Drowning Pool (Miss Henry Mysteries) (8 page)

She wondered what was there that someone had wanted
to keep the world from seeing and when it had been put up. Not recently, that was certain, though the whole courtyard felt like an afterthought, as did the exterior staircases which looked rather unstable and sloppily built. Only the stone ones that reached the ramparts seemed safe enough to explore, but since she had no desire to be seen wandering the grounds, sticking to the shadowy floor seemed wiser.

There was a gust of wind that sent blossoms and unnoticed butterflies tumbling end over end. It seemed a vicious thing to attack the flowers and butterflies that way, but at least it ended the illusion that Juliet and the ancient twisted wisteria were the only living thing
s in that part of the castle.

She looked west at the gathering clouds and got down off of her chair. She dusted the seat so her footprints were erased. Chances were that whoever used the garden for a bit of dope smoking wouldn’t notice that she had been there, but why take chances?

Once past the remains of the formal gardens the trees and shrubs leaned in, looming in a far from friendly manner. She avoided the high hedge with pretty flowers but long, vicious thorns that were intent on tearing down the adobe corridor they clung to. The vines offered shelter to assorted critters which she could here rustling and squeaking, but she wasn’t tempted to take a closer look. It was too dense to hide any hidden doors, at least any doors opened in the last fifty years. That didn’t mean there weren’t vaults stuffed to the rafters with stolen treasure back there, but she was only after the roundel.

The abutting wall which she eventually reached was likewise submerged in vines
, and it was only because she noticed a spot where they had been torn away that she found the bricked up gateway. To one side of the missing gate was a badly faded fresco. She could make out the water lily with the long root but it was difficult to make out what it was rooted in. A log or … a body?

Juliet shuddered, remembering where she had seen another gate like it. It was on an island in Italy that had once been a leper colony. When it had closed they had simply bricked up the gate at the top of the steps, shutting away all the bodies and the agonies that had been imprisoned there and left to rot. They could only guess at how many thousands had died behind those walls.

There was no guessing what lay beyond this wall either, but the abandoned garden struck Juliet as a place not just neglected but one actively shunned. Even the dangerous animals she had been threatened with at dinner seemed to avoid it. The walls were high and cast blocks of shadows that seemed every bit as menacing as the stones that made up the barrier. It was a place that few would venture in the day and not at all once darkness fell.

In other words, it would be a perfect place to hide something that you didn’t want anyone to find
, always supposing that there was another way inside.

And that thought led to the unhappy notion that the castle might have a crypt
, which was a favorite place for stashing stolen goods. She might have to pretend that she was a fan of funerary art and ask to see it, a task which she found morbid and disturbing. At least she knew a bit about the subject and could talk intelligently if the question came up, thanks to Esteban’s show at the Memento Mori Museum.

She took a step back and almost lost her balance on a loose paving stone. The ground was once again slightly concave. Was this depression a sign of future cave-ins? It was not a comfortable thought that the castle had been built over a sinkhole.

Or was this a sign of something else? Like digging? Could that be why the walls had been thrown up? To hide a series of excavations? But why? Was someone looking for buried treasure? Or trying to hide it?

“Damn.”
She wondered if it would be worth contacting Esteban and asking him to find out if there were any legends about local buried treasure.

She continued on, following the wall. The leaves rustled occasionally. She had seen
some rat droppings and a few snake skins, so she was careful as she stepped closer to the brick wall that did not match the other stones, but she paused long enough to listen to the slight noise she thought might be coming from the other side of the barricade. It was hard to tell but she thought it might be dripping water. It would make sense that the castle would have a well. Pressed close, she caught a whiff of the skunk stink she had found earlier, but this was uncharred.

Were they growing marijuana? But why brick up the gateway? Unless there was another way in? Even if there was, did she want to find it?

She might have to, if everything else failed.

Juliet straightened, trying to shake off the growing feeling of unease.
There was no wind, not even a breath of new air down in the maze. Juliet lived in the country and was used to the absence of city noise, but this place and its absolute quiet made her feel that something vital was missing. It had no human pulse. It was a place of the dead.

That probably meant that she would have to come back. At night. Alone.
Where she would be swallowed by a python, or attacked by a swarm of killer spiders.

“Merton, you bastard.”

Eventually she worked her way over to the pyramid. The floor had seen better days when the paving stones were even and level, but the pavers were now tilted and sagging. Some were heaved upward as if some giant were pushing its way out of the earth while others sagged as if the ground was subsiding.

The stairs
to the temple were in no better shape, steep, uneven, and they had worn spots in the center of each riser, dug out by the feet of the thousands who had worshipped there. Or was it a fake? An Aztec version of the Victorian folly? Fake ruins had been all the rage in Europe, at least among the wealthy, and it was a style which Klaus von Hayek had seemed to want to emulate in a perverted way when he built his castle.

Either way, it didn’t look all that stable
for climbing. She didn’t know if there was a history of earthquakes in the area but it certainly seemed like a temblor or two had paid a call. She had no desire to descend into the temple’s gullet and hoped she wouldn’t have to go there.

Feeling the need for a rest, Juliet sat down in a patch of s
hade and leaned back against the fortunately blank wall. She wished that she had stopped at the kitchen for some iced tea. She didn’t have to wait long for a curious lizard to appear and study her huge form. Lizards always made her think of Mickey. So she got out her sketchbook and immortalized the grinning reptile while her brain continued its ruminations. Her mind worked a bit like a Geiger counter, picking up background psychic radiation. There was nothing obvious but the ticker was crackling. The levels of weirdness were exceptionally high. But she hadn’t found the epicenter. Not yet. But someone was responsible for the feeling of toxic madness and she had a feeling it might very well be Klaus von Hayek.

She had a habit of sorting people into categories based on patterns of behavior rather than the more usual classifications like religion or career. They weren’t always normal categories—certainly there were no normal ones there. She wished that Esteban was with her
, because he also had some odd columns in his ledger and he would be less distracted by things like art and publicity than Raphael currently was.

Ah well, what couldn’t be cured had to be endured.

Eventually she pushed herself back to her feet and resumed her mapping of the courtyard. It was about twenty minutes later that she found the door that led into the plaza that had been netted over. It was locked, but it was simple and forcing it—as long as the lock wasn’t rusted—would not be a problem. She would just have to bring along a couple tools.

There had been the occasional rusted grill set into the wall
s, perhaps to provide ventilation to storage rooms or maybe stalls in a stable, but they were gone now that she was nearing the east side of the temple. What little plaster was left was flaking off like a snake shedding skin and Juliet was not sure she wanted to see what lay beneath. But the wall was fascinating in its decay and she couldn’t help but stare at the crumbling plaster being pried off by the tenacious vines. She could not be certain without removing more of the crumbling surface, but she had the sick feeling that a human skeleton had been built into the wall as some form of warning or perhaps decoration. Or was that supposed to be a lily growing out of the body?

So, the story of the lilies wasn’t pure fabrication. With the internet one could never be sure of what was being presented as facts.

Juliet shivered but felt that she was being challenged by the gods. She had to go on. Her exploration of the outdoor area was almost done—and thank heavens for small favors.

With the westering sun at her back, her shadow pushed on ahead, looming large as the wedge between the intersecting walls widened slightly into a space that held an old well. The cracked wooden cover was slightly too large and probably was not original. It was carved with what looked like the face of a demon
, but which Juliet guess was the likeness of one of the Aztecan deities. The sides of the well were plastered and painted. The frescos were badly faded but she was coming to recognize the water lily motif.

The tusked god
that guarded the well was drawn in black and white with only a yellow stripe across his face. He was standing on what looked like a large bone and holding an obsidian blade. His extended tongue ended in a scorpion’s tail.

The slight crunch of grit underfoot was all the warning she had.
Fear reasoned faster, and in her case, more accurately than other emotions. When the inner voice whispered that there was danger, she listened.

“That is
a local representation of Tezcatlipoca, god of the smoking mirror, enemy of both sides, lord of the nigh and near. My father admires him. It was in part why he chose this property, though there was some local resistance to our foundation at first.” Henrik smiled with his thin lips but it did not warm his eyes. He was about as animated as a tree stump and Juliet wondered if perhaps something had happened to paralyze his face. There was no evidence of skin grafts and no sagging to suggest a stroke, but the face was disconcertingly immobile.

So, the temple was real and not a recreation. Or at least not wholly a recreation. And
Klaus von Hayek had had to have it, in spite of local sentiment. And then he had surrounded it with a strangely warped version of a medieval castle.

There were people who coveted with the obstinate, concentrated longing of a child too young or too spoiled to have acquired compassion or morals. They saw nothing wrong with taking what they wanted—be that art
, or property that didn’t belong to them. And they did not acquire their heart’s desires—or retain them—by luck. They had men around them who went to bed nightly, praying for an excuse to do something violent—assuming they prayed at all, which was rather a large leap.

It would be rude as well as
unwise to reprehend the morals of their unseen host, especially to his son. In another setting—like one where she and Raphael could leave when they liked and where there were fewer men with guns—she might say something. But her ability to discover anything about the roundel, and perhaps to stay alive, hinged on her remaining in von Hayek’s graces.

“Charming. And the teeth?
Or are they tusks?” she asked, sorry that it wasn’t Smythe who had followed her. She liked him better than von Hayek, even if he was suspicious of her.

“Well, Miss Henry, he is a death god, the one who carried off your pregnant victim, in fact.
Perhaps he dragged her down into this well. The water supplies for the castle and pozas connect somewhere in an underground aquifer.”

“What a ghastly thought.”

“You said that you wanted to see him. The god heard your prayer and answered.”

“I think I’ve changed my mind.” Having lost the chance to pretend that she wasn’t really interested in architecture and anything else that might be hiding in the overgrown gardens, she decided the next best tactic was to pretend to be interested in everything. “Would you mind if I sketched him while I am here?” she asked
, pulling out her notebook. “Oh, and could you tell me if this is actually a Quetzal bird? He is such a handsome fellow.”

Juliet showed him the drawing she had made of the exotic bird she had seen in the deserted garden when she looked out her window that morning.
It had a slight air of caricature because she was thinking about using it on a t-shirt.

Henrik relaxed slightly as he studied her sketch.

“So you have been out drawing?” He didn’t answer the question about the bird’s species. Probably because he didn’t know. Sacrificial weapons, not animals, were his thing.

Von Hayek turned a page and found her lizard.
Juliet was glad that she had taken the time to draw a few things in her sketch book besides the maps of the grounds at the very back.

“Oh yes. Animals are my favorite
, but you have some beautiful flowers here as well. That wisteria in the courtyard is magnificent.”

Not as magnificent as the one in the abandoned garden with the bricked up gateway
, but there was no need to admit being there in case it was hiding something. She turned the page of the notebook and showed him a rough sketch of a vine with some kind of flower on it. Juliet thought maybe it was some kind of mandevilla.