Three Princes (18 page)

Viracocha said nothing. His expression made it clear that he understood.

A chime over the door rang. When the door slid open, Mixcomitl’s song was suddenly loud behind Runa, standing at the threshold. Viracocha signaled her with brisk hand gestures. She bowed and turned away, disappearing down the spiral stair. The door closed again.

“Hanaq Pacha will take us directly to my mother’s estates,” Viracocha said. “I can be more certain of your security there than if we go to Qusqo as I had planned.” He shook his head slowly, with a look of great sadness. “That was a killer Quetzal. There is no other explanation. I did not know I had such enemies.”

“You don’t,” Mabruke said. “You were not the target.”

“An attack on Mixcomitl is a declaration of war against Tawantinsuyu,” Viracocha said matter-of-factly. “To protect themselves in such a situation, Maya Land would have to ally with Tawantinsuyu against Egypt.”

The prince sat, forward, looking back at Mabruke’s steady gaze. “Let us then be glad we have outrun them.”

“Indeed.”

Viracocha’s face became even more thoughtful. “There is a drinking song of the Mayan Air Patrolman,” he said quietly. “I translated it into Trade when I was a boy.” He then recited, in a gentle tone:

Ah! I see by your sad laughter That you know how this must end!

When he had finished this recitation, his expression was most serious.

“I see your point,” Mabruke said.

“I determined as a child that I would never be the Dragonfly,” Viracocha said. “That is why I had Mixcomitl’s jets improved.”

“I like a man who knows how to plan ahead,” Oken said with genuine feeling.

MIXCOMITL
DRIFTED
slowly, as though reluctant, toward the mooring tower at the imperial family’s private aerodrome on the Queen Mother’s estates in Quillabamba Valley.

“It’s called Xochicacahuatl, that is, ‘Flowery Cacao,’ ” Viracocha said to Mabruke. “For the cacao orchards here.” He was standing in his usual pose behind the captain, watching the approach. “This is my home,” he added, sounding both pleased and troubled.

“My mother is here,” he went on, “but I do not think we will see her.”

“I hope she is well.” Mabruke, standing next to him, leaned closer to be heard.

“She does not approve of my interest in Egypt, in the world beyond Tawantinsuyu.”

They were descending into a lush green valley set between rocky mountains, a short distance around the river bend from a city of white stucco walls and red tile roofs in the next valley. A single white tower stood between the river and the rock wall of the mountain behind. The windows were dark and still. Cacao orchards climbed the mountainsides in orderly rows, with stone huts among the trees. Herds of goats and llamas and sacred vicuña grazed on the mountainsides above the river, tended by men wearing ponchos and black hats. Beyond the little city of small, square buildings, greening fields climbed in neatly staggered steps up the slopes. Young women with brilliantly colored skirts hoisted up around their waists tended these fields like patient birds, bending and picking. The narrow streets were busy with people coming and going from the open market in the main square.

The estate itself was on a slope out of sight from the city. Within a high stone wall was a compound of buildings, gardens, yards, barns, and stables around an imposing, three- story manor of gray blocks. No block of stone in these walls was the same size or shape as another, yet each was larger than those in temple walls in Memphis, fitted together with a mastery of the masonry art that defied logic. The purpose, however, was quite logical. The irregular shapes withstood the stresses of the earth groaning and shifting far better than buildings built neatly of blocks. Stacking blocks of identical size and shape seemed child’s play next to this intricate fabric woven of solid stone.

The mooring tower was a pyramid painted red with designs in green, yellow, and black, set back from the river and to one side of the estate. A paved yard around it also enclosed a ball court and viewing stands. Young men were at practice, with some people watching them. When Mixcomitl reached the tower, the game stopped and everyone stood, arms raised in salute.

The birds had informed the staff that the prince was arriving. Apparently, this was an event. Guards stood between the stone pumas on the sides of the boarding ramp. In the center of the ramp was a group of men in the Inca’s livery attire, red kilts and black sandals, with black feathers as stiff headdress. Late-afternoon breezes were cooling and the light was turning gold. The captain of the guards, at the head of this group, had red gloves and a single red feather. Each man had the imperial seal tattooed on his forehead in red. They went to one knee, heads bowed, when Viracocha stepped out of the golden Quetzal.

Viracocha greeted the captain of the guard with a salute and a grim smile; then he bade the kneeling men to rise. They stood as one and shouted a welcome to their prince that struck Oken as similar to the chorus in the opera. Verdi had caught the nuance of the native voice.

The passageway between the mooring tower and the manor went down in zigzag staircases through the interior of the pyramid to an underground corridor lit by Egyptian spinglass lamps and carpeted with rugs of the same red, black, and gold of Mixcomitl’s lounge. Incense had been lit along the way ahead of them, in censers shaped as various demons and gods of Xibalba, the Im Duat, the inner world of the people here. Each little statue held up the censer bowl in its hands as if offering it in temple.

A pair of guards stood on either side of the entry and saluted as the prince’s party went past. Oken, lagging slightly behind, noted that many of these guards seemed to have pleased expressions behind their soldierly calm. The prince’s arrival was genuinely welcome here.

They emerged in a paved courtyard, walled in with the same complex stonework. Arched entries led to side corridors and gardens. Guards stood waiting at each entry. Viracocha went directly to the largest archway across the courtyard to another closed corridor, identical to the first. This led to tall doors that swung inward as the prince strode toward them, and a high-ceilinged entry hall, larger than the entire common room at Oken’s family castle. On one long side were glass doors on brass hinges, standing open at that moment, letting in the fresh breezes and the light of the Sun sinking behind the mountains.

Obsidian censers, shaped as warriors holding fire in their fists, stood against the side walls. Furniture of semiprecious minerals and golden fittings lined the wall opposite the opened glass doors. Couches and chairs were set on either side of a large receiving throne of porphyry carved as a reed raft, supported by a pair of snarling pumas.

No one sat on the porphyry throne or waited for them in the hall except the guards at the side doors. Viracocha led them past the glass doorway to a smaller side door that opened onto a perfectly groomed terraced garden, with dozens of flowering plants in ceramic pots and little pools, walled in by a solid hedge cut in staggered waves. The pots were of various sizes, shaped and painted as fat frogs seated on toadstools. Living frogs leaped off moss beds and splashed into thepools.

Oken glanced up. Mixcomitl floated high above, gleaming with hard, gold light against the blue sky. Stony mountainsides, misted in mauve, enclosed the view on both hands.

The bamboo gate in the hedge opened to the rear door of the manor proper. The door was an ancient carving in deep relief, of masterful design and work. The found er ofTawantinsuyu, Manco Capac, was shown in ecstatic communion with Inty, the divine Sun, rising from the mound of first creation in the sacred lake, Titikaka.

Oken was reminded of a similar image, half a world away, in the Temple of Rae in Memphis, where the Sun rises over the mound of first creation, newly emerged from the waters of Nun, wakened by the cry of Geb, the Great Cackler.

This back door to the manor opened on another long corridor, extending equally to their left and right. These side corridors were not lit. Their depths were revealed only by reflected gleams on golden fittings.

Viracocha took the left, striding more swiftly as though eager for the final destination. Oken and Mabruke lengthened their strides to keep pace with him, as did the retinue following quietly behind.

At a doorway third from the end, Viracocha stopped and it swung inward. A fragrance of incense, fresh straw, and flowers poured over them as they followed him inside.

They found themselves at the bottom of a spiral staircase. The steps were jade, carved with a wave pattern. The railing was a serpent beaded with multicolored crystals, held up at every turn of the spiral by a golden serpent-staff, the railing in his mouth and his tail resting on a jade step.

Another double row of servants waited at the top of this stair, kneeling, heads bowed.

“Runa will take care of your luggage,” Viracocha said to Mabruke and Oken. He sighed, shaking his head unhappily. “I must speak with the Queen Mother.” He sighed again and strode away, down the darkened corridor on the other side of the stairs. The guards and servants rose up and hurried after him.

Runa was waiting for them in the foyer to the guest quarters, standing as calmly as if she had had the entire day to prepare for their arrival. A dozen or more maids were behind her, wearing only small red skirts and paint of the imperial seal on their tawny skin. They were kneeling, heads bowed, their loose black tresses falling in simple waves over bare shoulders.

Runa gestured toward a narrow entry with a curtain of crystal beads. Oken lifted the curtain aside so Mabruke, then Runa and her attendants could enter their quarters. He followed last, letting the beaded curtain fall back into place with an excited trill of crystal laughter.

Their guest apartments were magnificent. There was no other term. Even Mabruke was gazing around in surprise. Their royal suite at Marrakech were servants’ quarters by comparison, and this was just the parlor. The floor and walls were green tile. The ceiling was lapis with golden stars. The furnishings were carved from a pale and luminescent green stone, piled with cushions in shades of yellow. The daybed was a long leaf shape, held up by stone lizards. The side tables and footstools were turtles with flattened shells. The chairs were seashells resting on the backs of arching fish. The animals had mother-of-pearl eyes that stared at them as they came in.

“You should be comfortable here, sirs,” Runa said, gesturing around. She pointed to the right-hand side, and an arched entry with a beaded curtain of blue and purple crystal. “That is your suite, Prince Mabruke.”

She pointed to the opposite side. The beaded curtain was in green and blue. “That is for you, Lord Oken. Is this satisfactory? Or do you wish to be together, as you were before?”

Oken looked at Mabruke for instructions. Mabruke shrugged. “I am likely safe enough from the demons of my dreams here on solid ground, ma de moiselle. Perhaps Scott will find occasion to enjoy some solitude after such a long journey in my company.”

Oken also knew that his friend was giving him the freedom to share his bed with one of these nude lovelies if he wished. Oken considered this as he nodded at Mabruke.

“Your luggage will be here quickly,” Runa said. “Do you wish for us to unpack for you?”

“Mademoiselle, I am certain that you have much to attend to yourself,” Mabruke said. “Scott and I will fend for ourselves quite well.”

“Very well, sirs.” Runa seemed reluctant to leave, and stood looking around the room for inspiration. Then she bowed to them and clapped for the girls to follow her. They sprang to their feet and stood behind her.

She clapped again, more loudly, and a more maids came hurrying out of the side rooms, slipping so skillfully between the strings of the bead curtain that they made barely a rustle, despite their clear haste.

Once the last patter of bare feet had faded into silence, Mabruke spread his hands wide, gesturing around. “Quite something, isn’t it.” He sounded pleased.

Oken agreed. He went through the bead curtain to his side, and found himself equally astonished by the beauty and opulence here. The tiles were a soft pearl gray, the furnishings were creamy soapstone, carved as women in elegant repose or curled up provocatively, each lovingly rendered. The bed rested on a pair of oversized beauties stretched out on their sides as if sleeping there, their hands gracefully folded under their heads. Shelves of soapstone, carved as curling waves, lined one wall, with two women kneeling, foreheads resting on their knees, and their hair falling forward over their hands. These proved to be trunks, the tops sliding to one side at a gentle touch. The women’s eyes were closed, less intrusive than the staring eyes of the animals in the parlor.

The chandelier was Egyptian spunglass. A woman’s torso emerged from the ceiling with a shining globe in her outstretched hands.

Oken was impressed. “Not much like home,” he said to the stone ladies. “Not like home at all.”

There were no windows as such. Round holes pierced the outer wall in a spiral pattern, letting in afternoon sunshine and breezes. The holes were only a couple of inches across. Oken counted fortytwo. Velvet drapes, the color of ivory, were held back by a pair of waist-high ladies. He did not think he would miss having a view. He liked the security of limited access.

The bathroom was similarly designed. Ladies coiled around the rim of the bathing pool and supported the basins. The fittings were of gold. The walls were mirrored, reflecting multitudes of women. Oken smiled at his many selves among the stone beauties, and went out.

Mabruke was not in the parlor. Oken went into his room and found him stretched out comfortably on the bed. The room was similarly fitted to Oken’s, different in that the stone was black basalt and obsidian, and the figures were men. The openings in the outer wall spiraled in the opposite direction.

“I could definitely get used to living in this kind of style,” Mabruke said.

“If this is just the Queen Mother’s estate, I can’t imagine what the palace must be like!”

Mabruke raised himself up on one elbow. “Once I have changed clothes, I want to see more of this magnificent place.”