Free Temple by Matthew Reilly

stone completed its
sealing of the doorway with a loud whump.

I sighed, breathless.

We were safe. For the moment.

'Come, we must hurry,' said Renco. 'It is time we farewelled this
wretched city.'

Back in the alleyways. Running posthaste.

Renco led the way, with Bassario behind him and me last of all. At
one point in our runnings, we came across a stockpile of Spanish
weapons. Bassario took a longbow and a

quiver full of arrows; Renco, a quiver, a rough leather
satchel—into which he placed the idol—and a sword. For my own part,
I took a long glistening sabre. For indeed, although I may be a
humble monk, I hail from a family that has bred some of the finest
fencers in all of Europe.

'This way,' said Renco, charging up a flight of stone steps.

We hurried up the stairs and came to a series of uneven roofs.
Renco hastened out across the rooftops, hurdling low dividing
walls, leaping across the small gaps between the different
buildings.

Bassario and I followed until at last Renco fell to the ground,
behind a low wall. His chest heaved as he breathed, rising and
falling quickly.

He looked out over the low wall above him. I did the same. What I
saw was this:

I beheld a wide cobblestone plaza filled with perhaps two dozen
Spanish troops and as many horses. Some of the horses were
freestanding, while others stood harnessed to a variety of wagons
and carts.

On the far side of the plaza, set into the outer wall of the city,
stood a large wooden gate. This gate, however, was not indigenous
to Cuzco, but was rather an ugly appendage affixed to the city's
stone gateway by my countrymen after the city had been
seized.

Positioned directly in front of the enormous wooden gate was a
large flatbed wagon drawn by two horses who faced in toward the
city, away from the gate itself. Motmted on the back of this wagon
was a sizeable cannon pointed in the other direction.

Nearer to us, at the base of the building on which we now sat,
stood about thirty miserable-looking Incan prisoners. A long length
of black rope was threaded through the steel manacles that each
prisoner wore around his wrists, bind ing all of them together in a
long dejected row.

'What are we going to do now?' I inquired of Renco anxiously.

'We're leaving.'

'How?'

'Through there,' said he, indicating the gate on the far side of
the plaza.

'What about the sewer entrance?' said I, thinking it to be the most
obvious escape route.

'A thief never uses the same entrance twice,' said Has- sario. 'At
least, not once he has been detected. Isn't that right,
prince?'

'Correct,' said Renco.

I turned to appraise the criminal Bassario. He was infact a rather
handsome man, despite his grimy appearance. And he smiled broadly,
his eyes twinkling—the smile of a man happy to be part of an
adventure. I could not say that I shared his joy.

Now Renco began to rummage through his quiver. He pulled out some
arrows whose points had been wrapped in cloth, creating round
bulbous heads.

'Good,' said he, looking about himself and finding a

lighted torch hanging on a nearby wall. 'Very good.'

'What are you planning to do?' I inquired.

Renco did not appear to hear me. He merely stared out at three
horses standing unattended on the far side of the plaza.

'Renco,' I pressed, 'what are you planning to do?'

At which point Renco turned to face me and a wry smile crossed his
face.

I stepped out into the wide-open plaza with my hands folded inside
my saturated monk's cloak, my sodden hood pulled low over my wet
hair.

I kept my head bowed as I crossed the plaza—stepping deftly aside
as clusters of soldiers ran past me, ducking quickly as horses
wheeled about in my directiondesperate not to sport any
attention.

Renco guessed that the soldiers in the plaza would not yet know
that a renegade Spanish monk—me—was aiding the Incan raiding party.
As such, so long as they did not notice my soggy clothing, I should
be able to get near the three unattended horses and bring them over
to a