An Indigenous girl, dressed in a white huipil with her hair braided and coiled like a crown, stepped forward and handed Hans's satchel to Derek. Her skin was copper-brown, her Mayan features sharply defined; she had wide, dark eyes and a gaze that carried both curiosity and defiance.
Derek carried the satchel over to Rafael, and the two of them began to rummage through its contents, murmuring in low tones. Brian joined them, drawn to the nautical instruments, while Rafael's attention fixed on the Mayan codex and the map. From their glances, Hans—watching with mounting dread—realized they were confirming his worst fears.
Derek pulled out the diary, leafed through its pages, and tapped one in particular, passing it to Rafael. The priest studied the diagram carefully, whispering to himself. Hans could not make out the language.
A wave of dizziness struck him; the world seemed to spin. He prayed they would not stumble upon his personal notes—thankfully written in German. At last Rafael approached, holding the notebook open to his calculations.
"What is this?" he demanded.
"Navigation charts," Hans answered.
"A Jesuit using compasses and quadrants… more like a sailor than a man of God," Rafael scoffed. "I would expect to find a Bible here, not astronomical almanacs."
Hans swallowed hard. He was about to reply when Derek cut him short.
"And why does the name Verbeck appear here?"
Hans bit his lip.
"I've an interest in the origins of that pirate, who, they say, once prowled these waters."
Derek's eyes narrowed.
"Father Blaco, perhaps our 'brother' here is after something tied to the pirate… the treasure, perhaps?"
"It makes sense," Rafael said, reclining in his chair. "Yes, that is why he is here—searching for traces of Verbeck's hoard, is he not?"
"I am no treasure hunter, no looter. I am a Jesuit," Hans protested.
"Jesuits, like all churchmen, have a taste for treasure," Derek sneered.
"I am a Jesuit—an auditor, a scholar," Hans repeated.
Rafael leaned forward, fingers interlaced. "And yet, here you are, with maps, a codex, and the search for a temple… all pointing to gold. Tell me—are you a pirate in disguise, or a German mercenary in the service of some crown?"
"Confess!" Brian barked, slapping him on the head.
"I am a Jesuit!" Hans cried.
At Derek's signal, Brian lunged, clamping Hans's throat in his huge hands until he bent in submission before Rafael.
"Who do you work for?" Derek snarled.
"Speak, vermin!" Brian hissed.
"I serve the Society of Jesus," Hans gasped.
Rafael motioned for them to release him. Rising with solemn grace, he walked to the gathered villagers. An Indigenous man hurried to bring him a staff adorned with bright ribbons. Rafael raised it high, lifted his face to the heavens, and his voice thundered in Maya, carrying across the square:
"¡In páalalo'ob! (My children!) God has brought me to this place to tear down idolatry and save your souls, to keep you safe from the lies of heretics. If this man does not confess, his flesh shall be sacrificed and his soul delivered to the flames. Remember—only through the Word shall you be saved! Amen."
The villagers erupted into cries, their fervor whipped into a storm as Rafael lifted his arms skyward. "Amen… Amen," they chanted back.
"Father, forgive me, but…" A young girl's voice broke through. She stood upright, unflinching. "I believe it would be wiser to send word to the mission."
Rafael turned on her. At his signal, Brian seized her by the arm and dragged her forward.
"Dear Magdalena, I forgive your foolishness—for today. But there will be no mercy next time. It is my duty, as a loving father and guardian of God's law, to chastise and discipline, though it pains me." He looked to one of his men. "Eddy!", he called.
A scar-faced man with a grizzled beard stepped forward eagerly.
"At curfew, give her five lashes while reciting Proverbs 13:24," Rafael ordered.
Eddy grinned at the order while the crowd muttered. Rafael turned back to them, and silence fell.
"Praise be to the Lord!" he shouted. The villagers raised their hands heavenward.
Then he turned once more to Hans. His voice softened, almost pious.
"Perhaps you speak truth. The Lord teaches patience." His tone hardened. "But not with pirates. Not with impostors! You will not fool us with your tricks. If you do not confess your dark motives, you will pay dearly for insulting the Lord."
He turned to speak again with the village cacique, who nodded gravely. Brian, distracted by the exchange, eased his guard.
Hans whispered to Magdalena, "Thank you for trying to intervene. I never meant them to punish you."
"Don't worry. In the end, they always pardon my punishment."
"What is he saying to the cacique?" Hans pressed.
"He is warning him of the danger you pose."
"And those other white men—who are they?"
"His disciples… he calls them apostles."
Hans frowned. "Apostles? No Jesuit would grant such titles to mere assistants."
Brian suddenly struck him across the face.
"No one gave you leave to speak," he growled. He waved at the girl. "Get out, or I'll see you flogged fifty times."
The girl withdrew, silent, under the watchful eyes of the villagers. Rafael planted his hands on his hips and addressed them all.
"If this man cannot give us a convincing explanation, he will be executed at dawn."
Derek crouched before Hans, gripping the back of his hair and forcing his head back.
"You still haven't told me how you ended up in that cenote," he whispered.
Brian drew near.
"Hey, Derek, why do you keep asking about that?"
Derek glared at him. "If he had fallen, the fool would be dead—it isn't deep enough. He must have come another way."
"I climbed down… with ropes," Hans muttered through clenched teeth.
Derek flung him aside and slapped him. Brian added two more blows.
"Enough!" Rafael commanded. "Leave him. You are warned. Let us return to the rectory. Brian, keep watch over this wretch. Walterio! Vicente!"
Two men hurried forward—Walterio in a patched dark vest that reached his knees, Vicente in wide red-striped trousers, suspenders, and a wool cap.
"Guard the perimeter. There may be others searching for him."
They rushed off, shouting orders. Another climbed the watchtower, its falconet gun pointed outward, scanning the horizon. Hans was gagged and bound to the stake. Rafael spoke a few words in Maya, and the villagers began to sing and dance. Then he withdrew to the rectory with Derek at his side.
Brian remained behind in the square. He crouched before Hans, one knee on the ground, a mocking smile on his lips.
"Tomorrow we'll use the methods we perfected aboard the Calavera Negra. You'll sing like a bird and beg you'd never been born."
Hans lifted his eyes.
"The Calavera Negra… wasn't that Hawk's ship?" he asked, bewildered.
Brian's face darkened. He struck Hans hard, then spat on the ground before retreating to the shade of a wall, musket in hand, as the sun sank into the horizon.