Chance Masters and the Sword of St. Joan

         Lowered by rope, the burning light of the lantern illuminated the small chamber. Shadows danced about until the lantern came to a halt with a soft clink, the sound swallowed by foreboding rock walls. Following soon after, the thin form of a woman slipped down the rope, leather-clad hands releasing to drop the last few feet, sending a cloud of fine dust into the immediate area. Her hand rose quickly to her mouth to muffle as best she could the small cough that attempted to escape.
         Eve "Chance" Masters reached up to tug her officer's cap a little lower over her ice blue eyes, the lantern light playing across her freckles. Turning back to her means of ingress, she untied the lantern and set the rough hewn rope ablaze. The flaming end of the rope disappeared quickly into the dark maw above her, however, she was already past, making her way down a narrow corridor marked with angry looking pictographs. Holding the lantern out before her like a shield against the darkness, Chance came to a halt in front of a large clay door that depicted an ancient burial ceremony. Behind her, the shuffling sounds of decrepit footsteps could be heard coming from the area she'd dropped into.
         "No time to figure out how to open it properly..." she lamented, popping the cover on the holster of her Colt 1911. Drawing quickly, even the report from the small pistol was deafening in the corridor, a line of several cracked holes appearing near the opening mechanism for the thick adobe door. Weakened by age, a swift kick from the American girl collapsed the door inwards, clouds of dirt and dust exploding against an arm brought to her face to protect against just such a response. Pushing ahead through the remnants of the ancient door, she found herself facing the woefully lacking burial chamber of Montezuma the Second, the last ruler of the Aztecs.
         Ravaged by the Spanish Conquistadors, the Aztecs hadn't had much to exhibit the grandeur of their slain emperor. It was just as well, as Chance wasn't after the sparse riches of the chamber. Exhibited in an overwhelmingly ornate place of honor before the nearly mummified corpse of Montezuma himself, was the instrument of his demise. A single, hefty rock that had been thrown by a High Aztec Priest when Cortez had exhibited the emperor to his subjects. In the time after, it had been ornately carved into an extremely unique piece of art. Chance scooped the rock up and directly into the leather messenger bag at her side, hopping up onto the pedestal it had previously occupied to quickly verify the cracked indentation in the Aztec Leader's forehead. A grin rose to her lips as she turned towards the shuffling that had come ever closer since her entry into the abandoned mine.
         "Sorry kids, but I've got Montie's rock and no more time to play." she quipped, centering her Colt on the first mummified Aztec guard that stumbled through into the chamber. The muzzle flash lit the room for a brief moment, and the guard stumbled back, causing a brief traffic block that gave Chance time to hurl the lantern into the air above the advancing guards. Another shot burst the fragile glass object, spraying burning kerosene down on the re-animated dead. Almost instantly, the host of dried corpses ignited and silently fell to the ground, robbed of their spark of life once again.
         Taking the opportunity, Chance jumped from pedestal, rushing through the flames threatening to engulf the small chamber, back to the central chamber she'd entered from. The corpses of several Aztec guards that hadn't survived the drop from above littered the ground around the ashes of her rope. Her dash continued down the large chamber, leading her through a twisting cacophony of tunnels designed to keep one from getting in, not escaping. The air became more fresh as she ran, and in a final sprint she found herself dazzled by the sunlight at the top of the ziggurat like stairs.
         The conscript Mexican soldiers to either side of the entrance seemed momentarily shocked by Chance's appearance, they'd been told to keep anyone from entering, not prevent someone from exiting. Coming to their senses, Chance found herself facing down the muzzles of two German made bolt-action rifles.
         "Listen boys, I'm sure we can discuss this..."

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         Captain Castilla was, quite simply, not having a good day. It had began several months ago, with the arrival of the Europeans. He honestly could not care less about them uprooting the land and tearing through the Aztec holy places. What he did care about, however, was the fact that he'd been taken away from a luxurious mid-level position in Mexico City to help some crazy bastards find a rock. To make matters worse, for the past several days his watch had reported hearing strange noises from within the temple, and several of the more religious had deserted their posts. The Europeans were certainly not helping in this matter either, having dragged with them a pale man who set even the captain ill at ease, and a few German bodyguards who seemed more monster than man. This morning, he'd awoke to be told by his lieutenant that a woman had been prowling the perimeter of their God forsaken jungle compound.
         He'd almost instantly dismissed it, as they were quite literally out in the middle of nowhere in the Mexican Jungle. Of course, the proof was currently staring him in the face with a look of bored apathy that in no way betrayed the fact that she was a captive and currently had her wrists tied together behind the chair she was perched on. At the Europeans insistence, as they clearly suspected something devious from the girl, her poncho had been folded into a small square on the end of his field desk, her cap and pistol sitting atop it. She was dressed oddly for a woman, he thought idly, in a pair of denim pants and a muslin uniform shirt. He didn't spend much time puzzling over the idea, however, as she clearly was more capable than a few others in the immediate area.
         Castilla tapped the tip of his fountain pen against the paper in front of him, ready to record the ongoing conversation between the various parties. The leader of the group was speaking now, a lanky individual with severely graying hair. He'd introduced himself as Alistar Duphain, with an extremely slight French accent that allowed him to give off an air of pretentiousness that made Castilla instantly dislike him. That, and the fact that he seemed to think of Castilla as his personal secretary, had made the Captain wonder just who had decided they disliked him enough to place him in charge of this endeavor. Duphain pushed off the wall of the makeshift quarters, pacing behind the girl in the chair.
         "Ms. Masters, once again, what did you hope to accomplish by this? You must have known you wouldn't escape with the artifact. Your brazen charge out the front doors of the temple have me thinking significantly less of you than I'd been led to believe." He stated, coming to a halt behind the woman. Turning her head as far as she could without straining, she responded in a perfectly even tone;
"Honestly, I thought you'd have been a tad more civilized about the whole thing. You haven't even introduced yourself yet, even though you apparently know quite a lot about me." her mouth twisted into a smirk, obviously having no plan to divulge information to the group. The second European, a younger man with black shaggy hair who was actually dressed as though he knew what he was doing in the sweltering Jungle climate, spoke now. Castilla had gathered he was Dutch from their previous conversations, and he seemed as loathe to be working with the Frenchman as the Captain himself.
         "I'm more interested in how she knew that abandoned mine connected to the burial chamber. What are the chances that she'd stumble directly onto the place?" he scoffed in disbelief, looking down at the woman, who seemed pleased with herself as a result of the question. She squirmed a little in the chair, as though wanting to explain how she had done just that, finally stretching her legs to cross them at the ankle, silencing herself by biting her lower lip. Duphain rose one eyebrow to the Dutchman, and then smirked himself, out of view of Chance.
         "Yes... That was a significant stroke of luck, stumbling on the site like that. It must have been a sheer drop. That mine is rather far up the mountain." He seemed to say to himself, circling about to perch on the corner of the field desk.
         "Not more than a hundred feet or so..." Chance trailed off, shaking her head as though she were clearing it, glaring at the Dutchman. "If someone hadn't led the entire Mexican Army here, this would have been a helluva lot easier." She huffed, the stream of air blowing a tendril of strawberry blond hair from her eyes. Duphain shrugged, his shoulders falling pointedly as he spoke again.
         "So you just stumble on a mine, by pure luck, and find the burial chamber of an Aztec Emperor?" his eyebrow rose once again. Chance huffed once again, glaring at the Frenchman.
         "I didn't stumble on it, I followed your little group here and talked to some locals nearby. The mine was abandoned several years ago because the miners were to frightened to enter. Apparently they'd lost quite a few to mysterious circumstances. I've been investigating the mines for the past few weeks, and found where a group of miners had breached the wall to the chamber. All that was left of them was a few bloody pick-axes." she let out a small laugh. "I had a bit better luck than they did I'm afraid." Duphain narrowed his eyes at her.
         "You would have us believe that there is actually a curse on the burial site? That's preposterous." He frowned, slightly confused that she would actually mention it at all. To his knowledge, she was not a particularly superstitious girl.
         "I didn't believe it much myself until I ran into an embodiment of the damn superstition down in the caves. Montie's guardians chased me for a good hour before I reached the chamber. I think I got them all on my way out." She shrugged herself, glancing to the Dutchman. Castilla sighed, setting his pen down on the stationary.
         "Gentlemen, if our business in the jungle is completed, might I suggest that we begin packing up? It will surely be easier to interrogate the prisoner back in Mexico City." he wearily said, placing his reading glasses next to the pen while rubbing his eyes with the opposite hand. The day was coming to an end, and dusk had begun to settle on the camp. "If we pack up the non-essentials now, we can be gone by tomorrow night." he noted, waiting for Duphain to confirm or reject the idea. Duphain seemed to think it over for a long moment, before nodding.
         "Ms. Masters located the stone for us, I see no reason to remain here." He glanced to the Dutchman quickly. "Have Reinhardt and Kraus pack up our supplies, we leave tomorrow morning." He glanced down at Chance with disdain evident. "I'll assume you don't have anything else you need transported." he nodded curtly to Castilla before stepping from the building, followed closely by the Dutchman, who threw on an old and beat up French Foreign Legion hat, white cloth dangling to protect his neck from the sun. This left Castilla alone with the American woman, who was currently looking out the mosquito net covered window of the small building. The Captain looked over his shoulder to the window to see if there was anything specific to note, before glancing to the American.
         "Is there something of interest out there, Miss?" he was mildly curious about this rather stubborn girl who couldn't have entered her twenties more than a year ago. She seemed to come to her senses at the question, ice blue eyes focusing on him.
         "Oh no, nothing. Any chance you could loosen these ropes? I'm starting to chafe." she punctuated the sentence with a sweet smile.
         "I'm afraid that won't fool me for an instant Ms. Masters, considering the chaos you've managed in my camp already today..." he sighed, shaking his head as he fitted his military cover onto his head. "...and on that note, I'll take my leave. I have to begin breaking down the camp." he tipped his hat to the woman before stepping from the command building, the makeshift door shutting quietly. The jungle had begun to cool noticeably as the sun slid beneath the horizon, soldiers busying themselves with their various duties about the camp. One of Castilla's lieutenants, a short, stocky man with a horrible attempt at a mustache, stepped up to him as he exited the building.
         "Sir, we have an issue." he stated simply, seeming nervous to be the bearer of bad news. Castilla once again rubbed at his eyes, glaring down at the man.
         "What is it?" he said with an exasperated sigh.
         "The men we sent into the temple several hours ago haven't returned, and we've been hearing some worrisome noises from within." He said, taking his cap off, wringing it between his hands.
         "And you've sent no one to check on them?" he said, knowing this was obviously true by his reactions. The men were terrified of the temple, and it was more than likely he'd just lost his last few subordinates willing to enter it. "Never mind, I know you haven't. If they haven't shown up by tomorrow morning, inform me. It's too late to send anyone in now, and a few hours in there will teach them to not report back." The lieutenant gave a less than admirable salute and scampered off, leaving the Captain alone on the edge of the jungle.
         Captain Castilla reached into the chest pocket of his uniform, retrieving a small golden cigarette case. He'd never much cared for the mass produced cigarettes coming out of America these days, preferring Cuban cigarillos. His match brightened his immediate area for a brief moment, before all that could be seen was the slow smokey trail of his burning cigarillo.