Page 39 of The Lost Guardian

“Sorry, sorry,” he said quickly. “It’s just that, if it’s true…”

“Then it’s proof,” Ali jumped in triumphantly. “That both Atahualpa and his treasure were taken together. And buried in secret.”

“It would lend credence to the story,” Santiago admitted. The story his grandfather told him so many times all those years ago.

“But how did you find out about the Guardianes?” Santiago asked. “How did my grandfather get involved?”

The intensity left José’s gaze and was replaced by sudden tenderness. “Ah, Manco,” he said fondly. “He received word that I was poking my nose in places it did not belong.” His sudden grin was roguish. “I tend to do that.”

“And he confronted you about it?” Santiago guessed. “Told you to stop?”

“He was very fierce!” José laughed. “I have been in many questionable situations in my life, and in dangerous moments, but meeting your grandfather left me quaking in my boots! That is an English expression, yes?”

“Um, yes?” Santiago answered. He had never heard the idiom translated into Spanish, so it took him a moment to process.

“I thought, like you, he would tell me to stop prying, to stop looking,” José continued. “I thought he would threaten my life.”

“Did he?” Santiago asked, and José smiled at him mischievously.

“No, my dear boy. He recruited me.”

12

“He recruited you?” Santiago repeated. “You mean, you’re also a Guardian?”

“Ah, more’s the pity, but no.” José sounded regretful. “The Guardianes are part of an ancient bloodline, and only direct descendants of the few followers who were there to bury Atahualpa can claim the title. But to stay secret for so long, the society needed help along the way.”

“You are an Espada de los Guardianes,” Santi guessed. A sword of the Guardians. “Like Ali.”

José turned to look at her. “You are also an Espada!” he exclaimed, delighted. That half-forgotten shard of jealousy poked at Santiago’s chest again. “Why have we never met?”

“As you said, Professor,” Ali answered, “the Guardianes must keep many secrets.”

José responded with a rueful chuckle and a nod. “And so, you are here to bid your grandfather farewell. If you don’t mind my asking, why did you not warn me you were coming?”

Santiago flushed at the impoliteness he had shown this scholastic hero. They had called the university to make sure that the professor would be there, but he should have tried to contact the man directly. Even an email would have sufficed. “There was a lot going on. I didn’t know his stories were real. If those men hadn’t shown up at my house, I don’t know that I would have ever believed them.”

“Qué?” José sat straighter in his chair. “What men?”

“They are working for a man named Bernardo Torres,” Ali answered. “Somehow, he found out about the lost treasure as well. He is determined to claim it for himself.”

“Torres,” José repeated, his eyes darkening. “I am familiar. A filthy grave robber who steals pieces of Peruvian history and sells them to the highest bidder. The worst kind of man.”

“And a very dangerous one, too,” Ali added.

“You don’t know the half of it,” José warned them. “Yes, Torres and his men are wealth-obsessed huaqueros. But that’s not all. I believe that they are also Huáscaros.”

Santiago frowned. “I’m sorry. I’m not familiar with that word.”

“That is because they shouldn’t exist,” José said. “I found no mention of them in my formal research, only whispers and rumors that I have followed.”

“What rumors?” Ali prodded him.

“That the followers of Huáscar, Atahualpa’s brother, never stopped fighting for his right to the throne. His soldiers, much like Atahualpa’s, were devout. Fanatical, even. And as the Guardianes have persevered throughout generations, so have the Huáscaros.”

“Why bother?” Santiago asked, baffled. “Both brothers are long dead.”

“But the lost treasure of Atahualpa remains,” the professor answered, returning to his desk. From the top drawer this time, he withdrew a smoothly polished stone and passed it to Santiago.