“Paititi is one of those wonderful myths that sprout from hope and avarice and are nurtured by people whose lust for lost places and great secrets obscures their vision. You paid me to bring you to this place. That I have done. Your company has been less than a constant enjoyment to me. I would have much preferred to guide a group of naturalists or photographers.

“Our supplies are limited and we have been fortunate in the weather. I have no intention of pushing our luck for little reward. We will camp here tonight. You may spend one day surveying this site. The day after tomorrow I will discharge the remainder of my professional obligation by leading you safely back to the river and thence on to Boca Manú, where you have the choice of returning the way we came or chartering a plane to take you to Puerto Maldonado and from there back to Cuzco. Then, God willing, I will have a little time to do some studies on my own, without having to guide anyone anyplace.

“That is what I work for. I do not know what you work for. If you came hoping for gold you will at least return with wisdom.”

“I didn’t really expect to find any treasure,” Carter told him.

“Well, I did, dammit!” Ashwood followed her disclosure with a stream of colorfully embroidered language which Carter listened to admiringly and Igor added to his store of knowledge.

When she began to wind down, Carter put an arm around her shoulders. “Chill out, Marjorie. We came here without any guarantees.” Something was rubbing against his ankles. Looking down, he saw that Macha had returned from her brief exploration of the campsite and was now demanding a share of his attention. She was the only member of the expedition who wasn’t sweating profusely.

Igor was helping Christopher break out the tents. Leaving Ashwood to her muttering, Carter sat and allowed Macha to curl up in his lap. It really was a beautiful place, he mused as he examined his surroundings. If only something could be done about the climate and the insects.

Ashwood removed a flashlight from her pack. “Y’all can sit on your butts if you want to. I’m gonna have a look inside.”

“Marjorie,” Carter cautioned her, “what about what Igor said?”

“I ain’t afraid of no damn snakes,” she sniffed. “Hell, I grew up in Texas. I was raised around snakes.”

He pretended to be surprised. “Texas? I thought you were from California.”

“Yeah, well, there’s quite a bit I ain’t told you about myself, sonny-boy. Just don’t worry about me. I’ll watch my step.”

“I don’t think there are any rattlers here, Marjorie. You won’t get any warning.”

“I just want to have a look. So I don’t carry any second thoughts away from this place. If I don’t find anything I’ll be the first one up and ready to leave tomorrow.”

Carter let out a sigh and gently eased Macha out of his lap. “Guess I’ll come with you.”

“You don’t have to. I’m a lot slimmer and smaller than you and if there are narrow passageways I’ll just leave you behind. If I find any big openings I’ll give you a holler, okay?”

“I guess. But I don’t like it.”

“Hey, I told you before we left that I wouldn’t tolerate any of that protective macho crap, remember? I can damn well take care of myself.”

“Okay, okay.” He made placating gestures. “Do all the crawling around you want. Find the biggest bushmaster in Peru and bring him out in your teeth. It’s no skin off my nose.”

She nodded and turned to examine the crumbling wall. Of the three openings, the farthest away seemed to be the largest. The entrance to a lost temple it wasn’t. Anyone could see that whatever kind of outpost this had been, it had never served as home to more than a few people at a time, if ever.

“Don’t you think that if there was anything of value around here he would already have found it?” Carter indicated the old Indian who had led them to the site.

“Not necessarily.” Ashwood was making her way along the wall, toward the farthermost opening. “Remember how the porters refused to go up to Pusharo? This is another place of the gods. I doubt the old boy’s even been inside.”

“Well, you can find out, and then you can tell all of us.” Carter was unpacking his sleeping bag.

She straightened. “If I break a leg or fall down some old shaft you’ll come and get me, won’t you?”

Carter ignored her with great deliberation.

“Get up!”

Carter tried to turn over. Even with his knees drawn up to his chest the small tent was still barely big enough to cover him. He half opened one eye and squinted down past his feet. It was barely light outside. What the hell was going on?

“I’m not ready to get up.”

Someone kicked at the soles of his feet. Hard. “Get up and come out.”

He blinked, realizing that the voice was new to him. The English was even more heavily accented than Igor’s.

Sitting up, he slipped into his shirts and pants, tugged on his boots. Macha was standing near his feet, ears alert, her tail twitching like a nervous metronome. The tent rattled around him as he repeatedly bumped into the stays. Unzipping the mosquito netting, he pushed aside the rain flap and crawled out, still half asleep.

In the dim light of early morning he saw Igor and Christopher seated next to the remnants of last night’s campfire. Ashwood stood in front of her tent, looking angry and unhappy.

Three strangers confronted them. No, that wasn’t quite correct. Two of them were strangers. One he recognized.

Bruton Fewick was sweating profusely. The automatic pistol looked distinctly out of place in his pudgy fingers. It shifted to cover Carter as he emerged from his shelter.

“I was beginning to wonder if you were going to take my instructions seriously, Mr. Carter. I thought actors were accustomed to rising early.”

“Only when you have an early call.” Carter buckled the belt of his pants. “The rest of the time you learn to sleep in.”

“I am sorry to have to rouse you. If it is any consolation you should know that your presence here is equally distressing to me.”

“Screw you,” Ashwood told him.

Fewick’s eyebrows lifted and he brushed blond hair from his forehead. “You know, Ms. Ashwood, you are an extremely foul-mouthed old lady. If you persist in insulting me I may be forced to shoot you.”

“Very melodramatic. You’re not gonna hurt anybody.”

“Really? I thought you were a seamstress. I didn’t realize you were prescient as well. How did you find this place?” Ashwood simply smiled at him.

“Suddenly you prefer not to talk? Well, I suppose I can imagine a scenario. You had my disc. You copied it, despite the fact that it was private property, and decided to usurp my life’s work.”

“You ain’t lived long enough to have a life’s work.” Ashwood’s fists were clenched. “What you got in mind for us, Few-ick?”

“Fee-wick. If you don’t give me any trouble and you in particular can keep a civil tongue in your head, I probably won’t shoot you, for all that your presence here complicates my life. Even though you are thieves I did not come all this way for revenge.”

“Your research only led us as far as the notched rocks,” Carter said. “How did you make it the rest of the way?” He indicated the old Indian, who sat off to one side observing the proceedings with detached interest while amusing himself by making drawings in the dirt with a pointed stick. “Minga there said he was the only person who’d ever visited this spot.”

Fewick frowned. “You don’t say.” Turning, he addressed his two porters in fluent Spanish.

Carter tensed. He knew some martial arts, and Fewick’s physical reactions were likely to be slow. Still he hesitated. The pistol Fewick clutched was no prop.

One of the porters turned and shouted something into the trees. A third Indian emerged, older than the pair who were shouldering Fewick’s supplies.

At his appearance Minga rose and tossed his stick aside. Simultaneously Fewick’s guide caught sight of what was obviously an old friend. The two men embraced formally and walked back to Minga’s pallet of leaves, chatting earnestly while utterly ignoring everyone else.

“I thought you said he was the only one who knew how to find this place?” Ashwood asked their guide.