Act VI: Mired in the Marshes

Chapter Thirty-Six

Muyil

A flight of geese swung low around a familiar clump of trees on a small, round island surrounded by a sea of rush and grass. Far to the right, the ocean sparkled in the low, early morning sunshine. The birds descended further, skimming the surface of the large circular lake, one of several to break the sway of the reeds. As they skated to a noisy halt other birds in the trees echoed their calls, and began to jostle for position amongst the branches. A few small fishes jumped in the shallows and the first of the day’s dragonflies launched from a stem.

Across the lake, the human world was also waking. A cockerel responded instinctively to the challenge from the geese. A dog barked, and then another. Two figures wandered to the quayside to fish. Another arrived and began loading a boat. Further from the shore, weak streams of smoke were rising from tiny farmsteads. Further in still, guards could be seen walking the wooden outer walls of Muyil.

On the long, low, rocky hillside to the right of this scene stood Jeronimo de Aguilar. He had climbed early from a camp hidden on the farthest side, and now marvelled at the tranquil scene below. Everywhere people had either fled before him or petitioned for his protection. This town was doing neither. Although hundreds must have fled beyond its walls, there was no sense of panic, indeed nothing out of the ordinary at all. This left him with much to ponder, for he had sent his scouts to the doors of the city just before twilight and their entry had been refused. His translators reported no fear and no threats, simply the words that they could not enter. What did this mean? The scene before him offered no clues. The ramparts on the lake-side of the city were of timber, not stone, and only lightly manned. A large double gate in the walls spoke more of trade than defence. A wide highway processed from it across farmland and scattered patches of forest, to a busy harbour of boats and quays.

Jeronimo knew his party was not equipped to mount a siege. He had only twenty horsemen, some of whom were too weak from illness to do more than sit astride their steeds. Others had already taken to the waggons, hidden from view, so as not to threaten the Spanish illusion of invincibility. His native conscripts were malleable enough. They might fight if there were the prospect of easy plunder, but they were no warriors. His war party had already bypassed Tulum, as reports from the sea spoke of impressive fortifications. They were now running short of food. Taking this city would undoubtedly please Cortes. There would be new provisions, fine women and probably gold. They could rest and re-supply before returning north, but how to get in?

His bodyguard noticed the new source of smoke before he did. The sight left him no more time for strategic planning. It was instantly thick and black - of pitch or tar - and red flames punched hurriedly through it. Within seconds it was glowing white and huge, crowning the round tower of the temple in the centre of the town. Conch shells blew, there was the distant yet distinct sound of chanting voices and the wooden gates began to turn inward. Jeronimo could see men running from their rural homes towards them, as birds panicked and scattered in the opposite direction. Without waiting to see what would emerge, he turned and sped back towards his encampment. They would have only minutes to prepare.

Mulac came around to the sound of laughing girls. As he struggled to open his eyes, he felt his blanket being carefully folded backwards, and then cool water, as somebody washed his face and neck. The smudge of moving objects resolved itself into his mother, shooing the girls away. She was holding a cup to his lips and appealing to him to drink, but Mulac could only focus on her feverish brow and sunken eyes.

“Good morning, Mother,” whispered Mulac, trying to ignore the pounding in his head.

“God bless you son,” she acknowledged, tousling his hair, her eyes full up with tears.

“How are the children?”

“Yochi is well. He is playing with the local children outside. Already he likes it here. Your daughter has a new wet nurse and is feeding well. “

“Where are we? Is this Muyil?

“Yes, you were brought across the swamps by boat and now an army prepares to follow you.”

A group of nobles had entered the building. They wore blue paint, war skulls and fine feather headdresses. Each bore the scars on his arms of recent blood-letting.

“How is our patient, mother?” The man who spoke was the eldest and tallest. His fingers fiddled with another headdress, which was clearly intended for Mulac.

“Well, I think, my lord.” Mulac’s mother bent low as she spoke.

“Then it is time to defend our city. Mulac, will you join us?”

Mulac clenched his eyes tight shut and managed to raise his head a little. His mother helped him sit upright. Four men appeared behind the nobles. They bore an ornate litter of blue, white and gold, on which sat a gilded chair. As Mulac eased his limbs to the floor, he fought off sudden dizziness, but he was proud and determined to play his part. He forced himself to stand erect. A girl placed a fine red robe around his swaying shoulders.

The warlord fitted the crown upon Mulac’s head as his fellow nobles chanted and then declared, solemnly, “It is your example, Mulac, which gives us the strength to fight. Your courage shows the touch of the jaguar. With K’inich working through you we have nothing to fear from these foreign devils.” He stretched an arm across Mulac’s back and led him slowly to the litter.

Once seated and raised high on willing shoulders, Mulac reached back, took his mother’s hand, compressed it gently and beamed. She grinned at him like a little girl, her teeth a chequerboard pattern of black and white.

Mulac felt the rays of the sun and looked up. Before him two to three hundred soldiers filled the square, which bristled with bows and clubbed swords, sling shots and short spears. All around, incense was burning and priests were giving up offerings and prayers. A conch was placed in Mulac’s hand. The feel of its cool, sleek curves instantly calmed his nerves. Now he was back in his element, patrolling the great fort of Tulum. He raised its tip to his lips and blew as hard as he could, though his head was splitting from the pressure of his wound. Instantly, fire sprang from the apex of the great temple pyramid. Other conches responded to his from around the city walls, and the soldiers raised their weapons and cheered. Mulac almost lost consciousness, his head sagging into his lap. As he came around, the entire square was chanting his name and Yochi had been brought up to him. He took his son proudly in his arms and kissed him, as the little boy reached for the feathers in his hair.

Orders were barked. The army assembled into ranks and clans and began to move forward. Mulac could feel himself being carried along, as though on a raft in a stream. Warriors constantly drew close and reached up to touch him, convinced of his magical powers. As they swept through the gates of the city, women and children hung from the battlements, cheering and throwing flowers.

Why couldn’t the fools hear him? He was shouting at the top of his voice, but nobody reacted in the camp below. Most were still sitting around fires, cooking breakfast, or lazing in one of the waggons. Guards leaned upon their weapons, or sat on rocks, smoking. Within ten minutes the Mayans would be upon them. Jeronimo was about to call again when his captain drew his sword. Wiping it once upon his britches, he held it high to catch the sun. Almost immediately the reflection brought a guard to his feet. He wheeled around as soon as he saw the runners and alerted the rest of the camp. As Jeronimo burst upon them, men were already throwing saddles upon horses or priming their guns.

The ground was not ideal. The camp clustered within a scattering of small trees and could easily be outflanked along the ridge they had just descended. Jeronimo knew, however, that there was no time to regroup. “Cavalry mount,” he screamed. Only two or three were ready to ride. There was a clatter of breast plates, helmets and swords. Horses began to panic, bucking and kicking and refusing the saddle. He flung himself upon the bridle of the nearest horse, whilst his captain struggled with the straps. “You go,” he commanded. “As soon as you have ten men, I want you to charge. You must meet their warriors as far from our camp as possible. Hold them for as long as you can, then retreat if you have to. Hopefully, our horses will be enough to make them panic.”

The captain swung up onto his mount and saluted. Then he tugged heavily at the reins and turned his attention to the others.

Jeronimo wanted all four carts in a line to make a defensive wall, but it was too late to bring the heavy horses to the shafts. They would have to move the waggons by hand, but where were his native troops? A cluster of nearly fifty men stood some distance to the rear, most of them traditional enemies of the Maya, from northern border tribes. They clutched nervously at bows and knives, but looked more likely to run than to come to his assistance. Jeronimo sensed his own panic was as nothing compared to that of those who were seeing their new gods in disarray. Where was his interpreter? Jeronimo leapt upon the nearest cart and turned towards the crowd. This has to be good, he thought.

“For God, gold and glory,” he thundered, well aware that none bar his companions had a clue what he was saying, but he gained everyone’s attention. I’ll show them something they’ll understand, he thought, remembering tales of gruesome ritual. He held both his sword and his other arm aloft then slowly, deliberately, drew the blade across the white of his skin. Blood spilled profusely down into his armpit. He felt faint, but knew he must stay erect. He grabbed a helmet and began to collect the stream, at the same time barking to the sick, still lying in the waggons, to prepare to defend themselves.

The interpreter appeared from the midst of his fellows. As he strode forward, other natives followed. Jeronimo drew fingers dipped in blood across his own cheeks then passed his interpreter the blood-spattered vessel. The interpreter copied him faithfully then others too, the helmet snatched by one conscript after the other. Quickly Jeronimo outlined his plan: waggons in a line, archers behind, muskets and sling-shots inside, along with the wounded; everyone else to the fore, with the remaining cavalry. Suddenly the field was a sea of purposeful activity. Jeronimo stooped briefly to bind his wound. The sick conquistador beside him offered up a soldier’s prayer. Jeronimo made the sign of the cross. As his equerry tugged at the reins, he leapt for the saddle of his horse. It broke free and swung in a tight circle, Jeronimo struggling upright, aware that blood had started to flow again. Without spurs, he had to dig deep into the horse’s flanks to gain control. Next moment he was flying forward across the uneven ground, towards his foe.

Mulac turned painfully. Behind him several other nobles were being borne on litters, each carrying a totem to lead the war cries. The party swung to the left, still tight to the city walls and increasingly channelled towards a wooden bridge traversing a marshy stream. Shoulder to shoulder and looking vaguely ridiculous, the warriors shuffled over the span, which creaked alarmingly at the sudden excess weight. Mulac reflected that if any enemy were to attack them here, there would be little they could do to defend themselves. Fortunately, the ground beyond the bridge was open grazing land. The troops spread out across it as family units, each determined to out-do the others in showmanship and bravado. Now they had the opposite problem: there was too much space between each group. This time it was serious, as thundering hounds of hell had rounded the distant ridge and were sweeping across the plain. Everybody stopped. There was nervous shuffling at the front, in a half-hearted attempt to close each breach. Nobles screamed contradictory instructions. Warriors looked from the attackers to their masters, then to Mulac, and back again. Using every ounce of the strength he could muster, Mulac forced himself to stand and bellow, “Charge.”

Sufficient troops heard the call for momentum to be regained. The bravest sprinted ahead, spears and slings trailing behind ready to be unleashed, but it was still clear many would be trampled in the stampede. The speed of the animals descending upon them was like nothing Mulac had witnessed before; their legs barely troubled the earth. The lead rider drew his silver blade and prepared to strike, but next moment he was grasping wildly at the neck of his beast as his seat slipped from under him. With a clatter of metal on stone he was gone, spinning wildly across the ground, teeth and armour scattering in all directions. His horse veered away from the line of warriors, reared upon its hind legs and bolted. It was scared. The shock of it went through the crowd at the same moment as the shock of the other animals smashing through the front line. Almost without resistance, the creatures dove into the heart of the army. Warriors were mown down, others cleaved by devilish blades, but their spell had already been broken. As soon as momentum was lost, the crowd surged around, stabbing and clubbing and unleashing spears and arrows at close quarters. Back legs buckled, arteries burst and the screams of the animals only added to the crowding frenzy. One soldier was pulled down by a leg and clubbed until his brains oozed from his helmet. Another took a spear point to the groin and screamed a cold scream, louder even than that of his steed. Only two were able to extract themselves from the melee, one speeding away, the other endeavouring to follow, though his horse was fatally wounded. It slowed, teetered then fell heavily to one side, trapping its rider. Warriors were instantly upon them both, but these were now trophies, so the victors raised their weapons only to celebrate.

A gruff and stocky noble descended from his litter, swapping his totem for a heavy, embossed, wooden club. Slowly he walked around the head of the beast, crouching to feel the distended veins in its neck and the hot, panicked breathing from its snout. He stood again and placed a foot on the horse’s head. Carefully he took aim. His club swung high then smashed down between an ear and the white of its eye. The carcass began to twitch, but lay still once the club was swung again.

The horseman looked on in terror and tried to extract his legs, but froze as the bloodied club was rested upon his metallic chest. Two warriors pulled him out; forcing him upright, even though he was too broken to stand. Mulac had drawn alongside and was presented with the Conquistador’s helmet. He removed his plumes and forced it down. The alien sensation of cold steel mixed with the pounding of his wound, but he smiled as the throng chanted his name again. The man was stripped of breast-plate, tunic, vest and breaches. The unnatural whiteness of his skin conveyed only weakness, and the scars past conflict and disease. Warriors took it in turns to poke at his flesh, at first timidly, but then with increasing violence. The rotund noble held up his hand. This curiosity of war would be paraded through the streets and only the priests could determine his ultimate fate.

Should they pursue their foe? An argument exploded from litter to litter over the heads of the army. The young and the brave edged forward, as those who thought the city safe turned their attention to the dead and the wounded. After one last, loud appeal faces instinctively returned to Mulac. Silently he removed the head piece of his enemy, and placed it upon his lap. The decision was made.

White froth dripped from the mouth and the sides of the captain’s exhausted mount. Jeronimo scanned the low skyline beyond him, but nothing else moved. Nothing also needed to be said, though his second-in-command struggled through exhaustion to speak. Jeronimo raised his hand and turned his own horse back towards camp. There would be no more fighting this day. They would pack and return to the north, taking with them the news that the peoples of this new world were no longer afraid. One day, he knew, they would be driven to return by the same thirst for power that had already carried them across an ocean. Then it would be at the head of a mighty army but, for now, the Maya could have their petty victory.

A low murmur had spread through the camp as the two Spanish riders trotted into view. Native troops began to slip away into the undergrowth. Within a day the remaining conquistadors would be alone. Within two, they would be dead.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

The Lake

“Careful, children!” Laura baulked at her own teacherly tone. Then she looked in frustration at Marcus, who seemed blithely unaware of the dangers posed by the rickety old watch-tower before them.

The boardwalk had proved less of a relaxing meander than anticipated, with both Ethan and Jackie breaking suddenly through the rotten slats. Jackie had a nasty gash beneath the thick bandage on her left leg and, possibly, a few remaining splinters. She was walking with a heavy limp and Darryl’s assistance, but was cheerfully determined to continue. Ethan, fortunately, had nothing worse than a wet boot. Only Marcus had really been affected. Once again, things had gone wrong early. Once again, people would be wondering why he hadn’t anticipated the problem. He in turn was worrying why Steven, usually so punctilious over safety, seemed not to have recced this route. Both of these concerns merged into an increasing sense of trepidation. That was why the children were halfway up the tower before he noticed.

Hannah peered over the stair rail, spat lustily then disappeared with an evil grin. John Tanner poked dubiously at the bottom step with a walking stick.

“I think we should limit the tower to four people at a time.” Marcus belatedly attempted to regain control and started to bound skywards. “Cesar, perhaps you should follow?”

The two reached the platform only seconds after the children. All seemed in order: the steps, floors and barriers were strong. “I can see the sea, I can see the sea,” Lloyd chanted, with childish glee. Whilst Marcus waved the others up, Cesar gently corrected Lloyd.

“It’s not the sea, just a very large lake. Tomorrow we will be crossing it in our canoes. Beyond it there is a swamp, then a lagoon and then the sea. You will experience all these places on our journey.”

Hannah had spotted movement in the trees. She was pointing vigorously and appealing for attention.

“Spider monkeys,” informed Cesar, with an air of surprise. “You are lucky to see them. Look, there, can you see the mother with the baby on its belly?”

The troop leapt in and out of cover as it traversed the canopy and headed deeper into the rainforest. A juvenile male, the last to pass by, stopped briefly on a branch, scratching its stomach. Felicity flapped around the tower with her rucksack in hand, searching for Ethan’s camera. Laura was last to ascend and glad to see at least one animal. It was looking back down into the forest. Laura followed its gaze and was sure she glimpsed something tall and very possibly human, heading away from them. She shook her head in self-disgust: the jungle was making her paranoid.

Cesar was warming to the role of dutiful guide. “The lake you can see is fed by underground streams. The water is clear and the lake deep, so it looks dark blue. It hasn’t changed since Mayan times, when it was the port for the Kingdom of Coba, but the jungle is different. It only grows here now as this land is protected. In the past it was farmland. You can still see the field boundaries and walls beneath the trees. Our path follows the old harbour road from the city.”

Once again, David was fascinated by the butterflies, here a profusion of colours and iridescence, spread, like confetti in the breeze, across a green wall of leaves. “Why so many, do you think?” he asked Cesar.

“The trees are happy: butterflies are a gift from the forest. If the weather is bad then the colour disappears. You tourists are like the butterflies. Each year you come, always colourful, always different, but sometimes many and sometimes only few.”

David indicated an insect with striking parallel bands of colour. “If I was a butterfly, I’d be that one.”

“Good choice, that’s a Bluewing. The orange one is a Silverspot.”

“And this is a Hotshot.” Hannah cast a handful of peanuts into the canopy, spattering the leaves and sending butterflies into a multi-coloured confusion of wings. “Wow!” She delved deeper into her packet to ensure a larger handful for her next salvo.

“Oi!” It was Jackie, sitting nursing her leg below, who had just been bombed. “I thought those cheeky monkeys had moved on?”

“No, still here.” Hannah grinned broadly from the platform, but decided against another launch. Surreptitiously, she emptied her handful into David’s open bag.

“Come on, this jungle’s cool. Let’s see what else there is.” Lloyd was already bounding down the steps.

Marcus caught Laura’s eye, grinned sheepishly then shrugged for no discernible reason. The party began to drift back to earth. Sharon Tanner and David remained behind, attempting to get close-up shots as the insects resettled. Laura waited patiently.

“Do you mind?” David held out his camera then posed self-consciously, peering towards the horizon, hands-on-hips. The image was so funny Laura had to fight her giggles to hold the lens steady. Like a great white hunter with one foot on a lion, she wanted to say, but didn’t. After a couple of snaps, she handed back the camera.

“Now, may I take one of you?” David looked suddenly serious and it was Laura’s turn to feel self-conscious. She flicked at her hair then stood straight, smoothing the sides of her jungle pants. David grinned broadly and Laura reciprocated. He was so pleased with the resulting image that he showed it to her on the screen. She was not disappointed. It was an image she had seen often, but only in dreams. Why had she doubted herself? She felt so happy she could have hugged David. Instead, she turned coquettishly and skipped back down the steps.

The track was now a narrow, semi-overgrown strip of mud and moss that could have been an animal trail. Few from the trickle of tourists who made it to the tower went any further. Damp, clinging vegetation mixed with the sweat of high humidity, and forced the group into single file. Bird and animal calls grew, and casual conversation lapsed. The world slipped towards darkness and people became aware of movement in the branches above. Bugs hovered close to exposed skin and shadows lingered over the undergrowth. Felicity screamed.

“Get it off me, get it off me!” She was holding out an arm, as though trying to pull it from her body.

Cesar drew a long knife from its sheath. Marcus started visibly. “Please do not move.” Cesar took a firm grip of Felicity’s wrist and gently brushed the blade across her skin. A thin line of blood descended from a puncture wound. Cesar proudly held up his machete to display the distended body of a leach. “Please don’t be alarmed. They are completely harmless. The recent rains have brought them out.”

Hannah and Lloyd crowded around and squealed in delight. Several others shuddered at the prospect of being bitten and peered suspiciously at the nearest greenery.

“There’s one on your boot.” Darryl began poking Jackie’s heel with a stick. “Persistent little buggers, aren’t they?” he declared, lifting the stick to reveal the creature now looping steadily towards his hand.

The line began to move again, somewhat faster than before. The path made a gentle descent over round and slippery rocks to a tea-stained stream weaving in and out of dappled shade. Jackie sat on a boulder to adjust her boot and bandage. Most others followed suit, checking for leaches. David rambled aimlessly upwards, following the waters as they leapt towards him from pool to pool. The way quickly became indistinct. He looked up to assess the prospect for further progress and caught site of two dark figures crossing further upstream. He thought about calling, but was unsure of his footing. As he glanced down to regain his balance then up again, he realised they were gone. Turning to descend, he found Laura close behind him. “Did you see them?”

“See what?” Laura looked around her, quizzically.

“Two people crossing the stream.” David pointed.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I think so. Why?”

“Because I’ve seen them too. I wonder if a couple of guides or porters are shadowing us to ensure we’re O.K?”

“Probably, but they didn’t look that much like guides, mused David.”

“I’ll tell Cesar and Marcus.”

“Do you remember the red car - I wonder if they’re anything to do with that? Maybe some other tourists don’t know the way to the lake, so they’re following us.”

Laura didn’t respond, but what David said made sense, and it was a comforting supposition. She began to rehearse what she would say to the others. She didn’t want to appear neurotic, or spooked by the jungle.

Cesar was relaying that it was only twenty minutes to the lakeshore. All seemed keen to press on, so Laura decided to await her moment. Despite herself, she couldn’t help peer suspiciously into the undergrowth, although the rhythm of the walk soon soothed her concerns. The land grew flatter, the trees more broadly spaced and the pathway progressively wider. The world became a drier, brighter, hotter place again, grasshoppers springing from the trail into the grassy undergrowth. The trees parted, revealing still waters beyond. The children began to run. Others lengthened their stride, keen to escape the furnace-like intensity of early afternoon. A small group held back to chaperone Jackie, who was still limping badly. An open, sandy foreshore was spattered with boats, tents and the charcoaled remains of old bonfires. A ramshackle wooden hut looked as though it might collapse under the weight of its thick grass roof. A flag flew from a leaning pole, stripped of colour by long exposure to the elements.

The porters were in the hut and this was where Cesar directed the team. There was a tiny slatted porch, a counter covered by boxes and a small, shadowy room barely big enough for the group to assemble. It was crammed with bags, lifejackets and other kit. A couple of rough-cut benches provided the only furnishing, other than a white board on one wall. It was covered in the graffiti of old messages - random memos and observations from groups who had passed that way before. People began to rummage for personal possessions. Others sought shade and, if possible, a breeze, wherever they could find them. Lloyd and Hannah had cast aside their shoes and were paddling through the shallow waters, Hannah complaining that tiny fishes were nibbling her toes. David discarded his troublesome boots and joined them, only to retreat rapidly in the face of a thorough soaking. Tinny music began to play. Laura listened as she fussed over Jackie’s injured foot, temporarily forgetting her anxiety about those who might be following.

Marcus and Cesar were getting to grips with the baggage and allocating tents. The porters handed out cold sodas from a large cool-bag. Most were content to sit and sip, and to take in the timeless simplicity of the waterscape. Ethan was the first to notice the two men walking purposefully along the beach, ignoring the children as they passed by. Large and local, they looked quite formal and it occurred to him they may be park officials. One appeared to be limping slightly. He pointed them out to Marcus, as he emerged onto the porch with a bag in either hand. Marcus put down his burden and scratched his head. Then he highlighted them in turn to Cesar. Cesar spread his hands to convey his own lack of recognition and walked purposefully out to meet the pair.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

The Lake

“Don’t you wish we were them?” Alfredo looked soulfully at his brother.

“Perhaps,” pondered Luis, “but I’ve no idea what that would be like?”

“Like being kids again, I should think: like being back at the ranch with nothing to do all day but explore and get into trouble. We were good at that - weren’t we, Luis?”

Luis smirked, even though his stomach was in knots. He couldn’t get away from what they were about to do. By involving tourists they would cross a dangerous red line. He took a deep breath and stood up, wiping sand from his sides. They had washed and cleaned - smoothed their hair and clothes as best they could - in the cool waters of a sheltered creek.

“Come on, let’s do this - there’s no other way. Stay relaxed, Alfredo, and walk slowly. If we spook them, somebody might run for cover. Then we’re screwed.”

They broke out into the open. Two children were playing obliviously in the water, just as the brothers had once done. Both immediately felt protective towards the youngsters. As they passed them they realised they had already been seen. A young Mexican was striding forward to meet them, a quizzical expression on his face.

“Smile and wave,” Luis instructed his brother, knowing they had to counter their battered facial features. Their interceptor managed only a forced grin in return. All three stood awkwardly, a short distance apart. Cesar stretched out a hand to Luis, and introduced himself. Alfredo was surprised when Luis gave his real name. Reluctantly, he too spurned an alias. They concentrated on the lapping waters beside them, uncertain what to do next. Then Luis cleared his throat.

“I need you to listen very carefully to me, young man. Please don’t look around or appear nervous. We are criminals, we are on the run and we are armed.” Luis held Cesar’s nervous stare.

The message was well received. Colour drained from Cesar’s features. He was convinced his former drug supplier had arranged a hit. On the point of bolting, he hesitated as Luis spoke again.

“The safety of your party depends on what you do now. You need to understand this - otherwise things will go very badly for everyone - even for these children.”

Cesar nodded slowly, desperately trying to comprehend who these people might be. Although beads of sweat descended from Luis’ threadbare brow, both his scar and the natural authority in his voice told Cesar he was not to be crossed.

“We are going to invent a story,” Luis continued. “Tell me - what is your name?”

“Cesar.”

“Tell me, Cesar, what is this place?” Luis made an expansive gesture from jungle to lake.

“It is a biosphere reserve, a natural park run by the state government.”

Luis looked out at the shimmering, brown line which was all that could be seen of the far shore. He put an arm upon his brother’s shoulder. “Then we,” he continued, “are park officials.” He stopped again to think. A look of triumph spread across his features. “Our story is that there are poachers in the park. Cesar, what animals are there here to poach?”

“We have jaguar, puma and crocodile. Before the park was created, there was much hunting.”

“Then that is our story. We have been warned that poachers from Belize are in the park. We are concerned for the safety of our tourists, so have come to join you.” Luis glanced in an appeal to Alfredo, for help with the plot. Alfredo responded.

“We arrived this morning, in a hurry. Our colleague was meant to bring our uniform and kit, but he didn’t show up and we haven’t been able to contact him. We decided to continue anyway, just to make sure that this group is safe. Searching for the poachers has left us in this state.” Alfredo swept a hand from his battered face to his clothing.

Luis looked appreciatively at his brother. This, he thought, could really work. “Cesar, who is in charge of this party? We need you to bring this person here, so we can relay the story. It is up to you to convince them. Can you do that?”

Cesar solemnly concurred. He couldn’t think of anything else to do, and had noticed the guns in each man’s pocket. He half swivelled to go then checked, uncertain. Luis gestured him onward, with a warning that any attempt to use a mobile phone or radio would have dire consequences.

Luis turned away from the encampment. “We must not look concerned,” he warned Alfredo. “I think the boy will do as he is told but, if not, we’ll use force.” Luis briefly considered the children as hostages, but then stamped his foot in self-disgust. They could hear Cesar in conversation with Marcus. The discussion grew heated and Luis sensed Alfredo’s growing disquiet. “Don’t worry; this man wouldn’t be doing his job if he wasn’t concerned about us and our story.”

Cesar eventually returned with an irate-looking Marcus. Luis suddenly realised that nerves were corroding his usually excellent English, but Alfredo filled the wary silence. “There is absolutely nothing to worry about,” he assured them. “This is simply a precaution. I hope Cesar has explained why we are not yet fully equipped?”

Marcus stared blankly. He was too upset to say anything. Not once on this trip had he felt in control. He had been wrong-footed at every turn. Why had nobody mentioned poachers? What the hell were they doing in a place where they needed armed guards? Only Carlos had told him anything close to the truth, and he had unexpectedly disappeared. What was he going to tell the group now? “I’m sorry, gentlemen, but this is not acceptable. We will say nothing to the others now, in order to avoid panic, but in the morning we’re all going back. I’m not leading my team into danger. This expedition is over.” Marcus turned emphatically and walked away. The others followed, as casually as they could muster.

“What were you arguing about?” Hannah was dancing around them.

“Nothing, Hannah, these men are here to help us with our adventure.” Cesar had to fight for the breath to speak, but others still overheard.

“What’s wrong?” John Tanner had just emerged rather awkwardly from his tent.

Luis addressed Cesar, discretely. “Get the group together. We need to talk to everyone.”

Cesar looked doubtful, but strode across to Marcus, who had diverted his anger into erecting the second of two large gazebos. Luis and Alfredo continued purposefully into the centre of the group.

“Buenos tardes, Senores. Quiere algo para beber?” David held up a couple of cans, both of which were taken with genuine gratitude by the visitors. Somehow, this tiny act of hospitality made their task a lot more straightforward.

“Usted habla Espanol muy bien, Senor,” Luis responded, appreciatively, if not entirely truthfully.

Several others had been drawn from the shade by the presence of visitors.

“I saw you both earlier,” David continued. “That must be your car in the forest. You’ve been watching out for us, haven’t you?”

Luis couldn’t help but burst into a broad grin. It was as if he had given David their script.

Alfredo grasped the opportunity to build upon their alibi. “I hope you don’t mind - we had reports of poachers in the area. We left in a rush this morning and all day have been either searching for them, or looking out for your party. We may have to rely a little upon your hospitality, this evening.”

Laura glanced uncertainly at Marcus, who was still focused on setting up camp. She wondered why he wasn’t introducing the visitors, particularly as they had obviously put themselves to so much trouble on the group’s behalf. Despite her confusion, she couldn’t help but smile at this ruggedly handsome and strangely familiar young man. “I saw you both too. You had me worried for a while when you kept your distance, but it’s nice to know we’re being looked after. I’m sure it’ll be fine for you to stay,” she concluded, decisively.

Ethan appeared with a couple of fold-up chairs. The brothers settled into them thankfully. Luis leaned across to Alfredo, whispered to him in Spanish then gestured Cesar closer. He had already spotted the danger that the local porters posed. “Cesar, tell me if these men will see through our story?”

“They all work for my father’s tour company. Daniel, the oldest, knows the area well, but I don’t think he’s met any park officials. He’s in charge of one of the motor launches. The other two will break camp in the morning and go home. They aren’t a problem. It is Marcus you need to convince.”

Luis looked up to assess the situation again, just as Hannah and Lloyd careered past. They dived into one of the tents, emerging again just as rapidly.

“We’re going swimming,” Lloyd breezily informed Laura who, slightly peeved that the newcomer’s conversation had so quickly lapsed into Spanish, decided to join them.

Luis cast a wary eye over her departing form, but had more pressing matters to sort. “Cesar, when the two porters depart there must be no tricks, no messages. You understand that, if we’re pursued, your friends here will be our only protection. Tomorrow we will join you in the boats. We will head for the coast then the two of us will take one vessel and leave. This will happen somewhere remote, so it will take a while for you to report us. If all goes well, our cover story will last until then. When we go, we will have to ask your guests to hand over their phones. May I have yours now for a moment, please?” Luis removed the SIM card.

Already the curiosity inspired by the brother’s arrival was dissipating. Poaching sounded plausible, even vaguely exciting, but instilled little sense of personal danger. In a strange place, surrounded by strange people, unusual goings-on were only to be expected. Some decided to join the swimmers and others drifted towards the aroma rising from the newly fired gas barbeque. Only David hung around, inspired by his earlier linguistic triumph, but was unable to pick up the rapid-fire dialogue. Then Ethan reappeared, this time with a couple of fishing rods. The pair was soon deep in conversation and rambling, bare-footed, in search of calmer waters.

Alfredo laughed instinctively as he heard Luis’ stomach rumble. Both were very hungry, but couldn’t relax as Marcus had disappeared from view.

In a discrete grove of trees, some distance behind the shack, Marcus was vigorously digging a hole for the latrine. This activity, he reflected, suited his current situation rather too well. He stopped, wiped his brow, pulled out his phone and called Carlos. Fortunately, there was still a weak signal. After a short delay, an impatient voice answered.

“Digame.”

“Hello, Carlos?”

“Oh, it’s you, Marcus. How goes it? Is my son looking after you?”

“Did you know there are poachers in this area?”

“In the Reserve, you mean? That is highly unlikely.”

“Well, they’re here and, apparently, they could be dangerous. We have two park officials with us now. I think they want to accompany us as extra security.”

“Marcus, this is most irregular.” Carlos paused to think. “I’ll find out more, if I can get hold of anyone at park headquarters. It may be too late in the day. Once I know what’s going on, I’ll call both you and Cesar. In the meantime, do as you are instructed. As long as you do so, you’ll be quite safe.”

As soon as Marcus re-pocketed his mobile he felt more relaxed. He had shared his burden and taken professional advice. The trip could continue tomorrow, as planned. At least the newcomers should be informative guides, he reasoned.

Marcus didn’t notice Cesar’s troubled features as the other approached. Cesar wanted to tell the truth, but equally didn’t want to face the consequences of doing so. Then Marcus stretched, yawned and sleepily passed on his decision that the expedition could proceed. Cesar should let their new found protectors know. Both went gratefully back to their chores, relieved that someone else had eased their dilemma. Shadows from the trees lengthened and reached across the beach.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

The Lake

Alfredo’s weariness disappeared the moment he saw Laura playing in the cool lake waters. Then Marcus wandered over with two plates full of food and both brothers refuelled greedily. The peace offering was followed by increasingly relaxed conversation, during which Cesar did an excellent job of steering Marcus’ questions away from anything that might expose the visitors’ lack of credibility as guides.

Alfredo’s eyes wandered frequently, to dwell upon Laura’s trim and shapely form. Her lithe figure flexed beneath a wet and therefore almost entirely superfluous costume, which celebrated the firm roundness of her breasts and the well fashioned tuck of her buttocks. He felt drawn to her innocence as she gambolled unselfconsciously through the spray kicked up by the children. Her effortless connection to days of youthful abandon only added to the appeal.

Alfredo was determined to at least discover her name. Arms folded tight across her cleavage and head down in cold and concentration, Laura eventually hurried past, hopping gingerly back up the beach to change. Alfredo was entranced by her clean, paper-white skin. Her legs caught the after-glow of the sun as it reflected weakly from the sand. Did she glance briefly in his direction? Alfredo wasn’t sure and only fleetingly during the next hour did he see her again, as she snatched up a few items of food and hurried back to a tent. Her absence gave the encroaching darkness a heaviness which was only partly alleviated by Ethan and David’s triumphant return. Both had caught handsome specimens of the local lake trout. Luis responded like the boy Alfredo had once known, pulling out a pocket knife and demonstrating how to behead and gut each one. Luis didn’t need to pretend to be a park warden, Alfredo reflected, he simply needed to shed the years that had ruined them both.

Laura reappeared in grey leggings and a light-blue fleece, her hair carelessly tussled and a long, uneven fringe almost covering one eye. She was glowing, despite a serious look on her face. Alfredo thought her the most gorgeous thing he had ever seen. He had an almost uncontrollable urge to leap up and sweep her into his arms. He shuffled needlessly in his seat to disguise the rush of adrenaline which surged unexpectedly through him. Laura flicked away a stray lock of hair and sat beside Marcus to impart the latest on Jackie’s injury. She had removed several more splinters and cleaned and redressed the wound. The pair concluded that now they were taking to boats she should be fine, although Laura would continue to look for signs of infection. A long silence ensued, as neither could find the words to broach the issue of their new arrivals.

Felicity wandered over from the group by the shack. She cadged a portion of the fish which her brother, Ethan, was greedily devouring. David held out the remainder of his own plateful to Luis, who tucked into it equally enthusiastically. As David jumped up to find him a fork, he disturbed a small red and fluorescent-green crab. It tumbled and scuttled into the night, causing Luis to chuckle and almost choke on his meal. When Luis had finished he carefully balanced the plate on his knees and cleared his throat, generating a momentary flicker of concern in Cesar’s eyes, which only Felicity noticed.

“When I was young my father told me a story about people in our country.” Luis paused to rehearse his English and to ensure he had everyone’s attention. “A fisherman returns to port, his bucket filled with crabs. He carelessly casts the bucket aside. A colleague warns him to put a lid on it, so nothing escapes. Oh, don’t worry, the fisherman replies, they’re Mexican crabs. As soon as one starts to climb, the others will pull him back down.” Luis chuckled to himself, seemingly oblivious to the uncomprehending looks of the others.

“That’s a very cynical story for someone who works with nature,” Laura observed, staring hard at Luis.

“My father was a very cynical man,” Luis responded, holding Laura’s quizzical gaze. “Maybe that’s why I like it here in the park. Here there’s nobody to pull you down.”

“Are you two brothers?” Felicity was thinking out loud.

Luis and Alfredo looked at each other and once again Felicity caught the moment of tension. It was Alfredo who responded.

“Yes and my brother’s mood can change quickly when he gets tired. I think he should get some sleep,” he added, pointedly.

Luis smiled affectionately at Alfredo. He was right, of course, they couldn’t both stay awake. He also knew his brother well enough to know he was interested in one of the girls. Trying to keep Alfredo out of trouble was like trying to escape the bucket full of crabs. He gave up trying. For the first time he also acknowledged the alien voice within him that was telling him to let go. Que sera, sera. He would set a watch alarm for the small hours, and sort out whatever mess his brother had created then. Beyond filial affection there was also the hardnosed understanding that this party of innocents was in far more danger from Alfredo than he from them. His sentimentality was real, but so also was his propensity for violence.

“Good night.” Luis rose wearily from his chair and bowed pompously. He wandered the few steps to the tent adopted from the porters, who would be sleeping in the shack. Soon it was just possible to discern the regular whistle and sigh of his breathing. Low conversation and the occasional muted flash of torchlight through canvas indicated that several others were settling to their new, basic accommodation. A small group still sat under gaslight and a swirl of insects by the hut, supping beer.

Felicity continued, polite, but persistent. “So how did two brothers come to be doing the same job?”

Alfredo’s eyes dwelt on her, taking in this other girl, whom he had previously barely noticed. “We followed our father. He was perhaps not as cynical a character as Luis suggests.”

“...and you’re happy doing what you do?”

“I can honestly say I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in the world, at this moment.”

Felicity at last seemed placated and leaned her head on Laura’s shoulder. Marcus, Ethan and David had wandered off for a beer and Cesar looked as though he would very much like to join them.

Alfredo watched those talking to the porter manning the wooden counter, which served as an improvised bar. He thought of Marcelo, then of his father and of Uncle Felipe. The cold reality of his situation made him shiver.

Laura caught the moment of vulnerability and it drew her closer to this strange, slightly out-of-place, and oddly dressed young man. She decided to take up the conversation. For some reason she had yet to acknowledge, she couldn’t sustain eye contact with Alfredo as she spoke. “Can we get you anything else to eat or drink?”

There was no reply and Laura suddenly didn’t know where to look.

“My name is Alfredo.” The conspiratorial whisper drew a veil across the outside world.

Laura tried to cast her glance aside. Now she couldn’t stop staring. They regarded each other for several seconds, as Cesar shuffled uncomfortably beside them. Laura could feel the colour rising in her cheeks, but still couldn’t break from Alfredo’s eyes.

“I’d like a beer.” Alfredo turned towards Cesar, who leapt from his seat as though sitting on a spring.

Laura had a moment to take in Alfredo’s disturbingly familiar profile. Nothing about this person made sense. He was handsome but haggard, almost intimidating. His mannerisms were urbane, but he looked as though he had been dressed by a charity shop. His pale skin against thick dark hair gave the lie to a life in the open air. His ear even looked slightly sunburned. None of this made any difference, however. Laura was hopelessly and completely captivated.

“What is your name?” Alfredo leaned forward, hands clasped, as if in prayer.

“Laura,” she heard herself reply.

“Laura,” he repeated and Laura felt her name run through her as though it was exploring a new home. “Do you like it here?”

“I love it,” Laura enthused. “In England you couldn’t sit outside at this time of year. There would be snow or freezing rain.”

“I know London. I have never felt as cold as when I was there. And I have never seen so many people.”

“I feel the same when I go there, too. I’m from the countryside like you. Here it feels as though it’s just us and nature. I understand you have a problem with poachers, but then sometimes so do we in Britain. I’m a member of staff, by-the-way. If there’s some danger and you want to tell me, I won’t pass it on to our clients.”

“My brother and I are only here as it’s good to show we look after the tourists. There is no real hazard. You can all relax and enjoy the rest of your trip, can’t they Cesar?”

Cesar concurred, and handed over one of the beers he had just brought back. He offered another to Laura, but she declined.

“Why don’t you go and enjoy that drink with the others?” Alfredo suggested.

Cesar nodded in relief and quickly retraced his steps. Laura wondered at the authority which Alfredo already wielded and at her own reaction, as she remained rooted to her seat. She could feel the eyes of those at the bar, and knew she must be careful, but she also knew she was completely under this man’s spell. She hoped that others would join them. She hoped that they would not.

“Can you see those?” Alfredo was pointing towards the back of the beach, where tiny lights danced amongst the first few trees. “They are fireflies. When my brother and I were young we would chase after them for hours with a net. Once we had a full jar, we took it to our room. Sometimes there were so many flies in the jar there was enough light to read by.”

Laura watched the intermittent flashes and meandering streaks of light. She hadn’t previously noticed them and was entranced. She liked the world through Alfredo’s eyes, and he was obviously more of a naturalist than appearances might suggest. She repeated each syllable of his name experimentally in her head and did not, at first, even realise he had gone. Looking around in confusion, she caught the line of his broad shoulders reflecting the moonlight in the shadows at the back of the beach. In the sudden flare of a match he looked preoccupied, almost troubled. Laura sat still and watched as he smoked, the light from the cigarette communing with the insects darting around him. She hugged herself tightly, as cold began to invade her clothing, but did not want to move.

“Come and see.”

For fully ten minutes Alfredo had not spoken. He did not even bother to turn around now. He didn’t need to: the connection between the two had only grown in the stillness. There was a deep sadness in both of them, something that emerged in the quiet and the dark: the sadness of loss and of lost souls; of craving attention from someone long gone; of the little child calling for its mother.

Laura tottered somewhat stiffly into the shadows. Without thinking, she reached out and touched Alfredo’s hand then became aware of what she had done. Shyly, but without regret, she held his gaze as he turned enquiringly towards her. Light played there, just like the fireflies. She barely registered his transient lack of recognition, as though he’d been thinking of another, but responded instinctively to the spreading smile of someone greeting a loved one. Flicking her hair from her eyes, Laura brushed deliberately past his shoulder. It was her turn to disappear.

Alfredo started, as if waking from a dream. He threw away his cigarette and looked long and hard towards those individuals still occupying the beach. He was not being watched. Cautiously, he retreated towards the tent in which his brother was sleeping, slid his gun beneath the ground-sheet and skirted around the furthest canopies to the spot where Laura had last been.

Where had she gone? There was no silhouette along the waterline and no sign of her anywhere beyond the camp. Alfredo felt momentarily foolish, then felt the panicky sense of emotional vulnerability that had been growing inside him since London. He needed to find Laura quickly, and to bathe in the calm that her presence engendered before his emotions ran out of control. Instinctively, he made for the cover of the trees. Stumbling across a clearing at the forest fringe, he realised he was following a pair of the sky-dancing beetles he had celebrated. As he approached, their lights failed simultaneously.

“Somebody else who couldn’t find the toilet tent in the dark!” David slurred his words. He was concentrating upon not spraying his shoes with urine.

Alfredo almost leapt from his ill-fitting clothing.

“Sorry... didn’t mean to spook you.

“It’s nothing - don’t worry.” Alfredo was struggling to work out who he was talking to.

“I imagine you camp all the time. Can’t say I’m looking forward to it myself. I have trouble enough getting to sleep in my own bed.”

“Well, if you can’t sleep, I will be sitting out. You are welcome to join me.” Alfredo managed to regulate his breathing just enough to make a careful show of politeness. He turned in frustration and quickly retraced his steps. By the time he reclaimed his chair there was nobody to be seen. Even the tents were in darkness. The night grew heavy and still. He began to feel the chill, but the crisp air cleared his head and helped him to keep watch. David never appeared, but his snoring was soon clearly audible above a range of other somnambulant sounds. Alfredo sat motionless and silent for several hours until Luis relieved him. He thought of very little, but unfamiliar feelings clawed at his innards in a way he found entirely disconcerting. Grunting grumpily at his brother, he headed for the tent. Stretching out thankfully, he reclaimed an image of Laura and drifted towards sleep. Then he thought of his mother. One of these women entered his dreams. As he stirred briefly and turned over in the dark, he couldn’t work out which it had been.

Chapter Forty

Muyil to the marshes

The city had been searched three times at Mulac’s insistence, but still his mother could not be found. One of the girl attendants had seen her slip away. A newcomer reported seeing a hunched old lady, dressed all in black, hurrying towards the forest. The search party had returned without success, its leader dropping to his knees before Mulac, in apology. Everywhere people celebrated the salvation of their city on the streets, but Mulac refused to join his hosts on the main temple pyramid. He sat in semi-darkness, staring at the shapeless form of his sleeping daughter. His son had been presented with a carved wooden sword and was chasing his new-found friends with it, across a small internal courtyard.

The city’s chief priest sat alongside Mulac and listened as he talked of Ah Kin Lo and of his family. They shared a long, thin tobacco pipe, carved in the shape of a minor deity. Mulac talked until there was nothing else to say. It made him feel calmer.

“You know, Mulac, it is hard for anyone to be the last of their generation. Death can be a release, when your body and soul are on different paths. From what you tell me, Ix-Chel will be with your mother. The best of herself in this world she leaves behind in you and your two children. Honour her memory by living the life she would want you to lead.”

Mulac was unconvinced. He was tired of priestly platitudes. He remembered the terror he had felt for Ah kin Lo on his deathbed. What he wanted and needed now was time and space to think. He was also nobody’s hero. He was just a middle-aged man in search of a home.

“Priest, if I play hero to the crowd for a little bit longer, may I ask for a place to live?”

“You may ask for that and a great deal more, Mulac. This city is still here because of you. And, when your exploits reach Coba, your fame will surely grow.”

“That is what I am afraid of. I was hoping you might find me somewhere quiet, away from the city. I am no farmer, but there must be something I can do here?”

The priest smiled broadly. “I don’t think that will be a problem. If I can be honest with you, Mulac, it may also be the best solution for everyone. The nobles here could come to resent both your lowly birth and your popularity. A little physical distance will help to keep everyone happy, although you will almost certainly be summoned to Coba, at some stage.”

“As you know, my wife is buried there, so that is a mission I would welcome.”

“I already have an idea about what you might do here, but I must put my proposal to the right people first. In the meantime, please enjoy our hospitality.” The priest handed the pipe and a small leaf pouch full of tobacco to Mulac, with a slight bow and a pat on the shoulder. “When you are ready, it would be wise for you to show your face to the crowd,” he counselled.

Mulac watched him leave then returned to the pipe and his thoughts, which strayed immediately to his mother. What would he say to his son about his grandmother? He could hear him still playing happily outside. As he listened, the boy’s laughter was steadily drowned by the sound of people chanting Mulac. He examined his newly acquired pipe more closely, preparing himself to placate the crowd. Kan-u-Uayeyab - the god who guarded cities - stared back at him. He offered a short prayer of contrition. As he made for the doorway he realised that this priest had been no less wily than Ah Kin Lo. Everything he had said and done had been carefully planned. Mulac would follow the will of those who understood the world much better than he, as he had always done.

Within seconds, Mulac found himself swept up between the shoulders of two barrel-chested soldiers and carried along the main street towards the central square. From almost every house, people emerged to fortify the throng, and the chanting became so loud it seemed to be coming from inside his still aching head. The pyramid temple came into view, its summit afire in the rays of the early evening sun. Horns sounded and priests called for the attention of their gods. Everywhere, colourful drapes and flags fluttered in the cooling breeze and lines of girls rose and fell in the unity of dance. Once again Mulac was enthroned. The seat was levered backwards up the steep stone steps of the temple, much to his consternation as it jerked erratically from side to side. A tentative, high speed wave to the crowd below nearly turned into a fall, as the chair lurched violently.

Safely at the summit, Mulac stood and paid his respects to the semi-circle of dignitaries around him. Pungent incense swirled from a central burner. A necklace of jaguar claws was placed around his neck, an honour bestowed on only the finest warriors. Walking into full view of those below, facing the fading sun, he raised both arms to the heavens. The crowd stilled. Mulac did not move, savouring the warmth of the rays on his face. He had unfinished business with K’inich. The great cat of light and darkness lingered in the sky, above the distant marshes, casting one last fiery glare before changing form and leaping from beneath the horizon to command the night. Taking his cue from the priest, his words strong and sure, Mulac rotated slowly, chanting a Mayan prayer. He was copied by many of those in the square below.

A naked dwarf covered in green dye and leaves - a forest sprite - was holding out a dark obsidian blade. It caught a light halfway between sun and moon. Mulac raised it for the crowd to cheer then brought it down deliberately across his forearm. Blood spilled from his elbow into a jade drinking vessel. Once full, it was passed around the circle, each noble raising the cup high in prayer, before drawing it down to his lips. Mulac felt the life-force flowing from him, but knew his blood would fortify the city. He grew light-headed. Where once had been a single sun now shone two, hanging low in the sky: the eyes of the crouching jaguar. Their combined light barely found its way through the haze which rapidly enveloped his vision. His body felt heavy and his legs weak, but he fought to stay upright a little longer to prove to K’inich that it was a warrior he was facing. Darkness came upon him, as though the great cat had suddenly snatched away the day. He fell beneath the smothering ebony sheen of it coat, and never felt the grip of the strong arms that reached out to catch him.

Mulac could smell his son’s hair before he opened his eyes, and knew it was that which had made him dream of his old Tulum home. It was night and he had no idea how long he had been sleeping beside Yochi. His arm was freshly bandaged and his forehead too. There was no sound and no torchlight, suggesting midway between dusk and dawn. He looked around, but nothing gave away his location. A jaguar growled. The sound was unmistakeable and close: the god had taken animal form. It must be inside the city, Mulac reasoned, but how could it be prowling the streets? He turned and put his good arm gently around his son. For his sake, he must not show fear. For a long time he lay alert, anticipating a snarl from much closer quarters, but it was weariness that took him once more. Purring punctuated his sleep. But somehow it felt normal: as though it had always been.

The next time he awoke the low sun of morning was streaming through an unfamiliar doorway. He was alone, but he could hear conversation and calls outside. Mulac found he could stand, then that he could walk. His headache had disappeared. His arm stung a little as he gripped the doorframe, but his main sensation was thirst. As his eyes grew used to the light, he was stunned by the vista of trade and industry set out before him. Pathways of cobbled stone led down to the lake-front. The shoreline disappeared beneath lines of jetties and row after row of watercraft of all shapes and sizes. Either side of each pathway, sacks and crates lay in clearly defined piles. Some were covered in nets and some were the focus of heated discussion between traders. One man was running corn from an open sack between his fingers and nodding sagely. Another was supervising a line of porters, as they cleared a space for an in-coming cargo. Everywhere there were shouts and calls and laughter. Mulac stood transfixed, until he felt his son slip a hand into his. He looked down and smiled. It was a long time since he had felt so happy.

Without a word his son was gone again, weaving his way through the bustle. He disappeared into a grand looking single-storey stone building, fronted by three wide doorways. Mulac took a few steps in the same direction, but was immediately surrounded by grinning faces. Other hands grasped his and a concerned middle-aged woman, who had followed him outside, offered him a long drink of cool water. It lay in a shallow dish, in which floated a single white lily. Mulac studied his reflection. Somehow, he was clean shaven and his face un-painted. His dark hair was freshly cut. Much time must have passed whilst he had been sleeping.

The head priest emerged from the building and beckoned to Mulac. He found himself propelled there by the crowd. The inside consisted of a single chamber. The walls were freshly plastered and hung with fine drapery. At one end sat an ornate stone table. Mulac was ushered to a cushion-covered bench beside it.

“Welcome home, Chief Officer of Customs.”

Mulac looked blankly at the priest.

“This role is given to you by the people of Muyil - the greatest port city in the Kingdom of Coba. You have a house here and a salary for life. You will learn your trade and you will learn to write: there are two assistants, who will be happy to show you how. From every cargo you will collect a new tax. From these monies a monument will be erected, here in the marshes, in honour of our greatest victory and the man who inspired us.”

Mulac shook his head in disbelief. He was crying.

Chapter Forty-One

The Marshes

All morning Laura had busied herself with the boats, though she felt Alfredo’s eyes constantly upon her. Half the tents were already down. Whilst a few individuals lingered over cooked breakfasts, others were already paddling in experimental circles, or pushing valuables into watertight containers. Three solid metal motorboats with canvas sunscreens on metal scaffolds held the bulk of the kit. Marcus would take charge of one, Cesar another and the head porter, Daniel, the third. Everyone else, except Luis and Alfredo, had declared their intention to start out by canoe. Laura worried that Jackie’s injured foot would prove too uncomfortable for her to paddle far, but she had been insistent.

As Laura helped to adjust life-jackets and apply sunscreen, she stole furtive glances in Luis and Alfredo’s direction. Both stood with hands in pockets, watching the minor panics and last minute searches for newly essential items with looks of increasing frustration. Something didn’t add up. Were they in more danger than Alfredo had suggested? If so, why was the trip proceeding? These thoughts were not alone in Laura’s mind. Much was still occupied by the events of the night before, when sudden panic had made her retreat to the safety of her tent, before Alfredo followed her into the night. The moment she left his side she had come to her senses. That hadn’t stopped an aching feeling of disappointment growing steadily inside her. Her senses had been heightened further by a deep and dreamless night’s sleep and an irrational, but intense feeling that she already knew this man.

Laura noticed that Marcus was sitting in the lee of the shack, out of sight of the brothers, fiddling with his mobile phone. He seemed to be awaiting a call, so it was the children who helped launch Laura and David’s canoe. Once on the water, Laura felt more settled and descended fitfully into giggles as she realised David couldn’t steer. The children cruised past, sat between Ethan and Felicity. They managed to soak Ethan as they tried to splash David. David joined Laura in helpless laughter at Ethan’s splutter of surprise. For a brief moment, Laura forgot all about Alfredo.

Marcus had called and texted Carlos several times, without response. The canoes were heading into deep water and he knew that he must soon follow. He was not a neurotic person but, fleetingly, as he listened to the cheery banter carried across the lake, he wondered if he hadn’t lost his nerve. His emotions were scrambled, of that he was sure. The current crisis with poachers provided the final stir, but Dana was most of the mix. If he wasn’t in love with Dana it was only because things had moved so rapidly his feelings had yet to catch up. He felt the inevitability of embarrassment and stilted conversation yet to come; the certainty of disappointment. He looked out towards Laura and shook his head slowly. He had hired her because she looked like Isabel, the dead cousin he had loved to distraction. Laura was not Isabel and he was reminded of that simple truth every time he saw her. Now he couldn’t help but resent her presence, all the more so as she was coping so much better than he. Marcus drew a deep breath and stood up. He took one last inspectorial look around the camp, shook the hands of the porters who were remaining behind, fixed a casual smile on his face and pushed his boat out to join the little fleet.

The pace was slow and the lake expansive. The sun was still no more than a casual acquaintance, but it would soon muscle its way into the group. As the near shore became increasingly indistinct, Luis and Alfredo’s spirits lifted. They had shared an overtly leisurely breakfast, neither admitting to the other that tension meant they were forcing down their food. Alfredo had casually mentioned an interest in Laura and had been quite put out by Luis’ non-committal shrug of the shoulders. “They are good people,” he acknowledged, “but we cannot afford to get involved.” Luis nearly reminded Alfredo of the killer he was, but instead just patted his back - he too wanted to savour the innocence associated with their assumed roles for as long as he could. Besides Alex, his wife, and he had achieved some sort of normality for a time in the USA. Perhaps Alfredo could do the same, although surely not with some naïve little English girl? What was Alfredo going to do anyway: ask her to abandon her party and flee with him as a fugitive to Belize?

Alfredo was sitting opposite his brother at the front of Cesar’s launch, staring into the bow wake. He was trying not to look at Laura, but thought about her anyway. Whenever he did so, he also thought of home. Now, for the first time, he wondered at the connection.

There was a shout from Marcus. Cesar and Daniel immediately cut their engines. Jackie was struggling. Marcus took her and Darryl’s canoe in tow. As soon as the sound of the powerful outboard motors waned, another mechanical growling took their place - indistinct at first, but then increasingly insistent.

Luis swivelled to face the distant marshes. A helicopter was sweeping towards them. Turning again, he grabbed Alfredo’s wrist to prevent him drawing his weapon. Then he stared hard at Cesar, to ensure he too kept his cool. People began to shout and wave. Alfredo followed Luis’ lead and joined in, at the same time grabbing the side of the boat in case he had to make a quick exit into the water. The overgrown insect slowed as it approached. There was no doubt that they were its target. It began to circle, the downdraught kicking up a concentrated mass of ripples. Craft began to drift apart in various directions. The children were standing and cheering, their canoe wobbling precariously.

Luis could see it was a private machine, but why such a close approach if it was just another group of tourists on a joy-ride? He concentrated hard and made out two men within the Perspex dome. They seemed to be Mexican. They looked serious, but not necessarily threatening. Eusabio’s men, or Xterra: possibly, but why the lack of aggression? Detectives: again it was possible, but why no police force markings? Perhaps it was the park authorities, but they wouldn’t have their own helicopter and were likely to be wearing uniform. If it was park wardens, and they had gone to the expense of hiring a machine, then they must have major concerns about the group. That in turn meant someone in the party had probably been in contact. Luis stood up and made his way carefully down the boat to confront Cesar.

From Marcus’ perspective, something didn’t add up. His party was already being escorted by two park officials and now a helicopter was checking up on them. Whatever the threat to the group was, it must be serious. He needed to speak with Carlos. Disconcertingly, one of the pilots actually looked like Carlos, although he didn’t acknowledge his wave. Even more troubling, the other man was the spitting image of the taxi-driver he had encountered on his arrival from England. He needed to take control, both of himself and of the situation. Glancing behind his boat, down the trailing tow-line, it was clear that Jackie and Darryl were now OK. However, the children in Felicity and Ethan’s boat were in danger of falling in, but Marcus couldn’t get their attention. Irritatingly, David had been waving with his paddle and had managed to throw it overboard. Laura, sitting at the front of their canoe, didn’t seem to have noticed.

Marcus bellowed unsuccessfully again. He pulled out his mobile and pressed redial, still hoping for Carlos and a proper explanation of what was going on. Nothing happened. Marcus held up the phone in an instinctive search for a signal. This caught Luis’ eye, over in Cesar’s launch. Luis smiled ingratiatingly, but slightly too slowly for Marcus not to notice the menace in his initial expression. At last Marcus understood. These men were not who they said they were. They were also dangerous, and whoever was in the helicopter must be aware of the same thing. Marcus smiled self-consciously back at Luis, at the same time thrusting the cell-phone deep into a pocket.

“A helicopter too - you guys are really looking after us,” Marcus shouted breezily over the din.

“Glad to be of service,” Luis hollered back, equally casually, before returning to his conversation with Cesar.

Marcus restarted the engine. He needed to get the party to dry land as soon as he could, to speak with some of the others. Cesar may know something already. Laura and Daniel would need to be briefed. It would be a big step, but maybe they should also inform some of the guests. He wasn’t sure. It would be a risky strategy, as he still didn’t know the nature of the threat. Thinking about who might not panic, to his surprise Marcus settled upon David.

David fell in. The helicopter had finally swung away and beat back over the horizon. David lost his balance as he stretched too far, trying to retrieve his paddle. Teetering on the brink, his knees pressed into the side of the boat. It tipped over, the weight slapping into the surface only inches from his now half-submerged head. There was a general peel of laughter, but Laura, David’s partner, was nowhere to be seen. Alfredo noticed first. All his tension dissolved into action and he sprang forward, diving from the launch, ignoring the pain that coursed across his injured ankle. David waved hopefully to his rescuer, but was pushed roughly out of the way as Alfredo splashed frantically around the upturned canoe, in search of Laura.

Marcus drew his own launch alongside and reached down to retrieve a now floundering David. Seconds later he was dragged roughly aboard. Coughing out lake-water and red in the face, David sank to his knees. Initially he could not breathe, but it was the look of panic on Alfredo’s face, as he stared up at Marcus from the troubled lake waters, that reinforced the gravity of the situation.

Before Marcus could react, Alfredo dived under the upturned canoe. Emerging, gasping for air, on the far side long seconds later, he snatched at the lifejacket which Marcus cast into the lake beside him. It was clear he was not a strong swimmer and his shoes and clothing were beginning to drag him down - but he dove again. Marcus heard the bump as Alfredo surfaced within the upturned hull. Cesar’s launch was now on the far side, but nobody could see a thing.

Marcus was about to follow Alfredo when two entwined figures smashed, choking, through the water’s surface. Laura was crying and clung to Alfredo as though she might otherwise be swallowed by some lurking lake monster. Alfredo stroked sodden locks away from her eyes and pressed his mouth intensely to her lips. As her body fell limp in his arms, Marcus jumped over the side to help him lift her to safety.

For a long while the flotilla remained tightly clustered, as Cesar and Daniel struggled to right the upturned vessel. Laura, David and Alfredo sat shivering in Marcus’ boat, but the rapidly climbing sun proved to be a useful ally. Felicity and Ethan railed against the recklessness of the helicopter crew, for having precipitated the accident in the first place, concluding that they must have been rich sightseers. Various others fussed over kit bags and soon all three reluctant swimmers were freshly clad, and much recovered.

Crisis over, the remaining paddlers finally pushed away from the support vessels and relaxed into a steady rhythm. The deep blue at the lake’s centre slowly gave way to turquoise, as the convoy headed for the sandy-bottomed shallows. Clumps of mangrove trees and grassy islands could be made out on the shore, surrounded by an immense sea of shifting reeds. Birds were calling from the tops of trees. There was an explosion of white, as a hawk scattered them over the waters. Felicity and Ethan forged ahead, still high on the adrenaline of outrage, hotly pursued by Sharon and John Tanner. Cesar opened his throttle and overtook, directing the party in towards a long, narrow, wooden jetty. Most were soon ashore and drinking from their water bottles, under the shade of the nearest vegetation. To Marcus’ relief, Luis and Alfredo did the same, giving him the opportunity to speak with Cesar as they secured the boats.

“Cesar, what do you know about our two visitors?” Marcus’ tone was blunt and accusing.

Cesar looked away guiltily and shook his head in self-disgust. “The older one - Luis - he said whilst you sorted things out after the accident that you would ask. He said you should talk to him, but must not say anything to the others.” Cesar looked relieved at sharing his burden. “I’m so sorry, Marcus,” he added, “I had little choice.”

They stared quizzically at each other and Cesar’s expression told Marcus everything he needed to know about their situation. As he turned and prepared to face the team again, he became aware of his own rapid breathing. Stopping a few strides along the dock, he took a couple of deep gulps of air and then continued, somewhat more calmly. Whatever was going on, it was up to him to sort it out. He thought about taking Laura aside, but she had barely been able to speak since her emersion. Luis’ eyes were already upon him. The pathway from the dock to the shade of the trees continued further onto the green island. Marcus gestured discretely for Luis to follow him and, to his relief, he did. They walked on, side by side, each turning as casually as possible to check that nobody had chosen to join them. Soon they were out of sight and standing in front of an old stone building, which seemed to be the only permanent human feature of the island. Luis spoke first. His tone was serious, but also placid and even friendly.

“You know that we are not who we said we were. We are on the run from some very bad people, but they will have difficulty getting to us here. They may have been in the helicopter, so we are lucky to be having this conversation now. They can be ruthless and, unlike us, do not necessarily care who else gets hurt.”

“You are putting my party in danger. You have no right to do that.” Marcus was blunt and angry.

“I understand you, Marcus. This is not something I want to do, but I’m afraid I have no choice. My brother and I are both armed and the safety of your party depends upon you following my instructions. To begin with, I would like that cell phone.”

Marcus complied, slapping the instrument forcefully into Luis’ hand. “So; how will this end?” he challenged.

“As soon as we reach the sea, we will take a boat and go. We had intended to leave your party in a remote area, but I think we both realise now that others are aware of our presence here, so that will not be necessary.”

“If we change our plans and head straight for the sea, the group will realise something is wrong,” Marcus concluded.

Luis thought for a moment. “They are just tourists. They don’t know where we are, even now. As long as we do not rush, and leave time for some of your activities, I doubt they’ll know the difference. All I ask is to be on a beach before sunset. Then everyone will be safe, including us.”

Marcus stared back towards the others then nodded reluctantly in agreement. “If things go wrong, please do not use my people as shields or hostages.”

Luis said nothing. He did not know himself what he would do in such circumstances. Marcus thought about pressing his point, but realised he had little with which to bargain. He turned in frustration and walked back up the track to brief Cesar.

Chapter Forty-Two

The Marshes

“I see that our visitor likes you.”

Laura felt the sudden flush in her cheeks and stared fixedly at the ground. David recognised he had stumbled into a private affair and did his best to back-track. “I’m so sorry for putting you through that experience in the water earlier,” he pleaded. Laura still did not respond, so he decided to change tack again. “Cesar says there is a Mayan customs house on this island. There has apparently been a dock here since ancient times and there’s still a Mayan canal that links this lake to the next. Do you want to take a look?”

“Yes, please.” It was Lloyd who answered and he and Hannah immediately jumped up.

Laura grasped David’s arm and levered herself to her feet. “Come on then.” She smiled at the pair of youngsters and headed off up the track, leaving David to trail on behind. Moments later they passed Marcus, who was so preoccupied he barely noticed them. Laura wondered when it was they had last properly conversed. Her recent trauma had inspired no more than a perfunctory - Are you alright? If her current career were to continue, she reflected, it looked increasingly unlikely that it would be with Tailwind Adventure.

David caught up. “There it is,” he declared, slightly out of breath. They stared at the low stone building, which looked more like a Second World War bunker or gun emplacement than a pre-Columbian structure.

“Let’s each go in through a different door,” Hannah suggested, sprinting forward and disappearing through the middle of three parallel portals.

The others followed her instruction then stood blinking in the single damp and gloomy interior. Laura put her finger to her lips and pointed upward. A large colony of fruit bats hung from ancient wooden rafters. Hannah squealed, despite her attempt at silence, and pointed too. A jet black tarantula with a bright red belly was sitting on a fallen roof-tile, only feet from where they stood. It was waiting patiently for something to fall. The bats began to shuffle and squabble at the sudden noise. Laura and David abruptly found themselves alone.

“I’m so sorry that I’ve embarrassed you, as well as giving you such a scare,” David grovelled.

“Don’t worry. You’re right, of course; about Alfredo,” Laura whispered, matter-of-factly.

“Do you feel the same way?” David quizzed.

“I think so, although I know it’s crazy. We haven’t spent more than thirty minutes together. What’s even crazier is that life seems to have speeded up here. Everything before Muyil feels like the distant past.”

David readjusted his balance slightly on the uneven surface. “I know what you mean. I live more in a day here than in a month back home.” He gave Laura a serious look. “I wouldn’t presume to offer you advice, but I’ve always wondered what would have happened if I’d been more forthright about my feelings with Culjinder. We only live once, as the saying goes. As an Indian Christian, rather than a Hindu, Culjinder may even have agreed with me, at least on that particular point.”

“Life is complicated,” Laura articulated through a gentle smile.

“Yes, but that’s also when it can be most fun. I haven’t a clue where my life is headed at the moment, but I’m enjoying every minute of it. Shall we re-join the others? I believe we’re about to get wet again and, very possibly, eaten by crocodiles.”

Laura laughed. “I’ve no worries about crocodiles with you around, David.”

By the time they returned, everyone else was assembled once more on the wooden pier. Some were reaching precariously for the lifejackets, slung casually about each tin boat, alongside various items of drying clothing. Marcus, Cesar and Daniel were already standing in a line in the warm shallows and others were about to follow. Ethan jumped in first, breaking the crystal-clear waters with a loud, but slightly forced whoop. He waded back dutifully to help Jackie Morgan as she moved her good leg and then the bad gingerly into the lake. Lloyd and Hannah ran to the far end of the jetty, on the premise that it was a bit deeper, and made a point of jumping right on top of a shoal of multi-coloured fishes. Soon most were following Cesar, wading out to where the strong current cut a deeper channel as it headed for the canal. Next instant Cesar was floating and drifting slowly past the island. With various splashes and squeals others followed suit, floating on their backs, buoyed up by their lifejackets. Some held on awkwardly to soggy, wide-brimmed sunhats. Others let their toes protrude in front of them in the flow.

Back on the dock, Luis occupied himself helping Marcus and Daniel lash the boats together, so they could be guided down the narrow stream which marked the overgrown remains of the old Mayan canal. Laura only very reluctantly agreed to bring up the rear of the group floating unaided down this channel, having no great desire for another near drowning. She buried her own anxiety by reassuring David, as both struggled back into their lifejackets.

Alfredo stood indecisively watching the others float away. Now at least, thanks to his recent heroics, he was wearing more presentable clothing, although that too might be about to get wet.

Luis turned towards his brother, wondering at his sudden inertia. “Go, go,” he yelled. “Play your little tourist games.” He stowed the weapon quickly that Alfredo passed secretly to him, and gestured him away impatiently.

Alfredo struggled into his buoyancy aid, just in time to catch David in the stream. The absurdity of his situation struck him immediately. He threw his head back in the water, staring at a single con trail high overhead, and began to laugh. David did the same. Their very different worlds had each shrunk to a narrow waterway through reed and mangrove swamp. For the first time in a very long while Alfredo did not feel he was being pursued. A kingfisher flashed by and a moorhen croaked a protest from its nest, but no helicopter would ever find them here. The current grew even stronger as the banks narrowed and straightened, so that only gentle movements were needed to steer. Alfredo felt freer and more relaxed than he could ever remember. If only real life could be this simple.

Alfredo sent his hand arcing lazily through the water. It met another. For a few seconds the stray hand brushed easily alongside, then the fingers traced across his palm and entwined with his. He felt a sudden surge of happiness as he responded to their deliberate and sustained pressure. He took a deep breath, sucking in the moment, then spluttered as Laura used her other hand to send a wedge of water into his face. Alfredo found the bottom and stood up, coughing. Laura swung around in front of him and he drew her in. Both looked quickly behind. The support party managing the launches had yet to appear and, beyond Laura, David was drifting obliviously downstream. Alfredo pulled Laura closer, tugging at her narrow waistline. Hampered by their jackets, they had to strain to kiss but, once their lips met, neither could desist. Laura rode the wave of passion spreading from her core and shuddered. Alfredo reaction was beyond sexual. He felt as though his whole life had led him to this moment. For once, everything made sense. He was coming home.

David grabbed a stray branch to halt his progress, aware that he was now alone. He twisted his body around in the direction of the pair, to be afflicted by a momentary and unexpected pang of jealousy. “Oi - you two - watch out for the boats!” he hollered, as affably as he could manage.

Alfredo reluctantly pushed Laura away. He glared at his brother sitting on the bow of the first launch, blithe to his distinct look of disapproval. For once in his life it was he who was somebody’s hero. The couple toppled back into the current. They swam to catch up with David, who was now spinning clumsily from the end of the branch. They laughed, ejecting every ounce of tension from their bodies, as he let go and face-planted into the water. David couldn’t help but join in, between coughs and gurgles. Righting himself, he thought of Phoebe and smiled broadly at the heavens. Laura was just a friend. All three were still splashing and joking as the canal ejected them into the next lake.

After floating carelessly for so long, the weight of the world dragged at their clothing as they struggled out onto a muddy shore. It was carpeted with yellow, orange and brown butterflies. The children were chasing the salt-seeking insects across the clay, scattering them like confetti, only for most to land at once behind them. There was little shade, until the boats caught up and were dragged ashore, people sitting in the lee of their canopies. Marcus, Cesar and Daniel began re-erecting the marquees and preparing lunch. Laura joined them, running her fingers through Alfredo’s damp, curly hair as she left. Alfredo and David sat together on a large and contorted piece of driftwood. For a while they talked of fishing, but David was keen to make a point.

“It is good to see you two together. This sort of holiday is made for romance. I have only known Laura a short while, but I like her very much.”

Alfredo listened respectfully. He knew what David wanted to say. “I have known her for only a few hours and already I feel the same.” He picked up a stone and cast it into the new lake, the expanse of its waters disappearing into a distant fret. He wondered where the old Alfredo, the womaniser and gangster, had gone. Something had happened to him, something profound. It was impossible to articulate clearly what it was, but each step from the ruins to the campsite, to where he was now, had left him more and more convinced that everything before had been unreal. Both times he had entered the water he emerged feeling different, as though the more unfortunate aspects of his character had been washed away. He looked past David, down the beach towards his brother. Luis was standing with his hands thrust deep into his pockets, a fixed expression of deep concentration on his face, as though he was supervising the lunch queue. Alfredo felt a new and unexpected distance between them. Luis, for all that he loved his brother, was the past. He was the living link to Las Contadonas and the nightmare world he had been born into. Luis reminded Alfredo of duty, when what he wanted was freedom, not least from his own past sins. This life, which he had stumbled across by accident, felt far more vital and true. “You have nothing to worry about, David,” he declared. “I will be careful with her feelings and treat her well. If all we have is today then I will still be very happy.”

Luis wandered over to the pair and David moved over to let him sit down. The brothers acknowledged each other, but neither spoke. David couldn’t help but study Luis’ scar. “You look as though you can take care of yourself,” he observed.

Luis shrugged. He was clearly tense.

“Doing this job, you must feel like you’re spoiling our fun,” David observed, “but you shouldn’t worry. I think everyone is more relaxed because we have extra people to help look after us. Due to my stupidity, Laura might have been in real trouble, if Alfredo hadn’t saved her. I supposed it’s important for wardens like you two to be lifeguards as well?”

Luis still said nothing. He was too angry with his brother to speak, and not at all impressed by David’s eulogy. At heart he was jealous: as Alfredo’s star was rising, his own seemed to be fading away. He also had a growing sense of foreboding that he may not get out of the marshes alive. He had spent half a lifetime fighting his way out of the swamp of his existence, but now the more he struggled the faster he was being dragged back down. There was something menacing about this place - it was a slime mould formed in a leaky seal between land, sea and sky - somewhere the certainties of these familiar domains might not apply. The helicopter had rattled Luis, although his little brother clearly couldn’t see past his own lifesaving theatrics. This time it was Luis who needed his brother’s support, but Alfredo showed no sign of being able to make sensible choices.

Just as the silence stretched toward embarrassment, Alfredo pointed into the haze of early afternoon. Luis jumped up. He too had seen the glint of sunlight that meant another boat approaching. Pulling his brother unceremoniously upright, he led him quickly back to the main party. They passed Laura on the way, but neither acknowledged her presence.

Laura was returning with food, and handed one plate carefully to David.

“What was that about?” she quizzed.

“No idea, but I assume they’ve seen something suspicious.” David panned across the lake, which must have been twice as large as the last one. Nothing caught his eye.

“Poachers, I suppose,” concluded Laura, drolly.

“How exciting! Perhaps we should eat up quickly?” David couldn’t help but sound a little nervous.

Both sat and watched with expressions of mild bemusement, as the rest of the group did indeed swing into action. Within minutes the gear was stowed and the metal launches were back in the water, outboard motors growling. Marcus waved Laura and David over, and guided everyone aboard and onto a seat. They were all going to visit one of the islands of dense rainforest protruding from the reed-beds, he advised. The canoes would be left in a small creek behind the beach, so they could be picked up later in the day. As the small flotilla sped away at a much greater speed than before, the children shrieked with excitement. They waved back at Laura and David, as their own boat shot ahead. Full bellies and growing indigestion, caused by the sudden and unexpected rush had intensified the general levels of perspiration. All savoured the welcome rush of fresh lake air on their faces.

David turned around to follow the intersecting patterns of wake carving up the water behind them. Beyond the strip of sand where they had stopped for lunch, another speedboat was clearly visible. David watched it, suspiciously. It seemed to be travelling equally fast, and in their general direction. Despite telling himself firmly that there were many other plausible scenarios, he panicked at the possibility that there really might be poachers approaching, and grabbed Laura’s arm.

“David, I’m so sorry,” she apologised, “I didn’t mean to worry you back on the beach. I’m sure it’s just another boat load of tourists.” Nevertheless, she shouted to Daniel, their pilot, above the roar of the motor, and then pointed back beyond his left shoulder. Daniel throttled down, reached for a pair of binoculars, turned and took a long look.

“Poachers? David joked to Daniel, as light-heartedly as he could muster.”

Daniel shook his head, still assessing the situation.

“Shouldn’t we get going, just in case?”

Daniel shook his head again and was about to explain himself when Cesar’s boat settled alongside. For some reason Cesar seemed upset with Daniel. An argument ensued in loud and rapid Spanish, which David did not even attempt to follow. Only the word peligroso stood out, as he knew that it meant “dangerous”. Daniel finally shrugged sullenly and opened the throttle. He would not explain the conversation or even make eye contact, and David felt anything but reassured. Even Laura looked uncertain.

Unexpectedly, the three motorboats slowed again and turned into a network of narrow, marshy waterways. These were punctuated by the occasional dead tree, and by clumps of bushes which had become traps for rotting vegetation. Immediately the heat returned, accompanied by an increasing number of persistent flies. People began to squirm in discomfort and mop their sodden brows. One or two, having cast around unsuccessfully for anything of possible interest, started to complain. The network of bifurcating channels became steadily more complex and more overgrown. The lake disappeared from view completely and the noise of insects and birds replaced that of the rush of wind.

Cesar’s boat got stuck. Immediately he and Marcus were in the water on either side, levering it through a gap with as much concentrated energy as if their lives depended on it. Clouds of bugs descended upon exposed limbs, and tiny crabs scuttled down from their reedy perches and disappeared underwater.

“Wherever we’re going now had better be bloody good,” Darryl commented loudly, only half in jest.

Both Marcus and Cesar emerged with legs plastered in mud and grappled their way back on to their separate vessels. Ethan made a joke at Marcus’ expense about shaving his legs, but was totally ignored. As they continued, small trees began to replace the reeds and the way got shallower. The increasing amount of cover only added to the oppressively humid atmosphere. Cesar jumped in again, this time to free weed from a propeller. Slowly, they edged closer to the dark green island which was their goal, heralded by increasingly raucous avian cries. All at once the swamp released them. They slipped from light into deepest shade and from noise into profound stillness. Tall rainforest trees rose overhead and cast a thick blanket of leaves between them and the watery world they had come to know.

A collection of rotten wooden posts scarred the silt-strewn bank onto which each launch glided. Cesar jumped ashore first. He immediately started probing the thick fringe of ferns that bordered the little clearing, looking for a pathway. Suddenly he leapt backwards as something large was disturbed in its lair and went crashing away through the trees. Recovering his poise, he poked around cautiously for any more wildlife, then began to clear the way with long, lazy strokes of the machete he had used to remove Felicity’s leach the day before. Nobody seemed keen to follow, and some looked positively spooked. Laura pushed David forward, partly to relieve her own anxiety. She hadn’t the slightest idea why they were visiting this island, and was secretly fuming, both because she hadn’t been briefed by Marcus and because Alfredo now appeared to be ignoring her too.

“Come on, let’s explore,” she instructed.

Cesar looked surprised, but stood aside for the pair and handed the long knife to Laura. “Here, use this if you need to clear any more sections of the path. Don’t worry about the animal: it was almost certainly just a pig. If you can’t find the way turn around and come straight back. I must stay to help everyone else ashore.”

“Where are we going?” David enquired.

“You will soon see. This island is called Ceneal,” advised Cesar. “It is a sacred place for some. If I am honest, we shouldn’t really be here,” he added, conspiratorially. “The main site is only a little way off and well worth the trouble.”

Laura strode purposely off into the trees, more determined still to regain some control of the situation. David reluctantly followed. Laura held the heavy and unwieldy machete well away from her body. Her wrist soon ached from the weight of it. The ground became bare as the cover overhead grew ever denser and the trail indistinct. The pair was about to give up when David noticed an old section of rope slung between moss-covered tree trunks. It marked a steep and unappealing ascent, littered with projecting roots, spikey ferns and loose boulders. Laura did not hesitate. Slipping and sliding and grabbing cautiously at the frayed line, it brought them finally out onto a narrow, heavily forested crest. The ridge stretched away from them in each direction, in a gentle sweeping inward curve half obscured by trees. A little-trodden summit track weaved between the trunks.

“Look.” David had taken a few cautious steps down the far slope, to stare into the deep bowl encompassed by the ridge.

Laura leaned the machete against a large protruding rock which appeared to mark the start of the downward path, and followed David. Having nearly plunged the machete into her foot during the ascent, she was in no mood to play with it further. Through a gap in the greenery their situation became clear. They were in an old, overgrown, volcanic crater, its centre consumed in water. The surface was so far removed from any breeze that it appeared like glass, reflecting a dark image of the sky, almost as though it were a portal into night. There was barely a sound to be heard around them on the rim, beyond their own heavy breathing. Nothing external seemed to penetrate this space. Both felt the weight of time hanging there, unmarked, as though still waiting to resolve itself into cause and effect. They could be at any point in human history, or before, or beyond. Then Laura noticed the construction clinging to a more open section of the ridge to their left. Its bright coral limestone blocks caught the afternoon sun, the contrast enhanced by the dark volcanic backdrop, so that it almost seemed to be floating between earth and sky.

The structure drew the pair around the rim, out of the forest and into the full heat of the day. Its surface was an expansive open platform, set just below the ridge line, accessed by a short flight of stairs cut into the loose volcanic bedrock. Also cut into the bank was a tall, curved, marble back-wall. It was covered with deep, but heavily weathered carvings. A series of wide limestone steps led down to the lake, some missing altogether, and others leaning precariously down the slope. From the top of the wall, Laura could just see over the ridge. A scattering of similar green islands punctuated the marshes for as far as the eye could see.

“Any sign of the others yet?” David was dangling his legs over the vertical drop that marked the lower edge of the platform.

As if in answer, there was a muffled gunshot and then another. David jumped up and turned towards Laura for reassurance, but her face had frozen in panic.

Chapter Forty-Three

The Marshes

Mulac had grown broad, old and content in his new role. He had remarried and now had more children, but it was his first son, Yochi, of whom he was most proud. Half a head taller, brave and fair, he had supervised the completion of the temple in his father’s honour. It lay on the sacred island of Ceneal and had taken many years to build. This was not because it was particularly large or complex, but simply due to Mulac’s own apathy. The traders he dealt with every day in his role as a customs officer were, in many cases, his good friends - simple, hard-working artesans - as he had once been. He had no wish to add another tax to their already heavy burdens. Yochi, by contrast, grew up only knowing his father as hero. The stories of his exploits had been spun, woven and embellished until they bore little relation to anything that Mulac himself remembered. Still, he did little to disillusion his son. The pride he took in his famous father seemed to make him grow ever straighter, taller and stronger until, to Mulac, he appeared such a wondrous being that he must really be the son of a hero.

Through tired and itchy eyes Mulac peered from his canoe to study the totems and charms that rose in two lines from the marshes. They marked out either edge of the wide channel that had been cut through the reed bed to reach the island. The rhythmic motion of the broad-backed paddlers added to the growing propensity for his mind to wander. In his daydream he was a young man again, back on the Coba Road, leaving prayers and offerings at wayside shrines and in front of ornately carved local deities. Someone, he reflected, as he returned to the present, must have noted his youthful piety. He had led a charmed life, but the dull, enervating pains in his belly now told him clearly it was coming to an end. Today he would visit his son’s shrine to the man he thought his father to be. Next time he travelled this way he knew that he would see nothing, at least not in this world.

Chapter Forty-Four

The Marshes

The powerboat’s engine had been cut and the pursuers were now paddling, pushing and pulling clumsily forward, inevitably making more noise than they had intended. The quartet of men in the boat were each large, their craft barely big enough to contain their combined girth, and all were sweating profusely. The party of tourists had not been hard to follow, as they had scared one flock of birds after the other to swirl high above their perches, making easy markers in a clear blue sky. But then the vegetation and shade had grown more embracing. Progress was slow and ambush impossible.

Alerted by the sound, Luis saw the men battling through the trailing canopy as a fleeting shadow in the corner of one eye. Even before he could turn, he was reaching for his revolver. Instinctively, he fired into the trees. Once he had their attention, he fired again. “Put your fucking hands behind your fucking heads!” he shouted. He was obeyed, although two of the drifting figures had to fight the thick mix of leaves and vines around them to lift their arms clear. Luis noted the green national park uniforms and cloth badges worn by three of the individuals, but not for a moment did he believe them to be genuine. These men were more steak dinner and mixed grill than campfire cooking. The tattoos bursting from sleeves and collars reinforced this conviction. He swivelled rapidly and swept the gun briefly across his own party, trying to ignore the fear and surprise in the eyes of the children.

“Alfredo!” he barked.

His brother looked as stunned as any of the tourists.

“Alfredo, I need you to cover me. Don’t let anyone move.”

Still his brother did nothing. He stood incongruously with a soda halfway to his mouth. Alfredo knew they were still being pursued, he just hadn’t expected to be caught. His fantasy world crashed around him, as his new-found tourist friends either dropped their drinks in panic, or crushed the cans between tensing fingers. All stood frozen to the spot, at once terrified by the perceived poachers and relieved that Luis, the park warden who had come to help them, appeared to be in control. Only Cesar moved. He gave an involuntary start as he focused on the speedboat and instantly recognised his own father, Carlos, sitting alongside three burly looking officials.

“Alfredo, for God’s sake, you must do as I say: it’s Xterra! If we hold our nerve, their boat is our way out of here!” Luis appealed.

Alfredo’s drink fell unnoticed to the ground as at last he came to his senses, but even before his hand reached his pocket he realised their joint mistake. Luis still had his weapon. “Give me the other gun,” he yelled desperately, but it was too late.

Luis wasn’t looking at Alfredo anymore, he was looking at Cesar. Cesar’s face had become a picture of horror as he continued to stare at his father. Luis ducked, but not fast enough: a bullet clipped the right side of his chest. He spun around and flopped heavily into the dirt. There he lay awkwardly on one side, groaning and gasping for air like an angler’s discarded catch.

Marcus stared at the pistol which had fallen from Luis’ hand and now lay, half buried, at his feet. He barely registered the screams, or the members of his party running into the forest for cover. But he did notice Carlos shifting his position in the speedboat, to slowly and deliberately take aim once more. This time his target was Alfredo.

“Father, no, you can’t do this!” Cesar shouted hysterically in Spanish.

The revolver was now in Marcus’ hand and it was his turn to pull the trigger. The power of the overhead shot flowed through him like a high voltage current, more so as he had never fired a gun before, and had only half expected it to work. The adrenaline rush enabled someone else - someone powerful and in control - to speak through him. “Carlos, stop this, I need to know what’s going on.”

Each now had a gun pointed half-heartedly in the general direction of the other. Both were trying to compute this new and unexpected turn of events. Marcus had no idea why he trusted Luis and Alfredo more than Carlos and his crew, but he did. It would have been different, he told himself, had Carlos shown up with the police, but his present companions were no rescue party. Instead, there was a good chance that Luis had told him the truth about the depraved nature of his pursuers. His own party of tourists could still be in grave danger. Then there was the venomous leer from his former taxi driver, who was sitting unmistakeable alongside Carlos in the boat, just as he had in the helicopter earlier, looking as though he was itching to draw another weapon. The uniform he was wearing was ill-fitting and clearly not his. Marcus had had enough of fake officials.

Alfredo leapt to his brother’s side as the others hesitated. Desperately, he tried to stem the bleeding, oblivious both to the imminent duel and to the easy target which both brothers now made.

“Father, please!” Cesar stepped in front of the now crouching Alfredo to shield the brothers.

Carlos looked uncomprehendingly towards his son - gun still raised - but couldn’t stop his face dissolving into a battlefield of conflicting emotions. Then a brief, enigmatic smile played across his lips and he lowered the weapon.

Cesar sprang to assist the two brothers, desperate to limit his father’s crime. Marcus followed, wondering at his own motivation, before realising that despite good reasons not to, he actually liked his kidnappers. A small part of his brain rebelled, as he remembered this was a common psychological reaction to such trauma.

There was much splashing and cursing from the newcomers as they took their opportunity to make for dry land. Wading through the slimy shallows, they were looking daggers at Carlos, who still sat frozen in the speedboat. Clearly desperate to regain the initiative, they hauled him unceremoniously ashore as soon as the boat grounded, and pushed him towards the group huddling around Luis.

Fighting through the pain and nausea, Luis used his good arm to pull his sibling closer. With some difficulty he passed him the forgotten, now blood-stained second gun. “Go, Alfredo, go now. These are our enemies. They may spare the tourists, but not us.”

Alfredo looked up indecisively at Marcus.

“Yes, go,” Marcus concurred.

Alfredo was swept up in the shadows and vanished.

Marcus stood up and stepped cautiously backwards to get a clearer view of the approaching men, Luis’ own gun still dangling loosely from his fingers. Behind Carlos his three colleagues clung to rifles, but showed no imminent intention to use them. Unconvinced, Marcus bellowed into the undergrowth, hoping that the remainder of his group, all of whom had fled, would be able to hear. “Everyone stay where you are. Don’t come out ‘til I give the all-clear.”

Carlos responded: “Don’t worry, Marcus, I have no interest in hurting your English friends, but your two companions are dangerous criminals. They - they must be stopped.” He was trying hard to regain some semblance of resolve, but his voice faltered for lack of conviction.

Cesar was still warily shielding Luis, who was now only semi-conscious and moaning between each snatched gasp for air. Crouched beside his body, Cesar shot a piercing glare at his father. There were tears in his eyes. “What do you think you’re doing?” he hissed, the question teetering between fear, fury and confusion.

Carlos regarded his son with an equally incongruous mix of guilt and rage. Then he glanced warily over his shoulder, squatted beside him and whispered rapidly in English. “You must understand, Cesar, that this is your fault. If you hadn’t started dealing drugs, I wouldn’t have to negotiate with gangsters to keep you safe. There are people in this world that can’t be bought off, people for who murder is a business plan. If I don’t do what they want and stop these two fugitives, then other people will come for you instead, perhaps even for your mother and I. Have you heard of Xterra, Cesar? This is who I mean. These are the people you brought upon your family by flouting the law. There is no other way for us now.”

“I will not let you do this,” Marcus interjected, adamantly.

“You cannot stop me.” Carlos replied bluntly, half turning to remind him of his unsavoury companions.

Marcus stared hard at Carlos’ men, who looked frustrated, but still willing to wait and see how the situation played out. They were clearly intent on Carlos doing any dirty work, perhaps even under orders to that effect. Though his revolver offered no more than a token of resistance, Marcus remained determined. His was the resolve of someone backed into a corner. “You will not harm this man again,” he declared, furiously.

The men leered back at him, unmoved. One chuckled silently to himself, as though he were dealing with a child.

Marcus took a deep breath. He knew he had only one card to play if he were not to be a party to cold-blooded murder, but also that playing it might make things a lot worse. Slowly and deliberately he gestured towards his former taxi driver then did his best to meet the menacing stare. “I know who you are. Do you remember me from your taxi? You can’t get away with this without being identified. Are you prepared to kill me - maybe kill us all - just to settle your score with these two men? I don’t know what these brothers have done to you, but one at least has helped us. They are not entirely bad people. Even if you kill us, you know you’ll be hunted down. Kill a tourist and you kill the economy. Kill a tourist and you kill your own taxi trade.” Marcus stopped, now breathless and gripped by panic. Just the mention of killing had brought home the enormity of what he had just expressed. If his appeal didn’t work he was either in a gun battle or must stand by and watch Luis’ execution. His adversary said nothing but looked just a little kowtowed. He had indeed recognised Marcus as one of his recent customers.

Carlos was deep in thought. Then he shrugged, gestured with his pistol towards the foetal figure of Luis, and rose to address his men. “This bandit is dying. He can’t cause us any more trouble. Even if he makes it out of here and survives, he’ll end up in prison now for kidnap. You have the contacts to finish him off there - so let’s go.” Carlos began to struggle determinedly through the encroaching undergrowth in pursuit of Alfredo. His posse hesitated then two men followed him into the deepening gloom of the forest. For several seconds the taxi-driver stood alone, growling malevolently at Marcus, and swinging his rifle from side to side. Then he too was gone.

Shaking from adrenaline, Marcus forced himself to retrieve a first aid kit from a boat and busy himself helping Cesar clean and cover Luis’ wound. Their task was made easier as Luis had passed out and the bleeding had eased. Satisfied at last with the dressing, he stood up and bellowed into the trees. “Everybody back here now. Don’t worry; it’s safe to come out.”

Daniel emerged first, a ghost-faced child under each arm and Jackie and Darryl tearfully in tow. The Tanners stumbled into the clearing a few moments later, Sharon blubbering and mumbling hysterically.

“Cesar, go and find the others if you can, but be very careful. Felicity, Ethan, Laura and David are our priority. Alfredo can fend for himself. We’re getting out of here, hopefully before the others return with your father and, maybe, force him to do something even worse.”

As Cesar dutifully disappeared, Marcus hopped into Carlos’ speedboat. As he expected, the keys were gone. There didn’t appear to be any other weapons or any way of calling for assistance. He thought for a moment then ripped the fuel pipe from between the tank and the engine. They could fix it, but probably not in time for a pursuit. With Darryl and John’s help, he got Luis into one of the launches. Daniel made ready a second. By the time Cesar returned, without Laura and David, but with a very muddy Felicity and Ethan, everybody else was aboard.

Marcus knew what he must do. “Cesar, I’m going to stay here and find the others. You can’t wait any longer, but I’m not leaving Laura and David behind. Get everybody else to Punta Allen as soon as you can. Alert the police and get our casualty to hospital. It’s up to you whether you tell them who Luis is, and what he’s done. We’ll have to in the end, of course, but I’m worried for him, after what your father said might happen in prison. You must contact Dana too.” Marcus hesitated then continued pointedly. “You need to be honest about your drug dealing, Cesar. You were truthful with me, after all. If the police know your father was acting under duress it’s likely to be a lot easier for him. Who knows, perhaps he’ll persuade them he shot Luis only to protect us.”

Wary of the gun now lodged once more in Marcus’ right hand, Cesar clasped the other tightly. “Be very careful, Marcus. My father is not the danger. He’s a good marksman and deliberately shot Luis only to injure him. I understand now that he was trying to save his life. And he has protected your party. By letting Alfredo run he has given most of you time to get away. These others are Xterra. They are evil and they’ll do anything they think they can get away with. They also have influential friends.”

Marcus nodded solemnly then added, as an after-thought, “Tell Dana I miss her and that I’ll be OK.”

Cesar managed the briefest of sympathetic smiles.

Marcus watched as two of the three metal boats backed quickly out of sight, leaving him alone in the twilight. One or two of the party waved. Felicity shouted a horse farewell. The rest were still in shock. They sat either head-in-hands or staring blankly ahead, unable to compute the speed with which the cornerstones of their comfortable universe had collapsed.

Pulling his rucksack from the final launch, Marcus stuffed the gun into one outside pocket and a bottle of water and the first aid kit into the other. He tugged a torch from the top compartment and checked that it was working properly. Then he swung the bag onto his sweat-soaked back. The cold, damp feel of it made him hesitate. All at once he felt very alone. The thought of sharing an island with three Xterra thugs terrified him. Despite the growing tension in his chest, he finally forced himself to move. There was no going back now.

Instead of heading off into the jungle, he jumped into the water. Pushing the remaining launch through the thick vegetation obscuring the shoreline, he slipped frequently on unseen hazards, and had to concentrate to think above a cacophony of frogs. He would follow the coast until he found a place where the boat could lie undiscovered. If Carlos’ group returned, they would hopefully think everybody else had gone and lose interest in the tourists. Almost certainly they would assume Alfredo to be still on the island, if they hadn’t already caught up with him. This would leave Marcus a way to get Laura and David to safety without having to encounter them again - possibly even an escape route for Alfredo too.

Chapter Forty-Five

The Marshes

Mulac was rasping for breath. Living, as he did, in the middle of a vast water-world, it was a long time since he had climbed a hill. The experience was telling him even more clearly just how close he was to his own demise. Eventually, he forced the wreckage of his spine to straighten and stared out from a vantage point upon his simple, horizontal kingdom. It was several seconds before he could focus, but he was aware of the sun slowly dissolving into the distant horizon. Under his breath he mouthed a prayer to Emetaly, to his parents and to Ah Kin Lo. It was always as the sun slipped between worlds that he felt closest to them.

His son Yochi was, as usual, chattering obliviously beside him. “Soon my sister will marry a noble. I too will choose a princess as my bride. Then we can leave the custom-house island. We can move into Muyil and build our own lodge, with its own grand courtyard and shrine.”

“I am too old to move, Yochi. You can go, but wait until I am settled here for good. My next journey will be into the afterlife, not into Muyil.”

Yochi tried to protest, but Mulac waved an impatient, liver-spotted hand at him.

“I know you and your sister will visit me here, Yochi, but there is another important journey you both must take. I want you to promise me you will travel to Coba, to the temple of Ix-Chel. For, at its foot, facing the forest, lie the remains of your mother. Make that journey for me and your lives will continue to be blessed.”

Yochi put a strong, supporting arm around his father, whispered his promise compliantly, and led him slowly around the ridge to the temple tomb. Soon both were sitting side by side on the simple stone plinth in the middle of the viewing platform. The horizontal rays of the sun shone straight onto the carved stone frieze decorating the back-wall. Mulac peered at it suspiciously.

“I told you - that never happened!” He was pointing his stick at a warrior version of himself, who was cleaving a mounted devil with his sword. Yochi laughed. Since his earliest years, people had talked to him of his father’s modesty. Mulac spat at the floor, but then laughed as well in resignation. He rested his head wearily on his son’s shoulder.

“Yochi, I would like you to leave me here, for a while. I have to know this place. My spirit must recognise it, if I am ever to return here from the land of the dead. I must be able to come to you when you visit, and I think our jaguar king, K’inich, may have work for me still. Go back and get the others. I am tired. You will need to bring a litter to carry me back to the boat.”

Yochi slipped dutifully away, Mulac admiring his athletic form until he disappeared into the trees. Mulac remained still for a long time, whilst the gentlest of shadows grew around him and played across the carvings.

“Hello, dear friends,” he whispered, satisfied that here he would never have to be alone.

With a contented sigh, Mulac finally struggled to his feet. Turning to face the last embers of sunlight, he cautiously descended the grand limestone staircase to the lake. He would strip and bathe in its dark waters. There he would cast his necklace of jaguar claws. If K’inich did not take him now, he would maintain his state of grace by praying, every dawn and dusk, for the great cat to allow the spirits of his ancestors to receive him soon. On his way back he would also leave an offering - something important that might guide his parents and Ah Kin Lo to this place again - something that might one day assist another lost soul. He would give up Quetzalcoatl’s ring - the Ouroboros - the snake that marked the circular path the jaguar walked from day to night, life to death, world to world, and back again. Ah Kin Lo had sacrificed it for his benefit. How could he do less? He would bury it beneath the moss on the sacred stone which marked the downward path to the landing point. Somewhere, close by, the great cat snarled. Mulac swayed precariously on a loose step in fright, but concluded that K’inich was not displeased.

Chapter Forty-Six

The Marshes

Alfredo emerged, blinking, onto the ridge. He doubled up, heaving for breath and fighting the pains that had returned to his leg after his frantic getaway through the jungle. More than escape, more than returning to help his brother, he wanted to find Laura. It was a reckless, he recognised that, but nothing bad would happen to her as long as he continued to hurry, continued to keep his pursuers at a safe distance. Laura and he would embrace, he would declare his love and then he would be gone. Whatever happened after that would happen. It didn’t matter. Freed from hubris and Las Contadonas, his existence now felt surprisingly trivial.

David had spotted him already and was waving from the platform. Laura began to stride and then jog towards him. As they closed the gap, Alfredo could tell by the degree of concern on her face that the pair must have heard the gunshots. The two embraced, each allowing their tension to dissolve into the other. The smell of Laura slipped from a once hidden door in Alfredo’s past.

Laura stretched on tiptoe to peck Alfredo on the cheek then nuzzled in relief against his chest. “What happened?” She was even more breathless than he.

Alfredo shook his head slowly as he led her by the hand back to the monument, desperately trying to work out how he could explain himself. David made it easier.

“You’re not a park official, are you?”

Alfredo threw up his hands in affirmation and apology.

“Felicity was suspicious.” David continued. “She got me thinking. You don’t look like someone who knows where you’re going, at least not in an environment like this one.”

“You’ve got that right,” Alfredo exclaimed sardonically, stroking the back of Laura’s hair. She smiled up at him as he fixed his eyes determinedly upon hers and took a long deep breath. “My brother and I come from a powerful family, but our business is not legal. I suppose you could say we are gangsters, Mexican Mafioso. I killed someone recently who tried to kill me. It started a war. We lost, my father and my uncle were killed, and Luis and I had to run. Our old world is gone. There is nothing to go back for, but even before I met you, Laura, I didn’t want that life again. Now I’m another person: the person I see through your eyes, but our enemies have caught up. Luis has been shot, and may be dying. Very soon, for your own safety, you must leave me here.”

Alfredo’s stopped abruptly, his confession leaving him emotionally exhausted. He searched for fear in Laura’s eyes, but instead read deep disappointment. That was worse. The door slammed shut. Never had he regretted his past so profoundly. He struggled hard to stay positive.

“It’s funny, you know,” David interrupted, as breezily as if they were discussing the weather. This could, indeed, have been a topic of conversation, as the sky was looking increasingly dark and threatening. “I’m not afraid of you, or of what you say has happened. Back home, I’m afraid of my own shadow. My girlfriend, Phoebe, whom I love, but always let down, she wouldn’t recognise me. That’s a good thing. Something changed in me on this journey, just as it has in you.”

Alfredo stared at the towering clouds. He wanted these people to know everything about him, but there wouldn’t be time. “I was in your country recently,” he resumed, determined to make the conversation last at least a little longer. “That is where things changed. I walked madly around London, hating the place, but it was my past, not London, I was trying to escape. Then I ended up here, and thought all was lost until I met this girl.” He kissed the top of Laura’s head, once more savouring the aroma: a tiny memento of life led only in dreams. Then he turned back to David. “Here, take this.” He passed over his gun in an act of both surrender and renewal.

David gawped then grasped it awkwardly by the top of the barrel. He took in the strange, alien weight of it, knowing it was something he could never use.

Alfredo continued, speaking with an increasingly distant air: “It’s me who should be afraid of my shadow, David, not you. Your shadow frames your character, so you stand proud. My shadow is different. It’s the shadow of encroaching night. It blankets and obscures and creates unseen spaces for evil to flourish. It’s stalking me, David. It wants to drag me beneath these marshes. Laura lifts my heart, but I can’t escape the darkness.”

“But you can’t escape from me either, now.” Alfredo’s defeatism only fuelled in Laura a sense of passionate purpose. She embraced him as though it was she who was his shadow. His revelations had shocked - possibly even scared her - but only as if she had absorbed an unsavoury aspect of her own character. His guilt would be her guilt, his punishment her punishment. It didn’t matter what happened, only that it happened together. Her whole life meant less than this single moment beyond time and space. Something could actually last. She was crying. She cried some more when she realised they were tears of joy.

Alfredo shook his head, forcing himself to remember that their situation was hopeless. “My brother - my best friend - is badly injured. The father of your guide, Cesar, arrived with some men. Somehow he seems to be working for our enemies, people who are far more ruthless than us. You should have nothing to fear from them, but it’s still wise to lie low until this situation is resolved. I must go back now and find a way to help Luis.”

David put a finger to his lips, almost hitting himself in the face with the gun. It was too late, somebody was coming. Laura dragged Alfredo towards the far edge of the platform, determined not to let go. All three jumped into a thick layer of grass and bushes, David stumbling down the slope towards the highest corner, overlooking the lake. Regrouping, they huddled together at the base of the monument. Alfredo looked about him for anything that might cover their escape, but it was only in the lee of the triangular stone wall that the vegetation grew tall.

There were low, male, cautious voices just above them. Out of habit, Alfredo gestured for the gun, but David had dropped it as he fell. All three pressed as close to the stonework as they could, Laura almost lost from view between the others. They could hear heavy footsteps beginning to negotiate the steep stairway down to the lake. Any moment they would be seen.

David shuffled further down the slope, tugging at Laura’s shirt sleeve for her to follow. As he stretched an arm along the wall it found a gap, half hidden by the brush. The gap grew larger as he gingerly parted the covering layers of creeper and fern. It was an entrance to a chamber beneath the monument. Pausing for one last breath of fresh evening air, David plunged head first into the darkness. His portly frame only just squeezed through. Laura found his hand, extended back out towards her from within, and followed. Alfredo hesitated, casting around for the gun, but realised that bolting or fighting back now would be suicide, anyway. He could see someone in uniform just yards away from him, standing on one of the nearest steps. The man had only to turn around. Alfredo cursed silently to himself and shuffled, feet first through the hole, carefully guiding the plants back over the entrance in his wake.

The tomb was not quite dark. Here and there pale patches of light stained a wooden beam or a block of masonry. The air was dank and musty, and vaguely mammalian. From ceiling to floor was no more than four feet, less in places where fusty mounds of peat had covered the rough stone tiles. The plinth that had dominated the platform above continued down into the tomb. Laura realised that it must contain a sarcophagus.

For a long time the three sat together, just beyond the portal, listening intently for any sound, but nothing seemed to penetrate this void. They were breathing as one, the noise growing stronger as the daylight continued to weaken. Weariness and true darkness overtook them.

Mulac started, suddenly conscious, and wondered if the breathing could be his. The darkness had changed. He knew he had broken the surface of the human world. He could sense the shared blood of his descendants in the far distance. The memory of a long lost life came flooding back to him. He smiled. The creature sat beside him, listless and pawing at the black; panting. Something had disturbed its vigil. Mulac concentrated. His thoughts came rushing in from every corner of the night, to where the dust of his body lay. There was another presence in the tomb. People - seekers - a timid soul, a diseased soul, a soul with little form. Now he understood. He must inhabit the shadows once again: work his magic before the great cat lost patience and struck.

Mulac felt the shock of years passing. He was aware again the chemical dance of life, the wonder of light in the darkness, a giddy mix of human sensations. Fate had not done with him yet. Perhaps soon he could close the circle, sink beneath the lake, lose all sense and form and exhale across the universe. Sleep.

Laura started from her slumber. Now in a cold sweat and scared, she could recall nothing of her dream, except that it involved the machete she had left back along the ridge. She thought of her letter of application, written less than three weeks previously. No map, but now no machete either, she noted to herself sarcastically. She began to shiver. On either side of her the others were sleeping fitfully. She could just make out Alfredo’s torso, slumped forward upon his knees. David’s head was back against the stonework and his mouth open. Strange gargles and whistles issued from his mouth and nose. Laura wrapped her arms across her chest, but there was little else she could do to keep warm. A slight luminosity in the chamber made her think there must be a full moon. She closed her eyes again and thought of Simon, her flatmates, and of her life in advertising: common things, part of normal lives lived by ordinary people, as she had so recently been. Now they felt alien and irrelevant. They also felt distant, in time as well as space.

Laura opened her eyes again. She was sure that she had heard movement this time. She could sense - almost hear - another presence in the chamber. She pulled up her legs and pressed her back into the stonework, trying not to breath. Still the others slept, David now lying prone on the floor. There was a definite sniff and then a low grumble. The sound was just loud enough to carry from the other side of the tomb. Laura was sure that it had not been one of the sleepers, that it was more than just an echo. Something large was stirring, something that owned the space they had invaded, something that was moving steadily towards them.

David began to stretch. Laura thumped him urgently on the thigh. He struggled into a sitting position, spluttering and choking. She grabbed his nearest hand and he turned in her direction, trying to work out her expression through the gloom. He smiled - she could briefly see the flash of his uneven teeth - but she did not smile back. David was about to speak when a long, deep, bass growl resonated through the chamber and consumed the pair in fear. They scrambled together. Laura thought David might squeeze the life from her as he flung his body across hers, but she didn’t want him to let go. There was the sound of an animal pawing angrily at the ground. It was scratching and sniffing, only feet away. Alfredo mumbled incoherently to himself in Spanish, but somehow did not wake.

Out of the gloom grew the face of a jaguar, prowling and low to the ground. Stocky, pug-nosed features hung menacingly beyond powerful, patterned shoulders. Its amber eyes shone with the first rays of morning, igniting two low flames which burned with a concentrated energy that might dissolve any shadow. David could feel the warmth of it breath. It was too late for terror. Now he was just numb. He tensed and waited for the bite to the back of his neck which would take him back to blankness. It did not come. There was just the warm, rancid panting, the anticipation of death. Something was holding it back.

Slowly, he forced himself to turn, to face the ancient, all-consuming eyes of the jaguar god. There he met an unexpected stillness; an evocation of eons past and ages yet to come. David was no longer paralysed. He was more than just unafraid, he was fascinated. The eyes spoke of every time and every place. They containing what could never be contained. Time was a landscape flowing out and back in all directions. Nothing worried him anymore. It was as if he knew this animal, knew it as a companion, and it knew him.

Alfredo coughed and suddenly sat bolt-upright. With an immense roar and a flash of fearsome teeth, the great cat pounced. Alfredo had no time to react; the animal was on top of him, thrusting Laura out of the way with the splayed claws on its powerful back legs. Both screamed from the bottom of a deep well of pain. Instinctively, David grabbed at the swinging tail and pulled with every ounce of strength he could muster. The cat spun and jumped at the same time, snarling and smashing into the low ceiling. Momentarily stunned, it scrambled to find its footing, then crouched low and wary in front of them. Shaking its head, it grumbled like the rolling waves of an imminent earthquake. It dug its claws into the earth again, rehearsing its next attack.

“No!” David bellowed, as if someone else had usurped his voice.

The jaguar turned towards him. To his great relief it grew still. The rapid jerking of its ribcage began to subside. Then it sprang for the tiny gap in the wall and was gone.

Laura was crying quietly. She rolled over to Alfredo, groaning from the pain of the deep lines slashed across her legs, ignoring the other gash that had opened up her side. Desperately, she fumbled for a handkerchief and dabbed at the long streaks of blood flowing from his lacerated scalp. Alfredo spluttered and a spray of blood from his savaged lips rained across the others.

David knew he must get help, but was stricken by the delayed shock of what he had just done. He stared towards the sarcophagus, his own chest heaving. Here and there the first faint flickers of light were beginning to spill through from outside. He could make out the uneven stone surface and then he could trace the swirls and curves of the carvings with his eyes. As he gasped for breath, a familiar pattern began to form in his mind. He started to relax. It was the same picture he had seen on a rock in Muyil. It was Mulac.

Despite the distress of those beside him, David laughed audibly. “Hello, my brother,” he whispered. For the first time in his life he understood his place in the universe, and the future was pregnant with possibility. “I’m going to get help,” he declared decisively. “Everything will work out for the best.”

Laura barely noticed David’s newfound fortitude. Blood was still coursing over Alfredo’s features, some of it hers, and she was frantically trying to stem the tide. Growing increasingly dizzy, she was finding it difficult to focus. David’s voice came to her from somewhere far distant and no longer relevant.

David crawled toward the cold grey light of the exit and emerged onto wet grass. He was alone. Almost immediately he could feel the sharp outline of the lost gun under one hand. He scooped it up and struggled through his aches and pains to stand. Walking unsteadily up the hill, clear of the platform, he crested the ridge. A new day was sweeping in from the distant coast. Turning, he stared back down at the lake. He took a cautious step forward to be sideways-on to the slope. Stretching back an arm, he launched the gun vigorously into the air. Briefly, at the top of its arc, it caught the first rays of the rising sun before spinning back into the shadows. It was clear from its trajectory that it should have met the waters somewhere near their middle, but there was no splash. No ripples picked out the indeterminate surface. It was just no longer there.

For an instant David was drawn to the pool. His insides felt strange, as though he was being wrenched in two or a part of himself replaced. He grew dizzy and he wanted to be sick. He realised he could barely see. Head in both hands, he gave it a vigorous shake and forced himself to focus. He started to walk. Not the way Laura and he had come, but further on, around the rim of the volcano. It was the wrong way, he knew, but something was guiding him on, something stronger than his concern for all he was leaving behind.

The section of the ridge David now traversed was much clearer and he made rapid progress. As he stopped to get his bearings and stared out beyond the hollow, green island he could make out a group of far off canoes. They looked old-fashioned to the point of antiquity. The paddlers were bare-chested and seemed to sport feathered head-dresses. Someone, perhaps, was waving. But at that distance, David couldn’t be sure.

Alfredo looked up at Laura. Adrenaline and her all-consuming physical presence made him so happy he could barely feel his injuries. It was as if he’d woken from the nightmare world of his birth. He reached out and stroked the tears from her cheeks. His broad grin revealed another mouthful of blood.

Laura’s head had cleared in a way it hadn’t since her mother had died. A thick fog of anger and confusion had parted. Her wounds were forgotten. Everything would be alright now. The two of them could be together. She felt the force of his erect penis brushing against her thigh: a death throw suddenly granted new life. Her hand moved instinctively upon it. She cast the gore-sodden rag in her other hand aside. Alfredo was not going away. Each grasped instinctively for the other, and at the fresh start offered to them both.

David had reached the tallest and steepest part of the crater wall. He had to climb hard up loose and dangerous pumice ridges to gain the summit. Nobody had walked here for a long time - it felt like never. Rocks tumbled as he dislodged them, but nothing seemed to disturb the chalice waters below. The new sun touched the highest peak. David was upon it and absorbing the radiant glow. He could feel the strength of this different day coursing through his veins. He started to run the downward slope, leaping over obstacles like an athlete, totally sure of his footing.

Alfredo grasped the open collar of Laura’s deeply stained shirt, ripped it open and plunged his hands down her cleavage and onto the soft cool wall of her belly. Laura sighed and moved closer upon him, trapping his arms just where she wanted them. Pleasure and pain were one and the same. Slowly she began to move her body up and down over his. Little by little she made her way upward, pecking at his neck, nibbling at his ear then spreading kisses across his forehead. His fingers had found the fragile rim of her knickers and moved within. She could feel their gentle probing motion from her womb, from the core of her being, but she needed him to move still lower.

David’s progress had slowed. At the bottom of the slope he had plunged below the reach of the sun, and into thick jungle. The view beyond the island disappeared in a layer of mist. Phantoms of fog loitered around the trees. He clambered over wet roots and dead branches covered in fungi, parting the thick tresses of moss which hung, like intricate green cobwebs, from every horizontal branch. He came to a halt, aware that he was in danger of getting lost. The ridge had flattened out, there was no horizon, and it was less clear which way to go. He caught a glimpse of rapid movement from left to right. It could have been a bird - perhaps just its shadow - or a soul that maybe he was meant to follow.

Alfredo’s fingers were inside her. They seemed to dissolve into the profoundest parts of her being. Laura closed her eyes. She bit her lower lip. Reaching blindly for the wall, she pushed herself upright then thrust deeply down. She screamed, but no sound issued from her mouth. Alfredo finally withdrew and his hands reached up and felt for the small of her back. Her bra slipped along her arms and tumbled to the mud and blood-stained floor. Her hands were cradling his neck, pulling him forward. He could not help but grimace as his wounds tried to consume him, but he kept coming, burying his battered face between her breasts, feeling with his lips and tongue for the taught peaks of her nipples.

It was raining heavily. There were dense rumbles of thunder and crashes of lightning. David kept falling over. He was cold and he wanted to stop. Paths headed off the ridge in all directions: a confusion of animal trails trying to lead him astray. In his mind he saw carvings in the trees, totems and dream-catchers hanging from the branches. He felt a bolt of fire course though him. Instantly, all were new - freshly carved, decorated and painted - probably recently blessed. People whispered: or was it just the ringing in his ears. Their voices hung behind tree trunks and bushes, critical voices trying to destroy his resolve. A confusion of ritual and incense weaved between the leaves. David put his head down and staggered determinedly on.

Laura pushed Alfredo to the floor again, sensing his growing weakness, supporting his head so it didn’t smash against the tiles. She pinned him there with her thighs and unfastened his belt. She savoured the steady pull of his zip, parted the material and released the fullness of his manhood. She rubbed her crotch along his leg, sighed as she crossed his knee, licked at the instrument of pleasure and kissed gently around the tip. As it slipped between her lips she felt Alfredo’s instinctive upward motion. She wanted to bite, just a little, but listened instead to his soothing voice as he garbled to himself in an ecstasy of Spanish.

There was the rock. David recognised it straight away. And there was the downward path that led to the ruined harbour. He had completed the circuit. The pathway looked cleaner than he remembered it, the vegetation freshly cut. He reached down for the machete which Laura had rested there, but it was gone. Perhaps he was wrong. He looked around, but there were no other stones in view. He checked behind the nearest trees - still nothing. David sat, exhausted, on the boulder. A pool of dampness spread across his buttocks. Standing, he examined the mossy surface then ripped away a thick, sodden layer. Something small and cylindrical found his fingers. He held it up and began to pick it clean. Short sections of gold shone between cloying lumps of soil. Blinking, he rubbed it again then held the ring to the light to be sure. As his fingers closed around it he could feel its weight and purpose. Wrapping it carefully in a handkerchief, he secured the tiny bundle in a trouser pocket then walked instinctively on.

Laura could wait no longer. She was upon him, surrounding him, burying him deep within her. Alfredo was calling her name, over and over, but the appeals were becoming weaker, fading to nothing, leading her away. She wanted so much to follow, to leave behind the pain, but she must hurry. David might find help, might lead Marcus to the chamber and return her to a world she had already relinquished. They mustn’t hear her, mustn’t reach her before she was gone. She drifted back to Alfredo, gave in to the moment and floated away on the outgoing tide.

Alfredo and she were dead. Laura sensed the coming crescendo, the rolling wave that would never retreat. Then there was the face of a woman - one that had emerged through the bubbles of her hot tub - and had smoked at the entrance to Muyil. Ix-Chel cast her ancient, welcoming, motherly smile. It grew to encompass the world. There were no voices anymore, no people, no petty dramas, no time - only the fusion of she and he - another secret consciousness of the lake, staring up at David, unseen, from deep below.

David could hear Marcus calling his name. The voice was so familiar that for a moment he forgot that everything had changed. He was almost back at the platform. As he emerged from the trees into the midday sun, others looked up from their sandwiches and squinted in his direction. Marcus was clearly not happy. He berated David for wandering off without warning - it was lucky they had realised he must be walking around the rim. Anything could have happened to him. He may have put other people in danger.

David shrugged his shoulders. He no longer cared. He had done what needed to be done and now all was well. He wondered where Luis and Alfredo might be - if they even still existed.

Carlos struggled to his feet, levering himself upright using his son’s shoulder, and tossed David a spare packed lunch. Cesar squealed at his father in mock discomfort then hailed a greeting in Spanish, to which David responded with newfound fluency. There was a girl amongst the familiar group whom David didn’t know - a tall and leggy blond, who was pouring drinks from a thermos flask for some of the other tourists. David grew weary and suddenly sad. He sank onto a convenient patch of bare volcanic soil. Laura he would really miss.

Hannah and Lloyd were laughing over a game of cards with Dana. Dana - David couldn’t help but smile as he noticed her. Newly aware of his presence, she looked up and returned the smile. Then her expression gently unfolded. Her eyes were drawn away from him. She stared in growing wonder towards the lake, and she knew. She just knew. She reached for her belly and sensed the new life within her. A jaguar roared. Some looked up in panic and surprise, but the circle was complete.

David felt again the reassuring weight of the ring in his pocket. Instinctively, he knew full well to whom it had belonged. He drew it out, intent on sharing his discovery with the children. For the first time he noticed the ornamentation along its length. One section stood proud: the head of a snake, consuming its own tail. David’s eyes were drawn from the ring to the serpentine rim of the crater - then to the distant peak that marked the farthest side. He followed the curves of the hillside. He checked for the details of eye and mouth, perhaps eroded a little by time, but still unmistakeably hewn into the opposite slope. He smiled a knowing smile: the ring and volcano were in unison. He cast his eyes downward once more. The Ouroboros had changed. A gap now separated Quetzalcoatl’s head and tail. A new cycle had begun. The snake had grown restless and opened up a different trail. Tonight, David mused, the stars might light a different path for the jaguar and he to follow.

Soon he could return to Phoebe. The ring would find a new home.