The Private Diary of Elizabeth Quatermain, vol. III: The Wintering
by Lady Norbert
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4 March 1900
We take our leave of Machu Picchu this morning, having viewed our fill of the landscape. It may well be that the lost city will remain lost to civilization for many years to come, but we can say, to each other at least, that we have seen it.
I expect that the trip down the mountain will be no more eventful than the trip up; on the contrary, I hope it is far less eventful. We were very fortunate with our dysentery outbreak that no one died, for it can be fatal. In any case, unless something out of the ordinary should occur, I will leave off updating this diary until we reach Cuzco.
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16 March 1900
Thanks to a distinct lack of illness, we made much better time returning to Cuzco than we made departing it. The mule owner seemed startled to see us again, as though he fully expected us to never return from our trek. Frustrated with the poor communication, Jaya managed to retain the services of a priest who speaks English as well as the local dialect of Spanish, and he translated for us. And now, at last, we know the whole story.
It would seem that there is a legend, handed down for generations, about Machu Picchu. When it was abandoned by the Incas, they left seven stone guardians to keep watch over the city. These guardians were connected, spiritually, to what is called the Intihuatana stone, the "hitching post of the sun." In the days of the Incas, every city held such a stone, and at noon on the spring and autumn equinoxes, the sun shines straight down on the stones and casts no shadow. The stones were believed to contain local gods.
In any event, the stone guardians were to remain in perpetual sleep until the Intihuatana stone of Machu Picchu was disturbed by an outsider. They would then rise and perform one final ritual sacrifice to the sun god, in the hopes of restoring the god's goodwill toward the Incan city.
"That is why you were sealed in the cave, Missee Sahib Quatermain," said Jaya. "It was a sacrifice to the sun god by live burial."
"So that is what the last statue was doing," said Mina. "Before it crumbled, it raised its arms and chanted for a long time -- it must have been declaring the sacrifice to the sun."
The mule owner said something then, which seemed to embarrass the priest slightly. To me, he said carefully, "Senorita, you are not married?"
"Er, no, I'm not."
"That is why you were chosen," he replied. "According to the legend, the final sacrifice was to be a...pure sacrifice."
"Oh." Now it was my turn to be embarrassed. "I see."
"Well," the priest continued, "if what you say is true, then the legend has been fulfilled and may be safely forgotten. The Incan city should hold no further danger for anyone."
"We're pleased to have been of service," I said dryly.
The mules returned to their rightful owner, we will spend tonight in a hotel here in Cuzco, then tomorrow make our way back to the Apurimac and the Nautilus.
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18 March 1900
Oh, home sweet home; how wonderful to see this submarine again!
I have not forgotten that my account of the events in Machu Picchu is incomplete. I have been over it many times now, and I think I can accurately report on what occurred in the cave after Mina left.
We watched her fly out through the opening, and then Skinner looked at me. "Are you really all right?" he asked.
"Yes, I think so. Is everyone else really all right?"
"Oh, yeah. Fine." There was a pause.
Quite without warning, he wrapped his arms around me. Startled, but moved, I reciprocated. We remained thus for a long moment.
"Don't you ever do that again, you hear?" His voice was low and rough in my ear. "I mean it. Promise me, Elizabeth."
Elizabeth. Not Bess, or Bessie, but Elizabeth. I'd never heard him speak my full name before. I gave him a promise, and he released me. I had a hard time breathing, suddenly, which I don't believe had anything to do with the air in the cave -- because at that moment, I knew.
I know why he gave me his mother's locket. I know why he stayed with me throughout my illness. I know the reason behind a thousand different things.
I am finding it difficult, even now, to write this properly. I cannot seem to stop trembling. I have suspected it on occasion, but always before I convinced myself it was untrue. Now, though, I am very nearly certain of it; certain enough, at least, to write it down.
Rodney Skinner loves me.
I'm almost sure of it. Indeed, I am almost as sure that he loves me...as I am sure that I love him.
There. I admitted it. But confessing it to this diary is about all I am able to do. Unless he decides to say something on the matter, there is nothing else to be done, for I cannot be the one to state my feelings first. It's just not done -- and even if it were, the possibility that I am misreading his intentions is enough to terrify me into silence.
So, for this reason, I must act as though all is normal and nothing is the least bit unusual between us. In a sense, nothing has changed; if this truly is his feeling for me, then it has been this way for some time, as it has been on my part. I must simply pretend not to have realized it until such time as he makes a more formal declaration. And if he never does, well, at least I can enjoy the knowledge that we need never be separated.
Speaking of acting as though all is normal...
He just came now and knocked. "Bess?"
"Come in."
The door opened, and a shirt and pair of trousers stepped into the room. "It's raining again," he said. "Tom's so bored he's proposing a backgammon tournament in the library. You up for it?"
"I'll be right there."
Here ends this stage of Miss Elizabeth Quatermain's adventures with the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. Look for further peril and pandemonium in volume four, "Only in America," coming soon.
by Lady Norbert
4 March 1900
We take our leave of Machu Picchu this morning, having viewed our fill of the landscape. It may well be that the lost city will remain lost to civilization for many years to come, but we can say, to each other at least, that we have seen it.
I expect that the trip down the mountain will be no more eventful than the trip up; on the contrary, I hope it is far less eventful. We were very fortunate with our dysentery outbreak that no one died, for it can be fatal. In any case, unless something out of the ordinary should occur, I will leave off updating this diary until we reach Cuzco.
16 March 1900
Thanks to a distinct lack of illness, we made much better time returning to Cuzco than we made departing it. The mule owner seemed startled to see us again, as though he fully expected us to never return from our trek. Frustrated with the poor communication, Jaya managed to retain the services of a priest who speaks English as well as the local dialect of Spanish, and he translated for us. And now, at last, we know the whole story.
It would seem that there is a legend, handed down for generations, about Machu Picchu. When it was abandoned by the Incas, they left seven stone guardians to keep watch over the city. These guardians were connected, spiritually, to what is called the Intihuatana stone, the "hitching post of the sun." In the days of the Incas, every city held such a stone, and at noon on the spring and autumn equinoxes, the sun shines straight down on the stones and casts no shadow. The stones were believed to contain local gods.
In any event, the stone guardians were to remain in perpetual sleep until the Intihuatana stone of Machu Picchu was disturbed by an outsider. They would then rise and perform one final ritual sacrifice to the sun god, in the hopes of restoring the god's goodwill toward the Incan city.
"That is why you were sealed in the cave, Missee Sahib Quatermain," said Jaya. "It was a sacrifice to the sun god by live burial."
"So that is what the last statue was doing," said Mina. "Before it crumbled, it raised its arms and chanted for a long time -- it must have been declaring the sacrifice to the sun."
The mule owner said something then, which seemed to embarrass the priest slightly. To me, he said carefully, "Senorita, you are not married?"
"Er, no, I'm not."
"That is why you were chosen," he replied. "According to the legend, the final sacrifice was to be a...pure sacrifice."
"Oh." Now it was my turn to be embarrassed. "I see."
"Well," the priest continued, "if what you say is true, then the legend has been fulfilled and may be safely forgotten. The Incan city should hold no further danger for anyone."
"We're pleased to have been of service," I said dryly.
The mules returned to their rightful owner, we will spend tonight in a hotel here in Cuzco, then tomorrow make our way back to the Apurimac and the Nautilus.
18 March 1900
Oh, home sweet home; how wonderful to see this submarine again!
I have not forgotten that my account of the events in Machu Picchu is incomplete. I have been over it many times now, and I think I can accurately report on what occurred in the cave after Mina left.
We watched her fly out through the opening, and then Skinner looked at me. "Are you really all right?" he asked.
"Yes, I think so. Is everyone else really all right?"
"Oh, yeah. Fine." There was a pause.
Quite without warning, he wrapped his arms around me. Startled, but moved, I reciprocated. We remained thus for a long moment.
"Don't you ever do that again, you hear?" His voice was low and rough in my ear. "I mean it. Promise me, Elizabeth."
Elizabeth. Not Bess, or Bessie, but Elizabeth. I'd never heard him speak my full name before. I gave him a promise, and he released me. I had a hard time breathing, suddenly, which I don't believe had anything to do with the air in the cave -- because at that moment, I knew.
I know why he gave me his mother's locket. I know why he stayed with me throughout my illness. I know the reason behind a thousand different things.
I am finding it difficult, even now, to write this properly. I cannot seem to stop trembling. I have suspected it on occasion, but always before I convinced myself it was untrue. Now, though, I am very nearly certain of it; certain enough, at least, to write it down.
Rodney Skinner loves me.
I'm almost sure of it. Indeed, I am almost as sure that he loves me...as I am sure that I love him.
There. I admitted it. But confessing it to this diary is about all I am able to do. Unless he decides to say something on the matter, there is nothing else to be done, for I cannot be the one to state my feelings first. It's just not done -- and even if it were, the possibility that I am misreading his intentions is enough to terrify me into silence.
So, for this reason, I must act as though all is normal and nothing is the least bit unusual between us. In a sense, nothing has changed; if this truly is his feeling for me, then it has been this way for some time, as it has been on my part. I must simply pretend not to have realized it until such time as he makes a more formal declaration. And if he never does, well, at least I can enjoy the knowledge that we need never be separated.
Speaking of acting as though all is normal...
He just came now and knocked. "Bess?"
"Come in."
The door opened, and a shirt and pair of trousers stepped into the room. "It's raining again," he said. "Tom's so bored he's proposing a backgammon tournament in the library. You up for it?"
"I'll be right there."
Here ends this stage of Miss Elizabeth Quatermain's adventures with the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. Look for further peril and pandemonium in volume four, "Only in America," coming soon.