could actually float in the air. Atoc remained clamped over the controls, his face lit by a soft, green light. The helicopter blades thudded in the air, although sometimes Matt had the impression that they weren’t moving at all, but were somehow stuck in the gluey stillness of the night.
Pedro hadn’t spoken a word since take-off. Nor had he looked out of the window. His whole body was rigid, his eyes fixed on the pilot as if he couldn’t believe he knew how to fly this machine – or that he might forget at any time. Eventually he fell asleep and Matt must have followed him because suddenly he was back at sea, making an altogether different journey, drifting with the tide.
“Do you still think I’m one of the Five?” Pedro asked.
“Of course.” Matt was surprised by the question. “Why do you ask?”
“I’m a stupid coward. I was too scared to get into the helicopter. I almost got us caught by the police. I’m still scared now, even though I’m asleep.”
Matt shook his head. “You’re not a coward,” he said. “If you want the truth, I’m afraid of flying too.”
“I saw planes flying out of Lima. When I was doing my juggling, near the airport. I could never understand how anything so heavy could fly. I still don’t.” Pedro scowled. “You really think I’m one of the Five?”
“I know you are. And I’m glad you’re with me, Pedro. When I think about it, I’ve never had a real friend. Not for as long as I can remember.”
“I stole your watch!”
“You’re welcome to it. I’ll get another…”
They both woke at the same moment. The helicopter had landed.
Matt looked out of the window while Pedro stretched and yawned. They had come to a halt in a field in the middle of nowhere. Three oil lamps had been laid out on the grass – Atoc would have been able to see them from the air and had used them to know where to land. But there were no other lights anywhere. Instead, the flames illuminated a line of trees, the edge of what must be thick jungle. A hand slapped against the helicopter window and Matt started, but Atoc had been expecting it.
“Is all right… Friends,” he said.
There were two more Indians waiting for them outside. One opened the door and helped the boys to climb down. They were both wearing ponchos and woven hats and kept their heads down as if unwilling to meet their eyes. It was cold outside the helicopter, much colder than it had been in Cuzco, and Matt wondered if they had climbed to an even greater altitude. He breathed in. Very little oxygen made its way to his lungs. They were obviously high up. But where? The second Indian hurried forward, holding out ponchos for Pedro and him. They were beautifully woven, with gold thread forming intricate patterns against a dark-green background. Matt slipped his head through the hole in the middle and let the rich material hang around him. He was surprised how effectively the poncho protected him from the chill.
“We stay here tonight,” Atoc said. “Travel tomorrow in the light.”
“Where are we?” Matt asked.
“This place… Vilcabamba.” The answer left him none the wiser. “We are in cloud forest,” Atoc went on. “Tomorrow we must walk for many hours. Not possible to go in helicopter.”
“So where do we sleep?”
“We make ready.”
The Indians led them to the edge of the clearing, where three tents had been prepared. Atoc indicated that the two boys were to share. “You need sleep,” he said. “Tomorrow is very hard.”
He left them together. The tent appeared to be brand new, and inside there were two sleeping bags rolled out on foam mattresses. A battery-operated light hung from the tent pole. Matt didn’t bother undressing. He slipped out of the poncho and rolled it up, using it as a pillow. Then he slid into a sleeping bag. Pedro did the same.
For a brief moment Matt thought about Richard. He wondered if he was being carried ever further away from his friend. And what of Fabian? Was he somewhere in Cuzco, still searching for them?
There was so much he didn’t understand but he was too tired to think about it now. He was asleep before he knew it. This time there were no dreams.
Matt was woken by the light shining through the fabric of the tent. He stretched, with difficulty, inside his sleeping bag. The foam had done little to protect him from the hard ground and his back and shoulders were stiff. He thought of staying where he was and trying to get back to sleep but there was no chance of that. He was too uncomfortable, and anyway Pedro was snoring. Making as little noise as possible, he crawled out of the tent, dragging the poncho with him. Once he was outside, he stood up and put it on.
It was still cold. Dawn had broken but as yet there was no sign of the sun. Matt shivered in the morning air as he took stock of his surroundings. The night before he’d had the impression of jungle – thick undergrowth and mountains. But nothing could have prepared him for the sight that met him now.
He seemed to be on the edge of the world. The helicopter landing pad had been carved into the side of a fantastically steep hillside. Looking up or down, all he could see was green… a spidery tangle of trees and bushes with vines and creepers knotted among them, continuing, it seemed, for ever. Atoc had said they had a long walk ahead of them but Matt couldn’t even see where they’d begin. There was no way up. The foliage seemed impenetrable. And yet if they climbed down they would surely fall into a brilliant green vortex. The area where they were sitting was flat. Everything else was vertical. It was as if the whole world had been tipped onto its side.
Atoc and the two Indians were already awake, putting together a picnic breakfast of bread and cheese. They had lit a small bonfire with a kettle hanging over it but the water had not yet boiled.
Atoc walked over to him. “Did you sleep all right, Matteo?” he asked. Like Pedro, he was using the Spanish version of his name. “We take food soon…”
“Thank you.”
In the daylight, Atoc looked younger and less threatening than he had in the shadows of Cuzco. He also looked even more like the man Matt had met so briefly, Micos. He had to know.
“There’s something I want to ask you,” he began, nervously.
“I will tell you what I can.”
“When I was in Lima, I met someone who was very much like you. And he was there again in Ica.”
“Micos.”
“Yes.” Matt wasn’t sure how to continue. “Your brother?”
“Yes. Do you know where he is?”
“I’m sorry, Atoc. I’m afraid he’s dead.”
Atoc nodded slowly as if this was what he had expected to hear. But his dark, brown eyes filled with grief and he stood, still and completely silent, as Matt told him what had happened at the hacienda .
“I’m so sorry that he died because of us,” Matt said.
“But I am glad that if he had to die, it was for you,” Atoc replied. He took a deep breath. “Micos was my younger brother,” he said. “There were two years between us. In our language ‘micos’ is ‘monkey’, and he was the funny one, always in trouble. Atoc is fox. I was the one who was meant to be clever. And yet when we were playing once, when I was eight years old, I threw a stone at him and almost took out his eye. He had a scar… just here.” Atoc raised a finger and drew a crescent moon next to his eye. “My father took his belt to me for that. But Micos forgave me.
“He wanted to help you, Matteo, because he believed in you. You are one of the Five. He would not be sad that he died if he knew you are safe now and so it is also wrong for me to be sad too. There will be more deaths. Many more. We must grow used to it.”
He turned his head and looked away into the distance, his eyes focused on something far away.
“Now I walk alone for a few minutes,” he said. “When I return, we forget what has been said and we not speak of it again.”
He walked away into the undergrowth.
“Matteo…!” Pedro had woken up and was calling to him from the tent.
Behind them, a trickle of white smoke from the bonfire rose, uncertainly, up into the morning sky.
After breakfast, the two Indians put out the bonfire and packed up the tents. They had already tied down the helicopter and covered it with a green tarpaulin, camouflaging it in case anyone happened to fly overhead. Matt could see these people thought of everything… although he still wasn’t sure who they actually were.
Atoc had eaten with them. Whatever grief he might be feeling, he didn’t let it show. “We leave now,” he said and signalled to one of the Indians who came forward, carrying two new pairs of trainers. “You cannot walk in those
