Chapter Eleven
“What are you drawing, Parker?” Angélica asked, returning to her bench seat next to Quint.
She’d stepped outside the mess tent for a few minutes after supper to check in with María and make sure their chief cook had everything she needed to keep the crew well fed.
They all would require plenty of fuel for the next week to keep swinging machetes and combing through the jungle’s tangles until Pedro made the next supply run to Cancun.
Back inside the mess tent, the eating area glowed brightly thanks to multiple LED lanterns hanging from tent posts. It’d taken a beat or two for her eyes to adjust to the light after the stark contrast of the darkness outside of the canvas walls.
“A rough sketch of the weapons in that third cache KuTu found this afternoon,” he told her.
Another cache with more weapons. What the hell?
This time, rather than long-range spears and arrows, the majority of the pieces were remnants from up-close fighting weapons.
Although there were fewer artifacts in this third collection.
Where the artifacts had numbered in the hundreds in the previous two caches, this time there were only 89 in total, and most were smaller throwing knives and daggers.
No spears or macuahuitl blades in the mix.
“Didn’t you already take pictures of it?”
His forehead tightened as he stared down at his sketch. “Yeah, but I keep thinking about the ‘why’ behind these caches.”
“Which ‘why’?” her father asked from across the table.
Quint set his pencil down. “Have you ever come upon so many weapons stashed in such a relatively close area at a site?”
It seemed his thoughts were traveling along the same Maya sacbe as hers tonight.
Her father was right there with them, as well, judging from the layers of frowns she’d witnessed on his face while eating a hearty helping of Maria’s grilled chicken and avocado salad with a side of sopa de lima.
Either he was no longer a fan of the sour-sweet flavored soup, or this latest cache and what it all might mean in regard to the site’s purpose was weighing heavily on his mind.
“I haven’t,” Angélica answered Quint’s question. “This is different than any of the previous digs I’ve worked.”
That being said, until Dr. Fernel came back with his updated LIDAR images and the aerial video footage of the site, which he’d taken with his drone late this afternoon, she didn’t want to voice any speculations yet.
While the only one here at the moment besides her father and Quint was Pedro, she’d learned over the years to try to be patient when it came to the past sharing its secrets and not mistake any rumors as hard truths.
She shifted closer to Quint on the bench seat to better see his sketch, bumping the rough-hewn table that Teodoro had crafted from split wood and secured with hemp rope.
When it came to the ability to improvise on the fly, craft furniture out of whatever could be scavenged from the jungle, or perform protection rituals whenever needed in spite of a lack of any usual preparation procedures, Teodoro didn’t even blink.
His unflappability was matched evenly by María’s talent in any rudimentary field kitchen.
Put the two of them together at a camp and they’d have things feeling downright homey in no time.
She stared down at Quint’s sketch for a few moments, admiring his work. “Damn, Parker. Had I known you were as good with a pencil as you are with a camera, I’d have asked you to sketch the caches and let Daisy swing a machete.”
He bumped her knee with his under the table. “If you take my machete away, pretty lady, how will I show off my machismo so I can make you swoon and fall into my arms?”
Before she could come up with a smartass reply, her father said, “You could cross your eyes and file your teeth into patterns. The ladies who lived around here long ago used to love that.”
Pedro chuckled from his seat next to her dad. “And he could glue a muy grande fake nose on his face.”
“What’s wrong with what I have?” Quint touched the end of his nose. “It seems big enough. What do you think?” he asked Angélica.
Straight. Not too long, not too wide. She liked his nose just fine. It went great with his strong cheekbones and jawline. In fact, she had absolutely no problem kissing any part of his face, especially his perfect lips.
She shrugged, pretending the sight of him most days didn’t make her heart pitter-patter in triple time. “I’m quite fond of your non-colossus proboscis, Parker.”
Quint laughed, leaning over to kiss her on the temple. “Quit trying to win game points from your dad for using big words. That’s my strategy.”
“His non-colossus what?” Pedro asked her dad.
“Nose,” she answered.
Juan grinned at Quint. “You have some competition, son. I have to give her some points for that, but don’t worry, you’re still in the lead.”
“Not for long,” she said, blowing a kiss at her competitor.
Quint ran his finger along her cheek, his gaze tender. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I won’t sacrifice you to any Maya gods when you lose the game. You’re too cute to rip your heart out.”
Pedro laughed. “And that is your fatal mistake, Parker, because knowing mi angelita, she probably has an obsidian blade tucked under her pillow right next to a picture of your foolish corazón.”
“What? No.” Angélica wrapped her arm around Quint’s, patting his forearm.
“Ignore Pedro, heartbreaker. His mind wandered off long ago for greener pastures.” Then she reached over and lightly knocked on Quint’s chest right over his heart, turning to her father.
“It sounds pretty solid, Dad. What do you think? A six-inch dagger or eight?”
Quint caught her hand. “Easy there, you seductive forest-dwelling Xtabay. Remember, my poor corazón beats for you.”
She snorted. Oh, the irony of being called a demonic femme fatale by the very guy Teodoro claimed had been sent up from deep in the Maya Underworld.
“What are you guys talking about?” Daisy asked as she rejoined them in the mess tent. After finishing supper, she’d headed back to the small, solo tent she’d packed, along with her usual dig site work gear, to grab her reading glasses.
“Junior Mint’s nose as an attractive attribute in old Maya times,” Juan said, sliding closer to Pedro to make room for Daisy on the other side of him.
She stared at Quint. “It’s too small by Maya beauty standards. They preferred Roman types of noses, with a beaklike profile.”
“The bigger the better,” Pedro said, pointing at his own beak, which was more like a baby Roman nose.
“You might get some of the pretty cross-eyed ladies with that nose, Pedro,” Daisy told him. “But you’d still have to do the same as many ancient Maya and don a fake one to achieve the right protruding shape.”
Quint wiggled his eyebrows at Angélica. “I could get one of those touristy toucan beak masks when we get home and strap it on for a nice, romantic picnic on the beach.”
She chuckled. “Better yet, we could both wear creepy plague doctor masks and scare away any wandering beachcombers so we have the sand to ourselves.”
“Sounds borderline deranged,” he said, nodding. “I’m in. Hell, it’s better than filing my teeth to win your affections.”
“I know what Quint could do,” Daisy said, leaning her elbows on the table. Her reading glasses dangled from a beaded chain around her neck. “He could pierce his ears with an obsidian blade and shove long strips of bark paper with sonnets written on them through the holes.”
Quint winced. “Bark paper? The Maya did that?”
Nodding, Daisy explained, “Not the sonnet part, of course. But I saw some examples of this practice on a vase from the Late Classic period. The rough bark paper could be used later for bloodletting, which could be romantic in the right context.”
Quint closed his field notebook. “Daisy 8-Ball, you and I clearly have different levels of pain endurance when it comes to wooing a lover.”
Angélica looked from Quint to Daisy. What was with that nickname?
Before she could ask, Pedro spoke up. “So, they’d pull the paper from their ears and then make themselves bleed all over it with the help of a stingray spine?”
Quint grimaced. “Just thinking of the potential paper cuts makes me cringe.”
“A stingray spine or an obsidian blade,” Angélica said, lightly touching his earlobe. “You do have very nice lobes, Parker. How about we get you drunk later and pierce them?”
He leaned away from her. “Leave my lobes be, woman.”
“They’d bleed onto the paper and then burn it,” Daisy continued. “It was actually part of a penance ritual. Although if you were a captive, you might be forced to wear bark paper earrings as a humiliation tactic prior to being sacrificed.”
“Ay chihuahua.” Pedro rubbed his earlobe. “I thought they stretched their ears just to wear fancy jade jewelry.”
“That, too.” Angélica took a sip of the tea María kept out for the workers, agua de jamaica, made from water, a dash of sugar, and hibiscus. She’d passed on coffee, wanting to get to sleep early tonight, if her brain would participate and take a breather from spinning its wheels on what-ifs.
“I have a better idea for Junior Mint,” her father said. “Less painful.”
“I’m all ears and earlobes,” Quint shot back.
“We could paint you black and red.”
Daisy’s forehead lined as she stared at Quint, as if trying to picture the scene. “On his face or all over?”
“Head to toe,” Angélica answered for her dad. To Quint, she clarified, “Red and black showed fierceness and courage. It’s believed that warriors painted themselves in these colors before going into battle.”
“Nope. Too messy,” Quint said. “Besides, it will be impossible to get those stains out of my loincloth. How about I just chop down a tree and impress you with my big blue ox?”
“Your big blue ox?” Juan grinned. “Is that the nickname you kids are calling a Speedo burrito these days?”
Pedro squawked and then snorted, while Quint covered his face and laughed into his palm.