Tears of the Jaguar

By A.J. Hartley

Six months in the past, museum curator Deborah Miller had by no means heard of Ek Balam, an imprecise Mayan archaeological web site identified for its carved figures. Now right here she is, having traded Atlanta’s city jungle for a distant village in Mexico’s Yucatan, tasked with overseeing Ek Balam’s excavation. but if a surprising rainstorm factors a partial cave in on the website, an unforeseen treasure is unearthed: a set of rough-cut rubies hidden from the area for thousands of years—and very out-of-place within the Yucatan. it's a locate of immeasurable worth, person who Deborah vows to protect—and but is powerless to avoid from being stolen quickly after its discovery. made up our minds to retrieve the stones, she units out to track their advanced historical past throughout 4 centuries and continents, from Mexico to northern England the place the jewels as soon as performed a harrowing function within the Lancashire witch trials of 1612. yet Deborah isn't the just one looking for the stones; shut on her heels are archaeologists, occultists, and one very made up our minds fingers broker, all of whom will cease at not anything, no longer even homicide, to say the prize for themselves.

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He bowed in acknowledgement and moved around the again to the place the hot cenote had spread out, and the hot tomb. Eustachio took the small, insufficient flashlight from his pocket. In its small patch of sunshine, he may see that the floor round the fringe of the cenote were overwhelmed delicate with foot site visitors and the ladder were changed through a two-stage ramp, anchored on joists pushed into the earthen partitions. He thought of the paintings with a serious eye. there has been a heavy steel door on the mouth of the tomb, but—and this sounded the 1st notice of unease he had felt because the final time he have been here—it was once open. Eustachio stood there taking a look down on the deep shadow of the entrance for a protracted minute, hearing the evening. The birds and bats had came upon the cenote and had already colonized it. by way of day it'd be choked with their calls. Now there has been merely the transferring and rustling of feathers, surprisingly amplified through the sinkhole. He shone the flashlight at the door and the yellowish glow sparkled at the hasp the place, he proposal, a padlock must have been. He moved the sunshine down, but when anyone had lower the lock off, it used to be as prone to have fallen into the water under. He waited yet another minute, then driven the machete via his belt and started settling on his gradual, ungainly passage down the ramp, pleased no less than that he didn't have to barter the ladder back. It appeared strong sufficient. Juan’s paintings, probably. one of many few issues his son did good. Eustachio hadn’t desired to inform him the place he had hidden the grave items, yet he had no selection. retaining the contents of the positioning were handed directly to Eustachio through his father, and he had given an identical details to Juan. That was once the way it can be, whether it made him uneasy. Juan had allow such a lot of of the outdated methods slip. yet anyone needed to be aware of in case whatever occurred to Eustachio, and such issues have been most sensible stored to family members. He was once taking a possibility coming again the following at evening, whether where used to be not guarded. His hand went to the observe in his pocket. He’d stumbled on it tucked into the pocket of his paintings blouse, which have been striking within the wheelbarrow shed many of the earlier day until eventually he’d grabbed it prior to leaving. He hadn’t spotted it whilst he was once going domestic, most likely simply because he was once annoyed after being advised via the scholar that Bowerdale sought after adequate building fabrics to hide the whole cenote. yet that morning, earlier than he’d trigger at the bike for Coba, he’d came upon it. Now he pulled out the notice and browse it back through the beam of the flashlight: “The contents of the recent tomb needn't visit a museum. Meet me there day after today evening to debate how your history may be venerated. ” It was once written in cautious Spanish, yet even if it used to be a man’s or woman’s hand, Eustachio couldn't inform. He deliberate to offer not anything away this night, yet he figured it might be worthwhile to find what others knew or suspected. As to speak of in some way honoring his historical past, he took that with a grain of salt, notwithstanding maybe—just maybe—there used to be the way to honor the prior whereas serving the wishes of the village this present day.

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