She heard a woman’s voice call her from the top of the stairs, words spoken in Spanish. She replied in her mother tongue, confirming to her grandmother that she had returned.
Seconds later she heard footsteps on the stairs.
*
Chris was at his wits’ end. The room was not meant for human occupation; that much had been obvious from the very start. The walls were wet from sea mist and water that had leaked in from the storm. For all he knew, there were other reasons, causes that his messed-up mind simply couldn’t think about or comprehend.
Hours had passed since his last nourishment. Was it longer? A day perhaps? In truth, part of him was relieved. The face he had seen continued to haunt him, almost like a recurring nightmare. It wasn’t just the face, but the similarities, the things it reminded him of. The grandmother was like the granddaughter; it was the same face only older.
And evil.
He opened his eyes, not because it was an easy thing to do, but anything was better than seeing that face. It was the first thing he saw when he closed his eyes, the only thing. Those eyes, once fiery and hazel, now cold and lifeless; that nose, wrinkled and pointed like a witch from a Roald Dahl book; those lips, thin and mean, a bringer of that same evil. It was a face of age.
And a face the beauty of youth would surely one day become.
At the top of the stairs he saw movement, then light, painful on the back of his eyes. After two days shut away in the room, he was no longer accustomed to light. It was becoming brighter, white and ever more intense.
The door at the top of the stairs had opened, though at present he was still to see who was responsible. There were footsteps on the stairs. The sound was strange, not quite a bang but similarly loud. He reasoned that high-heeled shoes were almost certainly responsible, but what possible motivation could she have for wearing them here? And tonight? The steps were old and dilapidated. The area at the bottom was equally bad; whatever he had been lying against had surely never been used for such a purpose. The lighthouse was there to save lives. Not to be an oubliette.
The room was not meant for humans.
As the figure approached, he made out features. They were different from the last time; this woman was slender, younger. She had been attractive once. Her features hadn’t changed physically, only her characteristics. Her jaw was tighter, meaner; her chest harder; her hair dirtied, as if it hadn’t been washed for a couple of days. There was sound coming out of her mouth but not words: just breathing, heavy breathing.
Then there were the eyes, not warm but cold. The eyes of a waitress.
And a murderess.
*
Valeria knelt down in front of him and placed her hand to his cheek. His body was tired, but she could tell the effects were more emotional than physical. Though his eyes were open, she sensed he was oblivious to his surroundings.
The poison still clouded his mind.
“You poor dear.” She rubbed his cheeks and inspected his face before rising to her feet to undo the chains that bound him.
Chris rolled over like a lead weight.
The sudden movement brought new life to him; she could tell by his expression he was aware that something had changed. He looked up at her, dazed; for a moment she thought he was going to speak. Instead, he remained silent, his eyes asking the same question.
What’s going to happen to me?
She knelt down again on one knee and offered him her hand. “Here. Let’s get you into bed.”
*
The old woman was sitting alone in the bedroom, surrounded by the new things.
All her life she had dreamed of them.
The gold was still to be recovered in its entirety; it would take months to complete that task. One small case and rucksack was all her granddaughter had been able to manage.
She had learned to prioritise.
The Stone of Fire was the greatest prize; its purple light was dazzling, seemingly able to light the entire room. There were markings on the stone. Her failing sight could no longer read them clearly, but her seventy-seven years of life had taught her everything she needed to know.
And her granddaughter.
Valeria entered, looking radiant and refreshed. She had washed her hands, face and hair, her appearance every bit that of a princess.
“Put it on,” her grandmother requested. “Show me.”
The headdress was located in the rucksack; bringing it back had been a major priority. She raised it out slowly, its various feathers swaying from side to side as she lifted it.
Slowly she brought it above her head, then down. It stayed, albeit heavy.
A perfect fit.
She turned away, first to her grandmother, then the mirror. The feathers were complete, the inner section covering her head like a bridge above water. Nothing of the type had been seen for many years.
Perhaps it never would again.
She was the last, but she had succeeded.
Montezuma had his revenge.
11
Ben awoke feeling disoriented. His back was stiff, his right hand numb; again he realised he had been lying on it.
His thigh still hurt, but less so than before. He remembered Cortés had given him a painkiller before he left; he must have been a fool to take it. Then he remembered everything the man had done for him; the stitches were clean and still intact.
As far as he could tell, the bleeding had stopped.
He was sitting in an armchair, facing the fireplace. The surrounding walls were a subtle shade of maroon, the furniture surprisingly grand. He realised he was still in Colts’s room; he must have fallen asleep in the chair. He looked to his right, eyeing the four-poster bed.
Colts was still there, smiling at him. “I reckon you look as bad as I feel.”
Ben gazed at him for a few seconds. Though he had only known the man a few days, for half of which he had been asleep, it felt like a lot longer. There was something familiar about the man, as though they had met before, many times, possibly even in a previous life. If they had, he felt they had experienced things of intrinsic importance. Even injured, Colts’s appearance remained unaltered, his smile reminding him of the Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland.
“How’s the stomach?” Ben asked.
“Worse than yours. How’s the thigh?”
“Better than the left one.”
Colts laughed and coughed. It sounded dry, vigorous. Ben leaned forward, concerned.
“I ain’t that bad, cowboy.” Colts reached for his glass of water, sipped it and wiped his mouth. “Man in your position should know better than to take pointless chances.”
“What choice do I have? I’m dead anyway.”
“Not yet, you’re not. And as long as you use this little thing a bit more,” he gestured to his head, “you might just put it off a few more days if not weeks.” He grinned, his face lighting up as if any feelings of pain had departed. “Besides, we still got work to do.”
“I told you before, I’m through.”
“Not yet you’re not. Pain or no pain, Ben, you can’t escape from what’s happened. Beneath our feet lies one of the great discoveries of our time. As a man of academia specialising in the subject, you have an obligation to see it through.”
Ben’s mind began to tick over again. The Montezuma Treasure had long been cited as one of the world’s greatest enigmas. On a par with the mysteries of Blackbeard’s lost treasure and the Lost Dutchman’s Gold Mine, it was one of those tales that was enticing on the surface but asphyxiating in which to be involved. Tantalising clues existed, scattered from place to place, like a teasing seductress hinting at revealing her mysteries. He remembered the way he had felt growing up, hearing the stories of TF and his adventures.
The man had inspired his career path.
But the reality had proven completely different, abhorrent even. The chase had not been without cost. A king’s ransom lay hidden within the mine; no further obstacles prevented him from taking it.
&
nbsp; Yet he wished he had never found it.
“Well, right now I reckon I’m officially on sabbatical. As I’ve told you before, my only concern is to find my cousin.”
“You think if he were here right now, he wouldn’t be interested in seeing this through? Hell, that night I met him in the Gibbous Moon he’d been just as excited about the discovery of the boat as you were. To be part of the discovery of something greater than any of us could imagine is to discover a new part of ourselves. It’s the reason people enter the unknown. Why sailors set sail. Only in the pushing of ourselves to the limit do we discover what we’re really made of. The truth of who we really are.”
Ben glanced at him, unimpressed. “You wanna know what my truth is right now? One week ago I was back at Dartmouth, working on a proposal that, if accepted by the board, could lay the foundation for twenty years’ future research. Chris was about to start a job at a local newspaper, a chance to get his life back on track. Since that time, I’ve seen my ancestor’s boat rotting away in a cocoon of silt; I’ve seen Chris kneeling over a toilet in a hotel bathroom before disappearing without a trace; I’ve seen people I didn’t even know demonstrate just perfectly why strangers should never be trusted. Then, on top of all that, I saw people I thought I could trust kill their friends and leave their other friends for dead. You talk about truth. All I’ve seen here are lies.”
Colts smiled, this time sympathetically. “God knows these things were sent to try us. In all my time, I don’t reckon I’ve found anything in this life worth having I didn’t encounter resistance for.”
“You’ve experienced death?”
“Seen it happen, if that’s what you mean? Back when I was starting out, why no less than two of my predecessors lost their way in the waters chasing the rainbow.”
“You mean they were killed?”
“No, just unfortunate. Like I said to you when we first met: only an idiot would take a ship to Hell’s Bay on a night like then.”
“You turned out to be most open to persuasion.”
“Only because you convinced me. Good job you did too. Worked out pretty well, as things turned out.”
“Not for me it didn’t.” Ben rose to his feet and stepped unsteadily towards the window. Birds of various species and colour were perched on the ruined walls in the garden, some hopping from one to another or making their nests in the surrounding trees. With the window ajar, he could hear them singing, a peaceful whistling tune.
Danny had earlier thought Colts might find it relaxing.
“You always been a bird lover?”
“Only if there’s no better meat on the menu.”
Ben laughed. “Man in your position can buy all the meat he wants.”
“I remember back home my daddy used to own a parrot. Used to gibber at him every time he was drunk.”
“I bet he still talked more sense than you do.”
Colts grinned, pausing as he considered his words. “The Montezuma Treasure isn’t like your typical treasure story, Ben. Even now we’re still barely scratching the surface of what’s out there.”
Ben shrugged. “Well, it’s not as though time isn’t on your side. There’s a whole pit of it down there, and unless Mr Nicholl goes and pulls a Lazarus on us, it ain’t going anywhere for a while.” He thought about Cortés, the only other person who knew of its location.
Aside from Danny.
And her.
“Besides,” Ben continued. “This is usually the fun part. Once the site’s closed off, you get to take your sweet time investigating everything you got. Might even make you famous.”
“Who do you think should play me in the movie?” he asked with a grin that immediately faded. “You honestly think it’s that simple?”
“Isn’t it? I mean, take that Saxon hoard that was found in England. That dated back to the 800s.”
“But at least they knew what they were dealing with.”
“Not really. If anything, I’d say of the two, the historical pedigree of this is greater. Our knowledge of Hernán Cortés, in particular, is well documented.”
“You think I’m talking about history?”
“Come on, Colts. You’re not gonna go all Curse of the Black Pearl on my ass, are you?”
Colts grinned again. “Not exactly. But answer me this: Why did both Señor Cortés and your little waitress value the Stone of Fire above all things?”
Ben was still to consider the matter carefully. “Let me guess. They both covet the power to control the sun.”
Colts laughed. “Maybe. But unlike you, most likely they understand its true importance.”
Ben bit his lip, attempting to gather his thoughts. The Raleigh book was the only source of material he had discovered that mentioned the stone specifically, how the enigmatic sailor had set his mind on uncovering it. Allegedly it had magical properties, its exact purpose unclear.
Ben was still to study the book in detail. “You believe in witchcraft now?”
“The hoard you saw, magnificent though it may be, is still only one drop in the deep blue ocean of what the Aztecs really possessed. When Catalina Cortés came back from the New World, she carried only what her ship could safely accommodate. The hoard in the mine was impressive, but still little enough to be carried by one ship. The accounts of Bernal Díaz and his fellow eyewitnesses make a much greater case. Talk about an entire city’s worth.”
Ben was familiar with the stories. In an attempt to free Montezuma, gold was brought in from every corner of the empire. Some, the Spanish lost on the way to the coast – possibly dumped in Lake Texcoco.
“Even if that were true, I fail to see how a treasure that size could find its way out of Mexico.”
“You may be right about that – at least out of the Americas. But that’s the beautiful thing about treasure, Ben. How does one really know when they have everything?”
Ben sensed Colts was trying to lure him in. “I’m really not interested in this.”
“You may say that to me now – heck, you might even mean it. But you might not feel the same way when you’ve heard everything I’ve got to tell you.” He pointed to the other side of the room. “You see that bag over there?”
Ben noticed a medium-sized holdall with a green exterior and a brown strap, the same bag Colts had carried the day before.
“Yeah.”
“Bring it over here.”
*
Ben did as he was asked, placing it carefully on top of the duvet. Colts unzipped the main compartment and began digging through the contents. The majority of it appeared to be miscellaneous, ranging from notes and books to items of clothing.
“You know, back when I was your age, my knowledge of the whole Cortés treasure was probably about as limited as they come – even compared to you.”
“What changed?”
“I did, for a start. And a good thing, too. Doesn’t do a man much good to never move forward. Most honourable thing a person can do is keep making mistakes. No man benefits from doing nothing his whole life.”
“It might keep him alive.”
“A ship was never designed to stay in port, Ben.” Colts rummaged busily through his bag. Ben saw him grimace.
“Colts.”
“Shhh. Never mind that. Danny said I was in for worse to come.”
“We need to get you to a hospital. All of us.”
“Never mind that now.” He winced again and took a deep breath. As the pain went away, he smiled. “You know how long I’ve been searching for the Aztec treasure, Ben?”
“Half your life?”
“Now you’re just being generous.” He grinned. “Seen a lot of terrible things in my time, Ben. Some, not so terrible. What we just saw yesterday, you know that’s gonna take some beating.”
“It’s just gold. You can’t take it with you.”
“A lot of things we can’t take with us. What we can do is make sure we do the best we can while we’re here. That night we met in the bar, now I may have told you a l
ot that night, but I can tell you now, I didn’t tell you everything.”
“In your defence, I never asked.”
“Maybe you would have done had you known what there is to know. See, when Catalina headed over to the New World, looking for what her granddaddy left behind, she knew she had little or no chance of returning with everything. Instead she devised a plan. Take what she could and return for the rest next time.”
“I fail to see how she could get away with that. If the King of Spain was even vaguely aware of her plans, she’d have had half the Spanish Army chasing her down.”
“Maybe, maybe not. See, when Hernán Cortés first went over, he was in the employ of several individuals of status – you’re an expert on the man, you know the guys I mean. The conquest of the New World had the backing of the state. For Catalina, history has refused to acknowledge she even existed. Now, you can scour the archives at El Escorial or Valladolid all you like, it won’t make any difference. You still won’t find her.”
“Why was her name wiped out?”
“See, that’s the real question, Ben. What could someone do that was so terrible that her very name would be wiped off the list? Even to the point of her birth certificate.”
Ben could think of only one possible reason. “Treason?”
A sly nod. “But ask yourself something, Ben. What kind of treason would be so great it would motivate the state to wipe her name from history?”
Ben shrugged. “Genocide?”
“Think slightly smaller.”
“Attempted genocide.”
“Try something other than murder.”
Ben thought he had an inkling. “Theft of state property?”
“Close enough. See, Díaz mentions in his uncut version that Cortés’s children had been banned from claiming any portion of their father’s assets.”
“But Cortés had no assets. He was a spendthrift. He died potless.”
“What were you, his accountant? If Díaz is to be believed, Cortés and his crew managed to bring some gold back the first time. Some of it was even relinquished to the Crown.”
The Cortés Trilogy: Enigma Revenge Revelation Page 37