“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 The scent of horse had been replaced by an alluring perfume of gardenias and spice.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 knew 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.
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 satisfied 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.
The corridor was long, slanting steadily upward. Runa finally called a halt. “Wait here,” she said, and hurried off.
She disappeared around the bend, leaving them with their own dark thoughts.
“I do not think an imperial assassination was what the Queen had in mind,” Mabruke said. “I don’t think we are responsible for this turn of events.”
Oken exhaled sharply, shaking his head in dismay. “I’m just glad you’re the one who has to file this report.”
Mabruke squared his shoulders manfully. “I shall endeavor to face the Queen’s wrath, and protect your delicate hide, to the best of my ability. It is my duty.”
The two men grinned at each other.
Runa reappeared, signaling them to come ahead.
They found themselves in a large building with a high ceiling. The scent of raw cacao was heady in the darkness. Oken could just make out long tables in rows, piled high with filled sacks. Runa whistled, a sound exactly like the night birds in the gardens. An answering chirp came from the far end. She ran forward, the men at her heels.
Warmi Irqi stepped forward, and the two hugged each other quickly. She gestured to the men. “You may trust them, my child,” she said quietly. “They may hear your words.”
The boy bowed crisply to them. He was dressed in black, much like his mother, and also carried a backpack. “I am honored to meet the prince who makes such excitement in our house hold.” His diction was clear, his child’s voice an echo of Runa’s.
Mabruke bowed in return. “It is an honor to meet the firstborn of Lady Runa, young man.”
Runa hastened them forward, out into the cool night air.
They were on the mountainside above and to the side of the Queen Mother’s manor, with the stand of trees between them. The rocky riverbanks were a few hundred cubits downhill. Runa started to lead them toward the river; then the shouts of men from the manor docks made her freeze.
Oken motioned for them to stay under the cover of the trees while he risked a look.
Warriors in black garb were boarding a small riverboat from the docks in front of the manor. Apparently having failed to find the foreigners they sought, they were leaving. Oken thought that strange. Why were they not searching the grounds? He wondered what Usqhullu had told them that sent them away. What had made the Queen Mother scream so horribly? Was their Princess Wildcat safe from Pachacuti?
Oken went back to where Runa and the boy were waiting under the trees with Mabruke. “They’re leaving,” he whispered. “Nine men.”
Mabruke also thought that strange. “They’re not searching for us?”
Oken shrugged. “They got in a boat, headed to town by the looks of it. If we wait here, they will be out of sight in a few minutes.”
“Was my father with them?” Runa’s question was barely audible in the night.
“No—they were just soldiers.”
Shouts of command from men on the river sounded fainter already. Mabruke made them wait, until Runa was vibrating in place with anxiety. After ten minutes or more, he relented, and they went down the slope as quickly as possible without sliding on the steep ground, until they reached the riverbank, where hard, red stone met the rushing water.
Runa led them away, upriver from the manor, with her son close at her heels. Oken kept glancing over his shoulder, expecting pursuit. The voice of the river was clear in the night. The manor house behind them was lit brightly, as though some sort of commotion were taking place. Oken frowned and hissed at Mabruke, gesturing behind them. Mabruke threw a quick glance over his shoulder. He shook his head then with an unhappy look, and kept running.
Runa halted abruptly. She and Warmi Irqi dashed off the path into a stand of trees. They returned quickly, dragging a boat built from bundled reeds. It was small, yet adequate to carry the four of them. A head with a puma face, carved from a large squash, was lashed to the prow. In the starlight, the head looked startlingly real.
Oken and Mabruke helped her and the boy to drag it down to the river. Once it was on the shore, Runa took out the oars and gave one to each of the men. She lifted the boy and climbed in, seating herself behind him so that she could hold him close to her. Mabruke took the fore. Oken pushed the boat down the shore the last few inches, then leaped into it.
Out in the open water, Mabruke turned his head and said quietly to Oken, “To the opposite shore. We have some demons to visit.”
“No!” Runa said in a fierce whisper. “Usqhullu said I must take you to Ricardo, in Quillabamba!”
Okenagreed, and the men paddled as quietly as they could, pushing up around the bend to the opposite shore. In a few minutes, the boat was scraping against a spit of sand across the river. Mabruke leaped out, and pulled the boat onto the stony shore. Oken leaped out to join him. They gave the oars to Runa.
Her face showed terror and dismay, and she pleaded silently.
Mabruke leaned close to her, to look her in the eyes directly. The starlight was bright here, so close to the river. “Please, Runa,” he whispered to her gently. “You and your son are not safe with us. Find Usqhullu. She will protect you. She loves you. Scott and I have to find a way to get your uncle out of this. I promise you, my lady, we will do everything we can in his behalf!”
Runa nodded. Tears ran down her cheeks, shining in the starlight. She settled herself in the boat, hugged the boy, and whispered something to him; then she took the oars. The two men pushed the boat off into the water. She skimmed away, oars dipping silently.
They watched until Runa and the boy had disappeared around the curve of rock that stuck out into the river. Then Mabruke looked up the mountain, tilting his head from side to side as he considered.
“There,” Oken said quietly, pointing to a cleft where vegetation had a hold in the rock, visible in the starlight as a dark, ragged line against the lighter stone running up the stony face.
Mabruke agreed and the two men climbed. The stone was rough and the brush scratchy. They climbed together, one on either side of the cleft. The incline was relatively sharp, but after ten or fifteen minutes, they stepped out onto a dirt walking path that gleamed in the starlight, hard-packed by the passage of many feet over time.
Oken looked across the river to the manor, now below them. He could see into the central courtyard and the gardens, made sharply visible in the night because the three floors were alight, every window of the manor. Shadows of people moving within suggested dramatic events. Mama Kusay’s kitchen kingdom cast wedges of firelight onto the servants’ yards.