“And I, you,” she said drily. “Some would say I have already betrayed the Sapa Inca, my only lord, simply by keeping secrets from him.”
“Speaking of secrets,” the ColU said now, “I have studied your records, quipucamayoc. I believe I know the nature of the jonbar hinge that separates your reality from ours.”
They both turned to the slave who bore the ColU. He dropped his gaze as always.
“Tell me,” Inguill snapped.
“Yes,” Fabius said with a grin. “Tell me where we Romans went wrong! Perhaps I can put it right beyond the next hinge.”
“There was nothing you could have done. Nothing anybody could have done. There was a volcano, Quintus. A devastating explosion on the other side of the world. This was some hundred and eighty years before the career of Cusi Yupanqui, Inguill, your empire builder.
“The Romans and the Brikanti were already in the Valhallas, the Romans for more than a century. Inguill, your own culture had yet to rise up, but already there were civilizations here—cities, farms. The Romans planted colonies in the antisuyu forest, but had only minimal contact with the continent’s more advanced cultures.
“Then the volcano erupted, on this world. A great belch. The site of immediate devastation was far away, but the ash and dust and gas must have wrapped around the planet.”
Inguill’s eyes widened. “I know something of this. The Tiwanaku, later a people of our empire, who lived by a great high lake, wrote in their chronicles of a ‘dry fog’ obscuring the sky, of crops failing, of swaths of deaths. All this they wrote down in their histories, which our scholars retrieved in turn when the conquest came.”
The ColU said, “These western continents suffered, then. But because of vagaries of wind directions and seasonal changes, the eastern continents suffered far more—Africa, Asia, Europa. I have found little evidence for what happened to the Xin. But, Quintus, Rome was grievously damaged. There was mass famine within the Empire, and invasions by peoples from the dying heart of Asia, who brought plague. The Empire never recovered its former strength, and certainly abandoned its holds in the Valhallas, giving up its wars there with the Brikanti.
“And meanwhile, in Valhalla Inferior, under Cusi Yupanqui and others, the Intip Churi rose up—”
“And when we began to push into the jungles of the antisuyu, we found Roman colonies.”
“Yes. Though much degenerated, they preserved some of the skills and traditions of the old world. The Incas took what they wanted from these Roman relics—notably the secrets of the fire-of-life and of iron-making. The Incas’ strongest metal before this contact was bronze. I doubt that a trace of the blood of those Romans survives today, Quintus. But their legacy transformed the Incas.”
“All because of a volcano,” Quintus said heavily. “And I wonder if those devils who require us to build their Hatches had something to do with that. For all these changes in the fabric of the world seem to be accompanied by huge violence, vast destruction.”
Inguill smiled coldly. “The intervention of destructive gods. We know all about that, Quintus. Well—history is fascinating to me, as you both know. But it is the future that concerns me now. Will you be ready to disembark in the morning?”
They wandered along the beach, discussing details.
Later, Chu Yuen murmured to the ColU, “You did not tell them all that you had learned, Collius.”
“I told them what was necessary. I considered that a fee to be paid to the quipucamayoc for her assistance with this flight.”
“But the evidence Inca philosophers have found of kernel energies at the volcano site—your suggestion that the eruption was made even worse by yet another war inflicted on mankind by the technologies of the Hatch builders—Quintus almost guessed it.”
“They don’t need to know that. Not now, not today. Inguill and Quintus must work together; they have much to achieve. I don’t want them to feel helpless.”
“Do you feel helpless, Collius?”
“Not I, Chu Yuen. Not I. Come now, we’ll go back to camp. You must be hungry after the day’s march…”
54
The palace of the Sapa Inca was, Mardina learned, not so much a palace at all as a city in itself, a fortified town within a town. Protected on all sides by thick stone walls faced with green tiles and sheets of gold, it was shielded from above by a stout steel grill, and by squads of axis warriors wearing some kind of rocket pack who flew continually in pairs over the compound—Cura said there was even an air shelter to be pulled over the whole compound should Cuzco’s main dome fail.
But Mardina and Clodia were led past barriers and guards, straight into this most secure of sanctuaries. They were guided along a kind of ornate tunnel to a central block, and then through corridors and halls whose walls were covered with bewildering displays of colored tiles, some depicting people or animals, others showing only abstract designs.
It was here they said goodbye to Ruminavi for now, but his wife Cura rushed them along. “We must hurry,” said Cura. “It’s a shame not to give you time to take in everything better. But there will be time later… And a shame of course that you’re not more appropriately dressed, but that will be forgiven.”
Clodia said, “These are the best clothes we have, from the ayllu.”
“Believe me, nothing you brought will be suitable for Hanan Cuzco. And conversely, you will be given everything you need here.”
“But our luggage—”
“That will be kept in storage until it’s time for Mardina to leave. That’s the official plan at least…”
The girls exchanged glances at that. Mardina would be leaving, then, not Clodia, if the Incas got their way.
They came to a heavy door, armored, guarded and evidently airtight, and passed into another chamber of dazzling beauty through which they hurried, dragging themselves along rails and ropes. The deeper in they moved, Mardina noted, the more people they encountered. They all seemed slim and tall—even those not obviously axis-adapted—elegant, dressed in colorful finery, with elaborately prepared hair. Most had huge golden plugs in their earlobes. Many were very beautiful, even the servants, and Mardina remembered how the prettiest children of the provinces were taken away from their families to serve here. In the lack of gravity, they swarmed and swam in the air. To Mardina, rushing after Cura, it was like passing through a flock of exotic birds.
And where the girls from the ayllu passed, there were stares and sneers and pretty laughter behind raised hands. Mardina glowered back.
Clodia said, “There seem to be many soldiers here. I thought everybody loved the Sapa Inca—”
“Who protects and feeds them—of course they do,” Cura said. “It’s his family that’s the trouble. On the death of an Inca, his successor should be chosen by a council of the panaqas, factions within the family. But Incas generally have many sons by many wives—although the children by his full sister should have precedence. So while an Inca is healthy there is squabbling and maneuvering to gain his favor and that of the panaqas; when he starts to fail there is frantic negotiation among the factions; when he dies the succession can often degenerate into a bloody contest; and even when a winner is announced—”
“People hold grudges,” Mardina said. “I’m told it’s often like that for the Roman emperors, or was, before.”
Cura smiled. “Educated people try not to worry about it. The bloodshed generally doesn’t extend beyond the court itself. And it is a way of keeping the line strong; only the toughest survive.”