She seemed skeptical. “The entire island can’t be made out of it. I read an article once that said if you put together all the gold ever mined in the world throughout time, it wouldn’t fill two Olympic-size swimming pools.”
“Gold that we know of,” Drew corrected. “The Aztecs hid what they had from the conquistadors. Mixing it with beach sand and building an island out of it is pure genius.”
“The island is not made of gold.” Agraciana came in and went to Drew, who put his arm around her. “The master did recover his gold from where he hid it five hundred years ago, but it is only a small part of what he used to create the island. Most of it was built atop waste brought here on barges.”
“He made an island out of trash?” Charlotte shook her head. “I don’t think that’s possible. This place is too big.”
“It is the truth.” Agraciana smiled a little. “I helped him finish it.”
Samuel listened as she detailed how Energúmeno had spent the last twenty years shipping tons of waste to a lifeless atoll, where the barges were then deliberately wrecked to form a six-mile-wide foundation.
“It took almost a decade for him to collect enough waste to completely cover the barges and begin terra-forming it,” Agraciana said. “Native coral formed to cement the ships together beneath the surface, while the elements of methane containment and topsoil layered atop the decaying waste shaped the landmass. Once the garbage had been sealed off, methane generators were installed, and the landscaping and building began.”
Samuel saw that Drew and Charlotte didn’t quite believe her claims. “What she says is true. I dug a hole near the cave, and I’ve seen the layers.”
“So we’re basically trapped on a floating landfill.” Charlotte sighed. “Marvelous.”
“The master intends to build more islands like this, once we solve one significant problem that prevents him from doing as he wishes,” Agraciana told her.
Drew snorted. “What more does he want?”
She made a horizontal movement with her hand. “If weather conditions or other hazards make it necessary, he wishes to be able to move them.”
A thought occurred to Samuel, one that was so dangerous it might kill them all. It also might be their only way to escape. “Agent Flores, were you here on the island when the villas were built?”
“For most of the construction, yes.” She looked puzzled. “What do you need to know about them?”
He picked up Charlotte’s notepad and a pen. “Everything you can tell me about the piping.”
Chapter 21
A god did not require sleep, only rest and seclusion from the burning rays of the sun. The immortal who had once been Sokojotsin accepted this, as he had so many distasteful aspects of his existence. He did not count the hours he spent in his dark chamber; compared to the centuries he had endured in the earth, they were nothing.
As soon as night darkened the air, Energúmeno rose from the ornate dais that served as his bed. He would not waste another second of his reign on his back.
A woman stepped out of the shadows. “Master.”
Energúmeno held out his arm, and Quinequia came to him, her pretty hands soft against his ruined flesh, her lips smiling and softening her unfortunate countenance as she tipped her head to one side, offering him her throat.
The metal of his fangs emerged, and he lowered his head, piercing her thin skin. Her blood sweetened his mouth and drove away some of the pain that racked his limbs, but after a few moments he set her aside.
The euphoria she felt evaporated just as quickly. “Do I displease you?”
“No,” he lied.
In the time of his first rule he would not have permitted such a creature within his sight; a king was entitled to be surrounded by beauty in all things. But while Quinequia’s form would never deserve his attention, she was the only one of his children who did not cringe at his touch, and whom he could feed upon regularly without losing himself to blood madness. She also had other, equally valuable uses when it came to dealing with mortals.
He could smell one of them on her now. “Why have you been with Genaro?”
“He still searches for you. I thought I would persuade him to fail.” She stroked her fingers over the gold protruding from his chest. “He remembered me.”
“He cannot.” Energúmeno frowned. “He is mortal.”
“His greed for power consumes him. It controls him so much I do not think even I could bind him to me permanently.” She moved her shoulders. “He is well guarded now, but I can lure him away from his men. Do you wish me to kill him, master?”
“No. I have other work for you.” He set her aside as other servants came in carrying linens and pots. “The first of my warriors will soon be born. Go to the House of Eagles and ensure all is in readiness for him.”
“It will be.” Quinequia bowed to kiss the back of his hand before she withdrew.
Energúmeno tolerated the tentative touch of his body servants, who scoured away as much blackened, rotted flesh as they could before rubbing his limbs and torso with the sweet-smelling floral unguents he had taught them to make. The fresh blood he was obliged to drink to sustain his beleaguered flesh had not yet fully restored his body, another annoyance, but his steward had sworn to him that in time it would. After all the centuries and so little change, however, he sometimes wondered if he would ever be healed. Dressed in newly made garments, he made his way from his private chamber to his reception room, where Stanton awaited him.
His steward’s nervous pacing reminded Energúmeno of the foolish rebellion staged by his children. Even now he regretted not unleashing the thousand blades on Samuel Taske; the American deserved a lengthy, leisurely death for instigating the others to violence.
Something admirable about the manner in which Taske had faced him, however, had stayed the immortal’s hand. As calm and steady as an Eagle warrior, the American had not feared him. More than he wanted the man’s heart in his hand, beating its last beneath the clench of his fingers, he wanted that courage.
Taske knew now there was no escaping his duty, and in time would pass along the gifts bestowed by Energúmeno’s blood to the many fierce, powerful sons he would sire to serve the new kingdom.
Segundo stood waiting by his throne, a goblet in his hands. In the old tongue he greeted him with, “You fill my eyes with beauty and terror, my king,” and bowed low before presenting the drink.
The scent of the blood mixed into the wine brought forth Energúmeno’s fangs, but Segundo had not yet changed his garments, which still stank of seawater and smoke. Energúmeno struck out with his hand, the gold striping it clanging against the silver goblet as he knocked it away.
“Do you never bathe?” he demanded.
“Forgive me, master.” Segundo dropped to his knees, his eyes on the floor. “I was obliged to attend to less important tasks, and time escaped me. With your permission, I will go and tidy myself now.”
“You will remain.” The immortal gestured for another waiting servant. “Bring more of my wine.” To Stanton he said, “What of my children?”
“All but four have returned to their homes. Ghost required medical treatment, and remains with his woman and the Americans. Scorpion and his woman have also stayed behind.” Segundo stared at the blooded wine splashed across the tiles, and swallowed before he added, “We observed the children through the cameras in the seventh house, until Turtle destroyed them.”
Taske’s woman would have to be punished, but as always Segundo would see to it. “Where is the daily report?”
“The birds have returned, but they brought nothing with them.”
It had been his servant’s idea to use birds as messengers. Trained to fly out to the island by day and return at night, they carried reports on the children’s activities in tiny capsules attached to their legs. “So our eye on the island has closed.”
“It would seem so, master.” Segundo stood slowly. “They have not yet touched the other cameras, if you wish to observe them.”
Such tasks Energúmeno left to Segundo and his other servants, as he considered it beneath him to personally spy on his children. Yet after the ugly events of the previous night he would be gratified to see them once more obedient.
He rose from his throne. “Show them to me.”
His servant led the way to the rooms he had filled with his strange machines and the rows of glass squares that showed black-and-white images from all of the houses on the island. Those that showed the interior of the seventh house had gone black, but the others displayed every room in the other six dwellings. However, none of his children appeared on any of the squares. “Where are they?”
“They should be sleeping now.” Frowning, Segundo went to one of the machines and began to press its buttons, which moved the images. “The American did this.”
“My children obey me,” he reminded his steward.
“So they do, master, but this man is an instigator. I believe now that he will never accept your authority over him.” Segundo gestured toward the glass squares. “After the events of last night, I know he is responsible for this. Even now he has probably lured the children from their homes to plot against you.”
Energúmeno’s annoyance grew. “An army needs generals. Taske’s sons will have the wisdom and the spine to lead my children to victory.”
Segundo shook his head, his voice growing shrill. “We will have no army if he poisons the others, which he will if you do not kill him now—”
“Silence.” Energúmeno gave him a clout that knocked him to the ground. “I am their father. I decide who lives for my glory, and who dies under my heel. Not you.”
Segundo licked the blood from the gash on his mouth. “I tell you this out of my love for you, master. Without you I am nothing.”
Weary of his steward’s eternal mewling, he gazed at the images of the empty rooms. Little flickers of white light appeared along the bottom edge of one square, and then seemed to leap to another. “What is that?”
