As Rico’s hand touched cold iron, the idea came. He pictured the ruined city above.
‘A pyramid. That’s how I’ll get out.’
He set to blindly, using the axe to dislodge stones that lay all around him, clanging the blade to scare off tarantulas and scorpions, dragging the stones under the hole and carefully piling them up. Escape was a long way up, but he had to try.
Then his fingers found a carved stone and tingled with shock. Tracing the outlines in the darkness triggered a memory that he’d locked away. Papa was carrying a tiny Rico on his shoulders, showing him the ruins.
‘Our ancestors made all this,’ Papa was saying, one arm thrown wide, the other gripping Rico’s foot like a vice. ‘Engineers, builders, artists. Our people, Rico. Family. Never forget. The living and the dead are all one big family.’
Rico sighed. One of the rocks in his chest dissolved. One less burden. Now he saw what his father meant. It made the dark seem a bit less scary.
For hours he laboured, the job growing harder as his rock pile grew higher. But as the sky started to lighten he could see that his pyramid still wasn’t tall enough. His back ached and hands bled. He clambered back into the chamber.
Now, as it emerged from night, he could see the place was huge. Was it really a tomb? He glanced round nervously for skeletons, but all he could see were large, stone blocks that he couldn’t shift. Perhaps he could smash them smaller with his axe. As he gathered his strength for a mighty blow, something crashed through the forest undergrowth above.
Rico froze. Had the stone robbers returned? His heart thumped: fear, then fury. Crooks stealing things from his people’s city. He swung the axe higher. Whoever they were, he’d give them a fright.