City of the Snakes (23 page)

“What makes you think I care about half siblings I’ve never met?” I ask gruffly.

“Ties of blood are usually impossible to ignore.”

“You won’t kill them,” I challenge him. “If I don’t play along with your plans, you’ll have to turn to another of Wami’s children. You won’t kill those you need.”

“But we don’t need them,” he retorts. “We have already chosen our alternatives in case you fail us. Those few will be spared. All others are expendable.”

I breathe in deeply, silently cursing the
villacs
and their knack for getting under my skin. First they use Raimi and Bill to draw me in. Now they introduce me to forty of my closest relatives and tell me they’ll be executed like vermin if I don’t toe the line. I hate these white-eyed dogs, but I can’t help but admire their cunning.

“What do you want?” I sigh, as if they’ve called my bluff. In fact they haven’t. As loath as I am to let these kids die, I will sacrifice them if the
priests demand too much of me. But I don’t want
them
to know that. Not yet.

“We want you to take your place on the
inti watana
when it is raised above the folds of the earth, and help us rule this city. But that’s a position you must come to voluntarily. For now we wish you merely to parade before the Snakes as their master.”

“I just have to pretend to be Wami, then I can go?”

“Yes.”

“If I do this, will you tell me where Capac Raimi is?”

“No.”

I don’t like it—I feel the walls of a trap closing in—but I decide to play along, to learn more about the Snakes and where they fit in with the priests’ plans.

Without making a performance of it, I slip off my wig and wipe the paint from my face with a handkerchief. Normally I use moisturizing lotions to remove it, but here I settle for spit. As I’m rubbing hard with the handkerchief, a second
villac
appears and hands me a T-shirt, leather jacket and jeans. I strip and put them on, then the first priest reaches into a pocket and produces a pair of green contacts.

“You think of everything, don’t you?” I snipe.

“We try,” he replies.

I sourly slip them in and the transformation is complete. Showtime!

A third
villac
is waiting for me in the cavern, with a microphone. “I won’t need that,” I wave him away.

“It is not so much to clarify as to disguise,” the English-speaking priest from the tunnels says. “Your father always addresses them this way. It muffles his words, as it will yours. Without that distortion, sharp ears might note the differences in your voices. This way we hope to—”

“—Cover your asses,” I finish for him.

He smiles stiffly. The priest with the mike attaches it to the neck of my T-shirt, the control box to my waistband, then reaches for my left ear.

“What’s he up to?” I scowl, slapping his hands away.

“A receiver, for instructions. We will tell you what to say.”

I let him fit the piece in my ear. As soon as it’s in place, a voice comes over it. “Testing, one-two, testing.”

“Who’s that?” I ask.

“One of our brothers,” the first
villac
replies. “Is it working?”

“Yes.”

“Then proceed. Words will be fed to you as and when you need them.”

“What do I do?” I ask nervously—I was never comfortable speaking in public.

“Walk to the
inti watana
. Examine your troops. Be Paucar Wami.”

The priests withdraw. I’m alone, hidden by shadows. There’s an exit close by. I could make a break for freedom. But where would I run to? The answers are here.

Steeling myself, I head for the huge circular stone. I’m spotted immediately. There are excited gasps, then the sound of heels snapping together. I tread softly, glancing only briefly left and right as I converge on the young soldiers and pass through their ranks. Each of the Snakes lifts his or her head a couple of inches when I pass, saluting me. The Cobras, standing out from their charges, drop to one knee and rest their palms flat on the floor, heads bowed. I search for the Cobra of the second triumvirate, the one who guided me to my father’s room, but they all look the same when viewed crown-on.

As I near the platform, the
villac
on it lifts his head and walks to the edge to greet me. “Spread your arms wide,” a voice whispers in my ear, and this time it’s the voice of the priest who led me to the cavern. “Let him press his fingertips to yours and kiss the place on your chin where the heads of your tattoos meet.”

Spreading my arms as ordered, I stop at the platform and lean forward as the blind priest touches his fingers to mine. Muttering something unintelligible, he puts his lips to the spot below my lower lip and kisses the heads of my tattooed snakes. There’s a soft hissing sound and when he draws away his tongue flicks out at me—it’s
forked
.

I almost draw back from his serpentine tongue, but Paucar Wami never flinches, so I hold myself steady. Then the priest opens his mouth to chant some more and his tongue is normal again. Maybe it always was and I just imagined the fork.

The
villac
drones on for several minutes. I stand without moving, arms outstretched, awaiting further instructions.

Finally he stops and walks to the three buckets, which he transfers to the edge of the platform.

“Face the Snakes,” comes the voice. “Say what I tell you.”

I turn and repeat the words of the
villac
as they’re fed to me. If I was doing this as Al Jeery, I’m sure I’d stumble and stutter. But as Paucar Wami I’m fearless and eloquent, a natural orator.

“Our time is almost at hand. For long years we have existed anonymously. That is soon to change. Those who matter in the city have heard of us and grow anxious. Soon all will tremble at the sound of our name.”

My voice echoes around the cavern and is absorbed by eager ears. Many of the young men and women are grinning. A few even nudge their companions and wink.

“But we must be patient a while longer,” I caution them. “Our enemies turn on one another like dogs, but we must wait until they are fully engaged before we act, lest they sense our threat and unite against us.”

“Face the
villac
on the
inti watana
,” the voice whispers. I do as instructed, then continue.

“In preparation for your rise, you will now be blooded. You have come through much, but there is much still to endure. Let this be a reminder of what you have sacrificed, and a promise of what you will enjoy.”

The buckets are filled with blood. It could be the blood of animals, but I’m sure it isn’t. “Vegetarians should leave the building,” I mutter, unprompted, and there are ghoulish giggles.

“This is the blood of the conquered,” the voice says, and I repeat the words obediently. “The blood of the weak and impure. To cleanse this city, you must first taste of its foulness. Hold the blood down when you drink. Those who cannot stomach it have no place here and will be cast out.”

Three
villacs
march from the side of the cavern, chanting as they walk. They accept the buckets from their colleague on the platform, then weave through the ranks, offering the blood to each Snake in turn, not moving on until the soldier has drunk and kept down the thick red liquid. I speak as they administer the blood.

“Take a mouthful, no more, no less. Those who cannot drink of this city are not wanted, but nor are those who would drink too much. Only those who can drink in moderation are desired.”

I wait for more instructions, but there are none, so I stand and watch as the Snakes complete the bloody ritual, lips red, faces impassive. Nobody rejects or vomits up the blood. Maybe they’ve tried it before. I’m prepared to accept an offering if it’s made, but the buckets aren’t presented to me.

When the last of the Snakes has drunk, the buckets are returned to the platform and the
villac
stacks them behind the thrones. I’m told to mingle with the troops, making comments or asking questions. “But none about
us
,” I’m warned.

I prowl the ranks arrogantly, as my father would, studying the soldiers, trying to spot relatives. They stand three abreast, six deep, a gap between each phalanx, a larger space between each triumvirate. At the rear stand eleven separated members, rawer than the rest. New recruits, the beginnings of the eighth triumvirate.

I recall how the sergeants in the Troops treated me when I first joined. I stop at the back of one of the phalanxes and tap a burly teenager on the shoulder. He turns his head inquisitively and I punch his jaw hard, knocking him to the floor. “Did I tell you to look around?” I roar.

“No, sir,” he responds, face flushed, almost grinning through the pain—it’s an honor to be singled out by their leader, even for punishment.

“Get to your feet.” He stands. Medium height, heavy build, a wide, open face. Slightly foggy eyes. “What’s your name, boy?”

“Leonard, sir, first phalanx, sixth triumvirate.”

“Been with us long, Leonard?”

“Three years, two months, six days, sir.”

“An impressive memory.”

“I keep track on a calendar.”

I lean in close. “Tonight, take that calendar, tear it up and burn it.”

He hesitates. “But… sir… it belongs to—”

I club the back of his head. “I didn’t ask for a debate. I gave an order.”

“Yes, sir!” he shouts.

I swivel away from him and address the others. “That goes for the rest of you. Focus on the present. Embrace it. Breathe it. Become it. Cut yourself off from the world of time. If you do not, you belong to that world, and that means you don’t belong to
me
.”

By the shine of their faces I see that I’ve made an impression, and I feel the ridiculous stirrings of pride in my chest. I quickly quash it. These are pawns of the
villacs
, thus my potential enemies. I should cut the Patton shit. Get the inspection over with quickly and…

I’m hurrying past the eleven newcomers at the rear when one catches my eye. I move up close, making sure I’m not mistaken, and he takes a worried step back. “
Drake?
What the fuck are you doing here?” Flo’s boy gawps, astonished to be addressed by the legendary Paucar Wami. “Answer me!”

“I… I’m a Snake… sir.”

“How long have you been here?”

“A couple of weeks. I sneak back home every few days, but—”

“Does your mother know about this?”

“Of course not.” His spirit rises and he faces up to me squarely.

I start to ask what he thinks Flo would say if she knew, then remember who I’m meant to be. I step back from Drake. “Tell me why you’re here, boy. What brought you to this notorious den of thieves… this disreputable pit of snakes?” There are amused laughs. But Drake is deathly serious.

“I want to protect my mother, sir.”

“How?”

“By learning to fight. The city’s about to blow, but we’ve got nobody to fight for us, to stand up to the Troops or the fucking Kluxers.”

“Fucking Kluxers” is echoed by several Snakes. I silence the murmurs with a wave of a hand.

“Go on,” I tell Drake. “Say it so that everyone can hear.” Making it sound as if it’s for the crowd’s benefit, not mine.

“The Snakes will protect their people in the east,” Drake says seriously. “We’ll push back the Troops and Kluxers, and anybody else who threatens those we love. We’ll control the gangs. We’ll see peace and order restored. We’ll kick the ass of anyone who fucks with us!”

He shouts the last line and is greeted with cheers. I wait for them to die down before whispering harshly, so it’s only just audible, “And then?”

Drake pauses. “Sir?”

“What will you do when the streets are yours? Will you return to your mother or retreat back here to the depths?”

“That’s enough,” the
villac
hisses in my ear.

I ignore him. “Tell me what happens next.”

“I don’t know, sir. No one said.”

“Who will tell this boy?” I roar. “Who knows? Who has thought this through?”

“Jeery!” the
villac
screeches. “If you don’t quit right now, I’ll—”

A young woman raises a trembling hand. “Yes?” I ask her, tuning out the priest.

“We control, sir,” she says confidently.

“You win the streets, then keep them?”

“Yes.”

“How do you think your relatives and friends will react to that?”

She frowns.

“The public might back us against the Troops and Kluxers, but what happens when they want to return to normal, only to find—”

The English-speaking
villac
rushes into the cave. “Sapa Inca!” he shouts. “You must come with me. There is trouble. We need you elsewhere.”

“I am addressing my troops,” I growl. “I don’t like being interrupted when—”

“The Kluxers have attacked one of our posts. You must come.”

The Snakes mutter angrily at the mention of the Kluxers, and I know the
villac
has me. If I don’t accompany him, it will seem like I care more about talking big in front of my supporters than protecting them from their enemies.