Flame of Diablo (24 page)

been a silent warning.

She glanced at Vitas and saw, puzzled,

that he had dismounted and was kneeling

at the cliff-edge, looking down. After a

while, he took a pair of field-glasses

from his saddle-pack, adjusted them

with care and took a longer more

lingering survey of the solitude below.

Rachel wanted to ask him why he was

taking all these precautions when the

place was so obviously deserted, but on

the edge of speech she hesitated, sensing

somehow that this was a place for

whispers.

It really was very quiet, she thought, and

as the hair lifted slightly on the back of

her neck, she wondered, 'Too quiet?' On

their way here, the air had been filled

with forest noises—the chatter of

parakeets and chirping of other birds, the

hum

of

insects—even,

once,

the

unnerving shrieks of a howler monkey—

but here there was nothing but a silence

which seemed to press down upon her.

She bit her lip, accusing herself of being

over-imaginative. She took out a

handkerchief and blotted the beads of

sweat which had gathered on her

forehead and upper lip. There was water

down in the ravine. She could see the

glint of it through the trees, and she

could see the falls which served it too—

a great dark sheet of water plunging

noiselessly down the sheer face of the

rock.

Noiselessly. Mentally, she gave herself

a little shake. She was getting paranoid

about this!

The shadows of the ravine with its

tangle of deep undergrowth looked

coolly inviting. She wanted to take off

her boots and dabble her toes in the

stream, let its freshness pour over her

wrists.

She looked sideways at Vitas. What

were they waiting for? She wanted to

ask him, but the words seemed to stick in

her throat. Since the previous night and

his final biting comment to her in the

darkness, he had barely uttered a word

to her, and anything he had said had been

curt and to the point.

She tried to tell herself that she should

be glad, that it was what she had

planned, what she had wanted, but the

assurances rang falsely in her ears.

He got to his feet and came over to her.

His face was hard and unyielding, his

mouth set in grim lines as he looked at

her.

'You will stay here,' he said. 'I am going

to look around.'

'But why can't I came too?' she

protested. 'It's still baking up here, and

there's shade down in the ravine. I

would rather ...'

'Your preferences are of. no account,' he

said harshly. 'You will obey me by

staying here, or I swear I will make you

sorry.'

'But how long will you be?' In spite of

herself she heard her voice tremble.

'As long as it takes.' His expression was

completely inimical, and she knew she

dared not press him further.

She watched him re-mount and swing his

horse towards the clustering trees, and a

sense of panic overwhelmed her. She

wanted to cry out to him not to leave her,

but she knew if she did any such thing,

she would only make a fool of herself.

When his tall dark figure had finally

disappeared, she busied herself tethering

her patient horse in the shade. Then she

found herself a convenient tree with

spreading branches and sank down at its

foot, leaning her back gratefully against

its gnarled trunk, and fanning herself

gently with her hat.

Whatever her personal unhappiness, it

had to take second place, to a more

pressing problem. Mark was clearly not

here, if, in fact, he had ever managed to

find his way to this desolate piece of

wilderness. Rachel doubted whether she

would ever have found it herself without

Vitas' guidance. He seemed to know

every inch of this wild place like the

back of his hand.

She sighed and rested her chin on her

folded hands. It seemed as if this whole

desperate journey had been for nothing,

and she was as far from discovering her

brother's whereabouts as ever. In fact the

sum total of her discoveries since she

had come to Colombia had been about

herself, she thought achingly, and none of

them were likely to bring her happiness.

She closed her eyes. But that was not

what she had to think about. She had to

plan—to decide what her next move in

tracing Mark must be. She supposed the

sensible thing would be to return to

Bogota and ask the friendly Arviles

family if they had heard anything from

him. She would get in touch with Dr

Kingston as well, in case by some

miracle he had returned to England of

his own accord.

That was where she must concentrate her

thoughts, her energies—in finding Mark,

not sighing after a man whose attitude

had shown her plainly that his brief

passion for her had burned itself out in

disgust and contempt.

When she opened her eyes again it was

almost dark, and she was cramped and

uncomfortable huddled under her tree.

I've been dozing, she thought in sudden

panic, getting rather unsteadily to her

feet, but for how long? And where is

Vitas?

She strained her ears for even the

vaguest sound of his return, but the eerie

silence seemed to mock her. She

shivered a little, clasping her arms

across her body. After the suffocating

heat of the day, the night came as an

almost chilling contrast. She looked at

her watch and saw to her vexation that it

had stopped. In all the emotional turmoil

of the previous night, she had forgotten

to wind it.

The question was when Vitas had

ordered her to wait there for him,

exactly how long had he intended her to

wait? He surely didn't intend that she

should spend the entire night alone on

the clifftop. If people had mined at

Diablo, she reasoned, then they must

have constructed some kind of shelter

for themselves, probably further up the

ravine. And if she stayed here much

longer weighing up the pros and cons, it

would be too dark to make her way

down there. As it was, it would not be

easy.

She collected her flask of water and the

parcel of food which Maria had pressed

upon her and began to descend slowly

and with infinite care towards the

glimmer of water.

She was breathless and shaking by the

time she reached the bottom. The descent

had been more perilous than she had

realised, and in daylight she would

probably not have undertaken it at all

without help. She stood still for a

moment, steadying herself, then she

began to make her way carefully along

the ravine, using the stream to guide her.

If by some remote chance there was

anyone around, they would have heard

her coming by now, she thought,

stumbling slightly. It was unnerving to

think that there might be unseen eyes

charting her progress in the gloom, but if

there was someone there surely he

would have given some sign of his

presence by now.

In a way, she thought, as the silence

seemed to wrap her round, she would

have preferred the Wild West mining

camp, clip joints and all.

She was so intent on keeping her balance

that she hardly noticed the white wall

until it loomed out of the darkness in

front of her. She stopped dead and stared

up at it. What in the world? she thought.

It wasn't a very high wall, and its

crumbling lines were interrupted by a

gate surmounted by a small cupola

shape. A bell tower, she asked herself

dazedly, in this wilderness? To summon

whom—and to what?

The gate was hanging off its hinges, its

timbers warped and rotting. She edged

round it and found herself in what had

once been a courtyard. Stones had been

laid to pave it, but now weeds and

plants were beginning to grow in the

cracks between, forcing the stones out of

their civilised alignment in a mute

warning of the power of the wilderness.

A long low white building bordered

three sides of the courtyard, the gate

wall providing the fourth side of the

square. There was something familiar

about the shape, and about the arched

walkway which separated the building

itself from the courtyard, and Rachel

thought, 'Of course— it's a cloister.'

Even in what little remained of the light,

she could see it was a dilapidated

cloister. The order which had built it

must have left long ago, she thought,

viewing the gaping holes in the tiled

roof, and the arches which had

collapsed, leaving heaps of shattered

masonry to mark their passing.

She had a sudden urge to retreat, to

leave this sad place to the ghosts of

whatever

priests—brothers—nuns—

haunted it. But she told herself she was

being ridiculous. She needed shelter for

the night, and this was shelter, of a sort.

She made herself walk forward, her

boots

sounding

noisily

over

the

flagstones. Just ahead of her, a small

night creature scuttled away in alarm, its

body a faint blur in the shadows.

Rachel paused, her heart bumping.

'Thank you and goodnight,' she said

aloud. The sound of her own voice

unaccountably lifted her spirits, making

her realise just how much the prolonged

silence had been getting on her nerves.

Not that she minded things being

peaceful—on the contrary. But there was

something unnatural about this quietness

as though everything that moved and

lived was holding its breath in

anticipation of some disaster.

She called out clearly, 'Hello—is

anyone there?' And like an answering

echo, she thought she heard a muffled

groan somewhere close by.

She swallowed. 'Vitas?' she queried. 'Is

that you?'

Could he have been injured, in a fall

from his horse, maybe, and have been

lying there all this time waiting for her to

come and find him? He seemed an expert

horseman, but mishaps could happen to

the best of them. #

She began to make her way in the

direction she thought the sound had come

from, stepping into the full shadow of the

cloister. She glanced up at the arch a

little doubtfully, wondering whether it

too was nearing the point of collapse,

but it seemed sturdy enough. There

seemed to be a number of little rooms

opening off the cloister, with gratings set

in their doors—rather like a Small jail.

She supposed this was where the

brothers had their cells, where they slept

and meditated. She stood on tiptoe and

peeped through one grating and her

action was greeted with a sudden,

startled beating of wings—from a bird,

she thought— or even a bat, and stepped

back quickly.

It was then she heard the muffled groan

again, and she knew without doubt that it

came from the next cell along. She

moved towards it, her palms suddenly

clammy, and peered through the grating.

The small room seemed full of lumber,

but there was a rough bed against one

wall, and she could see a shape lying on

it covered by a blanket, a shape that

moved slightly and was unmistakably

human. She pushed at the door and it

swung open with a creak.

She said, 'Is something wrong? Can I

help you?' And as she moved towards

the bed, the figure stirred and the

covering blanket fell away slightly

revealing a tousled blond head. Rachel

knew one minute's overpowering relief

that it wasn't Vitas, and then her heart

nearly stopped as she gazed down at the