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As the cloudsthickened overhead, Ellie watched the urgent buzz of the camp from her perch on a fallen column.

Her fingers itched where she clenched them uselessly in her lap. Mendez hovered at her back and shifted from foot to foot as he looked restlessly from the ruins to the sky. Ellie wasn’t sure whether he was dreaming of taking off to explore the mysterious structures for gold… or worrying that the ghosts of the place were going to jump out at them.

The imminent threat of the weather had also sobered the mood in the camp. Many of the men glanced nervously toward the encroaching clouds—though not Braxton Pickett. The fish-eyed Confederate stomped across the plaza, interrogating anyone he came across.

He grabbed Ram by the collar and gave him a shake.

“Which of you made off with my knife?” he shouted, pitching his voice out over the tired assortment of men.

“What do any of us want your knife for?” Ram retorted in his clear, Bhojpur-accented English. “We already have our own, thank you very much.”

“Well, somebody made off with it!” Pickett protested.

He released Ram and stalked away to continue his search.

Ram straightened his shirt, and then treated Pickett’s back to an emphatic gesture that Ellie was fairly certain meantsod off.

Someone had lit a campfire on the stones of the plaza. Ellie choked on her protest at the sight of it. Activities such as establishing campsites and building fires should have been happening well outside of the settlement area, ideally in a location that had been carefully reviewed to ensure there was no evidence of habitation which they might be disturbing.

Jacobs didn’t care about disturbing evidence of habitation.

Ellie had seen little of the true leader of their company since she had arrived. Dawson had dragged Adam up into the temple at the top of the pyramid, and Jacobs had moved off. Perhaps he was stalking the perimeter of the camp to ensure that greed didn’t get the better of his guards and send them off treasure-hunting in neglect of their other duties.

Another gust of wind stirred the hairs at the back of her neck. Aurelio’s mules shifted and brayed uncomfortably in their corral.

Ellie burned with the urge to explore the city. From her spot at the edge of the plaza, she could see clear indications of how organized urban planning had shaped the natural growth of the settlement by way of water and sewage systems, bath houses, road networks, and community spaces.

She could vividly picture what Tulan might have looked like when still inhabited, with the soaring temple free of growth and debris, and the bas relief murals painted in vivid colors. Cloth banners might decorate the buildings while flowers adorned the figures of the ancestors on the stelae.

The details of the vision were so rich and familiar, Ellie could almost imagine that she had really seen them.

She looked up at the temple where Adam and Dawson had disappeared. The building was clearly the major ritual center for the city. If it had remained as untouched as the rest of what they’d discovered, its contents could offer earth-shattering revelations about the people of Tulan… and Ellie had been left out of that exploration because Dawson found it impossible to comprehend that a woman might also be a competent scholar of the antiquities.

Ellie’s frustrated thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of a squat fellow with an enormous ginger beard.

“Hey weasel,” he said by way of announcing himself. He jerked his head at Mendez. “The boss wants to see you by the temple.”

The man spoke with a noticeably French Canadian accent.

Mendez glanced at the enormous structure across the plaza.

“Not that one, niaiseux. The small one.” The Canadian pointed to a white peak just visible through the dense trees beyond the city center.

“What does he want?” Mendez demanded crossly.

“He didn’t tell me,” the Canadian replied flatly. He loosed a stream of tobacco-stained spit through a missing tooth. “You want me to go back and ask him?”

The remark was casual enough, but even Ellie could hear the threat in it.

Mendez shuffled uncertainly, and then set off with a muttered curse.

“Stay with the woman!” he shouted back at Flowers, who remained comfortably positioned behind Ellie with his rifle resting on his shoulder.

Flowers acknowledged this with an easy wave.

A moment later, another of the workers sat down beside Ellie on the column—a lanky Creole fellow with well-muscled arms and a close-cropped beard that showed off his fine cheekbones.

“Weh gaan on, Charlie?” Flowers said amicably. “Lessard,” he added with a nod at the squat Canadian.