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Right in the middle of the areas under dispute were a few Mayan communities… communities that insisted on staking theirownclaims to some of the territory. Probably because it was territory that their ancestors had been living on for the last few centuries or so.

The big players in the game didn’t really love the idea of ceding any of their land to a bunch of natives. Some of the Maya had been smart enough to figure out how to play the colonists off of each other. They made alliances with Mexico or the Yucatán, who offered to confirm their land rights in exchange for help keeping the British out of it—or vice-versa.

San Pedro Siris had been caught right up in the middle of it. The alcalde there had claimed to be an ally of the British, but rumor had it that the village was secretly supporting the Ichaiche Maya revolutionary leader Marcus Canul.

It had all fully gone to hell in 1867, when some civil servant on his way to San Pedro Siris was attacked by Canul’s men. Nobody really knew for sure whether the village had been complicit in the raid, or whether Canul had simply turned up at an opportune moment.

The colonial authorities didn’t care. Burning the village sent a message… and what was one less Mayan settlement to worry about?

If Kuyoc was from San Pedro Siris, Adam wasn’t surprised that he had run. Most likely,everybodyhad run when the army was approaching the village… but most of the rest of them had eventually gone back. Adam knew that the town had been rebuilt a couple of years after the burning.

Kuyoc was a priest, which would’ve made him an important part of the community. So why was he still here in Santa Dolores and not back home with the rest of his people?

The question itched, but Adam was pretty sure it wasn’t his place to ask it.

“Sorry you were caught up in that,” he said instead.

“Are you?” Kuyoc returned mildly.

Adam met the priest’s eyes.

“I don’t have much time for people who burn down civilian homes and call it…” He paused and rubbed his face tiredly. “Hell, I don’t even know what they call it. But it ain’t right.”

The priest studied him with narrowed eyes.

“An unusual point of view for a gentleman of your extraction,” he pointed out.

“I’ve never had much time for my extraction,” Adam admitted wryly. “But how’d you end up all the way out here?”

Kuyoc’s expression subtly shuttered.

“That is a longer story,” he replied.

“Well, I appreciate that you took a chance on us,” Adam offered. “The lady and I had a bit of a… complicated time getting here, and I’m glad she has a shot at a decent night’s sleep tonight.”

“Mrs. Nitherscott-Watby is your…?”

Kuyoc let the question hang.

“Uhh…” Adam started awkwardly.

The priest continued to wait, arching an eyebrow.

“Partner?” Adam finally suggested.

“¿Compañera o socia?” Kuyoc returned.

Adam knew the difference between those two possible translations of the wordpartner. The first implied that Ellie was his sidekick or companion. The other was used for a business associate.

“Er… little of both?” he tried.

The priest shook his head tiredly and took another puff of his cigar.

“So what brings you to our corner of the mountains?” he asked.

“Actually, we’re looking for a set of ruins,” Adam admitted.

Kuyoc stilled.