Eye of the Forest (18 page)

He went closer still, finally bending his head and then his ear down toward the small shiny golden patch that Nimrod had cleaned with the point of his machete. “Is there anyone there?” he repeated. “Look, the door won’t open because there’s this big knot binding a bolt on the other side. So there’s no point in trying to open it. See?”

Again the door moved within the stone frame, more noticeably this time and then there was someone banging loudly on it, which gave him such a fright that it made his heart leap in his chest like an excited puppy, and caused him to take a few steps back.

“Oooer,” he said, holding his chest. But not before he heard another voice. A voice from very far away. As if from another lost, invisible world. It was a voice he was quite sure he recognized. The voice belonged to Mr. Groanin, and he sounded like he was in trouble.

U
pon hearing what he thought must be Groanin’s cry for help, John’s first instinct was to hack with his machete at the large and complicated knot securing the door in the Eye of the Forest, and it was fortunate that his sleeping head had been temporarily absorbed in the lupuna, for the tree had informed the young djinn’s subconscious mind that somehow the knot contained an important and ineffable or secret word. Knotted within the cipher that was the knot, this secret word had been passed on through generations of Incan priests and revealed only to the Inca kings. This fact became more apparent to John only afterward, but now, with his blade less than a millimeter away, he checked himself from cutting the knot and instead set about the business of untying it.

“Hang on, Mr. Groanin,” John shouted through the door. “I’m coming to get you.”

Untying the knot did not take him very long. As with many apparently complex problems beloved of mathematicians, the solution was actually a simple one and began with John pouring the contents of his water bottle onto the knot itself. Because before it had been tied, the rope had been soaked in water, and after it had been tied, the knot had been exposed to direct sunlight which, of course, made it shrink. Thus, by wetting the coils of the knot, John helped to make them looser and, therefore, easier to manipulate.

Not that it would ever have been possible for an adult to have manipulated the knot — wet or dry. Not ever. Manipulation of the rope could only ever have been carried out by the small and more dexterous fingers of an Indian or a boy such as John. It was one of the reasons why the lupuna tree had told John the secret in the first place.

But the most important thing John had learned about the knot from the lupuna tree was that it was not really a true knot with two separate ends, but an ingenious loop that had been cleverly disguised only to look like a knot. The loop had been folded to make two ends and in this had been tied two multiple overhand knots; the two ends of the loops had then been pulled several times over the two knots and the rope then shrank until it was as tight as a miser’s fist.

Knowing all of this made it a matter of less than a minute for John to unravel it.

“John. What on earth do you think you are doing?” It was Nimrod, who had been summoned from his tent by John’s shouting through the door. Despite all of his “careful cogitation,” Nimrod had devised neither a solution for the untying of the knot nor a solution of what to do about Virgil McCreeby. And he was astonished to see that the knot on the door had disappeared and that his young nephew was now holding in his two hands the loop of human-hair rope with which it had been tied. “How did you untie that knot? And, light my lamp, why?”

“It’s all right,” said John. “I didn’t need djinn power. I just worked it out in my head.”

“But why, John, why?” Nimrod looked at him fiercely for a moment. “I thought I made it perfectly clear that we should leave the knot tied. To prevent Virgil McCreeby from ever going through that door.”

“Yes, but that was before,” John said breathlessly.

“Before what?”

“Before I saw the door move,” said John. “And before I heard Mr. Groanin. He’s on the other side of the door and he sounds like he’s in trouble.”

“What?” Nimrod stepped quickly toward the Eye of the Forest and, pressing his ear to the door, listened carefully. Sure enough, albeit from a very long way away, he could hear his own butler shouting. “Light my lamp, but you’re right, boy. Here. Help me draw this bolt.”

Instinctively realizing the importance of the hair rope, John wound it around his waist, like a belt.

The spindle of the golden bolt, which had two large golden handles was, after several centuries, hard to turn in the hole and, in its fastening, even harder to draw back.

“You’re not angry then?” said John, pulling on the bolt with all of his strength. “That I’ve untied the knot? And that we’re going to open the door?”

“Given that Groanin is already on the other side, the question seems academic and no longer important.” Nimrod grunted with the effort. “Let us hope that the others escaped the Xuanaci and are with him.”

At last the bolt shifted and the door was free, although not yet open.

“Stand farther away,” Nimrod ordered John. “We don’t yet know what’s on the other side. If Groanin is in danger, we may also be at some risk.”

As Nimrod hauled at the creaking door, John took a step back. With all his exertions the rope had come loose around his waist, which John thought was just a little ironic given how tight it had been as a knot. He took it off for a moment to retie it, which was when he noticed the colored dots on the inside of the rope and realized he’d seen the same order of colored dots somewhere before. But there was no time now to think about that. The door was open. And on the other side he could see …

… nothing at all. Just a gaping black hole. It was, he thought, extremely weird. Even Nimrod looked surprised.

“Strange,” remarked Nimrod.

“But where’s Groanin?” asked John.

Nimrod took hold of his nephew’s arm and stopped him from going through the open door. “Wait a minute,” he said. “There’s movement.”

Inside the doorway that was the Eye of the Forest, a strange optical distortion of space was underway, as if light itself was bending. Then, on the other side of the doorway, like an old movie flickering into life, a large stone room appeared. This ancient-looking room was stacked high with hundreds, possibly thousands of gold objects, but of Groanin and the others there was no sign.

And yet there was also something unreal about the room and its fabulous, glittering treasure. As if it didn’t quite exist at all.

“What are we looking at?” asked John.

“It’s an illusion,” said Nimrod. “Something those ancient Incan priests must have intended for the greedy eyes of the conquistadors. Only
they
would probably have called it a vision. Don’t ask me how an Inca like Ti Cosi achieved such a thing. I don’t know. But I think we’re looking at an image of something that really happened. An image that was meant to lure the conquistadors on.

“You see, when Pizarro showed up in Cuzco, he managed, against all the odds, to capture King Atahualpa and promised him his life if he agreed to cooperate. And noticing the Spaniards’ fascination with gold, Atahualpa made a proposition to Pizarro. The king drew a chalk line high on the wall of the room in the Temple of the Sun, where he was now held prisoner, and told Pizarro that if he spared his life,
within twelve months he would fill the room with gold objects up to the height of the mark. Pizarro agreed, of course, and the king was as good as his word, even if Pizarro wasn’t. It is said that more than forty thousand pounds in weight of twenty-four-karat gold was turned into ingots by the Spanish. The Incan priest who made the Eye of the Forest undoubtedly knew that seeing a vision of all that gold would, almost certainly, have been interpreted by the Spaniards as some kind of good omen.”

Another moment passed and then the image of the gold disappeared like a mirage and, for a few seconds, it was replaced by a frozen image of Groanin and Sicky hammering at the door. At their feet lay Philippa, unconscious, and behind them stood Muddy in the act of brandishing a machete at some strange-looking Incan warriors. A second later, the four figures had changed their positions and were now stretching slowly through the door, like something escaping from a black hole.

“Philippa’s hurt,” said John, and bent forward to help Groanin, Muddy, and Sicky drag her through the doorway.

“Don’t touch them,” Nimrod told John. “They’re moving between two dimensions. Which can be dangerous.”

“Will they be all right?” asked John. “I mean, they look kind of weird. Sort of stretched out. Like spaghetti.”

“It might take a few minutes for them to come through,” said Nimrod. “I imagine this was designed to be an entrance, not an exit. But, yes. They should be all right. So long as we are patient.”

“You mean it might be quicker going in than coming out?”

“Exactly. As soon as they are out, we must close the door. Otherwise the Incas, who seem to be chasing them, will also be chasing us.”

“Zadie doesn’t appear to be with them,” observed John.

“I was wondering about her myself,” admitted Nimrod.

Groanin, Muddy, and Sicky were still dragging Philippa through the doorway, but very slowly, as if they were walking through molasses. Then, an arrow appeared in the air above John’s head. It was an unusual arrow because it wasn’t moving more than about half a mile an hour. And, but for Nimrod’s earlier warning, John might easily have reached up and grabbed it.

“That looks like one of Zeno’s paradoxes,” said Nimrod.

“Zeno’s what?”

“Never mind,” smiled Nimrod. “While we’re waiting, you might like to tell me how you managed to untie the knot. I don’t mind telling you, I’m impressed. I know I couldn’t have done it.”

John told him. But because he had no memory of his head having been inside the lupuna tree he left that part out, which made his achievement seem all the more impressive to Nimrod.

“Remarkable,” said Nimrod.

“I noticed something else,” said John. “When I was untying the rope.”

“Oh?”

“There is a series of colored dots on the rope’s inside,” said John. “Interestingly, they correspond with the series of colored knots that appear on the
khipu
given to me by
el Tunchi.”

“That
is
interesting,” agreed Nimrod.

“I’m pretty sure that the position and number of these dots mean something important,” he said. “I’m not sure what yet. Only that it will come to me. In time.”

Nimrod was pleased with his nephew. “You’ve already done more than I thought was possible,” he said. “Perhaps your experience with
el Tunchi
has sharpened your wits.”

“No,” said John. “No, it wasn’t that. But I do feel more intelligent, sort of, since I had that nap.” He pointed at the doorway. “Look, they’re nearly through.”

Nimrod put his hand close to the door, ready to close it the second he was able to do so without hitting Philippa, who was the last to emerge from beyond the Eye of the Forest. A fierce-looking Inca king was close on their heels with a large war club in his raised hand, as if he was in the act of bringing it down on Groanin’s head. Momentarily, Nimrod glanced at John. “When were you asleep?” he asked.

“When you were thinking in your tent,” said John. “I sat down to read that book about
khipus
and must have dozed off. Books do have that effect on me, I’m afraid.”

Nimrod tutted loudly. Then he said, “Where were you sitting, exactly?”

“Over there.” John pointed at one of the huge lupuna trees.

“You mean you were resting against one of the trees?”

“S’right.”

“That explains it, then,” said Nimrod. “You must have learned something from the spirit of the lupuna.”

“You mean I didn’t come up with the solution to the knot all by myself?” John sounded a little disappointed.

“I’m afraid not,” said Nimrod. “But there’s no shame in that. After all, you do know what you know. And rest assured, I certainly won’t tell anyone your secret.” He glanced back at the doorway. “At last. I think we’re about ready to close the Eye.”

The very next second, he slammed the door in the face of the slowly advancing Inca king, and John suddenly understood what Nimrod had meant by closing the Eye. Nimrod picked up a piece of wood and used it as a temporary fastening on the bolt. “That should hold them for a little while,” he said.

As soon as the door was closed, Groanin, Sicky, and Muddy suddenly came to life, as if somewhere a switch had been thrown that brought them up to normal speed.

“Thank goodness,” bellowed Groanin. “That wasn’t a second too soon. I say, that wasn’t a second too soon.” He rubbed the back of his neck and shivered. “That maniac’s war club must have missed me by only a millimeter.”

“If my head wasn’t so small,” said Sicky, “he’d have combed my hair with it for sure.”

Groanin put a hand on his chest. “My heart,” he said. “It feels like I’ve got the whole Nelson Riddle Orchestra in my chest. And they’re playing ‘I Get a Kick Out of You.’”

Nimrod and John knelt down by Philippa.

“We had a bit of a collision, she and I,” Groanin explained. “It were an accident, so it were. Couldn’t be helped. But I’m right sorry, that I am. I wouldn’t have hurt the lass for all the world.”

“I know, Groanin,” Nimrod said kindly. “I know.”

“We have to get her to a hospital,” insisted Groanin.

John put his ear to Philippa’s chest. “She’ll be all right,” he said. “I can tell. She’s just a bit concussed.”

“What are you, a flipping doctor?” demanded Groanin.

“No, but I am her twin,” explained John. He tapped his head and then his heart. “I’d have known in here if she wasn’t all right.”

“Yes, of course,” said Groanin. “Stupid of me.”

John was right. A moment or two later, Philippa groaned and moved her head. And within just a few minutes she was sitting up and sharing explanations of what had happened since Nimrod and John had parted from her and the others.

“Zadie’s a traitor,” John told his friends. “That’s probably why she managed to persuade you to invite her along in the first place, Phil. All along she’s been in cahoots with Virgil McCreeby, trying to slow us down so that he could catch up with us and she could give him the map. She stole it from Mr. Vodyannoy’s pack.”

“That would explain why she went off with Pizarro and his men,” said Philippa. “She obviously intends to go and find McCreeby while the Spaniards are busy dealing with the Xuanaci Indians.” Then she gasped. “Oh, for goodness’ sake. We have to do something to help them. The Xuanaci. Pizarro and his men will massacre them for sure.”

But John was almost as offended by this idea as Zadie had been. “What? Are you kidding? They were going to feed you to the piranhas. And then eat the fish.”

“Philippa’s right, John,” said Nimrod. “It was an unequal struggle back in November 1532 when the Spaniards first turned up on the Incas’ doorstep. And it’s an especially unequal struggle now. After all, even the Xuanaci can hardly defeat an enemy that’s already dead.”