When we were face to face, Palak and me, I bowed, figuring that ought to be a sign of respect in any culture, and it seemed to go over pretty well. He smiled and opened his arms, a gesture that must mean “welcome” anywhere you go. From down on the ground, he’d seemed huge, but he was actually shorter than I was, and surprisingly young, maybe in his twenties. He had a handsome, flat face, with filed teeth, but a nice smile anyhow, and you know what? He seemed like a good guy, like the king in Cozumel— not grand or snotty or anything; just nice. And extremely curious about the strangers who’d turned up in his city.
The fact that he was young was good. It took away some of the intimidation of meeting a king. Palak seemed less a royal personage than a kid fairly near my age. I thought about the reverse of that— there might be an outside chance I’d seem like an adult to him. That had to be good.
His wife, in fact, may even have been about my age, even younger. Fifteen and a queen! It was a little weird to think about, but I was going with it.
Palak and his entourage took me into a palace room hung with tapestries and feathers, where the soldier set my bag down. Torches were burning in there, and the smoke was pretty bad. There were windows, but they were small, and the room was dark even though it was still daylight. Mats were spread on the floor to sit on, and Palak signaled that I should have a seat, but nobody wanted to sit right away— everyone wanted to pet the kitty, especially the kids. Everybody was laughing and chattering in Mayan, so I laughed and chattered too, in English and sometimes Spanish, just for variety. No one had a clue what anyone else was saying, but we were all trying to show good will. That much I could tell.
I showed the kids how to scratch A.B. under the chin and behind the ears, which he permitted and even pretended to like, lifting up his chin like a normal cat. Some kid pulled his tail, and instead of killing her, he did the Halloween-cat thing to show his displeasure, puffing up to twice his size and making everyone go into gales of laughter, which must have caused him to put them all on his hit list. But he didn’t say a word. He really took his job seriously.
Finally, when we were settled, someone brought water in clay cups, and pumpkin seeds for munchies, along with some little dried tortilla bits. They were pretty good.
When there was a lull, I took the brooch out of my pocket and gave it to Palak. Well, he just loved it— ooohed and aahed, and passed it around to all the adults (the kids still being occupied with the cat) and finally gave it back to me. I unfastened the clasp and pinned it on him. “For Palak,” I said.
He looked really surprised and said, no, he couldn’t take it, and tried to get it off; but he couldn’t really work the clasp. I said with my hands that I really wanted him to keep it, and he kept saying what seemed to be no, and I kept insisting, until finally he sent one of the women to get something. She brought him something small, which he presented to me— as an exchange, I figured.
It was a small jade carving of a man. Palak placed the carving in my hand, with a little speech that probably explained that it had magic powers or something. I really, really wanted to know what he was saying, so I looked around for A.B. to see if he had a clue, but a kid had him in her arms. She was carrying him out of the room.
I wasn’t too comfortable with that. “A.B.” I said, “you okay?”
“I’m miserable, thank you. Carry on, Student.”
Carry on. Well, what was next? First, I figured I had to thank the king, so I told him how much the green man meant to me and that it was a symbol of peace between our two tribes and that I would treasure it always, and he nodded and smiled as if he understood every word. Which, in a way, I guess he did. We were developing a way of communicating by hand gestures and the way our voices sounded, and by what would seem like the thing to be saying, even if we couldn’t translate word for word.
I figured it was about time to bring out the booze. So I reached in the bag and cracked open the chocolate liqueur, figuring that ought at least to taste familiar. I asked with my hand for Palak’s cup and poured him some. He indicated that I should pour some for myself, which I did. Then I signed for him to drink, but he said, no, I should drink first. I didn’t know whether the “after-you” routine was for politeness, or if he was trying to make sure the drink wasn’t poison, so I figured the safest thing would be to assume the latter. I showed him how to clink cups and then I held up mine, chirped out, “Cheers,” and what do you know, he said, “Cheers” back, loud and clear.
I took a sip, nodded to show it was good, and waited for him to drink. He didn’t look as if he wanted to. I took another sip and pulled an ecstatic face that made everyone laugh. His wife couldn’t stand it any more. She just had to have some. Impatiently, she took the cup from him and tasted.
It was like watching that little kid who first tried the chocolate. Her eyes glowed like a pair of stars. I really thought she was going to swoon right there. “Hey, Palak, you’ve got to try this,” she said excitedly. Okay, it may not have been exactly that, but I’d bet fifty dollars it was pretty close. So Palak tried it.
And I thought I was about to see a grown man cry. He looked like he’d just seen the face of Jesus in a pizza. Omigod, was he a happy man! He took another sip, smacked his lips, turned to me and said, “Fabulous beyond compare!” or something like it.
“The pleasure’s all mine,” I replied, slurping up some more. Then Palak passed his cup to his right-hand neighbor. “Cheers,” he said to her. I waved my hand in a circle, to show that I wanted everyone to have some, and Palak sent for more cups.
While those were being brought, I dug out the brandy and tequila, but I didn’t open them yet. After everyone had tasted the chocolate liqueur, I produced my fanciest treat, the chocolate almond torte. It was now a few days old, and I prayed that it wouldn’t be too stale, but I figured even if it was dry and powdery, it would still taste good. The Mayans probably didn’t have the recipe, so they’d think it was supposed to be that way.
I asked for a weapon I saw in a soldier’s belt, a knife with a blade made of obsidian, the volcanic glass the Mayans used for sharp objects. Reluctantly, the soldier gave it to me, and I cut the cake. This time I didn’t even go through the “after-you” thing. I made sure to taste it first so I’d know if it was still good, and it was, frankly, totally great— dense fabulous chocolate more like a candy bar than a cake, with a hint of orange. I invited Palak to try it.
“Cheers!” he said, popping a piece into his filed-tooth mouth. Once again, everyone had some and nearly fainted with delight.
Things were going rather magnificently if I did say so myself. After that, I gave everyone a little sample of chocolate candy (with similar results) and made my largest attempt at communication. I waved toward the city, then pointed at the rest of the chocolate, and told Palak I wanted to share the goodies with his people. I wasn’t sure if that was protocol, or if he was even going to get what I meant, but he did, right away, and he was all for it.
Things were going even better.
Palak had someone blow this horn-type thing made out of a shell to gather the people. Then we all went outside again in a sort of mini-procession. We walked down those steps together, the king and I, almost all the way into the plaza, and when we were ten or twelve steps from the bottom, Palak told the people something, probably something like, “This crazy snake-woman has brought us some really great stuff. Bon Appetit and you can thank your generous king later.”
Then we started throwing chocolate into the crowd.
Oh, man, it was pandemonium! Adults and kids alike acted like it was a day at the circus. Some of them just stuffed their faces, after which they rolled around on the ground in delight (well, not really, but you get the idea), but a lot of them examined the little paper-wrapped bars for a long time before carefully peeling off, first the outer paper layer, then the foil layer, examining each strange substance with awe and (it seemed to me) curiosity about how they could put it to use. I stopped a few minutes to show some of the kids how to fold
the foil and make rings with it, which could then be fashioned into chains for cool jewelry. They started doing it with the ordinary paper too— it didn’t have to be silver to be fun. One man, dressed like the scribe in my dream, got excited out of all proportion— he went around collecting the papers, even bribing people to get them, so he could write on them, I gathered. Nothing was wasted here.
Even though we had a lot of bounty and we were obviously willing to share it, once again it was like the scene in the little village. Everyone was polite, no one pushed or shoved; and people who caught candy shared it with their kids and friends. The Uxmalites may have been just naturally polite or they could have been on good behavior in front of the king— but I thought the first, since they’d been so nice in the village. These people seemed so gentle it was hard to believe the stories of human sacrifice. (I was definitely going to come to believe, but so far, so good.)
That night was like a fiesta. By now, it was a beautiful twilit evening, and the temperature was just right, around seventy, maybe. If you want to know, it was about the best time I ever had in my life, and not just because of the power of giving something away— I enjoyed being with people who were having so much fun and who seemed so comfortable with themselves. And I was thrilled by the beauty of it. For one thing, I’d never seen so many stars. I knew why, of course. In a city with streetlights, you can’t see stars— in our world, you have to go out in the country. Here they were in your face. Aside from that, though, there was that great, painted city, and the beautifully embroidered clothes, and Palak himself. How often do you get to hang out with a king? Especially one with incredible fashion sense?
When we had given out most of the candy (saving some, of course, for the royal niños), Palak said, “Why don’t we go have a well-earned drinkie-poo?” (Or the Mayan equivalent.)
And once again, we trudged up the stairs, Palak and me and Mrs. Palak and all their merrily chattering pals. Once again, we took our places in the dark, beautiful room, smoky from the torches. I may not have mentioned it when I wrote about Cozumel, but the Spanish didn’t smell so good. I’d read that they weren’t fond of bathing, but apparently the Mayans were. They smelled good, and the room was perfumed with incense. I was slightly drowsy, probably from the alcohol I’d consumed, but if there was one thing I couldn’t do, it was get sleepy. From now on, I’d have to take tiny, almost imperceptible sips, or just pretend.
For the time had come, I thought, for the serious banishing of inhibitions. Jollity above all must prevail. Somehow I had to find what I was looking for and put the fingerton on it.
I was busy opening the cognac and tequila bottles when another guest arrived, as unexpectedly, I gathered, as I had. A handsome older man, maybe the father or grandfather of Palak, came in, looking as if he’d traveled a long time. The king got up to welcome him, and so did the others. I rose as well and was duly introduced. Again, I touched the ground and then my head, which made everyone smile with approval.
A long time passed while Palak told the story of the Snake-Girl and the Pussycat, and then the newcomer had to taste the amazing chocolate drink and the remains of the torte. But there was a near disaster when the king reached to his chest to show him the jade brooch.
Somehow, it had come unclasped and fallen off.
Immediately, everyone started scrambling around on the floor, trying to find it, and I saw a great opportunity. Once more, I reached into my bag of tricks, brought out the flashlight, and turned it on.
Well, that was almost better than chocolate. Everyone had to touch it and try to figure out where the fire came from and marvel at the bright, clear light. It was Mrs. Palak who found the brooch, which Grandpa (who’d have been called Abuelo a few centuries later) duly admired, and then the queen pinned it playfully to her bosom, which Palak let her get away with. Abuelo turned to me with a question about the flashlight. Trying to figure it out, he turned it full on me and gasped with surprise. Carefully, he examined my snakes with the light. Then he spoke excitedly for awhile, and there was some wise nodding before Palak once again sent someone to get something.
While we waited for the messenger to come back, I turned off the flashlight and very carefully repacked it. I could have sworn Palak watched with envy, but I couldn’t be sure. I did think he was sorry to see it go, though.
It was the scribe, or royal librarian, who came back with the messenger, carrying with him a round box covered in jaguar skin. I’d seen pictures of these, and my heart skipped a beat. This was the kind of box in which the codices were kept.
Pulling open the box, the scribe showed me the first page. On it was painted a picture of a woman with exactly the same tattoos that I had. Her hair wasn’t two-colored or even pink, but she definitely had my snakes.
Okay. A.B. had said I’d know the right book when I saw it, and if this wasn’t it, I was the uncle of a scribe-god. (Scribe-gods being monkeys.) Here I was, looking at the codex, and A.B. was nowhere in sight! If he had been, I could have just asked to look at the book, grabbed his tail, and that would have been that. But the little beast-face had chosen this particular moment to go play with the kids. And kids were like Kryptonite to him! What was he thinking?
So back to Plan A. After much admiring of the codex, I asked Palak if the scribe could join our little cocktail party. Anything to keep the book in the room. Everyone seemed to think that was a fine idea (especially the scribe), so we sat down to another merry round of drinking. I let my hosts taste the brandy, which they liked somewhat less than the chocolate stuff. But then I showed them how to mix the two, and that met with major approval.
After that, I brought out the tequila, and we had a good old time mixing that with various things and throwing it down. Food was brought in, which we ate, and which I’m pretty sure was good. But by now the fun had gone out of it for me. All I could think of was how to find my little fuzz-bucket and get back to the Twenty-First Century with my heart still in my chest.
When everyone seemed well in their cups, I made a bold move. Maybe too bold. I simply asked for the codex. I pointed to it, and then to myself, raised my eyebrows in a question mark, and mimed putting the book in my bag.
I guess I broke protocol. Because the room went silent.
This couldn’t be good.
They weren’t going to give it to me, and now they knew I wanted it. So I quickly backed off, shaking my head, crossing my fingers in front of my chest, anything I could think of to show them I was just kidding. Palak was silent for awhile and then a tiny miracle occurred. He began to nod his head.
He pointed to the book, and then to me, then to the bag, then to himself. And I got it. He wanted to trade.
Nodding happily myself, I took out the flashlight and offered it. Palak reached for it, obviously thrilled, as if unable to believe the wonderful thing was really his, and then, ceremoniously, he handed me the codex.
I bowed about a thousand times to show my gratitude, and the awkward mood was finally broken when the king raised his cup and said, “Cheers!”
While Palak ordered the lamps put out so we could party by flashlight, I stroked the fur on the codex box, feeling pretty smug about myself. I kept the book close beside me in case I had an opportunity to make a quick getaway. Which currently seemed unlikely.
And I didn’t know why. I’d done my job— where on Earth was A.B.? I thought of asking for him, but then re-thought it— maybe, after such an awkward exchange, this wasn’t the time. So there was nothing to do but party on.
But I still wasn’t into letting down my hair. I wasn’t used to alcohol, and I’d never done anything this important in my life. I absolutely couldn’t let down my guard. So the party got a lot less fun as time went on.
Have you ever been with your parents when they were drunk? Or with any bunch of drunks when you were sober? You know how it makes you want to read the dictionary, or some package labels, maybe? Well, imagine being with a bunch of drunks whose language you can’t speak, and who’d think nothing of rippi
ng your heart out if you made a wrong move.
I had to sit there and smile till my cheeks hurt, and laugh every time my hosts did, and try not to fall asleep from the alcohol I’d had, and count backwards to keep from dying of boredom, and belly-breathe to keep from dying of fright, all at the same time. Now that I had what I wanted, and the hours kept passing with no A.B, my palms were sweating buckets. He’d never disappeared on me before.
To make matters worse, I didn’t like the way Palak was looking at me— and I noticed he kept touching me when he talked. If I had to worry about being groped by the king, I was going to blow my circuits.
In spite of all that, everything might have gone fine if my stupid ex-friend Jace had remembered to change his batteries. You’re supposed to do it before every job, but he was really bad about it.
It must have been around midnight when the flashlight gave up.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN—NIGHT OF THE LIVING JAGUAR
How do you explain about batteries several hundred years before the discovery of electricity? In a foreign language, to an entire royal court that’s, like, totally wasted?
Here’s the thing about royalty— they’re like anybody else when they’ve had a few too many. When the evening starts to go sour, things can go one of several ways. People can get mad, or they can panic, or they can completely fall apart and get hysterical. If you’ve got a whole bunch of them, all those things can happen.
They did.
Suddenly we were swallowed by total darkness, with no matches and no light switches. The only way to get light was to find fire somewhere else and bring it in to re-light the lamps. Palak started shouting orders, one of which apparently was to seize the betrayer immediately— because someone did.
A couple of people— one man and one woman— started crying, probably under the impression I was a demon with a big nasty ulterior motive. A few others just screamed, I guess thinking the end of the world was coming, and I was causing it.
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