Golden Heart (The Lazarus Longman Chronicles) (14 page)

“Or brought them from some other place. The Hopi have some links to the Aztecs of Mexico, particularly their language. The Aztecs smelted gold. Perhaps the Cibolans were an offshoot of that culture, much like the Hopi were, and migrated north. Only the Cibolans remembered their metallurgy whereas the Hopi forgot it.”

The scholar in him was so interested in the temple itself and the culture of the people who built it that he hadn’t been paying any attention to what was being discussed at the council. Pahanatuuwa was explaining the logic behind the decision to move beneath the earth.

“Each temple is connected by a series of tunnels,” he said. “We can stay hidden and strike out at Reynolds from any of the Seven Cities, and disappear before he can retaliate.”

“It’s undoubtedly an advantage,” agreed Lazarus. “But we have to be bloody careful none of the enemy gets wise to where the entrances to this underground kingdom lie. If Reynolds were to get his troops down here, these temples would quickly become tombs.”

“Quite right. That is why only select warriors will be chosen to go on raids. And you outlanders must remain hidden.”

“Now wait just a minute, pal,” said Vasquez. “I’m not going to sit down here on my rump while Reynolds cuts you fellas to pieces topside.”

“Its orders from the chiefs,” said Pahanatuuwa, his face apologetic. “It was a hard decision for them to allow you all down here in the first place. It has just been decided that no white man must ever leave the kingdom of the
kachinas
.” He glanced at Lieutenant Thompson. “Or black for that matter.”

“What!” exclaimed Captain Townsend, speaking for them all. “You can’t keep us down here indefinitely! We’re not your prisoners.”

“No you’re not,” Pahanatuuwa agreed. “You are our guests and must abide by our laws. Nobody defies the chiefs. This is done for your protection and for the protection of our civilization. They risked all by allowing outlanders to leave the valley before, and they came back in stronger numbers with weapons of unholy power. The chiefs want to end it now. The invaders must be killed and you, my friends, must never leave the valley.”

“Now you just tell your damned chiefs…” began Vasquez, his face red, but Pahanatuuwa was already walking away. Kokoharu had slipped her arm around him and, with a final apologetic glance, he left them standing there gaping.

“Well, of all the…” began Vasquez. “He sure has returned to his people, hasn’t he?”

That night there was dancing by the priests to ward off the invaders. Their shadows were thrown up by the flames of the fires against the gold walls, and they leaped around causing a kaleidoscope of crazy images that made the outlanders feel like they were in a bad fever dream. The ecstasy they had experienced at finding that the myth of the golden cities was real had evaporated at the reality of their situation. They were in a gilded prison, in the very literal sense of the term. Lazarus could take no more and went for a walk around the cavern to clear his head.

He breathed the damp underground air deeply, trying to picture clear mountain views or even the fug of London to stave off his growing feeling of claustrophobia. Guards patrolled a perimeter around the edges of the cavern, and scouting parties were investigating the tunnels and reporting back regularly. He followed the wall of the temple around to see how far back it went. As he passed a pillared room, he heard the voices of Captain Townsend and her lieutenant engaged in a heated discussion.

“Not long ago you were all for leaving this valley,” Captain Townsend was saying. “You thought I was chasing a fairy tale, as I recall.”

“That was before we found all this gold buried underground!” Thompson argued.

“So now what? You want to stay and play friendly with these people?”

“For the time being. Until we can figure out a way to ship this gold north to the Union.”

“The Union…” said Townsend with bitterness. “The Union would only spend it on war machines and guns. Just a sack full of this stuff would buy up three orphanages.”

“Orphanages? Does your plan for the partisan movement end there? I appreciate that you are driven by the memories of your childhood…”

“Aren’t we all, Lieutenant? Don’t pretend to me that you joined the partisans due to anything but your resentment at growing up on a slave plantation. The only difference between you and I is that your people were freed by an amendment to the constitution. Children still work as slaves in factories and mines paid for by the Confederate government—beaten and malnourished, choked by soot, losing fingers in machinery, living in such cramped conditions that they develop deformed spines—it’s sickening, and we can end it all in Arizona Territory with just a fraction of the wealth here.”

“Captain—
Theresa
—please, think for a moment. Even if we could wrestle some of this gold from these people, everything we take belongs to the Union, not to your personal liberation fund. The rest of the men have been grumbling about your leadership. They think you are losing your way.”

“I am still your Captain,” Townsend snarled. “And you will address me as such. I decide what is to be done with the profits our unit makes. And if you or anybody under my command insists on refusing to follow my orders, then I suggest that you all damn well stay out of my way.”

Lazarus blinked in surprise. He knew Thompson wasn’t a cold-hearted man, just loyal to his precious Union. Townsend was no tyrant, but her passion for her cause had turned her into a single-minded woman teetering on the brink of madness. This argument was a continuation of the one he had used to his advantage before their escape at the partisan base. Perhaps this friction between captain and lieutenant had been going on for quite some time now. That was dangerous. With enemies all around, splintering in the ranks now was something to be avoided at all costs.

Chapter Fourteen

In which a member of the party escapes

“Well perhaps you ladies and gents are content to keep your backsides in the shade,” said Vasquez, “but that’s my pal out there leading the advance and I ain’t gonna let him take a bullet for me.”

They were at the foot of the ladder that led up to the kiva in the northern city. Lazarus, Vasquez, Katarina, Thompson and a collection of partisans had accompanied the assault force that Pahanatuuwa had led down to the river. They may be forbidden from leaving the underground kingdom, but Lazarus for one wasn’t going to let that stop him from aiding the Cibolans in any way he could. So, they had carried weapons for the warriors and seen them off, waiting to receive wounded on their return.

Lazarus was aware of Thompson’s eyes staring at him in the dark. He knew the man didn’t trust him, much less like him or any of their present company. The three men in blue uniforms at his back kept their hands on their pistols, nervous at being divided from the rest of their group. Captain Townsend had led a secondary unit through the tunnels towards the ruins of the eastern city, to hold the gateway open should the Cibolans be forced to retreat that way.

“I’m gonna go up and take a peek,” said Vasquez. He put one foot on the bottom rung of the ladder.

Kokoharu stepped forward, her dark eyes alive with warning. She had accompanied them to await the return of her beloved Pahanatuuwa and to keep the outlanders in check should they decide to defy the ruling of the chiefs.

“I appreciate your concern, doll,” Vasquez said, “but we both love that big fella and if you could understand a word I’m saying, you’d know that I only have his best interests at heart.”

“I don’t advise it, Vasquez,” said Lazarus. “She might tell the chiefs, and then what sort of bother would we be in?”

“I’m only going up to that kiva thing of theirs and taking a look-see. I won’t cause no trouble and Kokoharu here is a sweet thing ain’t ya? She won’t tell.”

He winked at her and she watched him ascend the ladder, her eyes filled with frustration. They stood back as a shower of red dust floated down in the wake of his scrabbling boots. They waited some time until they heard Vasquez call down to them; “Hey, limey! Get your ass up here!”

“That foolish bastard will have us all executed or some damn thing,” said Thompson.

Lazarus ignored him and climbed up the ladder, ignoring also the voiced concerns of Kokoharu. She followed him up into the kiva. Lazarus made his way over to the door where Vasquez was leaning, keeping himself in the shadows and peering through his telescope.

“Take a peek,” he said, handing the brass instrument to Lazarus.

Reynolds’s troops had begun the construction of a bridge over the river that sealed the northern city off from their advance. The destruction of this bridge was the object of the Cibolan attack, and through the grimy lens of the telescope Lazarus could see that they were having a rough time of it.

“It’s an almighty skirmish,” said Vasquez. “I wouldn’t call it a battle ‘cause Hok’ee ain’t dumb enough to lead a full-on attack. He’s hitting them hard and fast and vanishing again, but they’ve been quick to retaliate.”

He was right. Even from their position high on the northern cliff face, Lazarus could see the Cibolan bodies littering the river. The bridge still stood, and Confederate troops were heading into the trees to flush them out. A large group of mechanicals had made its way between the Cibolans and their exit line.

“They’ve been cut off!” said Lazarus. As he said it, there was an enormous explosion from one of the Confederate batteries that knocked down several trees in a shower of earth.

“Holy Christ!” exclaimed Vasquez. “It’s over. There’s no standing up against that firepower. If they can’t make it back here then they’ll head towards the eastern city to Townsend and her people.”

“We should head over there and help them. There’s nothing to be done from here.”

Kokoharu danced from one foot to the other in anxiety, knowing that something was terribly wrong but not understanding what. Lazarus took her by the arms and tried to explain that they had to make for the eastern city. He wasn’t sure if he got through to her or not and had no more time to spend on the matter, for soon Townsend’s group would be receiving the first of the wounded.

They fled through what felt like an endless warren of tunnels. The underground kingdom was more than just the seven golden temples connected by single passageways. There were a myriad of storerooms, dwellings, kivas and other nooks and crannies, the purpose of which was unknown to Lazarus. Kokoharu did them proud however, clearly having taken his meaning. She led the way, her fleet feet pounding down the stone floors like she was a hare fleeing the hunter.

They found the tunnels near the eastern city in a bloody nightmare of confusion. They pressed themselves against the walls as rebels and Cibolans ran past bearing wounded on woven pallets. The air was hot and dense, and the close confines made the voices and screams a cacophony of ear-splitting noise.

“There’s too many people here!” cried Vasquez. “These tunnels are liable to become choked up. Where the hell is Townsend?”

There were plenty of bluecoats but no sign of their leader. Pahanatuuwa squeezed passed, his right arm still smoking. Vasquez grabbed him. “Condolences, pal!” he roared in his ear. “We’ll get that bridge another time. Just tell us what to do.”

“Fall back to the northern temple,” the Cibolan replied. “We have enough to carry the wounded and to seal the exit.” His eyes searched for Kokoharu and found her already tending to a man riddled with bullets in a nearby enclave. He barked something at her and she threw him a sour glance. Evidently she wasn’t prepared to give up on her patient just yet.

“Come on,” said Vasquez. “We’re in the way here.”

It was only during the long slog back to the northern temple that Lazarus realized Thompson was no longer with them. Had they left him behind? “Where’s your lieutenant?” he asked the three bluecoats who were still with them, but they just shrugged their shoulders.

They arrived barely in time to inform the Cibolans at the temple to prepare for the wounded before they started pouring in, although with nobody to translate for them it probably made little difference. There was much weeping as the news gradually sunk in that the raid had been a failure. Mankanang and Xuthala watched with grim faces as Pahanatuuwa and his remaining warriors flooded into the cavern, bearing the wounded with them.

Katarina followed Kokoharu’s example and went from pallet to pallet, her sleeves rolled up, applying medical aid. Lazarus was impressed.

“Did you learn this in the Okhrana?” he asked as he helped her lift a patient from one blood-soaked stretcher to another.

She shook her head. “My uncle. He was a soldier before he joined the Interior Ministry.”

“I think I may have liked him. I too was a soldier, you know? Fought in the Ashanti Campaign before I took up employment with the secret service.”

“Yes, I know. And I don’t think you would have liked my uncle. Nor he you.”

Lazarus blinked away the hostility, gradually becoming used to it and tried to change the subject. “They certainly could do with more skilled medics like you and I. There’s too many wounded and Cibolan medicine leaves a lot to be desired. If only Captain Townsend and Lieutenant Thompson would show their faces; I’m sure they have some medical experience.”

Katarina looked about suddenly. “They’re not here? I thought they went on ahead.”

“No sign of them. I heard them arguing the other night. I hope that doesn’t have anything to do with it.”

“Oh? Arguing about what?”

“Townsend is dead-set on using some of this gold to save children from workhouses and orphanages or some such scheme. Thompson considers it all property of the Union and won’t let an ounce of it out of his sight.”

“Well, it is the Union’s property, isn’t it? Or do you still harbor Confederate sympathies?”

“Certainly not. But I would have thought that the golden cities truly belong to the people who built them. The Union has no more claim to them than Reynolds.”

“Nevertheless, my mission is to ensure that the Union, or at least the partisan movement, get the gold. Do you think Townsend may have deserted us and taken a quantity of gold with her?”

“It doesn’t sound like her, but you know the woman better than I. All I know is that Thompson would consider that a final betrayal. He may even have pursued her with the intent of stopping her.”

They finished bandaging up their patient, although it was not certain that he would live through the night.

“It might be callous for me to say so,” said Lazarus, “but I think it’s foolish to continue using our dwindling supply of bandages on patients who are not likely to survive.”

Katarina nodded and left, heading to the corner of the temple where she slept. Lazarus remained and patched up a flesh wound for a young warrior before following her in. He found her checking her ammunition and filling a canteen with water from a clay urn.

“Going somewhere?” he asked.

“Go away, Longman. I don’t need you tagging along.”

“You don’t mean that you’re going after Townsend and Thompson!”

“If both of them have deserted then I’m in a sticky spot. My superiors are relying on U.P.R. intel to ascertain that I completed my mission. They won’t take my word for it alone. I need to talk some sense into them.”

“They don’t trust you?”

“This is all off the books stuff. I could say anything I like and they have no way to check it. I need Townsend’s confirmation.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“You’ll only get in the way. Or worse, betray me to the Cibolans. They’ll kill us both if they catch us trying to escape.”

“You really think I’m useless, don’t you? I’ve worked my way out of dozens of sticky situations by force and by stealth. I’m coming and you can’t stop me.”

“Very well.” She slotted the last cartridge into her revolver and spun the cylinder. “But if I have to, I’ll put you down myself, Longman.”

Leaving the northern temple without being seen wasn’t hard. The chiefs and priests were too busy seeing to the needs of their people, and the people themselves were in too much confusion and misery to notice them slip away. The tunnels were empty and soon they were back in the chamber beneath the great kiva of the northern city.

“Are you sure they went this way?” Lazarus asked as Katarina clambered up the ladder, her skirt swishing him in the face.

“This is the closest exit,” she replied. “They couldn’t have escaped through the eastern city without being seen and I doubt Townsend went all the way to the western city. She had no reason to. She would have wanted to get out into the forests and hills as soon as possible. For somebody who built a tunneling machine, she really seems to hate being underground.”

It was glorious to be out in the sunshine again after so many days beneath the earth, but the heat soon got to them. They clung to the cliff walls, above the cool forests, surmising that if Townsend was trying to leave the valley, she would head south east to where the valley walls dipped down to their shallowest point. They passed the ghostly houses of the western city, which were silent—like dead things with hollow eyes.

The sun began to dip below the high walls, and they welcomed the cooling touch of dusk. They stopped to rest awhile, assuming that their quarry would be doing the same, for the trek through the hills was hard going for anybody. They dared not light a fire in case they might be seen and indeed, they could see the lights of some Confederate camp or supply depot deep down in the valley.

“And so Yankee Imperialism is replaced by its Confederate cousin,” Lazarus mused. “And who taught them this way of conquest? Americans have learned the art of it from us, like a child prodigy. They dream of empire themselves now; they who wanted freedom from it more than anybody. The scent of money banishes ideology from people’s minds like a forgotten lover.”

“You sound like the revolutionary thinkers in my own country,” said Katarina, after taking a swig from her canteen. “There are some who claim that imperialism is the ultimate and unavoidable end result of capitalism.”

“You do not agree with them?”

“They are dangerous traitors. Imperialism has brought light to the dark corners of the world. Roads, railways, science; the list is endless.”

“I doubt the Cibolans share your appreciation of the developed world’s achievements. They seemed to be doing just fine before we came blundering into their world, heralding the inevitable stamping march of empire over all that they hold dear.”

Katarina looked at him for a while, her face unreadable in the darkness. “You’re not quite what I expected of a British agent. What happened to you in South America? Our files are incomplete.”

Lazarus took a deep breath. “I was sent there by my government. To Colombia. They had ideas to drain Lake Guatavita; the source of the Eldorado legend.”

“So Eldorado really exists? Like Cibola?”

“The parallels are striking. Both were legends told to the Spaniards, who searched in vain for them despite their having a kernel of truth. Lake Guatavita lies in the Cundinamarca region of Colombia, in what was once the territory of the Muisca people. They used to have a ceremony; whenever a new Zipa—that is to say a chief—was chosen, he was floated out into the center of the lake on a raft of rushes, loaded with gold. The gold would be tossed into the lake as an offering to the goddess who dwelt there. The priests would smear the Zipa’s body with some sticky substance like resin and coat him in gold dust until he was a gilded man. He would then dive into the lake and the gold would wash from his body.