Chris reasoned the scene was historically plausible.
The second tapestry was located alongside it. Like the first, the setting seemed to be Mexican, but the scenery was more expansive and open, reminding him of the dehesas and steppes he had seen travelling from Mérida to Medellín.
He turned to Valeria. “What is all this?”
Valeria was standing amongst the bookcases, busily rifling through manuscripts. The local air was infested by a plethora of dust motes that covered the shelves.
“Even before Cortés returned to Spain, large quantities of gold were sent back to Extremadura. However, he had made enemies at the Spanish court, including a number close to the king. When Cortés returned, he was asked to reveal everything he had brought back. Unfortunately, no one knows where it was hidden.”
Chris looked again at the second tapestry, unable to dismiss the possibility that the place it was illustrating was somewhere in Spain. “Could this be where he hid it?”
She hurried towards him, studying it properly for the first time. “The exact location is unknown. In any case, there may be other problems.”
“Like what?”
Her expression became serious. “Like Hernán Cortés’s ancestors already finding it first.”
*
Ben thought Juan was going to kill her. Though he was still to see him slap Maria since, it was obvious his anger was growing. Since the moment they had met, it was clear the man had only one thing on his mind and a steely determination to accomplish his goal.
Yet now he was losing focus.
Maria was in a state. Her tears had left messy dark trails of eyeliner across her cheeks, her lipstick smudged from trying to bite her former husband’s ear. Her hair had become dishevelled, her voice hoarse from shouting.
She persevered all the same.
Juan pinned her against the wall. “How did they get into the castle? Answer me.”
Ben realised Cortés had inadvertently answered his question about the location. The room on the screen looked like one that might belong in a castle, most likely below ground. He could see a significant collection of artwork and manuscripts, most of which were kept in antique bookcases, their spines mainly invisible to the camera.
Chris was still staring at the tapestries, as if browsing around an art gallery. He had an aimless dreaminess about him that reminded Ben of their youth. Valeria, meanwhile, was standing by a large desk, rummaging through drawers. Just looking at her made him angry.
Quietly he shared Cortés’s desire for revenge.
Juan had stopped yelling. After releasing Maria, he marched tenaciously towards the couch and snatched the phone from Ben’s hand.
“I thought you said your cousin had been kidnapped? To me, he seems a willing captive.”
Making sense of everything was no longer possible. In truth Ben was no longer sure what had gone on in recent days. Did Chris have Stockholm syndrome, become captivated by his captor? Been threatened even.
Absurd. Even with a gun, the woman was half his size.
Had she bewitched him with her charm? Probably, he mused. He had already been smitten before Ben’s arrival. He wondered whether Chris could even remember what happened after the food poisoning.
“Well?” Cortés pressed.
Ben bit down hard on his lower lip and turned towards Danny. “You didn’t see him the night before we checked his room?”
Danny had returned to the couch, nibbling intermittently on cold meat and cheeses. “I didn’t see head nor tail of anything till we entered his room.”
Ben turned to Maria. “Did you see this man?” He took the phone from Cortés and thrust it in front of her. “Was he here earlier?”
Maria hesitated.
“Tell me what happened!”
Cortés retook the phone. “I’ll tell you what happened. Her family’s treachery knows no bounds. They visited here earlier today and told her about the mine in England. Then, they proceeded to tell her that they were heading to my castle, looking for the other stones. Didn’t they?” He stared at Maria. “Didn’t they?”
*
The cabinets were old and dusty, not that Valeria had expected anything different. Her grandmother had already explained that the layout of the vaults consisted of three very different rooms, the most important of which would be the smallest.
Now that she was there, Valeria felt conflicting emotions.
The desk was antique, resting on pedestals on both sides, made up of three drawers each. The drawers were locked; the only way to access them would be to enter the correct combination. Over forty years earlier, she knew her grandmother had learned it.
She prayed nothing had changed.
Valeria negotiated each one in turn, holding her breath as the heavy dials connected. As the final one slid into place, she heard a quiet clicking sound. She felt her heart race as the first drawer came out slowly; heavy resistance indicated it had not been used recently.
Inside it were several papers, all handwritten, possibly using a quill. Each document was a letter, the dates ranging from 1850 to 1885.
Too late to be of any significance, she decided.
Closing the first, she explored the next two in descending order. Each contained similar content, all in some way relevant to family affairs. The head of the household had always been a powerful magnate, who kept cattle and sheep in the surrounding fields and regularly imported wines and various spices from abroad, usually the Americas. It was a by-product of Hernán Cortés’s legacy, a throwback to the days he spent in Cuba. She was amazed how long some of the links had continued.
Even Juan had followed in identical footsteps.
The third drawer had been the most interesting. While the others had contained wills, licences, acquisitions of land, deeds and other financial records, the third contained only one folder. The content was old, the dates beginning in the 1700s. The stand-out feature was a bank account, the number written in the style of the Swiss banks.
In the same drawer on the opposite side was an old key.
The signs pointed to a safe deposit box.
She removed everything from the two drawers and placed the contents inside her small rucksack; the extra weight pressed down uncomfortably on her lower back, as though she were balancing a kettlebell.
Chris had disappeared. She called his name and heard him reply from the model room. His voice sounded distracted.
Securing her rucksack, she left the room and returned to the viewing gallery.
*
Once again, Ben had acquired the phone. He listened inattentively as Cortés continued his interrogation of Maria, choosing instead to concentrate on the pictures.
Valeria had finished with the bookcases. After spending several minutes studying the ancient manuscripts, she had taken a seat on a tall throne-like chair close to the desk and set to work opening the drawers.
Judging by the ease with which she did so, she had unlocked them using the correct combination.
The next few minutes followed a similar pattern. She retrieved papers from the drawers and scanned them before replacing them carefully and moving on to the next. There was something formulaic about her, as if she were looking for something specific, wading through the chaff to find the perfect ears of wheat.
One of the drawers had caught her attention; she removed something, either paper or parchment. Using the keypad, he tried to focus on the item.
Danny stood alongside him, watching. “What is that?”
“Impossible to tell without being there.” Close by, Cortés’s voice had gradually begun to mellow while Maria’s was also more controlled.
She finally admitted to Valeria’s arrival.
Ben passed the phone to Danny. “What happened? She was with Chris?”
Maria’s expression hardened. “Yes, he was here. He carried my sister’s luggage.”
Dammit, Chris. “Where were they headed?”
“I don’t know.”
Cortés grabb
ed her around the shoulders, causing her to squeal in pain. “How did they know the way in?”
“Damn you, Juan Cortés.”
“What is it she is looking for?”
Danny rose from the couch. “Uh, Ben. You might want to see this.”
Letting go of Maria, Cortés retook possession of the phone before Ben had the chance. Moving in alongside him, Ben saw that Valeria had left the study and returned to a strange room adjoining it, her eyes on what appeared to be a gigantic model of Tenochtitlán.
Momentarily dazed, Ben noticed Chris was standing in between two pools of water close to a model of the main temple.
His heart missed a beat. “I don’t believe it . . . where the hell is that?”
Juan slowly turned to make eye contact. “A place your cousin has no business entering.”
*
The model city was simply amazing. Never in his life had Chris seen anything even remotely similar.
The design had been well thought out. He recalled that the real city had been laid out the exact same way. Most of what he saw was familiar: the buildings were coated in a shade of yellow that caught the overhead lights, while the walls of the temples were slanted at a slightly obtuse angle. Others were lined by stairways, each step scaled to the size of a human finger. Chris approached the nearest one to him and ran his fingers along it, catching a sharp prick from the stone. He saw blood ooze from the tip of his index finger, staining both his skin and the stone.
The irony of blood on the steps unsettled him.
He walked in between the model temples, amazed that the buildings matched him in height. He stopped before the Templo Mayor, the great stepped entrance towering above him. The two famous shrines at the heart of the city had been captured in the finest detail, their exteriors stuccoed on the north sides and guarded by model standard bearers.
Recalling his past knowledge, he turned away from the entrance and noticed a smaller temple directly opposite it, with a similar, solitary staircase that led up to a rounded spire that represented a third shrine. Unlike the main temple opposite, the rear of the third shrine was rounded and merged perfectly with the straight stairway at the front.
Chris’s concentration was now so fixed he was completely unaware that Valeria was calling him from somewhere up above. The walls of the shrine, though strong, appeared more fragmented than the larger one opposite. Something seemed to be shining from within.
He knelt down and placed his hand inside a large gap.
*
Ben watched on in disbelief. He knew his cousin’s knowledge of the Aztecs was impressive compared to most, but even Ben was surprised how quickly he got to the key elements.
The spire, though technically part of the central temple complex, was independent of the twin-shrined main pyramid and devoted to a different god.
Ben recalled which god.
Danny was confused. “What is that?”
“Tenochtitlán. It’s a scale model of the city Hernán Cortés destroyed.” Ben remained inwardly incredulous that something so special and unique could exist in a man’s home.
Danny struggled to understand. “What’s he looking at exactly?”
“The main stairways on the large pyramid led to two shrines dedicated to the gods Huitzilopochtli and Tlaloc – the gods of war and rain. The spire-shaped temple opposite is a different shrine dedicated to the god of wind.” Ben looked at Cortés. “Quetzalcoatl. The feathered serpent.”
Cortés made eye contact with Ben for less than a second. As Ben also returned his attention to the screen, he saw his cousin leaning in close towards the base of the Quetzalcoatl shrine, feeling the area with his hand.
“Why’s he praying?” Danny asked.
“He isn’t.” Cortés shook his head, struggling to contain his anger. He grabbed Ben by the shoulders and stared at him furiously.
“It seems your cousin is a more learned man than I had anticipated.”
*
Valeria watched anxiously from across the water. Chris had disappeared, only to re-emerge holding a bright object. She couldn’t see it clearly, only well enough to notice that it sparkled.
Hearing no response when she called his name, she descended the stairwell from the viewing gallery and crossed the nearest causeway into the model city.
*
It was like the culmination of a dream. A strange shade of blue, like water from a heavenly waterfall, shone brightly before Chris’s eyes. The stone was easy to carry; three long grooves, running evenly across the seam, made it a comfortable fit for his fingers. It reminded him of his visit to the museum in Mexico; a number of objects had been on display, including a plethora of precious stones, including emeralds and onyx.
The solid interior was strange by comparison; it appeared to cover a liquid centre that gave host to a range of different colours that he couldn’t quite define. Squinting, his weaker eye struggling to focus properly, he saw what he thought were the walls of a castle inside the liquid, obscured by mist. It was as though he were looking at a photograph from the past, an image trapped in time.
Though he knew that was impossible.
He heard footsteps on the causeway, accompanied by the sound of splashing water. Valeria appeared in front of him.
She was immediately transfixed by the item in his hand.
“Oh my . . .”
Chris stayed where he was, between the three shrines, waiting for her to join him. She seemed hesitant at first, as though she felt strangely unworthy of crossing the threshold. As Valeria approached, he saw her hold out her hands in expectation of him handing it over.
Delaying, he examined the stone’s exterior again, watching the brightly coloured beams dancing in the light. In addition to castle walls, there were letters written within its core.
He recalled his visit to the real ruins; the actual buildings had been significantly taller, the ceremonies of old taking place at sunset or by moonlight, the final walk for a doomed man taking place under the light of a dying sun or illuminated by the flames of ten thousand fiery torches. The sound of Valeria’s voice aside, the room was totally silent, the quiet interrupted only by the faint trickle of water as it circled the mock city. Alongside him, Valeria’s attention had also fallen on the strange series of letters.
Finally Chris handed the stone over to her.
*
It felt like the other two. The shape was identical, the colour blue like a sapphire. The grooves were slightly less defined, suggesting it had not been held recently.
Perhaps in many years.
The core was similar – though not identical. While the stones she had already seen had patterns of undecipherable appearance, what she saw now resembled buildings, only unlike those that surrounded her.
Immediately Valeria recognised them.
She turned the stone over and saw letters floating as though they had been tossed into a translucent sea. She read them carefully.
as de
Smiling at Chris, she led the way quickly out of the mock city.
31
Ben was dumbstruck. During the last few minutes, he had seen his cousin somehow successfully infiltrate the previously closed base of the rounded shrine and hold aloft something that appeared to be almost identical to the stone he had seen in the Godolphin mine. After examining the item for several seconds, Ben saw him pass it to Valeria, who gazed at it like a child awaiting chocolate. In his mind, he pictured her in the garb of an Aztec high priestess, blood dripping from the corners of her mouth as she savoured the disembowelling of her latest sacrifice. Just as in the mine, she seemed to cherish the moment, as though reconnecting with a family heirloom.
Eventually she smiled at Chris before leading the way across the south causeway and exiting the room.
*
Cortés was speechless. Words could no longer describe how angry he was feeling. His body was numb, his face rigid, as if he had recently been placed under a hex. Without looking at his phone, he exited the footage and
the display returned to the main menu, Chris and Valeria disappearing along with the strange room.
Though they remained in the castle, he had seen everything he needed to see.
Somehow Valeria had managed not only to get inside the castle walls, but also outwit his security staff and reach the castle’s inner sanctum. Entering without prior knowledge was impossible; even armed with the correct information, he knew the countless obstacles presented a challenge no ordinary mortal could ever hope to overcome. Apart from his own personnel, handpicked professionals and loyal comrades, most of whom were kinsmen or blood brothers of his father, there were numerous strategically placed barriers to prevent intrusion.
The things he revered most were stored in places of utmost secrecy – even those closest to him were forbidden to know everything. Then there were also psychological traps to contend with: the layout of the castle had been deliberately constructed to mislead intruders, guiding the ignorant into places from which there was no escape. Though the castle had not claimed a life in over a century, the potential to do so remained, a last line of defence capable of saving the priceless in times of crisis. It had failed him only once.
And now again.
By the woman’s granddaughter.
Cortés studied his phone and rapidly thumbed through the contacts list, trying to maintain his composure. The image of the stranger confidently strolling into the temple district with the relaxed persona of a happy tourist ground away at him like a drill against concrete, yet even that was nothing compared to seeing the expression on Valeria’s face as she held the stone aloft. Even on the colourless screen, the light found a way of reflecting in her eyes, as if her soul were gazing into the devil’s flame. He had been too overcome by anger to concentrate on her every activity, how she had enthusiastically investigated his ancestor’s desk, browsing the private contents. As she left the mock city, he noticed she carried a rucksack.
The Cortés Trilogy: Enigma Revenge Revelation Page 50