She hesitated. “Run your fingers over the top of the thing, where the cat was standing.”
A dubious Fernández complied. Carter tensed reflexively, but nothing happened.
“Keep trying,” she ordered her associate. Fernández did so until his arms grew tired and he was forced to stop.
“Tough luck,” Ashwood sneered. Da Rimini glared furiously at her.
“The cat made it work before,” observed Blanco Fernández with childish logic. Before Fewick could protest, the younger brother bent and scooped Moe off the floor, depositing him atop the ovoid.
“Coincidence.” There was pity in Fewick’s voice. It lasted until the egg began to hum. Da Rimini looked smug.
“Get ready, everybody.” Carter tensed, but Da Rimini was staring straight at him, the pistol leveled at his chest. He tried to decide whether to risk it anyway. If he timed it right she might only wing him, and his chances were bound to be better here than back in the jungle.
He was preparing to run for it when the white light filled his eyes.
As he fought to clear his vision he could hear Fewick commenting thoughtfully, “I was afraid of this.”
X
The roofless circular stone chamber had vanished. There was more than enough light present to make their flashlights and lantern redundant.
They no longer stood in the cave at Nazca, however. Nor had they returned to Paititi. For one thing, the ceiling was much farther away and composed of something smooth and shiny instead of unhewn stone.
On the far side of a wide black and silver walkway strange objects and shapes were arraigned equidistant from one another. Some were enclosed in transparent cases while others stood exposed to the air, which, Carter noted, was now pleasantly cool and dry. Both the fetid humidity of the selva and the desiccated chill of Nazca had been banished.
“Look at this.” Like everyone else, he turned at Fewick’s call. With an effort, the archaeologist had knelt to inspect one of the ovoid’s four legs.
“What about it?” an uneasy Da Rimini asked, unable to take her eyes from the astonishing chamber in which they now found themselves.
“See the color? It’s different. More of a greenish blue.” He struggled erect, touched the egg. “I think this is different too.”
“Impossible!”
Ashwood was studying their silent, softly lit surroundings.
“So is this, but I don’t think I’m dreamin’.”
Manco Fernández let out a cry. Like the egg, they found themselves standing on a platform fashioned of green and yellow ceramic hexagons joined seamlessly together. The platform seemed to run the length of the chamber and matched the one attached to the far side of the black and silver walkway. Both were less than a foot high.
Now he ran to his right and removed from a perch composed of some transparent material the most spectacular single artifact they had thus far encountered. It was a crown fashioned of solid and hammered gold, lined with the iridescent feathers of jungle birds, emeralds, and other gemstones. The workmanship was breathtaking. Furthermore, it looked brand-new, untouched by the ages.
Carefully he raised it high and placed it atop his head. Despite his quarter-Spanish heritage he looked very much the part of the noble Inca. Even Ashwood was impressed. Blanco Fernández executed a mock bow, grinning at his brother.
Fewick, for once, did not lose himself in contemlation of such artifacts. He was much more interested in their new surroundings.
“We have emerged somewhere else,” he commented unnecessarily. “This is a modern structure, fashioned by modern means. It most emphatically was not built by people who did not know the wheel.”
Carter took another deep breath. Not only was the air here more agreeable than at Paititi or Nazca, it was lightly perfumed, faintly redolent of frangipani.
Trang Ho snapped a picture of Manco Fernández posing in the glorious crown, then moved to cross the walkway to inspect the objects on the far side. As she went to step off the mosaicked platform she stumbled, caught herself, and retreated a step. Cautiously she advanced again, holding both palms out in front of her.
Carter was watching. “Something wrong?”
The reporter spoke without looking back at him. “I can’t get down. There’s some kind of barrier here.”
Further exploration revealed that while they could move to the left or right, they could not get off the platform. The invisible wall was soft, springy, and impervious.
“Someone’s coming,” Igor announced tersely. Everyone turned to their left.
The old man was short and dark, with black eyes and a large hooked nose. He wore a silvery tunic decorated with blue spots arranged in random patterns and matching silver slippers. The tunic had short sleeves and stopped at his knees. What looked like aluminum braid decorated his right shoulder. On his head he wore a black and silver cap which bulged to one side, and he carried a metal cylinder or tube about a foot long which was lined with dark indentations.
He came around the corner grumbling to himself, but his muttering ceased abruptly when he caught sight of the staring travelers. He stopped in his tracks and gaped at them.
Not one for protocol, Da Rimini advanced as far as the barrier would permit. “What is this place?” she demanded to know. Trang Ho stood nearby, snapping pictures like crazy.
The oldster reminded Carter of someone, but it took a moment to make the connection. He looked cousin to the janitor at the hotel he and Ashwood had stayed at in Cuzco.
Overcoming his surprise, the man approached them and touched the lower part of the tube he carried. It must have affected the barrier somehow because he stepped lightly up onto the platform to join them, displaying no apprehension at the sight of the Fernández brothers’ weapons. He did, however, note that three of the visitors had their arms tied behind them.
Inspecting each of them in turn he chose to address Manco. His manner was decidedly officious and he waved the tube around for emphasis. For all that he could understand none of it, his words still sounded familiar to Carter.
“Can you tell what he’s saying?” he asked Igor.
“It is an odd mixture of Spanish and Quechua,” the guide replied. “There are words I don’t recognize at all, and the accent is strange. But basically he is telling Manco to put the headdress back where he got it, and that we should not be up here. It is a restricted”—he struggled with the last word—”exhibit.”
“Exhibit?” Carter stared at the old man.
“From what he is saying I think we are in some kind of museum. He also wants to know why some of us have our wrists tied behind us.”
