chapter 52

Hell Hath No Fury . . .

Late that afternoon, William was put back inside the hut. The outside beam was replaced across the door, shutting them inside.

When the guards were out of earshot, he blurted to Nate, “Tonight, we escape!”

“What are you talking about?”

“The high priestess, Kantuta, is going to help us.”

“Why would she help us? What’s in it for her?” Nate asked skeptically.

“Her son has a sickness. She believes it’s the pox, and I didn’t correct her.” William took a deep breath. “She’s worried they’ll find out about her son and kill him. She’s going to help us escape, and in return we’ll help them get out of here. For some reason she trusts us to lead them to safety. She says it’s because of my hair, but there must be more at play.”

Tired, Nate was slow to respond.

William said, “Your plan had holes I could march a regiment through. Think about it—without a solid strategy, we’ll both wind up as ornaments in one of those acacia bushes. But now we have help from the inside.”

Nate reconsidered. “But why tonight? I could do with another day’s rest.”

“There’s enough moon to see by, but not enough for anyone who’s awake to easily see us. Plus, I don’t want the boy to get better while we wait around and have her realize she doesn’t need us anymore. Listen, Yank,” William stressed, “the extra time we bought by telling them about inoculation has just about run out. The priestess told me they’ve found someone with active pox. You know as well as I do, Bidwell, that inoculation doesn’t always work. The moment one of them dies, which is bound to happen, we’re fish food for certain.”

Nate thought for a moment. “Tonight could work. But you’re sure she can get you to the orchids?” Nate asked. “Even if you were King George, they wouldn’t allow you to just waltz in and take those flowers.”

Despite sitting on thick mats, they felt a trembling of the ground accompanied by a deep rumble. The noise and vibration lasted longer than previous tremors. “These things are nerve-racking,” William said, “I don’t care how often they happen.”

Nate waited until the rumbling stopped. “What exactly is your plan?”

“Kantuta says the guards are frightened of the religious caste and will do anything she orders them to. She has arranged to change places with the priestess blessing the food of the late-night guards. She’ll give them a little something extra to make sure they’re out for a while. Next she’ll unbar the door and help us get to the orchids; then we’ll fetch her son, who’ll be at her house. By the time the sun comes up, we’ll be long gone—back the way we came.”

“We’ll never get out the way we came in once they discover we’re gone. Listen, Gunn,” Nate added, “I’ve been watching every canal we’ve crossed, and they’re all flowing. And flowing canals have to empty into even larger waterways someplace downstream. In due course that has to be the Amazon. So, here’s the plan: after we get what we came here for, we meet at the large canal, grab one of those dugouts, and slip away in the darkness.”

“That’s the thing,” the British officer said, intentionally not looking at the American.

“What’s the thing?” Nate said warily.

“They’re coming with us—all the way.”

“You’re joking.” Nate’s eyebrows lifted. “You’re not joking.”

“What do you think would happen to Kantuta and her son,” William asked grimly, “when they discover she helped us? I’ll tell you what: the piranha pond. The boy can’t be more than ten years old.” He thought of Sarah. “They come with us.”

“I guess I hadn’t thought that far ahead. We’ll get a bigger canoe.” He must be growing a conscience. All that ever led to was trouble. “Well then, Admiral, it seems we have a plan.”

Now all Nate had to do was figure out how to get the emerald. That could prove interesting, especially if it was still around the king’s neck.

William awoke in the night. He fought off the fog of sleep. With the loss of blood, they had both dozed off.

Had Kantuta awakened him? He gradually became aware of screams from somewhere in the distance. In the dark, he couldn’t tell if he was actually awake or not.

“Kantuta?” he whispered. There was no answer. He looked over at the American.

He could just make out the dim form of Bidwell, lying on his right side, deeply asleep. William heaved the American into a sitting position, then shook him.

The British officer wasn’t prepared for the Yank’s response. William instantly found himself on his back, pinned to the ground, being choked by a sleeping man. He tried to kick his way out, but the American’s weight on his chest was too much. His fingers desperately sought Bidwell’s eyes, when the noise outside reached a peak.

The American shook his head. “What? What was that?” He only noticed then that his hands were around the Brit’s throat.

“Get the hell off me, Bidwell,” William rasped, “and I’ll explain.”

“Is it time?”

“No, it’s too early.” Rubbing his neck, William said, “Something’s going on, there’s an incredible commotion.” He hurriedly added, “I know we’ve heard all sorts of things in the jungle at night, but this racket is crazy.”

Fighting his way through the fog of a pounding headache, Nate ventured, “The Spaniard?”

“Who knows?” William shrugged. “But maybe.”

Unnerved by intermittent shouts and cries, the guards outside paced with a restless energy.

“It would be just like that bastard to complicate our plans,” Nate pointed out. “Whatever he did, he’s woken the whole city.”

After several minutes the noise was interrupted by a lonely, high incantation, austere and solemn, a gentle humming and droning that provided a constant whistling background which built in intensity and then slowly lowered. The chanting was more unnerving than the clamor that had preceded it.

“It’s the shamans singing the song of the dead,” Nate said.

“You know they’re not singing for that Spanish bastard,” William remarked.

“Change of plans, Gunn. We’re getting out of here—now.”

Too late: The door swung open. In the shadowy radiance of the torches, flanked by her guards, the queen stood. Crimson streaks across her face lent an ominous, malevolent aura to her gaze. In spite of the tropical warmth, the frosty stare she directed at the captives rippled over them like an icy wind off a frozen lake.

William suppressed a shiver.

“Outsiders breathe evil,” she spat. “You come. And we die.” Her eyes changed in an instant, filling with grief and anger. “The king welcomed the foreigner. Death and thieving are our repayment.” The queen glared at William and Nate. “When Inti first appears, your hearts and flesh will become part of the tribe. You will be sacrificed. The priests will say it is to the god of the sun, but know that you die for me, because it is what I command.”

The queen gazed with a glassy stare, unseeing in her pain. “We will find the Spaniard, and his slow passing will not be so worthy.”

Surrounded by her guards, she left, returning to the night.

William and Nate were blindfolded, gagged, and marched through the darkness to a stone building next to the canal. They were tightly bound hand and foot and thrown inside. The door was barred. Well-armed warriors stood guard outside.

The distant humming and droning started again. The song of the dead. It would end with the coming of Inti, the sun god.

As would their lives.