by PJ Skinner
A block of wood was pushed roughly under his head raising it above the dirty water on the bottom of the canoe and he grunted his thanks. Carlos pushed the canoe out into the rushing current, keeping an eye out for floating debris. He jumped aboard and glided off into the cool morning. It was a skilled job keeping the canoe on course in the strong current, but he was an expert. They made good progress through the turbulent waters.
***
In Arenas, Sam and Alfredo had woken up to find that Wilson was missing. Sam remembered that he had gone with Don Moises for a chat after their evening meal, but she couldn’t remember seeing him come back. She wondered if they had got drunk together and slept where they were drinking. At least Alfredo was in better form, cracking jokes and poking her in the ribs. After a quick breakfast of scrambled eggs and salty crackers, they picked up their rucksacks and fought their way through the mud down to the river’s edge. The usual crew of workers were there, indulging in a bit of horseplay that involved dumping each other in the mud and then throwing the victims in the river for a wash. Sam was struck by how carefree they were. She looked around to see if Wilson was having his usual pre-travel cigarette on the shore, but there was no sign of him. Don Moises was checking their supplies and busying himself for setting off. He looked up as they approached.
‘What a storm!’ he said. ‘Did you get any sleep, Sam?’
‘What storm?’ asked Sam, ‘did it rain? You look tired, though. Are you okay?’
‘Oh yes, I’m fine thank you. A touch of insomnia.’
‘Where is Wilson today?’ asked Sam. ‘I haven’t seen him since he left to chat with you.’
‘Wilson? I think he left with Carlos to get some supplies in Riccuarte. I expect he’ll be back tomorrow.’
‘Honestly,’ tutted Alfredo. ‘That man is a law unto himself. If I’d known, I could’ve asked him to buy a few things that I need.’
‘I don’t think Wilson is too interested in what other people want,’ said Sam.
They got into the canoes and set off into the brown waters of the rain-swollen river, back to the stone plateau.
***
It was difficult to walk up the path through the jungle to the stone steps. The hard, brown path had become a boot-deep quagmire of sticky mud, which sucked them down and slowed progress considerably. At one stage, Sam lost a boot in the mud and had to stand on one leg with her socked foot in the air while they dug it out. Despite her valiant attempts to keep it off the ground, the sock was soon covered in mud, too. It was a relief to reach the steps and climb up to the plateau. The stone steps were covered in debris, twigs and leaves that had washed down from it. The leaves were as slippery as fish and deadly underfoot. The workers brushed them vigorously off the steps with their spades. Sam noticed that the stone steps under the debris had been washed clean by the force of the water cascading down them. The serpent ciphers stood out more clearly than before.
They emerged out of the trees onto the plateau. Some of the earth covering the platform had been swept away by the storm waters. The straight edges and flat contours that had been revealed made it more obvious that the plateau was a man-made structure but there was nothing to break the flat surface. It was a flat featureless area about the size of a basketball court. Sam walked around it and tried to spot any anomalies but if it had any secrets they were not showing. She took photographs from various angles in case there was something that she had missed. Alfredo was pacing up and down with his compass.
‘Can I borrow it?’ she said. ‘I want to make a note about the orientation in my sketch book.’
‘I don’t know why you would bother,’ he said.
She took the reading and handed back the compass.
‘What do you think?’ she said, more in hope than expectation. ‘Are there any clues?’
He looked right through her and kept pacing, his head hanging, his shoulders slumped in defeat.
The rest of the team hung back, unwilling to get in his way. Don Moises had an inscrutable look on his face. No-one spoke. Alfredo searched through his notes and made measurements and muttered and squatted for a couple of hours. Finally, he said, ‘Let’s go back to Arenas,’ and started down the steps followed by the crew of the canoe, Don Moises and a disappointed Sam. The journey up river was made in an unearthly silence with none of the usual banter. The rain started to fall again, pounding on them in the canoe. They got back to their house soaked to the skin, their clothes dripping on the hardwood floor of the balcony. Alfredo disappeared inside. Sam followed him.
‘What do you want to do next?’ she asked.
‘What do you mean?’ said Alfredo.
‘Shouldn’t we dig some pits or make a trench across the platform?’
‘What for? It’s as flat as a pancake. You can’t dig pits into solid rock.’
The food arrived early but Alfredo showed no inclination to come downstairs and eat. Sam could hear him pacing the floor and muttering. She hoped that he wasn’t drinking, too. The rain continued to pour and the stars were obliterated by the dark storm clouds hugging the jungle. Alfredo appeared on the stairs.
‘We should go home tomorrow,’ he said. ‘It’s over.’
Don Moises, who had been sitting with Sam awaiting instructions, shrugged and set off through the rain to his house in the village. He didn’t show any emotion but Sam sensed a sigh of relief held back or stifled. He must have thought that they were crazy in the first place but at least he and his men would get paid. She had no idea how Mike was going to take this. Or Wilson. She was pretty sure that there would be a way of making her shoulder the blame for the whole fiasco. After all, she was the one that found the steps. Perhaps her adventure was over. Going home was not an option she wanted to consider. The spectre of Simon loomed over her arrival back in England. What if he wanted to apologise and get back together for real? Could she resist? Would it be déja vu all over again?
Chapter XXII
Everyone was very subdued the next day, mirroring the mood of Alfredo whose deep dejection was catching. He sipped his coffee in silence and refused all offers of food. His face was grey with tiredness. Sam secreted some bananas in her satchel in case he changed his mind on the journey back to Riccuarte. They readied themselves for the trip, checking that the equipment was packed and wrapped in plastic. Alfredo poked in all the bags, turning them out on the floor and stuffing their contents back in, higgledy-piggledy.
‘Oh no!’ he said, ‘I can’t believe it. I’ve left my compass at the site.’
‘Are you sure? Couldn’t it be in one of your bags?’ said Sam.
‘No, it’s definitely not there. I’ve gone through everything.’
‘When did you last use it?’ said Sam.
‘The last time I remember seeing it was when you took measurements on the platform. You did give it back to me, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, of course I did,’ said Sam.
‘Can you buy another?’ said Don Moises.
‘No. This one was special.’
‘Was it very expensive?’ said Sam.
‘I doubt it was worth five dollars to sell but it was priceless to me. My old friend, and fellow treasure hunter, Jorge Vasquez gave it to me on his deathbed. I can’t lose it. I can’t.’
‘We are going past the site on our way home,’’ said Sam. ‘Can’t we stop and look for it?’
‘You’ll never find it,’ said Moises.
‘But we have to try. I’ll never forgive myself if I leave it there without searching,’ said Alfredo. ‘Also, there is one measurement that got rubbed out in the rain. I would like to take it again. Just in case.’
‘I’ll help you look,’ said Sam.
‘Okay, we can stop,’ said Moises, ‘but not for long. I don’t want to get caught in the rain on our way to Riccuarte.’
‘Excellent. Thank you,’ said Alfredo.
***
Mike and Gloria were both pretty grumpy after a night at the awful hotel in San Lorenzo. Gloria was covered in r
ed welts where the bedbugs and mosquitos had bitten her. They had travelled without mosquito nets, forgetting that these insect-ridden local hotels either had ancient nets full of holes or none at all. Mike had not been able to sleep because a pair of courting cats had chosen a spot beneath his window to sing the entirety of La Traviata cat-style. To make matters worse, the hotel did not offer breakfast. Gloria had to eat in the morning to keep her blood sugar up at a sufficient level to maintain her sunny disposition. She was likely to have a sense of humour failure quite early on if she didn’t get some breakfast. After traipsing around for twenty minutes, they managed to find a local cantina that rustled up a couple of omelettes with peppers and onions, and some very stale bread rolls.
‘This coffee’s like a cross between engine oil and molasses, but it’s doing the trick,’ said Mike.
‘It’s revolting,’ said Gloria. ‘Stay here. I’ll get us a ride to Riccuarte. Don’t move.’
‘Yes, madam.’
Mike struggled his way through a second cup of coffee and paid the bill. He felt like a proper explorer and kind of macho, which he was enjoying very much. He had mentioned this to Gloria, who laughed and smiled at him, the way a mother smiles at a small boy who has announced his ambition to be an astronaut. He was not put off. Here he was, Mike Morton, a plump, middle-aged man, in the jungle on a rescue mission. Edward would love this. He lived a fantasy life through the tales Mike told him of where his money was being spent. He was sure to keep financing Mike now, and his wife would be furious, given the reduced funds. How could life get any better? Mike let out a contented sigh and sat back in his chair.
***
The river was swollen and full of debris, swirling in a chocolate morass of mud and stone. They were thrown off their seats in the canoe several times by waves bouncing from the banks. Sam was quite frightened but she trusted the crew who steered the canoe with grim determination. It was a relief when they beached it at the site of the serpent ciphers and escaped from the raging current. It was agreed that the whole team would mount a search for the compass, but only for half an hour. The platform was not large and if the compass had become buried by mud there was no hope of finding it.
They set off into the jungle through the sticky mud. Upon reaching the steps, Alfredo took the lead up to the plateau followed by a panting Sam. She fell behind after dropping her hat and emerged to find everyone pacing the plateau with their heads bent. It was a thankless task. They started from the outside and worked in, the earth churning to mud as they walked back and forth. Out of the corner of her eye, Sam saw one of the crew bend down and pick something up. He did not shout or draw attention to himself. Walking casually across the square he approached Moises and whispered in his ear. Moises put out his hand and something was passed to him, which he slipped into his pocket.
Sam stood up straight and looked Moises in the face. He did not blink. Suddenly she was suspicious. For some reason, Moises wanted them to leave as soon as possible. If they found the compass they might stay longer. She recalled his anxiety when Wilson wanted to see the steps on the first visit. They must have missed something. The half hour was almost up. Alfredo was looking desperate and Moises was checking his watch. Despite her natural reluctance to rock the boat, she couldn’t let it go without saying anything.
‘Um, Moises, what did you put in your pocket?’
‘I don’t understand, Sam,’ said Moises.
‘But I saw him find something and hand it to you,’ she said, pointing at the crew member.
Alfredo had come over and was listening intently.
‘What are you accusing me of?’ said Moises.
Sam felt herself get hot with embarrassment. ‘Nothing. I...’
‘What did you see, Sam?’ said Alfredo.
‘That man found something. He gave it to Moises.’ She felt embarrassed because she hadn’t learned his name. She gesticulated at him. Alfredo stepped towards him. The man stepped backwards. To Sam’s surprise, he sank into the ground and almost disappeared, getting buried up to the waist in wet soil. Panic appeared on his face. The other men ran forward to pull him out. Alfredo gasped and put his hands to his mouth. She saw that there was a discernible shallow depression in the plateau that had not been obvious the previous afternoon. Alfredo went down on his knees and started to excavate it with his hands, finding stone edges and working his way around it, joined by Sam. They dug down about fifty centimetres before stopping.
‘I knew it,’ he said. ‘It’s here.’
She didn’t remind him that half an hour before he had been ready to go home. The hole was rectangular in shape, about four metres long and one metre wide. Two steps descending were uncovered. Don Moises had not moved. He stood rooted to the spot, staring at the depression. He appeared to be in a quandary, but he quickly recovered and beckoned the men forward, indicating that they should go back to the village and retrieve their spades. He reached into his pocket and pulled out Alfredo’s compass. Handing it to him, he said, ‘Take your measurement. We will wait here until they come back.’ He did not apologise or make any further comment. Sam was surprised that he didn’t try to excuse his behaviour. Alfredo was having some sort of panic attack. He gasped with excitement. Sitting down heavily with a bewildered expression on his face, he hugged his knees to his chest, rocking to and fro like a lunatic.
‘I never believed that I could actually find the treasure. I feel like I’m wrestling with the discovery. It’s like a strange dream.’
‘I’m also feeling a little surreal. I had to pinch myself to check if I was dreaming too,’ said Sam. She had felt the pinch, but she wondered why this proved that she was awake. If you pinched yourself in a dream, wouldn’t it feel the same? She sat down beside Alfredo and put her arm around his shoulders.
‘So, treasure hunter, how does it feel to be on the brink of a great discovery after all these years?’
‘Sam, so far it’s only a hole in the ground. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.’
***
Gloria had managed to organise a lift on a pickup delivering a load of groceries to Riccuarte. Squawking chickens flapped miserably in wooden crates on top of sacks of rice and sugar. Boxes of cooking oil glistened in the morning sunshine where some had spilled out onto the cardboard. They sat up front in the truck with Gloria in the middle and Mike squashed against the door. Gloria had to deal with the driver’s inability to keep his hand on the gearstick. She soon noticed that it kept slipping off onto her knee at the slightest bump in the road. She had picked up some of Sam’s indignation at the casual sexism of men in Sierramar, and she soon found a way to mistakenly burn the back of his hand with her cigarette when he got more daring and put his hand on her thigh. He got the hint and drove the rest of the way in a huff. She felt like a proper liberated woman. She was dying to tell Sam all about it. Mike, being Mike, did not notice this drama, leaning out of the window, until he was hit in the mouth by a large insect that was almost as shocked as he was. He withdrew inside the cabin and tried to wind up the window, but the handle went around without catching, so it stayed down.
***
Carlos reached Riccuarte at midday and exhaled a big sigh of relief that he had arrived safely in town with his prisoner. The journey had not been without its frights and near misses due to the huge thunderstorm of the night before. Thousands of tons of debris swirled downriver, presenting dangerous hazards to a one-man canoe. He leaned against his pole, recovering his composure, and took a cigarette out of a small plastic bag he had stuffed into his shorts. He lit one and took a couple of deep breaths while watching the pretty girls walk to market with their prominent bottoms wiggling in their tight skirts. His attention was distracted for only a minute, but when he turned around, Wilson was gone. He shook his head and opened his eyes wider, but his captive had disappeared. He ran over to the canoe. The homemade jute ropes that had held Wilson were lying on the floor of the vessel, frayed and broken. This was a crisis. There were only two ways out of town. He saw Rije
r up the road and whistled to him to come down to the river.
‘Brother, you must stay here and guard the riverbank. There’s a stranger in town; the one that Señor Segundo is looking for. He has escaped from me, and I think he’ll try to get back up the river. Whatever you do, don’t let him take a canoe.’
Rijer nodded and placed himself where he could keep an eye on the whole shoreline. Carlos decided to get help and ran toward the house of Doña Elodea, where he suspected that he would find Segundo enjoying some tasty snack with the handsome widow.
***
Wilson looked out from a clump of trees, rubbing his wrists where they had chaffed as he had struggled to release the cords that bound them. He had wriggled free during the journey, fraying the ropes against a block of wood in the bottom of the boat. It was made possible by the fact that Carlos was dealing with the raging waters and did not watch him closely. Wilson’s strong sense of self-preservation now won over his longing for the treasure. He felt very weak after his ordeal in Arenas. With the river full of debris and running fast with the extra run-off from the jungle, it would be impossible to get back to the site of the plateau in time to carry out his plan to steal the treasure. He had not anticipated this extra obstacle. It was bad enough that Moises had stabbed him in the back. It was his fault for trusting a half-breed.
His best option was to get back to San Lorenzo and review his strategy. Perhaps he could ambush Alfredo and Sam if they got back there with the treasure. If there was a large hoard, they would have to leave most of it behind and he could go in and steal some before they got back. Someone had come to Riccuarte looking for him, but he might have been a minion sent by El Duro to cover his debt. He didn’t think that Mike suspected his motives yet. Maybe he could persuade him to let him come and collect the treasure they found. He decided to skirt around the village through the trees to the road and go back to San Lorenzo on one of the local buses.