Anthony Horowitz - Evil Star

“For many years he ruled wisely and strongly, before returning to the heavens. In that time, one image – and only one – was made of him. It was engraved on a great circle of gold. This treasure, more precious to us than any other, was called the Sun of Viracocha. When the conquistadors came, it was hidden away and nobody has seen it since, though many have tried to find it.”

He raised a hand. On the far side of the plaza, two lines of soldiers moved forward, holding flaming beacons. Then eight more Incas appeared, bowing under the weight of a great litter. On it, something flat and circular stood on its side, covered by a cloth. All around the city, heads turned silently to follow it. The bearers set it down on the grass, just in front of the table where Matt and Pedro were sitting.

“Why do we celebrate today?” the Inca called out. “Look on the face of Manco Capac and you will understand.”

The cloth was removed.

For a moment the golden disc dazzled Matt and he was unable to see. It seemed to shine with a light of its own. The disc was almost as tall as he was. It had been fashioned like a sun, with golden flames twisting round its rim. Matt blinked. Gradually he was able to make out a face engraved on the surface. It was a face that he recognized but of course that was impossible. The image had been made more than a thousand years ago. He heard Richard gasp and, next to him, Pedro stood up, backing away, his face filled with terror and disbelief.

Two faces, identical.

There could be no mistake.

The disc showed a picture of Manco Capac, founder of the Inca Empire. But Pedro was looking at a portrait of himself.

They met the Inca prince the next morning – the four of them sitting cross-legged once again in front of his throne. Richard, Matt and Pedro were to leave before midday.

“I have spoken to Professor Chambers,” Huascar said. “And she has agreed to see you. I’m afraid it means another long journey for you, all the way back to the western coast. The professor lives in Nazca. Atoc has asked me if he can go with you.”

“I translate for Pedro,” Atoc said. “But also my destiny now is with you. I must finish what my brother began.”

The Inca prince gazed at them for a moment and Matt wondered if there wasn’t a tinge of sadness in his eyes. “We will meet again one day at Vilcabamba,” he went on. “What is important now is that you are safe. Salamanda may have the police and much of the government on his side, but my people are everywhere and now that we have found you, we will watch over you. Is there anything you wish to ask?”

Richard and Matt exchanged a glance. They had so many questions in their heads. How could a thousand-year-old image so resemble Pedro? One of them was going to be hurt, perhaps killed, at the gate. But which one? And – for Matt, the most burning question of all – if the Old Ones were going to break through the gate as the Inca had prophesied, was there any point even trying to stop them?

But neither of them spoke. Somehow Matt knew that there were no easy answers. He felt as if he had fallen into a fast-flowing river. If he struggled or tried to get out, he would waste his strength and drown. All he could do was swim with the current and see where it took him.

Huascar stood up and raised his hands, palms forward. “I wish you a safe journey and success,” he said. “May the spirit of Viracocha go with you.”

The audience was over. Richard, Atoc, Matt and Pedro stood up, bowed and began to leave.

But it wasn’t quite over yet.

“Senor Cole,” the prince called. “I would like, if I may, to have one last word with you? But in private…”

Richard stopped. “Don’t worry,” he whispered to Matt. “If he wants me to stay behind in Vilcabamba, the answer’s no.”

He waited while Matt, Pedro and Atoc left. The Inca stepped down from his throne. The amauta was also there. Richard hadn’t seen him enter the throne room.

“What are you thinking?” Huascar asked.

“One day I’ll write about all this,” Richard said. “Maybe you’ll try to stop me, but I will anyway. What difference will it make? Nobody will believe me. When I look back, I may not believe it myself.”

“Let me ask you this question. Why do you believe the boy was chosen?”

“Matt?” Richard shrugged. “He’s one of the Five…”

“And Pedro, too. But why you?”

“Was I chosen?” Richard couldn’t help smiling. “The way I see it, Matt just happened to stumble into my office in Greater Malling. If I hadn’t been there that day, I wouldn’t even have met him and it would be someone else standing here now. Kate or Julia. They both worked at the newspaper. Maybe it would have been one of them.”

“No, Senor Cole. You are wrong. You also have a part to play in this adventure, and that part was written for you long before you were born.”

“Are you saying I have no choice?”

“We all have choices. But our decisions are already known.”

The Inca held out a hand and the old Indian, the amauta, produced a small, leather bag with two drawstrings so that it could be worn across the shoulder or around the neck. “I have a gift for you, Senor Cole,” the Inca said. “Do not thank me because one day, I assure you, you will curse me for giving it to you. But nonetheless it is yours. It was made for you.”

The amauta opened the bag and handed Richard a golden object, about fifteen centimetres high. Richard found himself holding a statue of a god. At least, that was what it looked like at first. It was an Inca figure with staring eyes and a grim-looking face, its arms folded across its chest. It was standing on top of a triangle that tapered down to a sharp point. The whole thing was made of gold, studded with semi-precious stones: jade and lapis lazuli. Richard had no idea how old it was but guessed it must be worth thousands of pounds.

Then he realized how he was holding it. Quite instinctively, he had let it rest in the palm of his hand with the point jutting out. It wasn’t just a statue. It was some sort of knife.

“We call this a tumi,” the Inca explained. “It is a sacrificial knife. The edges of the blade are not sharp but the point is. You must look after it and keep it safe.”

“It’s beautiful,” Richard said. He remembered the Inca’s warning. “Why wouldn’t I want to have something like this? And what do you mean

… it was made for me?”

“This tumi has another name,” Huascar said. He wasn’t answering Richard’s questions but then, it occurred to the journalist, he never did. “It has always been known as the invisible blade. You can see it, but it cannot be found. When you carry it with you, nobody will notice it is there.”

“How about in airports?” Richard was thinking of the metal detectors. They’d go crazy if he tried to walk through with this.

“You can take it wherever you wish. No policeman or security person will ever find it on you. It is part of you now. And one day, you will find it has a use.”

“Well… thanks.” Richard reached out and took the leather bag. He dropped the knife in and closed it. He was surprised at how light it all was. “Thank you for helping us. And thank you for finding Matt.”

“Good luck, Senor Cole. Look after Pedro and Matteo. They have need of you.”

Richard turned and walked out of the throne room. The prince of the Incas and his amauta watched him until he had gone.

The helicopter took them to Cuzco, where a five-seater Cessna plane was waiting to carry them on the longer leg of the journey to Nazca. Matt was amazed how smoothly everything had gone. There were no passports needed, no travel documents. They simply landed at Cuzco Airport, walked across the tarmac and took off again. Not one official so much as glanced in their direction. It seemed that the Incas still had plenty of influence in Peru – and that while Matt was with them he would be safe.