CHAPTER 19

“Actually,” said Storm, because she’s always the smartest kid in the class even when the class is ten thousand feet above sea level, “Inkarri is a phonetic Quechua version of the Spanish words Inca and rey.”

“That means ‘Incan king’!” said Beck, who’d already done the Spanish homework I probably should’ve done, too.

“Exactly,” said Mom. “The last king of the Incas, Inkarri, might have saved a lot of his people’s treasure from the Spaniards but he couldn’t save his own life.”

“They chopped off his head,” said Storm. She even gave us the ol’ finger-across-the-throat gesture with full sniiiick sound effects. Yeah. She can get gruesome. It’s one of the reasons we love her.

“Worse,” said Mom. “Inkarri’s head was buried in one place while the rest of his body was buried someplace else.”

“Or,” added Storm, “some places else. A leg here, an arm there, another leg there—”

“Okay, okay,” said Tommy. “We get the picture.”

“And it is an extremely grisly picture that you paint,” said Dad from the pilot’s seat.

Guess Storm’s grisly description was kind of grossing him out, too.

“In all Inkarri legends,” said Mom, “the final Incan king vows to avenge his death and the mistreatment of the Peruvian people. When his head and body parts are reunited, it will mean the end of the darkness and despair brought to the Incas by the Spanish conquest. When Inkarri is restored, he will rise up from the earth. The Andean people will likewise rise up to reclaim what is rightfully theirs!”

“You think, when he pulls himself together, Inkarri will want his gold back?” asked Tommy.

“I would,” said Beck.

I agreed. “Me, too. Paititi is like his piggy bank.”

“Except, unlike yours,” said Beck, “his has some coins inside it.”

“And a big gold chain,” added Tommy.

“And jewels,” said Beck.

“And silver,” I said. “And more gold…”

Mom laughed. “All those riches are why so many treasure hunters have spent so many years searching for the hidden city.”

“Many have even lost their lives in their quest for the Lost City of Gold!” said Storm, who was totally in a gross-out-the-sibs mood.

“But we’ve got the map!” I said. “And the letter explaining how to read the map. So we’ll be fine. Right?”

“Of course,” said Dad, pushing his control wheel forward. “First stop, the Port of Pisco, one hundred and twenty-seven miles south of Lima.”

“We’re going to Pisco because there was a bird near a body of water on the leather treasure map!” exclaimed Storm.

“Well done, Storm!” said Dad. “An excellent display of your mastery of cartography as well as your comprehension of the Quechuan language!”

“Huh?” I said, and from the look on Tommy’s and Beck’s faces, I could tell they were thinking the same thing.