Ch'en Men technically translates as 'black eagle' or black bird'. I don't think there is a word for canary, per se.
Chapter 28: A Man of Vision
Disclaimer: Everyone here is owned by DC Comics. Or maybe by Warner Brothers. Or maybe by the Hidalgo Trading Company. Whoever. It sure ain't me.
^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^)
*whapwhapwhap* *whapwhapwhap*
Helicopter. Not unexpected, as they were what we were waiting for. As soon as we were safely past Teplitzin's sphere of control, Renwick had sent a runner to Muwan, who in turn sent a runner to the City of Gold. Not quite Western Union, but as the guy must have been a greyhound in his previous life, it worked well enough. The return runner caught up with us about the time we had started our delayed lunch.
Renwick announced the main body of the army would march back, but the 'vital personnel', meaning Savage's posse and mine - would be back in home in time for dinner.
That was one of my reasons for pushing this little visit. I'd back my people against Savage, but I'd rather not push the point. And once in the city, I doubt we would have been able to sneak away for this little seance.
"My apologies, Miss Salamanca." I glance at the shadow overhead, then at Dick. He is already stepping back. "That is our signal to depart."
She smiles. " It would not do to keep your ride waiting."
I signal Dinah to get Jones and head back to the camp. She drops the cat and takes Jones by the arm. It takes a tug or two to draw the archaeologist out of his scholastic trance, but after a few seconds she gets him moving.
Salamanca nods at the couple. "Go with peace."
She closes her hand, and the vision-globe slowly fades. "I have shown you all I can, Ahaw Sotz'. Would that I could do more."
"You have done more then I had hoped." Which is very true. I may not yet know everything, but I know that I *will* know. All the pieces are before me, like the shattered parts of one of Jones' ancient mosaic floors, and now it is my task to lay them out until the full pattern is clear.
But that is for later. For now, I smile at the lady. "If I can ever repay the favor?"
"More then you already have?" She holds out her arms, and the cat jumps up, flashing me another nasty look. "There are no debts among our kind."
"None we can repay." I reply. "Still, if you're ever in Gotham?"
"I do not often leave my homeland. Still, should the time come? I will gladly let you and the Ch'en Men show me the 'night life"." The cat yowls, and she rubs it's tufted ears gently before adding, "Of either sort."
I turn to my disguised friend. "Thank you, also, El Hombre Veridad."
He shakes my hand solemnly. "I am always there for those who defend the peace of this land."
The cat gives a final hiss as both Salamanca and 'El Hombre Veridad' vanish in a swirl of golden light.
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Renwick wants to talk with Littlejohn, and Mayfair and Brooks apparently never get parted, so I volunteer to wait for the second trip. It's not that long a delay, and I too would as soon keep my people together.
The flight back to the camp is finished in relative silence - at least on my part. Jones and Dinah are huddled together, and Dick has volunteered to back up the pilot, so they are chattering together in the front seats. Which is fine. I seriously need to think.
We are back at the city and dressing for dinner before I can call a briefing unobserved.
K'usal has delivered a second tux, so Savage's princess has evidently resigned herself to having Dick at her table. I suppose, after my little speech, she has managed to convince herself that he is at least a commissioned officer. Good, because otherwise I would have to be 'tired' again, and tonight I *do* want to talk to Savage. Eventually.
Dick doesn't look thrilled. He never does if the situation involves wearing a tie. Still, he will wear it to please me.
Dinah also has a new dress. Or an old dress. She seems less pleased with this model then the last one. She shows it to us before disappearing into the bathroom. It is black and slinky. I have no idea what she's complaining about.
Jones is wearing his suit without comment. Has set aside his sardonic attitude in favor of a through and very professional briefing on the details he saw in the city. No vague theories here. He knows what I need, and he gives it.
According to him, the uniform styles are classic Inca. As are the more elaborate costumes we saw on two of the three leaders. The one with the fur is a priest - of the Jaguar cult natch. I'm beginning to develop an allergy to cats. The guy with all the feathers is a 'king'. Or at least a prince. Apparently the difference is more a case of 'who are you asking' then anything as organized as medieval Europe. In any case, he's one more political player - just like Tepi-boy.
That ties it to the codex we found in the pirates camp. I'd assume that we now know where Drax was headed. Not that it helps either of us. Jones couldn't read the map, and if any of our two captive can, they managed not to tell Renwick.
He also ties it to the scrap we found at the burned village.
I am impressed.
Even with the discolorations of the stones, Jones managed to sight-read most of the altar inscription. A calendar date, of course. Apparently it's always dates. In this case? Sot'z Ik. Again. A day I begin to suspect - at least for me - will live in infamy.
Dick listens to the entire lecture attentively. Only when Jones has finished does he ask. "What did *you* see, Bruce?"
"Me?"
Who else?" Dick makes a face to show he is *not* fooled by my innocent tone. "I know you, Bruce."
"The third man."
Dinah sticks her head out from the bathroom, "The European looking guy in the really funky hat?
"I recognized him," I answer.
"Not good?" Dinah steps back a moment, apparently to grab her hairbrush, then comes out to join the discussion.
"Very not good." I think about it, and decide they will remember the name. "Senor Auturo Gomez."
"Holy crap." Dick is half-way out of his chair, headed nowhere. "The lumber baron?" He paces around the bed, outrage in every step. "No wonder we've had trouble on our tail ever since we left Pueblo Molino."
"I thought it was only gossip when Martin Juarez quizzed us so closely on the Jaguar's Tongue, but now?"
Dick hits the wall and turns sharply. "What did we know and when did we know it?"
"Exactly." I turn in my chair, tracking Dick as he circles the room. "And probably also were we on the River Chak to get it back.
I run a rough mental count. Our group, and Walker with his animals, and most likely Savage's agents. Any more and we would have needed traffic cops. Gomez has been isolated on his rancho for decades. It must have worried him when he pulls this and suddenly half the world seemed to be coming his way. We didn't know what he was up to, but he did. that made him feel vulnerable... and the jump from vulnerable to stupid is generally a short one.
"The other guys. Inca, you said?" Dinah looks at Jones, who nods. "Makes sense, in a sick way. If I remember my eighth-grade world history, they would be the third local power in this region. Aztec, Maya, Inca. If we count Gomez as the 'Spanish' it pretty much gives us a full house."
"So this is an equal opportunity slaughter?" Dick spins. "Everybody gets to play?"
Dinah dodges past Dick and takes his chair. "Do you think these guys burned the villages?"
"Possible." I consider the point. That might fit the time line, if Gomez was marching beside us following the river. "Although I still have the question of *why*. From the way Savage talks, those river villages would have been considered Inca. Potential allies?" I make the last a question,and aim it at Jones.
"Or potential competitors?" he suggests. "Clear out the other contenders and rule by default? Consolidate the survivors because they are too scared to tell you no?"
As good a theory as any. Not that it matters. I'm still considering the probabilities when Dick asks the question that counts.
"What do you think they are after?"
"At a guess?" I turn to watch his face. "I think they plan to Kill the Jaguar God and rule Over the City of Gold."
He freezes, then grins. "Gee. Do you think?"
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Dinner is an exercise in strained good manners.
This is officially a celebration. After all, Teplitzin was foiled. He's the only one they see as a real threat, and today he lost both the chance of the dagger and a great deal of face. Apparently loosing a sacrifice, even if he *can't * prove that Savage and company was behind it, is going to cost him enough mojo to put him out of the running for Chief Deity.
Unofficially? I've been to happier funerals.
Savage is edgy, his wife is on the edge of tears, and Captain Muwan is looking over his shoulder like the next knife is going to be aimed at him. Possible. He hasn't married into the family yet.
Brooks and Mayfair fall silent after a single round of insults.
Littlejohn is sticking to words of three syllables or less.
Renwick has apparently given up speech altogether.
Some of that is from exhaustion. Renwick, Littlejohn, Brooks, and Mayfair have all been up more then forty hours now. That has to take it's toll. They are fit, but they are also in their seventies. Brooks is in his eighties. They don't look it, but I can do the math. Unless Savage had picked up the Fountain of Youth along with the City of Gold, there were going to be some very sore soldiers in the morning.
I'm already feeling it, and I'm still on the right side of middle age. Whatever Dick may say.
Mental note - see if I can talk Dick into a massage.
Still, the turkey mole is excellent. And triptophane is a natural pain killer. As is chocolate. Three good reasons for a second helping.
We eat quickly and quietly, focused on the food.
By desert Patricia Renwick has pulled rank - and her husbands arm - and hauled him off for some very needed sleep before he can actually land in the lime pie.
Muwan has also made his excuses. Officially, he's headed to the command office to be available to the troops when they arrive. Unofficially? I'd put down money that there's a cot in that office. Virginia Renwick goes with him. Medicinal support, I suppose. She looks like she intends to make him feel all better.
Dinah has simply vanished with Jones. Less polite, but Mona is so happy to see them go that she's willing to pass on the formalities.
Beyond that? It's a celebration without much to celebrate.
We *don't* have the knife, and that is the bottom line.
*They* don't have the knife, and they're running out of time.
Sotz' Ix.
The Jaguar and the Bat. Of course, the second name is just a coincidence. These calendars were carved long before the first log hut went up in Gotham, much less before there was a Bat to stalk that city. Even so. After Mr. Walkers strange little prophecy, the coincidence leaves me with an uneasy feeling.
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I wait until after dinner to bring up my questions.
The ladies have vanished, along with the younger men, and only the main crew and myself have been invited for final drinks in the study. With departures for exhaustion, that means Savage, Brooks, Mayfair, and Littlejohn.
Littlejohn slumps down at the desk. That must be 'his' place. I can't judge if he's actually making notes or just covering up exhaustion. Probably both.
Brooks brews up the cacaw, and in this case I take it. This is *not* recreational drug use. It tastes like a bitter chocolate espresso. Not bad, and I need the energy. Tomorrow could be a *very* long day.
"Doctor Savage?" I ask, sitting forward on the well-stuffed leather seat. "What can you tell me about the Inca?"
"The hill tribes?" He sounds surprised at my question. "They have nothing to do with this."
"So there is a presence?"
Mayfair drops onto the sofa. "Amhacutec. He's a bum"
Brooks pours two more cups and goes over to sit on the sofa beside Mayfair. For once, it isn't to disagree. "The man may call himself a prince, but a cluster of mountaintop villages is hardly the political equivalent of Teplitzin, or even the rulers of the lesser cities."
Which makes two yeses in the form of a no. Not a happy phenomenon.
"This Amhacutec. Is he as ambitious as Teplitzin?"
"Amhacutec Inca." Savage stares into the depths of his jade -studded cacaw cup, considering. "He might like to be, but he has neither the men nor the gold. I let him 'rule' the hill tribes - as does Teplitzin - because they are more trouble then profit."
"Avaricious, but effectively ineffacious." Littlejohn adds. "The absence of assets impedes affluence."
Translated, they are too broke to cause trouble. Make that one more vote of Dinah's revolution. I like wealth. Hell, I *love* being rich. I put considerable energy into *staying* rich. Richer. It beats the crap out of all available alternatives. But some people take the attitude far too far. With too little grasp of the responsibility entailed. If it wasn't for the prospect of a general barbecue, I'd almost be willing to let Gomez and company take the place. Almost.
"Those are the hill tribes you mentioned my first night here as blocking the path to Ixchel and San Luis de Tula?" I look over the crew. "If this Amhacutec controls both mountain terrain and part of the river...?" I leave the question unspoken, but evident.
"Admitted lately we've been having some minor problems in that area recently." Brooks answers cautiously, eyes on his boss. "Amhacutec has been taking advantage of our temporary distraction to exact tribute from some of the more distant settlements, but.."
I ignore him, focusing on Savage. "If this Amhacutec had the dagger - what could he do. Does it mean the same thing to them? Could he use it like Teplitzin could to make a claim on this city?"
"He could not be so foolish." Savage snaps, slapping his cup in the table. "Even if the Inca had pretensions, he would never have the troops to take this city - or to keep it. He'd be conquered within the year."
"Even if he had modern weaponry?"
"Ferget it." Monk waves his now-empty cup. "No chance."
"I assure you he does not have modern weaponry." Brook stands, collecting the empty cups. "A few stray Indians may have managed to barter or steal rifles off of the mercadories, but... we can easily control that once more important matters are settled."
"But if they did?" I press. "If they had full access, with a steady supply line for ammo, supplies, whatever."
Savage give me a 'patient' look. "If Amhacutec Inca had a modern army, then I suppose we would have to take him seriously. But then," he adds with a smile, " if you could 'leap over tall buildings' you'd be Superman."
Some I know would argue that point, but....
I stand. "I may not be Superman, but Amhacutec Inca *is* on the march. And if that dagger is anywhere? It's with him."
END CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Chapter 28: A Man of Vision
Disclaimer: Everyone here is owned by DC Comics. Or maybe by Warner Brothers. Or maybe by the Hidalgo Trading Company. Whoever. It sure ain't me.
^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^)
*whapwhapwhap* *whapwhapwhap*
Helicopter. Not unexpected, as they were what we were waiting for. As soon as we were safely past Teplitzin's sphere of control, Renwick had sent a runner to Muwan, who in turn sent a runner to the City of Gold. Not quite Western Union, but as the guy must have been a greyhound in his previous life, it worked well enough. The return runner caught up with us about the time we had started our delayed lunch.
Renwick announced the main body of the army would march back, but the 'vital personnel', meaning Savage's posse and mine - would be back in home in time for dinner.
That was one of my reasons for pushing this little visit. I'd back my people against Savage, but I'd rather not push the point. And once in the city, I doubt we would have been able to sneak away for this little seance.
"My apologies, Miss Salamanca." I glance at the shadow overhead, then at Dick. He is already stepping back. "That is our signal to depart."
She smiles. " It would not do to keep your ride waiting."
I signal Dinah to get Jones and head back to the camp. She drops the cat and takes Jones by the arm. It takes a tug or two to draw the archaeologist out of his scholastic trance, but after a few seconds she gets him moving.
Salamanca nods at the couple. "Go with peace."
She closes her hand, and the vision-globe slowly fades. "I have shown you all I can, Ahaw Sotz'. Would that I could do more."
"You have done more then I had hoped." Which is very true. I may not yet know everything, but I know that I *will* know. All the pieces are before me, like the shattered parts of one of Jones' ancient mosaic floors, and now it is my task to lay them out until the full pattern is clear.
But that is for later. For now, I smile at the lady. "If I can ever repay the favor?"
"More then you already have?" She holds out her arms, and the cat jumps up, flashing me another nasty look. "There are no debts among our kind."
"None we can repay." I reply. "Still, if you're ever in Gotham?"
"I do not often leave my homeland. Still, should the time come? I will gladly let you and the Ch'en Men show me the 'night life"." The cat yowls, and she rubs it's tufted ears gently before adding, "Of either sort."
I turn to my disguised friend. "Thank you, also, El Hombre Veridad."
He shakes my hand solemnly. "I am always there for those who defend the peace of this land."
The cat gives a final hiss as both Salamanca and 'El Hombre Veridad' vanish in a swirl of golden light.
^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^)
Renwick wants to talk with Littlejohn, and Mayfair and Brooks apparently never get parted, so I volunteer to wait for the second trip. It's not that long a delay, and I too would as soon keep my people together.
The flight back to the camp is finished in relative silence - at least on my part. Jones and Dinah are huddled together, and Dick has volunteered to back up the pilot, so they are chattering together in the front seats. Which is fine. I seriously need to think.
We are back at the city and dressing for dinner before I can call a briefing unobserved.
K'usal has delivered a second tux, so Savage's princess has evidently resigned herself to having Dick at her table. I suppose, after my little speech, she has managed to convince herself that he is at least a commissioned officer. Good, because otherwise I would have to be 'tired' again, and tonight I *do* want to talk to Savage. Eventually.
Dick doesn't look thrilled. He never does if the situation involves wearing a tie. Still, he will wear it to please me.
Dinah also has a new dress. Or an old dress. She seems less pleased with this model then the last one. She shows it to us before disappearing into the bathroom. It is black and slinky. I have no idea what she's complaining about.
Jones is wearing his suit without comment. Has set aside his sardonic attitude in favor of a through and very professional briefing on the details he saw in the city. No vague theories here. He knows what I need, and he gives it.
According to him, the uniform styles are classic Inca. As are the more elaborate costumes we saw on two of the three leaders. The one with the fur is a priest - of the Jaguar cult natch. I'm beginning to develop an allergy to cats. The guy with all the feathers is a 'king'. Or at least a prince. Apparently the difference is more a case of 'who are you asking' then anything as organized as medieval Europe. In any case, he's one more political player - just like Tepi-boy.
That ties it to the codex we found in the pirates camp. I'd assume that we now know where Drax was headed. Not that it helps either of us. Jones couldn't read the map, and if any of our two captive can, they managed not to tell Renwick.
He also ties it to the scrap we found at the burned village.
I am impressed.
Even with the discolorations of the stones, Jones managed to sight-read most of the altar inscription. A calendar date, of course. Apparently it's always dates. In this case? Sot'z Ik. Again. A day I begin to suspect - at least for me - will live in infamy.
Dick listens to the entire lecture attentively. Only when Jones has finished does he ask. "What did *you* see, Bruce?"
"Me?"
Who else?" Dick makes a face to show he is *not* fooled by my innocent tone. "I know you, Bruce."
"The third man."
Dinah sticks her head out from the bathroom, "The European looking guy in the really funky hat?
"I recognized him," I answer.
"Not good?" Dinah steps back a moment, apparently to grab her hairbrush, then comes out to join the discussion.
"Very not good." I think about it, and decide they will remember the name. "Senor Auturo Gomez."
"Holy crap." Dick is half-way out of his chair, headed nowhere. "The lumber baron?" He paces around the bed, outrage in every step. "No wonder we've had trouble on our tail ever since we left Pueblo Molino."
"I thought it was only gossip when Martin Juarez quizzed us so closely on the Jaguar's Tongue, but now?"
Dick hits the wall and turns sharply. "What did we know and when did we know it?"
"Exactly." I turn in my chair, tracking Dick as he circles the room. "And probably also were we on the River Chak to get it back.
I run a rough mental count. Our group, and Walker with his animals, and most likely Savage's agents. Any more and we would have needed traffic cops. Gomez has been isolated on his rancho for decades. It must have worried him when he pulls this and suddenly half the world seemed to be coming his way. We didn't know what he was up to, but he did. that made him feel vulnerable... and the jump from vulnerable to stupid is generally a short one.
"The other guys. Inca, you said?" Dinah looks at Jones, who nods. "Makes sense, in a sick way. If I remember my eighth-grade world history, they would be the third local power in this region. Aztec, Maya, Inca. If we count Gomez as the 'Spanish' it pretty much gives us a full house."
"So this is an equal opportunity slaughter?" Dick spins. "Everybody gets to play?"
Dinah dodges past Dick and takes his chair. "Do you think these guys burned the villages?"
"Possible." I consider the point. That might fit the time line, if Gomez was marching beside us following the river. "Although I still have the question of *why*. From the way Savage talks, those river villages would have been considered Inca. Potential allies?" I make the last a question,and aim it at Jones.
"Or potential competitors?" he suggests. "Clear out the other contenders and rule by default? Consolidate the survivors because they are too scared to tell you no?"
As good a theory as any. Not that it matters. I'm still considering the probabilities when Dick asks the question that counts.
"What do you think they are after?"
"At a guess?" I turn to watch his face. "I think they plan to Kill the Jaguar God and rule Over the City of Gold."
He freezes, then grins. "Gee. Do you think?"
^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^)
Dinner is an exercise in strained good manners.
This is officially a celebration. After all, Teplitzin was foiled. He's the only one they see as a real threat, and today he lost both the chance of the dagger and a great deal of face. Apparently loosing a sacrifice, even if he *can't * prove that Savage and company was behind it, is going to cost him enough mojo to put him out of the running for Chief Deity.
Unofficially? I've been to happier funerals.
Savage is edgy, his wife is on the edge of tears, and Captain Muwan is looking over his shoulder like the next knife is going to be aimed at him. Possible. He hasn't married into the family yet.
Brooks and Mayfair fall silent after a single round of insults.
Littlejohn is sticking to words of three syllables or less.
Renwick has apparently given up speech altogether.
Some of that is from exhaustion. Renwick, Littlejohn, Brooks, and Mayfair have all been up more then forty hours now. That has to take it's toll. They are fit, but they are also in their seventies. Brooks is in his eighties. They don't look it, but I can do the math. Unless Savage had picked up the Fountain of Youth along with the City of Gold, there were going to be some very sore soldiers in the morning.
I'm already feeling it, and I'm still on the right side of middle age. Whatever Dick may say.
Mental note - see if I can talk Dick into a massage.
Still, the turkey mole is excellent. And triptophane is a natural pain killer. As is chocolate. Three good reasons for a second helping.
We eat quickly and quietly, focused on the food.
By desert Patricia Renwick has pulled rank - and her husbands arm - and hauled him off for some very needed sleep before he can actually land in the lime pie.
Muwan has also made his excuses. Officially, he's headed to the command office to be available to the troops when they arrive. Unofficially? I'd put down money that there's a cot in that office. Virginia Renwick goes with him. Medicinal support, I suppose. She looks like she intends to make him feel all better.
Dinah has simply vanished with Jones. Less polite, but Mona is so happy to see them go that she's willing to pass on the formalities.
Beyond that? It's a celebration without much to celebrate.
We *don't* have the knife, and that is the bottom line.
*They* don't have the knife, and they're running out of time.
Sotz' Ix.
The Jaguar and the Bat. Of course, the second name is just a coincidence. These calendars were carved long before the first log hut went up in Gotham, much less before there was a Bat to stalk that city. Even so. After Mr. Walkers strange little prophecy, the coincidence leaves me with an uneasy feeling.
^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^)
I wait until after dinner to bring up my questions.
The ladies have vanished, along with the younger men, and only the main crew and myself have been invited for final drinks in the study. With departures for exhaustion, that means Savage, Brooks, Mayfair, and Littlejohn.
Littlejohn slumps down at the desk. That must be 'his' place. I can't judge if he's actually making notes or just covering up exhaustion. Probably both.
Brooks brews up the cacaw, and in this case I take it. This is *not* recreational drug use. It tastes like a bitter chocolate espresso. Not bad, and I need the energy. Tomorrow could be a *very* long day.
"Doctor Savage?" I ask, sitting forward on the well-stuffed leather seat. "What can you tell me about the Inca?"
"The hill tribes?" He sounds surprised at my question. "They have nothing to do with this."
"So there is a presence?"
Mayfair drops onto the sofa. "Amhacutec. He's a bum"
Brooks pours two more cups and goes over to sit on the sofa beside Mayfair. For once, it isn't to disagree. "The man may call himself a prince, but a cluster of mountaintop villages is hardly the political equivalent of Teplitzin, or even the rulers of the lesser cities."
Which makes two yeses in the form of a no. Not a happy phenomenon.
"This Amhacutec. Is he as ambitious as Teplitzin?"
"Amhacutec Inca." Savage stares into the depths of his jade -studded cacaw cup, considering. "He might like to be, but he has neither the men nor the gold. I let him 'rule' the hill tribes - as does Teplitzin - because they are more trouble then profit."
"Avaricious, but effectively ineffacious." Littlejohn adds. "The absence of assets impedes affluence."
Translated, they are too broke to cause trouble. Make that one more vote of Dinah's revolution. I like wealth. Hell, I *love* being rich. I put considerable energy into *staying* rich. Richer. It beats the crap out of all available alternatives. But some people take the attitude far too far. With too little grasp of the responsibility entailed. If it wasn't for the prospect of a general barbecue, I'd almost be willing to let Gomez and company take the place. Almost.
"Those are the hill tribes you mentioned my first night here as blocking the path to Ixchel and San Luis de Tula?" I look over the crew. "If this Amhacutec controls both mountain terrain and part of the river...?" I leave the question unspoken, but evident.
"Admitted lately we've been having some minor problems in that area recently." Brooks answers cautiously, eyes on his boss. "Amhacutec has been taking advantage of our temporary distraction to exact tribute from some of the more distant settlements, but.."
I ignore him, focusing on Savage. "If this Amhacutec had the dagger - what could he do. Does it mean the same thing to them? Could he use it like Teplitzin could to make a claim on this city?"
"He could not be so foolish." Savage snaps, slapping his cup in the table. "Even if the Inca had pretensions, he would never have the troops to take this city - or to keep it. He'd be conquered within the year."
"Even if he had modern weaponry?"
"Ferget it." Monk waves his now-empty cup. "No chance."
"I assure you he does not have modern weaponry." Brook stands, collecting the empty cups. "A few stray Indians may have managed to barter or steal rifles off of the mercadories, but... we can easily control that once more important matters are settled."
"But if they did?" I press. "If they had full access, with a steady supply line for ammo, supplies, whatever."
Savage give me a 'patient' look. "If Amhacutec Inca had a modern army, then I suppose we would have to take him seriously. But then," he adds with a smile, " if you could 'leap over tall buildings' you'd be Superman."
Some I know would argue that point, but....
I stand. "I may not be Superman, but Amhacutec Inca *is* on the march. And if that dagger is anywhere? It's with him."
END CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT