Secretly his thoughts turned to the box Kernow had found, the discovery of the bell stone back in the GM.
Clearly TF had found at least one of the five.
There were sounds on the stairs, footsteps, soft but clearly audible, approaching the room. A woman appeared, seventies, grey-haired, her features unmistakably Spanish. She entered the room, calling Valeria.
She saw them and screamed.
“Abuela,” Valeria said, trying to calm her. She said her name several times before sounding off at her in fluent Spanish.
Ben was in the dark. Even with his head turned, all he could see was the wall and the silhouette of the newcomer moving like a phantom.
Then he saw her in front of him, brandishing a gigantic butcher’s knife.
“Tell her to stop,” Ben screamed.
Ben attempted to move, doing his best to drag the chairs in any direction, anything to get out of the way of the hysterical woman. He heard shouting from behind him, obviously Valeria. Her tone had become deadly serious, the volume of her words rising. At last she was starting to have an impact. The woman stopped moving; instead she stared at Ben with critical eyes. There was still anger lingering, venom oozing out of her puffy cheeks and hazel eyes.
She seemed oblivious to the fact that Ben was a victim rather than a culprit.
“Tell her to cut us loose.”
Valeria barked at her grandmother in Spanish, the words eventually having the desired effect. She sliced the knife through the bonds that attached him and Valeria to the chairs, and then the ones to their individual hands. Ben felt the relief sweep through him as he gripped his wrists, rubbing the wounds.
The grandmother shouted again, a long wrinkly finger pointed at Ben. For Ben, it was almost as bad as being punched by Pizarro.
“Abuela, settle down,” Valeria said, placing her hands on her grandmother’s shoulders. She guided the woman away, leading her into the hallway and then the kitchen.
Ben followed, stopping in the hallway, his eyes struggling to come to terms with the scene of chaos in front of him. He placed his hand to his head and rubbed it, his eyes falling on the nearby cabinet. There was a strange blue box on the side, finely decorated.
But empty.
That was when he noticed the next thing. There were papers on the side, next to the box. They were photocopies, all of indistinct handwritten pages.
Ben held up the papers and waved them in the returning Valeria’s face. “This is my great-great-grandfather’s diary.”
Valeria was instantly nervous.
“You broke into my room?”
“Ben.”
He threw the papers on the sideboard and grabbed Valeria’s collar. “What on earth happened to Chris?”
Valeria’s grandmother returned from the kitchen, again brandishing a knife. Ben was so shocked he let go of Valeria’s ripped sweatshirt and took shelter behind the nearest door.
“Abuela, wait,” Valeria said, again taking hold of her grandmother around her upper body. She ushered her grandmother into the next room and returned to Ben, who was still hiding behind the door.
“How did you get the diary?” he demanded.
“You left it on the side when you speak with Officer Hammitt,” she said, brushing her hair over her head. “I only needed to borrow it.”
That cut no ice with Ben. “If you wanted to borrow it, how come you didn’t ask?”
Valeria offered no response. She looked over her shoulder, then again at the photocopies. All in all, it had at least helped confirm the Smethwick story.
Ben moved closer, coming back into the room itself. “What happened?”
“Your great-great-grandfather was no ordinary explorer, Ben. He knew much.”
“What are you talking about?”
Valeria was dumbstruck. “Please, you call yourself a professor? These are not emeralds. You saw the symbol of the trumpet. Did it shine? Did it glow? What you saw was a replica.”
“I got that. So what does it mean?”
“The treasure was found – soldiers in the Civil War dug it up and took it away. No one knows where.”
Ben wasn’t buying it. “Nobody knows where?”
“Nobody alive.”
Ben exhaled with so much force it moved his hair beneath his hat. “Surely you must know something.”
“When Francis Godolphin ordered the treasure to be removed from the island, he only entrusted the location to five others, all family.”
“Who were they? Which family?”
“That doesn’t matter. Only that all five were told. As a sign, five replicas were made of the Cortés emeralds, each to spell out part of the name of the new location.”
Ben rubbed his chin. It sounded far-fetched, but, then again, Colts himself had mentioned there were markers. “And the one you just saw. What did it say?”
“It said no word. Only the letters H I N.”
Ben was confused. “Meaning what?”
“I don’t know.”
He looked at her, waiting to see if she was going to reveal any more. The first thought that entered his head was of the similar stone back in his room at the Gibbous Moon. It was in the shape of a bell; he was still to examine it thoroughly.
He now knew there must be a connection.
“What about the others?”
“In total there were five emeralds: a trumpet, rose, fish, cup, and bell. According to the diary, your ancestor found the bell. Nobody knows where he hid it.”
He decided not to tell her about the bell. “Have you read the diary?”
“Of course. It confirmed the story of Samuel Smethwick. It says where the trumpet was hidden.”
“What about the others?”
“Your ancestor only talks about the bell; however there were clearly pages missing later on. According to tradition, the rose was hidden on St Mary’s. I do not know about the cup and fish.”
Ben took a seat in the corner of the room and then immediately stood again. “What difference does it make?” he asked, restless. “Even if you find the name of the place, you still don’t know what you’re looking for.”
“Your great-great-grandfather suggested the five pieces together fit in a wall, a little like a key.”
Ben looked at the photocopies, concentrating on the part of the diary she was talking about. He turned the pages frantically, looking for clarification. “Where on earth did you read all this?”
She looked and found it. “Here.”
Ben immediately began reading. The penny dropped.
“What?” Valeria asked, noticing his change in attitude.
Ben took a deep breath, trying to make sense of everything. The words, appearing in old handwriting but on modern paper, now stood out as clear as day.
“A blank wall is a fool’s writing paper.”
Valeria was confused. “Ben?”
“I need you to take me to Old Town on St Mary’s.”
“Why?”
Ben smiled. “Because I think I know where to start looking.”
38
7:15 p.m.
Ben was first through the lichgate of the churchyard. He had sprinted all the way from the harbour and neglected to hold the gate open for his companion.
Valeria was unimpressed on both counts.
The churchyard was deserted as usual. It wasn’t yet completely dark, but the rain had been falling heavily for over an hour. Thick black clouds had settled menacingly in the sky, still threatening a thunderstorm.
According to the forecast, it wasn’t likely to improve before dawn.
The Godolphin Mausoleum was in exactly the same state as before, the large crack still unrepaired. Fresh water had pooled around the base on the west side, pouring inside or running on to the nearby grass.
Ben stopped to examine the main entrance first. In the torchlight, the stone sailor statues cast intimidating shadows like guards on lookout duty. On close inspection, he saw symbols carved into the rear of both, the shape of a fish.
He sensed he had found what TF had recorded.
He moved on to the west wall, close to the crack. He knew from the night before that getting inside without becoming soaked and dirty would be completely unavoidable.
Valeria followed him inside and groaned as she got up from a crouching position to her feet, sneezing immediately.
“Bless you.”
She looked at Ben, again unimpressed. He had already switched on his torch and was shining it on the walls.
Valeria did the same, allowing herself an opportunity to examine the interior before concentrating on the same thing as Ben. There was writing on the wall opposite the door, in English and written clearly.
“A blank wall is a fool’s writing paper,” she said, looking at Ben. “How? How did you know?”
He looked at her, adjusted his woolly hat and sighed. “You want the long story or the short?”
Ignoring him, she approached the wall and touched the writing with her fingers. The grooves were deep and even, suggesting they had been made with a precise instrument.
“Why is it written in English?”
“Because the Godolphins were English.”
She laughed, realising her own mistake. “But it was Cortés who said the words.”
Ben didn’t respond, but the thought had already occurred to him. Cortés’s soldier and later biographer, Bernal Díaz, wrote in the late 1500s that while Cortés was staying in Coyoacán in Mexico, he lodged at a palace with whitewashed walls, and every morning they would wake up to find messages written in either charcoal or ink. One of the messages was said to have criticised Cortés, complaining he had secreted away gold otherwise meant for the King of Spain. Priding himself as being something of a poet, he was once recorded as having replied with the words that Ben and Valeria now saw in front of them.
“What does it mean?” Valeria asked.
“I’m not sure yet.” Ben shook his head; he had been trying to figure out the same thing. There was dust and debris everywhere, small flakes floating in the light, making it harder to see or breathe. He tried pushing the wall, but it didn’t budge. Using torchlight, he read the photocopied diary; even compared to the original, the writing was almost impossible to read.
As far as he could tell, TF hadn’t gone into detail regarding the wall’s significance.
Ben walked along the nearest row of tombs. At the centre of the room he noticed a large circle marked out across the floor, surrounded by an even larger one. There were patterns on it, animals, serpents . . . it was like looking at an Aztec hieroglyph.
Valeria moved towards him, noticing what Ben had seen.
“Stop,” Ben yelled, edging away from the circle. “Don’t stand on it.”
Valeria froze, stopping less than a foot away. “What is it?”
In truth Ben wasn’t sure; he had missed it on the previous visit. The outer circle was at least ten feet in diameter. The smaller one appeared like a sun, but with markings on the inside, like a human face.
He associated it with the Aztec sun god.
He looked to his right and saw something on the end of one of the tombs. A small container was attached to the stone, wide enough for him to insert his hand. He reached in slowly, wary of getting bitten. The large circle had brought back memories of the first time he had seen Raiders of the Lost Ark, whereas now thoughts had turned to the Temple of Doom.
He withdrew his fingers, all of which were still intact. There were five small pellets in his hand, each less than a centimetre in length.
“What are they?”
Ben studied them, one by one. As he did so, he noticed again the wall with symbols engraved on to it. He gestured Valeria to come nearer, shining the torchlight on the pellets.
“They look like gold,” she said, taking one and holding it up, studying every angle in the light.
Thanks to the markings on the wall, Ben suddenly realised their significance. “It’s totoloque,” he said. “Don’t lose that.”
Valeria moved her hand nervously, so surprised by the urgency of Ben’s outburst that she nearly dropped it. She passed the pellet back to him. “What is it?”
“It was a game played by the Aztecs. It’s called totoloque. The objective was to throw the five pellets at that circle.” He pointed to the inner circle. “If we step on the outer circle, the floor will collapse.”
Valeria was horrified. “You have to throw? Why?”
Ben didn’t know. The symbols on the wall weren’t completely clear, but he was sure it was somehow connected to the lost replica emeralds.
“Give me as much light as you can.”
Valeria made her way to the other side of the circle, shining the torch on the ground. Directly opposite, Ben did the same, holding one pellet in his right hand and the torch in his left.
He threw the first pellet, missing the inner circle by over a foot. Composing himself, he tried again, this time he was slightly nearer.
He heard movement coming from behind him. It sounded like a dull creak.
Valeria was starting to panic. “Ben?”
Ben felt himself rooted to the spot. Looking over his shoulder, he saw dust moving, debris falling. For the moment he was unsure whether it was new or not.
“Ben?”
Ben took a deep breath, attempting to remain calm. “It’s booby-trapped,” he said, feeling sweat fall down his brow. “If we don’t hit the circle, we’re trapped.”
Valeria was furious. “We’re what?”
“Don’t come any closer,” he yelled, seeing her move. No sooner had he said it, she lost her balance, falling on to the nearest tomb.
“Valeria.”
Valeria grabbed hold of the tomb. Her right foot was dangling over the side, the rest of her body on the lid.
One slip and she would fall on to the circle.
Ben took a deep breath and removed another pellet. “Shine the torch.”
Valeria did her best, adjusting the torch with her dirty fingers, giving Ben the best possible chance. He took a deep breath and threw the third pellet, again narrowly missing the circle. For the first time he realised the outer circle was padded with something, causing the pellets to come to a standstill as opposed to skidding on.
Even the small extra weight was proving enough to make the floor unstable.
He took a deep breath, preparing for the next throw, knowing it had to be perfect. If it were short, it would come to a dead stop.
He raised his arm and then followed through. He saw the pellet flying through the light and disappearing, coming down somewhere on the floor. He moved the light, aiming it at the centre circle.
He had made it with one throw to spare.
*
Cortés was first to enter the hotel room. He sat down on the bed, his fingers moving quickly through the opening pages of the diary. He scanned the first page, then the next.
Then he placed the book down on the bed.
“You read,” he barked at Pizarro. “You read the English better.”
Pizarro picked up the diary and started on page one. The writing was faint; even for an Englishman, reading it would have been difficult. He turned the pages and saw diagrams, recognising the churchyard on St Lide’s.
“Get me a magnifying glass.”
*
Ben held his breath as the familiar noise reoccurred, only this time much louder than before. A heavy scraping sound was coming from his right. The wall that contained the sentence “a blank wall is a fool’s writing paper” was vibrating, wobbling; he feared it was about to collapse.
Ben looked at it, almost in disbelief. In his career, he had seen similar things, but never in this part of the world.
The wall opened as if it was a door.
Valeria stepped forward.
“Stop. Stay where you are,” Ben said, moving quickly towards her. On this occasion she obeyed, waiting for him to approach. He placed his hands on her shoulders and guided her towards the door. Even in the torchlight, making out s
pecific details was difficult. All he could see was a long square-shaped void.
For all he knew, it continued indefinitely.
He edged closer to where the wall opened up. The floor behind seemed firm; he felt it with his hands and found a nice solid foundation. There was a second wall less than a metre away in front of him and space on either side. To his right he could vaguely make out an object on a stone ledge.
Valeria was waiting behind him, shining the torch directly at his face. Seconds later he returned, carrying a small chest, almost identical to the one Valeria had found not three hours earlier.
“Oh my,” she said, coughing on inhaling dust. The lid was covered in cobwebs, and the lock badly corroded.
“Here, hold this,” he asked of Valeria, who took the box in her hands. Ben removed his Swiss Army knife from his pocket and selected the largest blade.
Immediately it broke.
“We must take it back home,” Valeria said. “I have tools back at the lighthouse.”
*
Standing less than twenty metres away, Colts watched from partial shelter as Ben and the Spanish waitress squeezed out of the gap in the mausoleum wall and ran towards the lichgate. Though it was getting dark, rain pounding down all the more heavily, their carrying of the metal chest was impossible to disguise.
Colts considered following them but stopped, thinking things over.
If Ben and the waitress were working together, technically they were now on opposite sides.
39
Twenty minutes later they were back at the lighthouse, cold and soaked to the bone. Ben accepted Valeria’s offer of a shower while she dried his clothes on the radiator, making do for the time being with a T-shirt and a woman’s dressing gown.
Valeria was standing by the table, holding the same pair of metal cutters she had used on the box that had contained the trumpet. She opened the jaws, lined them up with the hinges and snapped through them one at a time.
Eureka.
Ben did his best to lift the lid, succeeding after a long battle with the corroded seal. A puff of dust rose from the interior as the lid came free, catching him square in the eyes. Blinking and rubbing his eyes, he placed the lid down on the table and inspected the interior of the box.
The Cortés Trilogy: Enigma Revenge Revelation Page 23
