of how the Incas came to this place. Look.’ He indicated one section on the left-hand wall: a large building. ‘That is the Intiwasa at Cuzco, the Sun Temple – the Spanish destroyed the upper levels to build the church of Santa Domingo on it, but the base is exactly the same.’
Nina carefully put down the statues, then retrieved her light and examined the mural. Though simplistic, almost cartoony in the way everything was broken down into blocks of solid colour, there was clearly a story being told. ‘These figures outside the temple, the ones in different clothes – are they the Spaniards?’
Osterhagen nodded. ‘Pizarro’s messengers. Giving Atahualpa’s orders for his people to gather their gold and silver.’
‘And hide it from the Spanish . . .’ Nina moved her light across the walls. Opposite the representation of Cuzco was one of what she assumed was Paititi, a walled town surrounded by trees, above which was an image of the sun disc in the nearby temple – as well as a small shape that was almost certainly meant to be the half of the third statue.
Murals of other locations were spread out between the start and the end of the Inca exodus. A painted path connected them, marked along its meandering length with symbols: vertical lines broken up by dots. ‘These symbols,’ she said. ‘An account of the route they followed, maybe?’
‘I thought the Incas never developed writing?’ said Macy.
‘They didn’t,’ said Osterhagen. ‘Most of their history was oral. They had ways of storing numerical records such as censuses and taxes, though.’
‘Uh-huh.’ Tax records were of not the slightest interest to the young woman. She examined another part of the wall.
Nina was still concentrating on the markings. ‘I’ve seen this kind of thing before. My guess is that these give you distances and directions to follow. It’s a record of their journey to Paititi.’
‘And other places,’ said Macy with growing excitement, illuminating another painted scene above the recess. ‘Look at this!’
Even Eddie was impressed enough to delay yelling another, more forceful reminder of the time. ‘Thought you said El Dorado was just a myth?’
Mountain peaks rose above a city, buildings stacked seemingly on top of each other as they rose to a palace at their summit – above which was another sun disc, but more elaborate than the one above the painting of Paititi, and even its real-life counterpart in the Temple of the Sun. Both city and god-image were coloured in yellow . . . or gold. ‘Is that the Punchaco?’ Nina asked. ‘The real one?’
Osterhagen’s nose almost rubbed the faded paint. ‘Yes! Yes, it must be! Look at all the jewels – look how big it is!’ Even taking the Incas’ primitive understanding of perspective into account, it was clear the ornate disc was meant to be larger than the figures kneeling below it. ‘It must have been huge!’
Nina gently blew away dirt and cobwebs to reveal more detail. Running down one side of the city were streaks of pale blue that ended in a stippled cloud, which in turn led into a winding blue line that could only be a representation of a river. ‘A waterfall?’
‘It could be, yes . . . ’ The German gazed open-mouthed at the scene. ‘Oh! And look at these jaguars. They must be symbols of the gods, protecting the city from invaders.’ He pointed out a little vignette between the lowest tier of buildings and the river. At one side, a pair of elegantly stylised cats, yellow bodies mottled with black spots, sat and watched with aloof disdain as two figures were swept away by another waterfall; to their right, a crouching jaguar observed a man climbing a steep set of steps.
Nina was no longer looking at the painting, however. With more light on it, the niche was revealed to be not as empty as she had thought. There was something beneath the accumulated dirt behind where the figurine had stood. She brushed it experimentally with a fingertip, finding a braided cord beneath and slowly lifting it. More muck fell away as other lengths of coloured string were revealed, small knots woven into them.
Loretta took a picture. ‘It’s a khipu!’ she gasped.
‘Be careful,’ Osterhagen urged Nina. ‘They are very rare, only a few hundred in the world. The Spanish destroyed any they found.’ She carefully lowered the cords back into their resting place.
‘What’s a khipu?’ Macy asked.
Even through broken teeth, Cuff’s condescension was clear. ‘Khipus are how the Incas kept their records