Anthony Horowitz - Evil Star

They walked for more than an hour, descending all the time. Matt could feel the pressure changing in his ears. How long had it been since breakfast? He had no idea but he knew he couldn’t go on much longer. His legs were aching and his feet – in the new trainers – were getting blisters. They turned a corner and Matt saw that the path had brought them to a platform of solid rock with steps leading down on the other side. He took a deep breath. It seemed that their journey was over.

They had arrived.

And there, built – incredibly – on the edge of the canyon, was a miniature city. It wasn’t a modern city. Parts of it reminded Matt of Cuzco and he guessed that it had been built by the same people, maybe around the same time.

First, terraces had been cut into the rock. These were the foundation and there must have been fifty or sixty of them, jutting out of the mountainside like giant shelves. Some of the terraces had been planted with crops, some were dotted with grazing sheep and llamas. The city itself consisted of temples, palaces, houses and storerooms, all built of blocks of stone that must have been carried at some time through the cloud forest and over the mountains. A great rectangle of grass ran through the centre: a meeting place, a sports ground, the focus of everyday life. Matt knew instantly that there would be no electricity here, no cars, nothing from the modern age. And yet he wasn’t looking at a ruin. The city was alive. There were people everywhere. They lived here. This was their home.

“What is this place?” he whispered.

“Vilcabamba!” It was Pedro who had replied.

Atoc nodded slowly. “The lost city of the Incas. Many great men search for it. For hundreds of years, they search. But none have found it. Vilcabamba cannot be found. It cannot be reached.”

“Why not?” It seemed easy enough to Matt. After all, they had reached it without too much difficulty. The path that had brought them down the side of the canyon must be clearly visible. Anyone could follow it here. “The path…” he began.

Atoc shook his head. “There is no path,” he said.

“No. What I’m trying to say is…” Matt took a couple of steps back and looked around the corner.

Impossible.

The path wasn’t there. The canyon wall was a sheer, vertical drop with no way up or down. The path that they had just taken, which they had walked down for more than an hour, had disappeared.

“Do not ask questions,” Atoc said. “You have friends who wait for you.”

“But…”

The Indian rested a hand on his shoulder and together the two of them walked round the corner. Pedro and the other men had already gone on ahead. Matt saw them walk through a stone archway, and at the same time a man appeared, climbing up the steps towards them. He was in a hurry. And he was European.

Then the man drew closer and Matt felt a huge surge of pleasure and relief. He shouted out and ran forward. The two of them embraced.

It was Richard Cole.

“I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you,” Richard said. “Ever since that screw-up in Lima, I’ve been worrying that I’d never see you again and I blamed myself. But everyone’s been very kind to me. These people are… well, you’ll find out for yourself.

“And this city, Vilcabamba -” Richard shook his head in wonder – “is one of the great legends of Peru, which is to say, it’s not even meant to exist! A bit like El Dorado. A whole lot of explorers have looked but never found it. And here we are right in the middle of it! Amazing!”

Richard had taken Matt to the small stone house where he had been staying, on one of the upper terraces of the city. They were sitting in the only room, a single living space with two beds, a sofa and a multicoloured rug spread over the stone floor. Two of the walls were lined with windows. These were strangely shaped, narrower at the top than at the bottom, like cut-off triangles. Matt had seen the same design all over Cuzco. They had no glass. Nor did the room have electricity or running water. At night it would be lit by candles. The toilets and bath houses were all located on the other side of the city, by a fast-flowing stream, a tributary of the River Chamba.

The two of them had been given lunch: a large bowl of locro, a mixture of meat and vegetables somewhere between a soup and a stew. They were on their own. Pedro had gone off with Atoc – presumably to rest in one of the other houses. Matt was glad to have a bit of time with Richard. Just being with him reminded him of the ordinary life he’d once led.

Matt told his story first, beginning with his meeting with Pedro, his time at Poison Town, the escape from Salamanda’s hacienda. Then there was the journey to Cuzco, the chase through the streets at night and finally his arrival here. The two of them had been given a jug of beer – the same stuff that Matt had had in Cuzco. Richard had drunk it all by the time Matt had finished speaking.

“So this boy, Pedro, is one of the Five,” Richard said.

“Yes.”

“And you talk to him in your dreams.”

“That’s right.”

Richard sighed. “You know what really worries me? I believe you! Six months ago, if anyone had told me all this, I’d have laughed in their face.” He thought for a moment. “Does Pedro have… you know… any special powers? Can he see into the future or anything like that?”

“No. He’s very ordinary. And he doesn’t want to be involved.”

Richard’s story was more straightforward.

After he had been seized on the way from the airport, he was taken to a room in Lima where he had come face to face with his kidnappers. Matt knew who they were by now. One was Atoc. The other had been his younger brother, Micos.

“I was feeling pretty pleased with myself because you’d got away,” Richard said. “I reckoned they wouldn’t be interested in me and they’d just let me go. But then they explained to me that they were on our side. They’d tried to intercept us before we walked into a trap. The police were at the hotel.”

Matt shivered at the memory.

“Atoc and the others always knew we’d come to Peru. They were waiting for us from the very start. The trouble was, so were Salamanda and his people. The Incas had to try the kidnap thing because that was the only way they could get hold of us. Of course, they weren’t too pleased that you’d got away. In fact, they’ve been looking for you ever since. They’ve had people out all over the country. As for me, they took me by car to a private airport, then by plane to Cuzco and finally by helicopter to the middle of nowhere. Just like you. I got bitten to death in the cloud forest and I nearly threw up coming down into the canyon. Did I ever tell you that I don’t have a head for heights?”

“No.”

“Well, I’ve been here ever since. They’ve looked after me and the food’s good. But like I said, I’ve been worrying about you. I couldn’t believe it when they told me they’d found you in Cuzco. I’d love to have seen that secret passage. One day maybe you can show me. Perhaps on the way out…”

“Who are they, Richard?” It was the one thing Matt still didn’t understand. “They say this is the lost city of the Incas. But there aren’t any Incas any more, are there?”

“There aren’t meant to be. Most of them died out.” Richard lifted the jug of beer, realized it was empty and put it down again. “These people are the only survivors: the descendants of the tens of thousands killed all those years ago. And this city is like their secret headquarters. Did you notice the path along the edge of the canyon? They have a way of making it disappear after you’ve walked down it. No planes can fly over here because there are weird air currents. Nobody knows about this place apart from the people who live here – and you, me and Pedro, now that we’re their guests.”