The Cortés Enigma Read Online Free Page B

the cold.”
     
    The landlord returned, shaking his head. “Sorry, it’s time to close.”
     
    “It’s not two o’clock yet,” Sam protested.
     
    “It’s Sunday,” the landlord replied, gathering up the takings with his stubby fingers. “Besides, your mother needs me to take a look at that boiler.”
     
    “I say, if you’ll wait just one moment,” Maloney began.
     
    The man with the red beard rose to his feet. “You heard the man,” the local said, squaring up to him. “It’s time to leave.”
     
    Maloney remained unmoved, his eyes exploring the faces of all present. He placed the shilling down on the table and decided not to argue. Outnumbered and significantly smaller than the man before him, he chose to leave with the others.
     
     
     
    As Alfred Slater and the others disappeared down the hill, Maloney considered his options. The boat wasn’t due to leave till six.
     
    That left four hours before he needed to return.
     
    The road to the right led back to the church, whereas the one to the left was downhill, leading to several cottages. Choosing the right, he followed the path uphill and ten minutes later was back outside the lichgate to the church.
     
    The landlord’s son, apparently named Sam, was in the churchyard, leaning against one of the headstones.
     
    “What’s your interest?” Sam asked abruptly. “With the settlers?”
     
    Maloney folded his arms, doing his best to keep out the cold. “I’m afraid that’s none of your business.”
     
    “People on the island have never cared for strangers. Particularly one with a motive,” he said, walking toward the lichgate. “Between you and me, I don’t think you’re as foolish as you look.”
     
    Maloney was dumbstruck. He considered leaving, but decided to stay. Eventually he laughed. “What makes you say that?”
     
    “For a start, you see things that others don’t, specific things…so how much you gonna give me?”
     
    “I beg your pardon?”
     
    “For the information you need.”
     
    The boy folded his arms, perching his bottom against the nearest tombstone, Joseph Smith, died 1783. Considering his options, Maloney removed a small coin from his pocket.
     
    “You’ll have to do better than that,” Sam said indignantly.
     
    Maloney frowned. Looking at the contents of his pocket, he removed a half crown. “And while you’re at it, perhaps you might tell me how many Wilcoxes are buried in this cemetery.”
     
    The teenager accepted the coin and placed it in his right pocket. “I know every inch of this cemetery. There are three Wilcoxes.” He gestured with his hand to the south side of the church where Maloney had already found two such graves. “Two are buried quite close together and one about twenty feet further away. It’s where the poorest families were buried.”
     
    Maloney let the insult slide. “Who was Pizarro?”
     
    “Why, he was Cortés’s first mate.”
     
    “I meant the one in this cemetery.”
     
    “That’s what I said.”
     
    “Cortés? As in Hernán Cortés?”
     
    “Could be.”
     
    Though he heard correctly, he knew the suggestion was preposterous. “Francisco Pizarro died in Mexico.”
     
    “Says who?”
     
    “Says everybody,” Maloney retorted. “Why, there isn’t a history student in the world who doesn’t know this. Not to mention every history book. Original letters. I’ve seen his grave.”
     
    “So have I,” the boy replied, smiling.
     
    Maloney was confused. “Who told you this?”
     
    “What’s it worth to you?”
     
    Maloney was starting to get annoyed. “Well, that depends. Tell me, and we’ll see what it’s worth.”
     
    The boy stopped slouching, preparing to leave.
     
    “Right,” Maloney interrupted. He walked toward him, stopping so close he could see the pinpricks on the boy’s neck. “I assume you’re a lad of your word. After all, it would take a pretty dishonest kind of chap to go back on his word.”
     
    The boy grinned. “I