The shaft turned vertical after just a few feet, then without warning, the screen went black.
“Lost the wi-fi signal,” Miranda said.
“I don’t think so,” Maddock said, pointing at the signal strength indicator. “The reason we can’t see anything is that there isn’t anything to see. There’s another open chamber underneath us, but the light isn’t powerful enough. Bones, how far in are we?”
“About ten feet.”
Bones continued feeding the rope into the serpent’s maw, measuring progress in one-foot increments. Maddock kept his eye on the wi-fi signal indicator. The deeper the camera went, the fainter the signal became until, at about twenty feet, it failed altogether.
“Keep going,” Maddock said.
Bones nodded, but after just a few seconds, he stopped. “Feels like we just hit bottom. Twenty-four feet.”
He reeled in the line without difficulty. Both camera and light were functioning normally and showed no signs of damage, but the playback revealed little that they had not already seen. The only difference was at the end of the camera’s downward journey when the flashlight shone upon the floor of the hidden chamber. The beam was reflected back in dozens of tiny pinpoints, as if the floor was covered with broken glass.
“There’s something down there,” Miranda said, running the feed back for another look. “Can’t tell what it is though.”
“It looks safe enough,” Maddock said. “I’ll go down for a better look.”
With the rope secured to his field-expedient Swiss seat climbing harness, Maddock lowered himself into the serpent’s throat feet first while Bones anchored the line from above.
“Oof,” Bones grunted, exaggerating his effort. “I don’t want to hear any more crap about my weight.”
“Muscle weighs more than fat,” Maddock said, playing along, but his voice sounded weird in the close confines of the passage, ruining his attempt to keep the mood light.
After a few seconds of descending, he dropped out of the shaft and found himself dangling in mid-air, about twenty feet above the floor of the lower chamber. The room was at least as big as the upper chamber, the walls beyond the reach of his light, but he could easily make out the floor below. It was decorated with elaborate carved patterns, just like the holes cut in the stone floor above except these holes were not empty, but filled with something that reflected back the flashlight beam in a weird interplay of light and shadow, like asphalt encrusted with diamonds. The only undecorated area was a four-foot square directly below him.
He rappelled down until his feet were just barely touching the floor, and then relaxed his grip on the rope, transferring his full weight onto the balls of his feet.
Suddenly the floor wasn’t there anymore.
He lurched, clutching at the rope as he pitched forward toward the glittering floor. The flashlight tumbled from his grasp, and as it landed it revealed movement.
Something was coming out of the floor… No, not something but somethings. A thousand somethings, with gleaming black carapaces and pincers and hook-tipped tails, rushing up at him as he fell.
The floor of the chamber was covered in scorpions.
CHAPTER 18
The first thousand lempira worth of guaro provided Rodrigo with all the liquid reassurance he needed to justify his refusal to show Hector where Diego had probably hidden el Cadejo Negro. But as he drank away the rest of his windfall, he had cause to regret that decision. He couldn’t remember the reason for his reticence, but he was sure of one thing; if Hector was willing to give him 2,000 lempira just to talk about it, he surely had a lot more to offer.
And it wasn’t as if he had to actually take him to Diego’s stash. There were lots of other old ruins he could take him to instead. Hector wouldn’t know the difference, and if he complained… well, the jungle was a dangerous place. Anything could happen.
Rodrigo rose from his stool, leaving the currency notes with the empty bottle, and heaved himself at the door. He couldn’t remember if Hector had mentioned where he would be staying, but it didn’t matter. Palacios was tiny, with just a few hotels. He would find the wealthy stranger.
He staggered outside into the twilight of approaching dusk, bellowing at the top of his lungs. “Hector! You son of a whore. I will take you to el Cadejo.”
The only answer he received was silence. The streets were empty of both vehicle and pedestrian traffic.
Rodrigo turned to the right and lurched into motion, careering back and forth across the sidewalk. Somehow, he managed to stay on his feet, but the motion set his guts to churning. As soon as he rounded the corner into the dark alley behind the cantina, he bent over and vomited out a torrent of sour bilious fluid.
Relief was almost instantaneous. His head felt clearer, the nausea now just a dim memory. He coughed, spat out a gob of bitter phlegm, and then filled his lungs and tilted his head back.
“Hect—”
Someone or something seized his arm, yanking him off his feet. His teeth slammed together in his mouth and he tasted blood; he had bitten his tongue. He struggled, trying to wrestle free of his captor, but the grip was too strong and he couldn’t get his feet under him for leverage. The alley was cloaked in shadow and he could barely make out the silhouette of his captor, but then a faint glow appeared in the distance. It was, Rodrigo realized, the interior light of a car, but in its scant illumination, he caught a glimpse of his assailant.
It walked like a man, but instead of skin, it had green and black scales like a lizard or a jungle viper.
There were two more snake-men waiting at the car.
Rodrigo opened his mouth to scream again, but before he could, there was an explosion of light and pain in his head and then he was falling into oblivion.
The respite of unconsciousness was short-lived, or at least it seemed that way. He awoke to the sound of drums, beating out a dull rhythm, accompanied by shrill flutes. The tumult tightened the vise squeezing his skull, a pain that was in equal parts the consequence of too much guaro and a mild concussion from a club wielded by one of the snake-men.
He knew that they were just men, the scales merely painted on their naked bodies, but the realization brought no comfort at all.
He opened his eyes and saw them again, dancing around him now in the ruddy glow of torchlight, chanting in a language that sounded similar to the old Ch’orti’ tongue still used in some of the rural villages.
The snake-men leaned in close, shaking rattles over him, then drew back as another figure — this one wearing an elaborate mask plumed with bright feathers — came into view above him.
The voice that issued from the mask was harsh, but decidedly feminine. The words sounded like an ancient invocation, summoning a devil from hell.
Then the masked figure threw up her arms and barked out a command, and instantly the noise ceased.
For a moment, she stood like that, statue still, painted skin seeming to crawl in the flickering light. In her right hand, she held a black dagger that looked like a long shard of broken glass. But then she brought her hands together on either side of the masked visage, and lifted it away, revealing her true face.
She was beautiful in an exotic and slightly terrifying way, with a splash of freckles on her dark skin and long red hair pulled back away from her face. There was a snake draped around her neck. Its arrow-shaped head seemed to be moving, but he knew that had to be a trick of the light. The woman was breathing heavily, as if winded from the exertion of the ritual dance, but after regarding him for just a few seconds, she spoke.