Inside the rectory, Hans remained seated in a chair while the pirates filled the room; the air was thick with the smell of tobacco, stale rum, and the sticky sweat of the men. Rafael settled opposite the Jesuit in his high-backed chair, rested his elbows on the armrests and steepled his fingers, regarding the prisoner with a furrowed brow and a sombre expression. Derek leaned in and whispered something in his ear; the leader merely raised a hand.
"How do you deduce that?" he asked.
"That you're an English pirate?" Hans said. "Simple: the missionary's body lies in that pit, along with your personal effects that betray you." The men turned to look at one another; Rafael kept his silence, watching him almost without blinking. "And… for the love of God," Hans went on, "you might at least have had the wit to change your name instead of clumsily Hispanicizing it, Father Ralph Blake."
Rafael smiled, snapped his fingers, and someone handed him a bottle of wine, which he brought to his lips.
"I see you're suspicious, my estimable Lutheran… and you're not very bright either, trying to pass yourself off as a pious priest in those rags," he said.
"I'm sorry to disappoint you, but these habits are truly those of a Jesuit. As for you: you are nothing but an impostor."
"I did what I had to do to survive," Rafael replied. "We got rid of that old missionary and I took his place."
"You're one of the explorers, aren't you? You were after the temple's treasure. By any chance, were you the one who placed that religious print in the secret chamber?" Hans asked.
"I applaud your deduction. We entered the temple and, yes, we found things… but not what we expected. The print…" The pirate paused, rose, opened the wardrobe, took out Hans's pack and produced the image to show them. "Is this what you mean?"
Derek stepped forward, took the picture, and examined it with a puzzled look.
"What is this — a Maratta or a Tiepolo Madonna?" he asked.
Brian then took it and peered at it with narrowed eyes.
"Looks more like a fighting lass than a Madonna — ready to kick some asses," he said.
The men began to mutter until Rafael approached Hans.
"Tell me, mate… how did you find this? I thought it was one of your idolatries," Rafael asked.
"I found it inside the pyramid," Hans said.
"Where? We searched every inch of that damned temple and never came upon a chamber like that."
"In the chamber connected to the sarcophagus."
Derek moved in front of Hans.
"We went into that chamber… there was nothing," he said.
"True — there was nothing but filthy bones and fragments of pottery," Brian said.
"You didn't even fit in there," one of the pirates sneered, and the room erupted in hollow laughter.
Hans smiled, grave. "When I went in, I managed to open a passage and reached that secret chamber."
Silence fell; a few exchanged uneasy whispers.
"Was there treasure?" Derek asked.
"No," Hans said.
A murmur of disapproval rippled through the men.
"I told you those lot were off their heads," one of them muttered.
Derek looked around until they were quiet.
"How did they get here?" Hans asked.
"By some men — members of a secret society or fraternity," Rafael said.
"Madmen — and devil-worshippers besides," Brian added.
"They did not worship Satan, at least not in front of us," Rafael clarified, "but they paid us to bring them and to work on opening the pyramid using mining techniques — many of us know how to do that."
"A fair few of us are from Cornwall and Devon," said a pirate standing in the doorway, watching the drama.
"And what became of them?" Hans asked.
"When we found the temple we expected to find great heaps of gold, and we rid ourselves of those enlightened fools," Rafael said. "We thought the treasure inside would outweigh the pitiful pay…"
"All we found were bones, mouldy vessels and jade jewellery… a little gold, but not nearly enough," Derek interjected.
"Jade is highly prized in this region," Hans observed.
"You're not going to sell jade in Jonathan's Coffee House," Derek shot back.
"The client brought a secret map." Rafael opened a small chest in the wardrobe; inside lay a bundle of papers, and he took out a sheet and showed it to Hans.
Hans regarded it with some surprise. The notes were in German, peppered with strange characters only his family could read. According to his grandmother, it was an extinct dialect once spoken on the Upper Rhine by a people of their descent.
"'Older than Rome,'" he remembered her saying.
His eyes travelled over the diagram of passages.
"'The City of the Gods on the other side,'" Hans read, astonished.
"Do you understand what this is?" Derek asked.
"It's a map… a plan of a ceremonial complex."
"Exactly. According to this, it led to the treasure chamber," Rafael continued. "We tried to find it, but in vain… so we returned to the coast. But Derek found something else: one of the priest's maps mentions a cenote where there is a mineral much prized by a certain industry — the Azure ore."
Derek produced a lump of the mineral from his pouch and flung it into Hans's lap. Hans picked it up with keen curiosity and stared at it, puzzled.
"By following his notes, that's how we came by the Azure ore," Derek went on. "It's very profitable to northbound smugglers; what they do with it, we don't know, but they trade it for good rum, which we sell in the Spanish villages… Is it not right, Mr Toby and Kwame?"
Toby stammered to say yes, while Kwame simply nodded.
"This mineral was sought by alchemists like Basil Valentine, who spoke of 'stones fallen from the sky,' or even by the mythical Nicolas Flamel," Hans said.
"Look, we don't know about alchemy, but it pays well — and with that in mind we gave the local people a reason to exist," Rafael said.
"By exploiting and enslaving them, and pretending to be religious leaders," Hans said.
The pirates exchanged looks and laughed; one clapped a hand to his belly and let out a hoarse guffaw, another snorted and shook his head.
"He's crackers," one said.
Everyone laughed except Derek. Rafael looked at his men; their laughter died down when they saw the leader's stern face.
"Fortunately, no one will find out," Rafael said. "But the only good thing is you've given me hope of finding the true treasure of the temple."
"Gentlemen, I have news: that map has nothing to do with the temple of Hun-Hunahpú," Hans said.
"Why do you say that?" someone asked.
"If you had an ounce of sense," Hans explained, "you would have noticed it's a map of several temples arranged in a complex. Hun-Hunahpú stands alone in the jungle."
Derek took the map and examined it.
"Blow me down — he may be right," he said.
Rafael frowned and flung the map across the table.
"Damnation!" he shouted. "Still, with what we've amassed from Azure ore we could go back to England and live like dukes."
"Though better to live like kings," Derek murmured; a chorus of approving murmurs answered him.
"So what's the plan for this varmint?" Brian demanded.
Voices rose on both sides, arguing convenience and risk in hunting the treasure. Derek hushed them and turned to Rafael.
"What are we going to do?" he asked.
Rafael rose and paced a few steps, thoughtful; he halted, and every man fell quiet.
"I say we execute him," he declared. "He may be part of the Carioca's crew or of the Spanish Empire itself."
"But," Derek said in a low voice, "what if he helps us find the riches that must be there…?"
"I shall not give a man a chance who endangers our scheme," Rafael answered.
"Let us try," Derek urged, stepping towards Hans. "If you help us decipher this map, we might spare your life."
Rafael fixed the Jesuit with a hard look; Hans swallowed.
"Help you?" he said.
The silence was absolute; all eyes bounced from the Jesuit to Derek and back to Rafael.
"Only on one condition: free Magdalena and the people from their oppression," Hans said.
A burst of talk and mockery rose at once.
"You are not in a position to set conditions," Derek said.
"Yeh be playin' the fool, but ye ain't holdin' no cards, my dear ol' mate," Brian added with a sneer.
Hans pressed his lips together.
"That is my condition," he said, resolute.
"SILENCE!" Rafael bellowed. The room froze. Derek opened his mouth; Rafael showed him his palm.
"Is that your final decision?" Rafael asked.
Hans raised his head and nodded.
"So be it. Carry out the execution at once," Rafael ordered.
Voices muttered. Derek came close, alarmed.
"Are you certain? It's our only chance…" he began.
"Derek, stop interfering in my decisions. I have ordered his execution," Rafael said, stern.
"And what of the chieftain's daughter?" Derek asked.
Rafael slammed his palm on the table; the thud cut the conversation like gunfire.
"So be it," he said. "Prepare the execution immediately."
"It may have consequences," Derek objected.
"We shall deal with them, so long as we have the guns and powder on our side," Rafael replied.
He signalled for the prisoner to be taken away.
"Mr Jackson, remain in the passage for a moment," Rafael said. "I shall call you shortly."
Derek nodded and followed the men who pushed the Jesuit down the corridor. He paused in the passage, glanced both ways and bent to peer through the keyhole. Inside, Rafael was writing. He opened the Bible in silence; his fingers searched the pages until he stopped at Leviticus 24:16. He read a few lines under his breath and, without looking up, began to write his proclamation. After a while he summoned Derek, who entered and approached the table to receive the sheet.
"Read my proclamation aloud; read it as if you defied the Philistines… or as Moses commanding the waters of the Red Sea to part."
"Would it not be more fitting for you to read it before the assembly?" Derek asked.
Rafael stared at him with blazing eyes.
"I am not asking you — I am ordering you," he said.
Derek cleared his throat and took the letter.
"As you command, Captain," he said, and left.
Rafael lifted a spyglass from the chest and stepped to the window. Down in the town square, Hans was being dragged toward the post beside Magdalena, bound for execution. Rafael allowed himself a faint, satisfied smile.