by John McCuaig
Sneaking past the guards who were now playing cards in their room, they made their way out of the museum and onto the dark streets of Cuzco.
*****
It was almost dawn by the time they got to their destination, as they banged on the heavy door the sun was starting to peek over the rooftops.
“Are you sure about this?” The nervous younger man asked the other. “What can these people want with it?”
“I don’t care,” he said. “For what they are paying us for this job they can do whatever they damn want.” He then smacked his fist again on the wooden door. “Stupid priests must be bloody praying or something.”
He looked up at the plaque above the door. The old and faded sign was written in the ancient language-
The Temple of Inti, The Sun God.
At last, the door creaked open and a single, brown robbed man recognised them and beckoned them inside. They were then led down a passageway into a large room where another half dozen of the priests were waiting.
“Where’s my money?” the thief shouted as he held the bag out in front. “I have got your goods, but where is my finder’s fee?”
One of the other priests came forward, he was dressed differently from the others, and his robe was made from golden silk. “It is here but please, let me see the statue first,” he said as he pointed towards a large table at the far end of the room.
After a few grunts of disgust, the bag was emptied out onto the stone slab table and the four pieces of the statue came into view for all.
“Magnificent, absolutely magnificent,” the High Priest said as he closely examined the pieces before clapping his hands together. Another of the priests brought over a silver platter, which contained a bottle of chicha, three glasses and four large ingots of gold.
“Here is your reward, just as I promised you,” the High Priest beckoned the two thieves closer. “Now will you please join me in a drink to celebrate the statue coming home at last?”
Both the thieves smiled, not at the offer of the drink but the sight of the pure gold bars before them. They imagined their future; they could live well for many months with such newfound riches. In their excitement, they took a full glass each and toasted to their good fortune.
Within a few seconds, both of them were lying on the floor holding their stomachs in a deep and burning pain. In between their screams of pain, they cursed the priests and promised they would take their revenge.
“Tie them up,” the High Priest shouted. “Get them over to the altar.” He was already carefully trying to put the broken pieces of the statue back together as another of his order was placing some parchments out beside him.
“We need to hurry up my friends,” he shouted again to the other priests. “The spell must be completed just as they die, they shall be the first.”
All around him, his fellow priests were frantically following his orders. He looked around with pride, his arms now held out wide.
“Soon the Ukhu Pacha will return and at long last, the Time of the Priests will be here.”
The End
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Also by John McCuaig