“But it is true that as a race, the Elders are not entirely comfortable with some of the lighter emotions. Centuries of power and authority stripped us of much of our joy in life. We had everything and we wanted more. In those last years before the island sank, there was not much laughter. The Elders were cruel to their servants and to one another. We fought because we could; we waged wars for no reason other than we were bored.” Kukulkan looked quickly at Machiavelli. “I was as guilty as all the others. Aten changed that. He was the fiercest, bravest warrior I have ever encountered, and yet he was also the gentlest and kindest.” He saw the look of surprise on the Italian’s face. “You did not know this about your own master?”

“I met him twice face to face,” Machiavelli said, “and then only briefly. The second time he made me immortal. Although we’ve spoken often over the centuries, we’ve not met again.” He smiled. “And while I think I could call him many things, I would never describe him as gentle and kind. He single-handedly destroyed an entire way of life in Egypt. He was so hated that almost every instance of his name was removed from the historical records.”

Kukulkan waved his hand dismissively. “I was there. He did-we did-what was necessary. We made Egypt great.” The Elder returned to his stone seat and silently faced Machiavelli. He was completely still, only the feathers on his tail shifting slightly in the warm breeze that wafted through the open door.

Machiavelli sat back in his chair and waited. He had infinite patience-he considered it one of his greatest strengths-so he knew he could outwait Kukulkan. Hasty words and hasty actions had destroyed many a plan. He wasn’t sure he entirely believed the Elder. Machiavelli had done his own research: when his master, Aten-who was also known as Akhenaten-had ruled Egypt, he had been such a tyrant that later generations would refer to him simply as the Enemy. Machiavelli also knew that Akhenaten’s son, Tutankhamen, had possessed a rare gold aura.

“What do I do with you, Italian?” the Elder said suddenly.

“Do with me?”

“Do you always answer a question with a question?”

“Do I?”

Kukulkan’s feathered tail twitched and tapped impatiently on the floor.

“Mac,” Billy whispered in alarm.

“Don’t call me Mac. I hate that.”

“Then don’t irritate the all-powerful Elder,” Billy muttered.

Kukulkan’s face and coal black eyes betrayed no expression, nor was there any emotion in his voice when he spoke. “I am unsure whether you are arrogant, stupid or very clever.”

“I am arrogant,” Machiavelli said with a smile. “I have always known that. But I am very clever, too. I am also valuable”-he waved his hand to include all the rare treasures in the room-“and I can see that you appreciate valuable things.”