Inca Kings

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The man in the tight-fitting Gucci vest and jogging bottoms ignored his desk as he entered his office. He already knew what would be waiting there; knew from a hundred other days when he’d gone in. Every time he left the office the sous chef rotated the delicacies.

Dantanion crossed over to the window and the view. It filled him anew; it stimulated him, gave life to fresh plans and dreams. Mountainside filled his vision, from the valley below to the heights above. He placed two fingers against the glass as if he could touch its very essence. But the mountains didn’t speak to him — the community did.

People working far below. People working next door; in the offices and kitchens. In the bedrooms. In the future, he hoped not to have to procure new people from the filthy hovel of Cusco — he hoped to be self-sufficient.

A plan for the decades, then. And new ways to stop the mass becoming bored. The village raids were unnecessary, but useful for now. It kept the peace; kept the status quo. Gave the masses a goal to work toward and a way to unwind. Dantanion thought about the latest development — a group of armed men in Kimbiri. Was it random or had the villagers hired help? Were his people in Cusco involved? Who were the soldiers?

Dantanion took time to think it all through. Thinking made him hungry. He glanced over at the wall clock — black rim and golden filigree, the hands stood at 4 p.m. It would be a waste of a good appetite to start snacking now. Dinner was in an hour.

The burner cell in his pocket started to ring. Dantanion narrowed his eyes, sensing bad news and feeling the weight of a bad omen settle across the house, weighing it down, pushing at the deep foundations. With trepidation he answered.

“Hello?”

“Tremayne is dead,” a voice said. “The last relic is lost.”

Dantanion was a man of deep composure and spoke softly. “How did this happen?”

“We are not sure. Hijackers, we think. They have the relic but have disappeared. Now, others are asking questions.”

Dantanion stared into space. “What kind of questions?”

“They seek the identity of the seller. These relics — they are lava hot right now. Untouchable. Too many, too soon. And the people that ask — they are previous middlemen.”

Dantanion hadn’t seen that coming. He wondered if they could discover his identity. They were ruthless criminals, these middlemen, as capable as any agency. And he only dealt with the best.

“Come home. Your job was to watch Tremayne, which is clearly now complete. Come home and let us feast to your health.”

A hesitation. “You don’t want me to try tracking the hijackers?”

“I assumed you had tried that already.”

“Well, yes. A big, skillful man and an athletic woman. They finished Tremayne and vanished. They must be talented to thwart our efforts.”

Dantanion was briefly reminded of the supposed soldiers now residing in Kimbiri, but decided it was all too coincidental. The incidents couldn’t be connected. Besides, he had a man in Kimbiri already collecting information.

“Come home,” he said, ended the call, and destroyed the burner.

The relics were essential to their existence here, and thus worth any kind of risk. This was all fine when the flags fluttered on your side; but when the wind fell and the material started to catch around the flagpole, then you were looking at a tough unraveling operation. Where to go next? The market for these incredible relics was intensely small, but supremely lucrative. Dantanion knew there were only a handful of people across the globe he could use.

Most of them were now untouchable.

The relics.

Critical items. Without them his astonishing new world would die very quickly. The money they accrued was vital, but it poured out of his account like water being emptied from a sink. Dantanion was not a man without means, but even his small fortune drained within a year as his community quickly grew. Like a spark to a flame and then a bonfire he could not stop the conflagration, the spread of amazement and love he felt for this newfound society. But as it grew, like any content population, the dangers to it increased. Somebody out there always wanted to take your happiness away.

Whilst surveying and preparing the caves beneath the house for more and more people, Dantanion and his helpers had come across a hidden treasure so vast they could barely believe their eyes. It had lain there for centuries, hidden, untouched. Squirreled away down some narrow passage leading off another narrow passage and another.

It had claimed two lives, but those bodies had ended up fulfilling their destinies. Dantanion blessed them, prepared them and then helped eat them. Below, in the extensive cave network, he housed most of the people, fashioned a medical center to help newcomers switch to a new form of meat, and taught the bravest of his followers how best to occupy their time if they wanted to stay unseen, remain aloof and yet be utterly worshipped at the same time.

He taught them to be monsters.

His vision. His world. When he saw them work together for the first time, scuttling and crabbing and making grown men scream, he felt wonderful. The sacrifice they claimed tasted so much better for it.

The relics!

Ah yes, his mind shied away from the real truth. And the real truth was in that vast treasure hoard. Some careful research and many months passed. Playing devil’s advocate with himself he would not at first believe the truth. He questioned it, wrestled it to the ground and stomped on its head.

But the truth won through. The more he read of the old legend the more he believed it. Atahualpa was an Inca king who was captured in his palace, in modern-day Peru, by the Spanish invaders — Pizarro in particular. The Spanish were greedy and brimming over with an insatiable envy for the astounding Inca wealth. The Incas themselves, if they hadn’t partaken of dozens of years of internal warfare, might have been better placed to force the Spaniards to retreat. Atahualpa, as great a king and warrior as he was, was taken — locked away by the merciless interlopers. Dantanion recalled reading that a ransom was asked for and willingly raised.

A roomful of gold. Collected piecemeal and properly arranged for Pizarro and then transported over the mountains. But, for reasons unknown, as the world’s greatest treasure rumbled ever closer, Pizarro reneged on the deal and put Atahualpa to death. The Incas lost their king and the Spaniards lost their gold. Legends tell that the gold was buried deep in some secret mountain cave, and there it stayed.

To this very day.

Dantanion knew it was the roomful of gold as soon as he read about it. Though not left in situ, the sheer amount of gold, the way it was hidden as if thrown away in anger, and later certain identifiable pieces, told him all he needed to know.

Eternal wealth. Eternal happiness. Solace, solitariness and a new society with common ground, forever.

Dantanion delved further, understanding that such a vast wealth would be commandeered by someone far less scrupulous than himself as well as those that possessed a right to own it. Either way, he would be out of pocket. So, for the good of the community, he found a way.

History surrounding Atahualpa’s gold was rich. The Inca king had been well renowned. A Spaniard named Valverde claimed to know the location after Atahualpa’s death, became rich and drew a map to the infamous Derrotero de Valverde. And although lost until the 1850s, such a legendary fortune could never vanish entirely from the world — resurrected again and searched for by a man named Blake, the last person ever to set eyes on it.

Never a man led by fancy, Dantanion was pleased to see that Atahualpa’s gold was no mere story. It had existed for real, was recorded in the Spanish chronicle, and it was also reported that a large convoy of gold was en route to Pizarro. Beyond that, mystery shrouded the whole effort, and Dantanion doubted that it would ever have been found if not through sheer luck and a desperate desire to make the caves below his house habitable.

And the pieces it contained? Oh, how…

Quickly, he derailed his train of thought. Here he sat, facing a new and drastic dilemma, and all he could do was track his gold back to the Inca kings. They had lost; they had died. Internal strife and warfare had weakened them. But not him. Not Dantanion. The kingdom he built would prosper and grow.

A series of small chimes rang out from an old clock he kept on the table.

It was time to eat.