The Jaguar Queen of Copal by Brenda Clough

Author:Brenda Clough [Clough, Brenda W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Victorian thriller, historical adventure, action/adventure
ISBN: 9781611389432
Publisher: Book View Cafe
Published: 2021-01-25T06:00:00+00:00

Walter Hartright's account

There was some mystery about the settlement that we could not fathom. Our little porch made a good observation post from which we could survey every hut. I watched the inhabitants, trying to grasp it, and drew Camlet into the project to divert his mind from our imprisonment. He does not tolerate incarceration well. “This is no cell,” he assured me. “No bars, no walls, no turnkeys. We may see the sky and feel the air. Slavery is bad, but not as bad as Newgate.”

We could identify the dozen or so Talon members who had captured us. “But they are not fathers,” he said. “See – the children do not love them.”

'“Nor the women,” I noted. “Have you seen any affection?”

“Not a sign. The children hide or are silent before the men.”

I thought of my own boys, who run to me with yells of joy whenever I appear. Or Camlet's children, so absurdly affectionate that they tend to obstruct traffic. “Could it be merely a local custom of the most stern fatherhood? It’s not unknown in England, after all.”

“Possible, I suppose. But consider the ladies. The women retreat from the men.”

This too was a powerful augury. A woman who is devoted to her man will infallibly find ways to demonstrate her feeling; it is female nature to exhibit affection. And if they are in fear, they may conceal it, but never perfectly.

But before we could come to any definite conclusion, our captors made a move. Perhaps four days after our arrival we were unlocked from our post and set on the march again. I had long ago lost our bearings, although if the ransom note was accurate we had to be near the watershed of the Xibun River. And I could be grateful that Camlet's injury was much better, well on its way to complete healing.

The terrain was rough, limestone outcrops heavily veiled by jungle. We hiked all morning, and then suddenly before our feet a ravine gaped in the rocky soil. The drop was immense, the bottom invisible, but a steady trickling sound of water came to the ear. A river flowed below, emerging from the darkness briefly before plunging into night again. On both sides the cliff was more than sheer, overhanging the depths.

In a side ravine a crude log stairway was installed. This was more like a wooden ladder. Logs were wedged sideways into the stony gap, and kept from slipping by being fastened to a longer central timber. Both the steepness and the distance between each log varied greatly, and the entire structure was rickety in the extreme.

Slowly Camlet and I descended, managing the weight of our chains with difficulty. The damp and slippery timbers shifted with each step, squealing and groaning as they bent and scraped against the rock. It was more than a hundred feet down. The prospect of climbing up the other side again, burdened as we were, was daunting.

At the bottom was a mere ledge of gritty limestone, slimy with weed and wet leaves.

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