone. The temple had sunk too far back into the split in the earth, the steep muddy bank would be impossible to climb. He felt a terrible coldness, too frightened even for tears.
Then he saw the broken blade and the hilt of Cortes’s sword at his feet. He grabbed it, held it in both hands, and quickly backed away into the temple for a run-up.
He’d never been brilliant at the long jump. But then, his life had never depended on it before.
Jonah launched himself from one of the crumbling pillars in the inner circle and sprinted across the rubble-strewn floor. As he neared the broken wall, he saw Honor crawl from the shadows, her face twisted with spite, reaching for his legs to try to trip him.
He knew he couldn’t afford to slow for a second. So at the last moment he jumped clear over her head. Her gasp of outrage was sweet in his ears, like a breath of wind at his back pushing him on. He hit his mark on the wall with perfect accuracy and leaped forwards into the void, both hands clamped tight about the hilt of the sword, stretching out with both arms like a diver …
The spike of the sword dug into the hard-packed mud. Jonah thudded into the bank a fraction later. He gasped as the air was whumped from his body but clung on to the sword hilt, praying the blade was wedged in deep enough to hold his weight. He shut his eyes tight, ears ringing as Honor screamed, as the doomed temple tore itself apart, deep in its centuries-old hiding place, in the lowest pits of the open grave.
Jonah clung on, but his fingers were already killing him. Any sense of triumph soon dissipated – he had only delayed the inevitable. How was he supposed to scale the wall of the pit? If he had two broken swords, he could use them like a climber used ice picks; maybe then he might stand a chance. As it was …
He heard something slap against the mud above his head. Fearfully, he looked up – and blinked in disbelief. Something flopped into view, just a half-metre out of reach. Maybe he’d already fallen. Or maybe he was dreaming, delirious and trapped down in the remnants of the temple.
Whatever, he was staring up at a white lacy bra.
It had been tied to the sleeve of a black polo-neck top. The other sleeve was tied to one leg of a pair of dark jeans.
‘Grab a hold, geek,’ Motti shouted from somewhere way above.
A rope of laundry, dropped down to his rescue? Jonah figured he had nothing to lose. He reached up, grabbed hold of the bra strap with one hand and wrapped it round his wrist – then, with a muttered prayer to anyone who might be listening, he let go of the sword altogether. He gasped as he actually dropped down further into the pit as the fabrics stretched and knots tightened.
But the makeshift rope held his weight.
Jonah started dragging himself up, digging the heels of his boots into the mudface for extra support. Beyond Patch’s jeans was Coldhardt’s bloodstained linen jacket, in turn tied to Tye’s jeans, in turn tied to Motti’s black denim shirt, in turn tied to another bra, padded this time and patterned with little lilac flowers. He found himself smiling as he kept hauling himself up.
‘C’mon, Jonah, you can do it!’ Motti shouted, closer now.
‘I’m just … hoping Patch’s pants … aren’t coming up any time soon,’ Jonah called to them. The others started whooping, cheering him on. Arms burning, sweating with the effort, he scaled a pair of muddy trousers and Tye’s pale blue blouse, and then the mud levelled out enough for him to rest for a moment. Panting for breath, Jonah pushed himself on, crawling up the looser mud until he reached the top of the rise.
A chorus of cheers went up. Motti was in his boxers, covered in bruises, arms raised above his head as he clapped. Con and Tye were dressed only in knickers, Aztec pendants and precarious bikini tops improvised from cacao leaves, so they jumped around a little less. And Patch, though he should have been ashamed for wearing such a
vile, flesh-coloured pair of Y-fronts was beaming all over his face.
‘Thanks,’ Jonah told them simply, giving up to gravity at last and hugging the ground.
‘Jonah, mate,’ Patch cried, his good eye straying back to the barely-clad girls, ‘you gotta fall down these dirty great holes in the ground more often.’
Chapter Twenty-Four
Tye changed quickly back into her muddy clothes behind a tree. We came through it, she thought. Somehow, we all made it through.
Even Ramez.
How far had he run already?
She pushed the thought of him from her mind and rejoined Jonah and the others, who had gone to find Coldhardt. She saw them in the light of the setting sun, crowded round a radio in a small clearing at the edge of the devastated landscape.
‘The hidden microphone in the amulet should still be transmitting.’ Coldhardt stabbed at the radio’s controls. He looked a far cry from his usual debonair self in his grimy, bloodied linen suit. ‘I must know if anyone is still alive down there.’
‘Hang on.’ Jonah frowned. ‘Thought I heard something.’
Coldhardt turned up the volume on the built-in speaker, and they all crept in a little closer. Tye heard someone cough. ‘Michael? Is that you?’ She barely recognised Honor’s voice, tinged now with fear. ‘My head … Why is it so dark?’
A man coughed. One of the Sixth Sun priests. ‘What happened?’
‘I …’ Honor paused. ‘What was that?’
Tye had been about to ask the same thing. She’d thought she could hear something in the background, a whispering noise. It started to build, like a wind blowing up to a gale. Tye felt a shiver run down her back.
‘Who’s there?’ the man demanded, his voice wavering.
‘What is it?’ hissed Honor as the noise grew steadily louder. ‘What can you see?’
And then the speaker distorted with the sound of screaming. The weird, rushing wind blew louder, all but drowning out Honor’s final, bloodcurdling shriek.
The radio fell silent. Then the ambient noise crept back up. They heard a little rock dust fall. No voices. No movement.
