Chapter 3: 离城的船票

The sickly glow of the gas lamps diffused through Mérida’s humid air. Rafael Garcia’s fingers trembled faintly as he rubbed the edge of the yellowed parchment. Lowering his voice, he handed the fragment to Esperanza, his eyes heavy with something close to pleading.

“This isn’t an ordinary geological map, Esperanza. Look at the oxidation on the ink—and here.” Rafael gently lifted a fragment with tweezers. “The direction of the fibers matches perfectly with the confiscation inventory of the Moncada family I found in the old monastery records.”

Esperanza Moncada did not answer at once. She stared at the missing corner—the heart of the entire mystery, and the evidence that could clear her grandfather’s name after twenty years of disgrace.

“They called my grandfather a tomb robber,” Esperanza said, her voice as cold as stone. “But the page torn from the archives recorded him as the ‘discoverer.’ Rafael, what have you been hiding? And who else knows where this map is?”

Rafael avoided her gaze and turned toward the shadows deeper inside the monastery, as though evading some invisible pursuit. At that very moment, hoofbeats sounded outside, followed by the dull thud of heavy boots striking the stone street.

Diego Ortiz’s footsteps stopped outside the door.

The Silver Mining Company agent slipped into the room like a ghost, a gleaming revolver in his hand. The muzzle hung casually at his side rather than pointing at anyone, as though he were waiting for an outcome of little importance. His gaze was cold and efficient as it swept over the fragment on the table, one corner of his mouth curling in mockery.

“Looks like we arrived just in time, Miss Moncada. The government needs to clear away these dangerous cultural fragments, just as one clears away rotten wood.” Diego slowly approached the table, his dress shoes scraping harshly across the wooden floor. “Hand over the map. It’s for your safety—and for the peace of this city.”

Esperanza swiftly tucked the fragment deep beneath her voluminous skirt, the movement smooth and effortless. She rose, leaving only a desk piled with parchment between herself and Diego.

“Safety?” She gave a cold laugh, her gaze sharp as a blade. “Your so-called peace is nothing but a fig leaf covering greed. Mr. Ortiz, if you truly understood archaeology, you’d know that once this puzzle is complete, the secret beneath this pyramid will shake all of New Spain—perhaps even the entire European academic world.”

Diego narrowed his eyes, resting a finger on the trigger guard. “The academic world? Here, only the Company has a say. You have ten seconds to decide.”

Just as the tension reached its breaking point, the monastery’s heavy oak doors were flung open.

A woman in a dark-blue gown entered, a silver brooch fastened to her chest. Her stride was steady and elegant, carrying the distinctive authority of someone shaped by years of rigorous academic training. Dolores Aguilar, a curator from the National Anthropology Museum. Her arrival subtly shifted the taut current in the room.

Dolores did not look at the armed Diego. She walked straight to Esperanza, her gaze sharp as an eagle’s.

“Step aside, Ortiz. This is private property, but the artifact belongs to the nation.” Dolores’s voice was cool, her pride unquestionable. “Miss Moncada, I know what you have. It isn’t merely a map. It is the key to Mérida’s buried veins.”

Esperanza raised an eyebrow but did not move.

“Curator,” she said, leisurely straightening her cuff, “before my family was branded a clan of thieves, I never saw you show such enthusiasm for ‘national heritage.’ Who sent you here?”

Dolores removed a flat case from her black leather briefcase. Inside lay a carefully preserved scroll. She drew out another map fragment, made from a different kind of hide, its edges marked by obvious seams.

“I was commissioned by the museum to investigate an illicit excavation.” Dolores placed the hide fragment gently on the table and tapped the missing section with one finger. “I found this in the museum storeroom’s ‘missing artifacts’ records. Look. Doesn’t the shape of this missing corner fit the piece in your possession perfectly?”

Diego frowned. Instinctively, he moved to intervene, but Dolores stepped sideways to block him, her body language radiating unmistakable refusal.

Esperanza’s eyes sharpened at once. She picked up the hide fragment from the table, then reached beneath her skirt for the parchment fragment she had concealed. Two materials, two shades—but in her hands, the broken edges fitted together with absolute precision.

As the two pieces joined, the blurred lines revealed a clear outline. It was not a geological map at all, but a complex plan of the pyramid’s drainage system and hidden passageways, marked with ancient Mayan hieroglyphs alongside nineteenth-century surveying symbols.

“It fits.” Esperanza spoke in a low voice, restrained elation trembling beneath her words before reason quickly smothered it. “Look here. This mark. It isn’t merely a passage. It’s a hub in the underground water system. What my grandfather discovered wasn’t a treasure. It was the foundation of this city.”

Dolores adjusted the gold-rimmed glasses on the bridge of her nose. Surprise flickered in her eyes, then gave way to something deeper: scrutiny.

“That’s a compelling theory, Miss Moncada. But as the museum’s curator, I must point out your bias.” Dolores lifted the reassembled map and pointed to a patch of ancient ink. “The brushstrokes in these symbols are unmistakably classical in style, yet you believe your grandfather was the discoverer? The records show he was wanted for unauthorized excavation as early as 1848. How can you prove these symbols aren’t forgeries?”

Esperanza drew a deep breath. She could not back down. This was the key to turning the tables—and the price she had to pay: revealing her expertise, along with the greater conspiracy hidden within the map.

“Because it’s a trap.” Esperanza turned the map over, revealing its back. “Look at this waterproof coating. It’s made from a mixture of pine resin and beeswax, a technique typical of the early nineteenth century. If these symbols were forged, the forger would have needed extraordinary skill to fool the experts of that era. More importantly, this seam bears knife marks. They were meant to conceal an inscription that was originally there.”

Dolores fell silent for a moment. Then she picked up a magnifying glass and examined the knife marks closely.

“You suspect someone deliberately damaged the original information to misdirect the investigation.” Dolores’s voice softened slightly, though she remained guarded. “It’s a bold theory. Miss Moncada, I admire your perceptiveness, but I cannot ignore due process. This map concerns the nation’s most sensitive secrets. It must remain in the museum’s custody.”

Diego could restrain himself no longer. He stepped forward, pointing his gun at Esperanza.

“Curator Aguilar, do not obstruct official business.” Diego’s voice was cold as iron. “The map is within my range now. Under the company’s authorization, we can destroy it on the spot and eliminate the security risk.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” Dolores met Diego’s gaze without flinching. “This is Merida, not your private mine. If an artifact-destruction case occurs here, your Silver Mining Company will face prosecution in federal court—and your career will be over.”

A deathly silence filled the room. Rafael hid in the shadows, afraid to make a sound as he watched everything unfold.

Then the rumble of carriage wheels approached, growing louder before stopping outside the monastery. A man in a silk suit and monocle entered. Alejandro Fuentes—the aristocratic patron famed for his greed—wore an elegant, insincere smile.

“Well, what an exciting scene.” Alejandro waved the fan in his hand, his gaze shifting among the three of them. “Diego, you’re being terribly rude. Miss Esperanza, I’ve heard so much about you. I understand you’ve been searching for clues left by your grandfather. Perhaps we could discuss a partnership.”

Esperanza watched Alejandro warily. She knew his methods all too well. He always tried to control everything with wealth and status, treating people as pieces on a chessboard.

“Mr. Fuentes,” Esperanza said coldly, “your ‘partnerships’ usually mean I lose my freedom while you gain the map. I have no interest in that sort of bargain.”

Alejandro merely smiled, unoffended, then turned to Dolores.

“Curator Aguilar, as the museum’s guardian, you must want to see the map in its entirety. I have enough funding to support a large-scale excavation. Only…” He paused. “You’ll need to persuade this young lady to place the map in our ‘temporary’ custody.”

Dolores looked at Alejandro. The arrogance in her eyes receded slightly, replaced by shrewd calculation.

“‘Temporary custody’?” she repeated. “Mr. Fuentes, you know what that means. The moment the map leaves the museum’s control, you gain a monopoly over its interpretation. That violates the principle of academic neutrality.”

“Academic?” Alejandro gave a contemptuous snort. “In this country, only capital has the right to interpret anything. Miss Esperanza, if you refuse me, Diego will destroy the map at any cost. If you join me, you’ll have resources—and protection. But understand this: my patience is limited.”

Esperanza felt suffocating pressure close around her. Sweat dampened the palm gripping the map. Handing it to Alejandro meant falling under greed’s control; her grandfather’s injustice might never be cleared. Refusing him meant facing Diego’s gun—and destruction. And Dolores… this arrogant curator might truly be the only person capable of standing against the Silver Mining Company, yet her deep-rooted prejudice was a fatal obstacle.

A choice had to be made.

Esperanza made her decision. She suddenly raised the reassembled map overhead. Under the harsh light, its lines shimmered with an eerie sheen.

“If we all want to see the truth,” Esperanza said, her voice regaining its original calm and resolve, “then let’s see it together. Curator Aguilar, I agree to place the map in the museum’s custody—but on one condition: you must acknowledge that the accusations against my grandfather in this archive are fabricated, and grant me access to the monastery’s restricted archives.”

Dolores froze for a moment, then smiled meaningfully.

“You’re betting I’ll agree?”

“I bet you’re more interested in what was written on that crucial page that was torn out.” Esperanza stared straight at Dolores. “And, Mr. Fuentes, take one more step and I’ll immediately broadcast the hydrographic passageways on this map across the nation’s telegraph network. Your mines will be sealed over safety violations.”

Alejandro’s smile froze. He glanced at Diego, a hint of viciousness flashing in his eyes, overshadowed by his irritation at being outmaneuvered.

Diego slowly lowered his gun, that cold curve still tugging at his lips.

“Interesting. Then let’s call a temporary truce.” Diego’s voice was low. He turned and left, his footsteps fading into the distance.

Dolores watched Alejandro’s retreating figure, then looked at the map in Esperanza’s hand.

“Miss Moncada.” She held out her hand. “Give me the map. But remember, this is a conditional alliance. I’ll record every word and action of yours.”

Esperanza handed over the map. Her fingertips brushed Dolores’s cold hand. She knew this was a dangerous move. She had chosen a temporary alliance with the authorities to oppose a more powerful enemy, but that also meant constantly guarding against the political games behind this arrogant curator.

“Rafael.” Esperanza suddenly turned toward the old man in the shadows. “You can tell us the detail you concealed earlier now, can’t you?”

Rafael trembled as he stepped out, his eyes shining with a mixture of fear and hope.

“That torn page,” he whispered, “didn’t record a discovery. It recorded a warning. My grandfather found something more dangerous than treasure—and that thing is still awakening beneath the earth.”