I didn’t laugh.
He suggested I ask Teodoro to be certain about the feather’s originator, but then word would get back to Angélica, andshe was busy trying to coordinate today’s tasks and line up manpower accordingly.
Is it manpower if there are women working, too?
Maybe it’s just human-power.
Anyway, the boss lady told me over breakfast that she couldn’t sleep much last night between her father’s snoring and her mind spinning about what in the hell had happened at this site centuries ago.
My bet is it was some kind of a prison, like Bronko said, even though the Maya supposedly didn’t have them.
A prison makes sense with the wall, especially if that tunnel at the bottom of the stairwell leads to Structure I on the outside.
A prison would also explain why there are no gates in the wall, a typical weak point in fortifications. Structures I and II would then act as the equivalent of flanking towers at a medieval castle with sentries positioned next to the gate, watching for any escape attempts.
The spearpoints and arrowheads we found in the caches next to both structures fit with the prison theory, too. The sentries would need weapons at the ready in the event of an attempted escape. Anyone situated high on each platform would be in good defensive positions to throw spears and shoot arrows down at the prisoners.
And if wannabe escapees made it past the prison guards at Structure II on the inside, that exit tunnel under the wall would act as a barbican of sorts. The prisoners would be funneled into the narrow, neck-like passage,making them easy targets for the archers and spear throwers waiting outside the wall at Structure I.
This place is basically a castle in reverse, keeping the enemy inside rather than …
HONNNNN!
Quint jerked in surprise at the loud, piercing horn sound blaring from overhead.
What the fuck?
He came off the prison wall he’d been leaning against while taking a break after hours of swinging a machete.
The surrounding jungle seemed to hold its breath for several seconds, along with him. Then a racket of howls and yips and barks came from the other side of the wall. The monkeys were responding in kind to the blast of noise.
Where were Pedro and Daisy? They’d headed off to check out the area, looking for signs of more caches, leaving him on his own with his pencil and field notes.
Pocketing his notebook, Quint stepped out from under the shade of the large ceiba tree that neighbored the crumbled remains of a multi-story structure built into the junction where the western and northern sections of the prison wall came together.
A “turret” was what Pedro had called the dilapidated stone ruins they’d come upon while slashing their way up a slope through the thorny scrub brush, yucca plants, and shitload of saplings struggling to grow among their larger ancestors. Daisy, who’d been a last-minute addition to their small group after scaling the wall, had explained to Pedro that typically turrets were on the outside of a fortification and didn’t extend to the ground, so this was more like a square lookout tower.
Quint agreed with Daisy, especially since the ruins sat at the top of a slope. He’d bet if they cut the trees down, they’d have a clear view of the whole site. Also, the narrow slits for windows in what remained of the structure’s three levels reminded him of arrow loops in a castle tower.
He shielded his eyes, peering up at the ruins from where thesound seemed to have come. “What the hell was that?” he called out.
Was it some kind of alarm function on the walkie-talkie Bronko had handed off before they all separated into smaller groups? If so, why was it coming from up high?
Pedro poked his head over what was left of the third-story south-facing wall. He smiled wide and held out something that looked like some kind of gourd.
Quint winced. What was Pedro thinking, leaning over what appeared to be a crumbling section of the ruin? Jesus, the remaining building looked ready to crash to the ground at any second, and there were no king’s horses or king’s men to come rescue the big egghead grinning down from the third level.
“Did you forget you’re the only pilot here?” Quint crossed his arms. “Who flies you out if you get hurt?”
“Nobody. I’m special.”
“You’reloco, not special.”
Pedro laughed and then thumbed over his shoulder. “Daisy found some conch-shell trumpets.”
“She’s with you?” Criminy, what were those two doing, clambering around up there? Did they have a death wish? If Juan were here, he’d be threatening them with his cane.
“Sí, Parker. Several conch shells were broken, but not this one.”
