Evil Star

nothing he had ever seen in his life.
    It really wasn't like a city at all. There were no skyscrap-ers, no office buildings, no main roads, no traffic lights or even very much traffic. Cuzco was like something out of a storybook written a long time ago. Matt saw a central square dominated by two Spanish cathedrals and a sprawl of neat, white-fronted houses with terra-cotta roofs that continued for what looked like several miles to the foothills on the other side.
    It was only when they had left the bus and began to make their way on foot toward the center that Matt was able to get the measure of the place. Cuzco was a beautiful city of archways and verandas, wrought-iron lamps, cobbled streets, and pavements so highly polished that they could have been indoors ... in a museum or a palace. Every building seemed to be a restaurant, an Internet cafe, or a shop piled high with textiles, jewelry, and souvenirs. There was poverty here, too. Matt saw a tiny boy, barefoot and dirty, asleep in a door-way. Old women sat in the street, blinking in the sunlight.
    Shoeshine boys looked for trade around the churches. But the poverty seemed almost picturesque here —just some-thing else for the tourists to photograph.
    And there were tourists and backpackers everywhere. As they entered the main square, Matt heard English voices and his immediate instinct was to throw himself into the arms of the first person he met. He needed help. A rich English tourist was the perfect answer. At the very least, they would help him reach a British embassy and they in turn would arrange his flight home.
    But even as he started forward, he knew he couldn't do it. First of all, there was Richard. If Matt left the country, he might well be Horowitz, Anthony - [Gatekeepers 02] - Evil Star condemning the journalist to death. After all, he was the one they wanted. Not Richard. He couldn't just abandon his friend.
    And then there was Pedro. Whatever happened to Matt and however much he hated being there, he had managed to find one of the five.
    They were meant to stay together. It was as simple as that. Running away wouldn't help anyone. Despite everything, Matt knew he had to see this through.
    He stood back and watched as the group walked past, following a woman waving an umbrella. He fell in with them. At least it gave him a little comfort to hear his own language.
    "Cuzco has always been known as the holy city," she was saying. "It was certainly holy to the Incas, who made this the center of their empire. They were ruling here in 1533 when the Spanish conquistadors, led by Francis Pizarro, invaded. The Spanish destroyed much of the city and built their own palaces and cathedrals on what was left, but even today you will see a great deal of Inca influence. In particu-lar, you should look at the amazing walls, fitted together without the use of cement. We'll have plenty of chances to examine Inca building methods this afternoon, when we visit the temple of Coricancha. . . ."
    Coricancha. That was where Matt had been told to go. He was tempted to follow this woman now — but there was no point. He had imagined something small and hard to find, but it seemed that the temple was a major tourist attraction. And anyway, he was meant to be there on Friday evening at sunset. What day was it now?
    Matt had no real idea. He had just spent an entire night in a bus.
    That would make it Wednesday or Thursday. He hardly knew where he was and he had no idea when he'd arrived. In a way, he was just like Pedro: desplazado. Utterly displaced.

    Horowitz, Anthony - [Gatekeepers 02] - Evil Star The woman with the umbrella moved off. The tourists obediently followed. Matt turned to Pedro, who was stand-ing in the square, looking lost. Of course, he had barely been out of Lima in his life and in many ways the city of Cuzco must have been as strange to him as it was to Matt.
    "We need to find somewhere to stay," he said.
    Pedro looked blank.
    "A hotel. . ." Matt added. He knew they couldn't afford one but it was the only word that Pedro would understand.
    Pedro shook his head. He looked doubtful.
    Matt rubbed a finger and thumb together. The univer-sal symbol for money. "Somewhere cheap," he said.
    They walked together out of the square and along a straight, narrow street with a wall about five meters high on one side. Matt knew nothing about Peruvian history or architecture but he guessed that the wall must have been built by the people that the tour guide had been