by RW Krpoun
“What would that be?”
“I asked him that,” Brother Andrew took a thoughtful puff on his cheroot, his eyes looking at a distant past. “He said the writings contained history.”
Later I took a lantern outside and worked out how to operate and disassemble the MG.08. Sitting on the parade field’s dirt with the oily parts laid out on an old section of canvas, I cleaned each piece while Nhi watching me from a nearby bench.
A shadow fell across the canvas and I looked up to see the little girl who had studied Mac so carefully the other day; she was now watching me intently. She studied me for a while, then walked a carefully but a little unsteadily around the canvas and subjected Nhi to a sober consideration, her cornhusk doll tucked under her elbow.
Tobias wandered over a minute later, dressed as he had been when we first saw him. “Brother Paul has finished, mister.”
“Thanks. They confiscate your uniform?”
“No, but I can’t wear it in here. Can I come along tomorrow?”
“Didn’t you get enough today?”
He grinned, and I tried to remember when I was that young and brash.
“If we need a guide, sure. Is Red Hawk out watching the Chuj?” I was reassembling the MG.08 as I spoke.
“No, mister, he went to deliver your letters. Where did you learn to do that?” He gestured towards the gun.
“Some in the US Army, some in the Pinkertons.”
“You think the Pinkertons would ever hire somebody like me?”
“Sure,” I said, not sure at all. “They hire all kinds. Before we leave I’ll write you a letter, when you get old enough you come north and apply for a job.” Assuming we both lived to see the end of this.
He grinned winder. “Thanks, mister!” Nodding to Nhi, he took the little girl’s hand and carefully led her off.
Nhi leant a hand lugging the machinegun back into the shed. “Some parts of the walls are so old they are like chalk,” she said quietly. “When they come, we will not keep them out.”
“Yeah.” I looked at her, standing half in shadow. “Everyone’s going to have to make their own choice. Me, I’m going to see what this chunk of pig iron does to those crazies.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “This is important. More important, I think, than my life. I am glad to be here.”
“I’m not exactly glad, but I feel better than I have in a good long while,” I admitted, locking the shed door. “And we might just dish them up a shocker when they come for us.”
Brother Andrew and Brother Paul were waiting for us in the mess hall. “Doctor Wurfel was correct in his assumptions,” the elder monk began without preamble. “The notes concerned the research the man was forced to do. Brother Paul?”
“What was done was not so much research as confirmation of certain facts-the cabal did not trust Doctor Wurfel, and so they forced this gentleman, whose name I do not know, to double-check key facts. He was given the unabridged target list.”
“Which makes me wonder why?” Captain held up his hands. “It was pretty certain Wurfel wasn’t leaving alive, so why hide the exact list from him?”
“Because if they had given the Doctor a concise list, he would have known he was to die,” Brother Paul said sadly. “By hiding the items in a larger list they fostered sufficient hope in the possibility of survival.”
“Careful,” I observed.
“Yes,” the short monk nodded. “Very methodical as well. They obviously brought many of the items they needed with them, and had a good idea where to find the rest before they kidnapped the Doctor. Of course, it wasn’t much of an intellectual reach as it was well-known that a large number of caches from the French occupation are still in this area; I myself have located two small caches in my time here.”
“So what is this jasper aiming to accomplish?” Captain asked.
“Of that, I am not certain. However, I know how he plans to accomplish his goal: when he has all the items assembled he will use our charges as part of a ceremony, a blood rite.”
“We already had that sussed out,” I pointed out.
“True, but now we know that in addition to the items he already has, he will require a set of knives, a cuauhxicalli, a codex, a sunstone, and an item of great import to him.”
“He’s got the knives and the cooah-whatever. I don’t suppose you know where he is getting the rest?”
“Yes, in fact I do. “ He held up a sketch-map. “What is of greatest importance to us is the sunstone. This is a circular stone with what amounts to a calendar etched upon it. Perhaps more of an almanac-its purpose is complex and not completely understood. You see, the ancient cultures that we term Aztecs depicted time in a circle…” At a polite cough from Brother Andrew the monk caught himself, smiled, and resumed. “In any case, there is only one intact stone known, which was buried in what is now Mexico City as the Spanish seized control, and which was discovered in 1790. It weighs over twenty tons and it is believed to have served as a place of sacrifice. This stone would be much smaller, although not small.”
“So that’s what they’ll do the blood-letting on?” I asked. “Knives, pot for the hearts, and the chopping block.”
“Quite probably,” Brother Paul nodded, looking uncomfortable. “But its significance goes far beyond that. While there are considerable references to these sunstones in Bishop Diego de Landa’s interviews with native subjects, only one intact stone has been found to date. These objects are extremely large, and yet they were spirited away so well that only the largest was ever found intact, and that two hundred years after the Spanish arrival.”
“So you think the natives stashed these stones when they realized that the jig was up?”
“Yes. Certainly the ruling elite behind the empire, in any case. I believe they concealed them because there is information on them that could be a powerful weapon in the hands of a trained person. I do not think they anticipated the efficiency of Bishop Diego de Landa’s efforts to destroy the codexes in the new lands, which I expect robbed them of the ability to train subsequent generations in the methods and uses of such stones.”
“How much training does it take to hold a fella down on a slab of rock and carve out his workings?” Captain objected.
“That is the frosting upon the cake, ritually-speaking,” Brother Paul explained earnestly. “The carvings on the stone is what would be of best value. Very little is known of the Aztec calendar, and what is believed to be known is unconfirmed, but from the seventh to the twenty-sixth of October is Teotleco, the period known as the ‘return of the gods’. Bishop Diego de Landa said that the common people celebrated an annual reaffirmation of religious obligations during this period.”
“Revival time,” Captain interjected.
“In a manner of speaking. However, he noted that the ruling elite had much more secret rites, and that the translation of the term Teotleco from the higher forms of the language spoken by those same elites was more along the line of the ‘summoning of the elder beings’.”
That simple statement sent a chill down my spine for some reason. “So why do you need a rock to tell you its October?”
“The principles of sacrifice and astronomy were interwoven in a very complex manner. Such a stone would not just list the months of the year, but they would have indications of years in which a given period’s principle attribute was most attuned.”
“So you think that stone might say that October 1912 was a good year for this elder being business?”
“Exactly. Along with calculations on placement and other data.”
“The Spaniards dealt with these birds back in the 1500s. Why would they have a calendar for 1912?” Mac objected.
“Their calendars are calculated well into the next century,” Brother Paul spread his hands helplessly. “And accurately.”
“Wait, you said they only found one of these stones,” I objected. “How could they fit all that on one rock?”
“They did not. Ordinary calendars were depicted on cl
ay tablets and carved into walls of stone structures. These stones were very special, and contained very specific data.”
“Like the codexes,” I pointed out. “So you think that this necromancer wants to summon some elder beings?”
“Perhaps.”
“The codex,” Mac frowned thoughtfully. “They’re about unique, too, and the doc said nobody could read ‘em. So what good is a bunch of writing on stone or paper if nobody can read it?”
Brother Paul glanced at Brother Andrew, who tipped his head in a tiny nod. “There are alleged to be ways to read the unreadable.”
“How?”
“By means of terrible rituals, the details of which we lack, no doubt a fact for which we should be grateful,” Brother Andrew answered firmly.
“So what should we be doing?” I asked. “Tomorrow is the eleventh, so this fellow has fifteen days to get the goods assembled and his victims lined up at the right place.”
“That place being here,” Captain observed grimly.
“So do we just start digging in?”
“I would suggest seeking out the places these items were stored,” Brother Andrew took the strip map from Brother Paul and handed it to me. “I expect they have already been secured, but any details Doctor Wurfel can sort out from the cache points themselves would be most helpful.”
“Spreading a little confusion and disorder along the way,” Captain grinned.
“There is that,” the monk conceded. “You may wish to contact government forces and do what you can to alert them. I hold little hope they will take you seriously, but we can only do what we can. Mister Taylor, would you be able to assist us in getting word to the rebels?”
Billy studied the chunk of cornbread in his hand. “The local forces are Coronados, Red Banners, followers of General Pascal Orozco. They can be reasonable; I’ll go with you.”
“There is also a station of the Ferrocarriles Nacionales de México, the National Railways of Mexico, at Arteaga,” Brother Andrew indicated a point on the map. “There is a German arms supplier with a sizeable number of guards there. While I do not expect much aid from this source, no unaffected Human should be left unaware of the dangers, all the more so if they are armed.”
I examined the map. “I didn’t know there was a railway so close.”
“It is close for men of your caliber, especially on horseback,” Brother Andrew observed. “For a large group of children on foot, some lame, some too young to walk on their own, it is a great distance.”
“You’re right. Well, we have our marching orders.” A thought struck me “What do the Chuj speak?”
“Their own dialect.”
“That’s a shame.” From Brother Andrew’s expression I expect he knew what I had been considering. “Well, we’ll slip out before dawn tomorrow, and see what we can do.”
When the monk had left I turned to the others. “What we’re going to do is kill a few Chujs. I don’t like people spying on me.”
“I could drop a couple from the walls,” Captain pointed out. “They sit in the open.”
“That’s because there isn’t a local here who can shoot beyond a hundred yards. Let’s keep the fact we have a sharpshooter in our pocket a secret for now-Green Coat might strike a pose at what he thinks is a safe distance.”
Captain grinned.
Chapter Ten
Tobias found us what we wanted to know; Billy refused to have anything to do with our undertaking so we left him with the horses, Perch, and Tobias. The latter, back in uniform, wanted to come along but I told him that guarding the horses was just as important. He didn’t completely buy that but it puffed up his chest a little.
Some of the Chuj were bunking in a run-down abode structure, a long rectangular building that had been abandoned for a long time. We had slipped out of the orphanage as best we could before it got light and rode a couple miles before circling back. We dropped off the mounts a half-mile away in a clump of trees and closed on foot with great care, which turned out to be a wasted effort as the Indios didn’t have any sentries posted.
The place consisted of a string of horses picketed without much graze or water under a dilapidated pole shed, and the building itself, but no guards and not much signs of life. A trench latrine with a pole seat was drawing flies a hundred yards from the place, but nothing much in the way of repairs or improvements could be seen save for a colorful blanket or serape hung over a window, likely by sentries who had drawn the night shift.
“Buncha amateurs,” Captain sneered. “Lucky for them Brother Andrew takes his vows seriously-those half-wild Apache kids of his could have cleaned up these pipsqueaks if he gave ‘em the nod.”
“Yeah,” Mac nodded thoughtfully.
“Mac, you and Nhi get in amongst the horses and quiet them down,” I decided. Mac was a sucker for animals, and they responded to him. “Once you give us the sign Captain and I will clean out the building while you two keep watch.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Captain snapped the stock onto his Mauser. “No point in bothering with prisoners if we can’t talk to ‘em.”
“That’s my thoughts on the subject, too.”
Mac went first, moving quick and quiet which is always amazing to see in a man his size; as I had expected the horses only stirred at his approach and quickly calmed down. Nhi followed him after he had them in in hand, cat-quick and sure. A boost from Mac and she was perched on the pole-shed roof with a good view of the surroundings.
When she patted her turban Captain and I set off, keeping quiet. The horses watched us but didn’t seem too interested, especially since Mac was forking extra rations from the small pile of hay that had been drying out in the sun.
I had brought the cut-down shotgun and a fistful of shells for this job, and the weight of the compact weapon was comforting as Captain and I took up positions on either side of the open doorway. I had done some city-fighting in Peking, and I knew that getting a shot into the target quickly was crucial under such conditions.
You can leave the Army, but the Army never leaves you-I was first through the door because if you want your orders to be followed you have to show your men you will take the same risks as they did. I went in fast and quiet, both hammers cocked.
The room was as deep as the entire building, with doors to the right and left; it smelled of sweat, tobacco smoke, and some sort of alcoholic drink I couldn’t put a name to. There was a beat-up table, a haphazard collection of boxes that were probably used as seats, a few shelves with cans and jars on them, and a rusting cast-iron stove that stank of old grease.
My back pressed against the wall to the left of the door, the Captain to the door’s right, I waited for my eyes to adjust to the darker interior, and was startled to make out two forms lying on a few blankets to my left. I found myself looking at two teenaged Mexican girls huddling under a worn sheet, the nearer sporting an epic black eye, a real shiner. One look explained their presence and situation-I had seen more than a few women with that same expression in my travels.
Holding a finger to my lips I gestured towards the two doors with the muzzle of the shotgun and fanned my fingers. Black Eye caught the drift quicker and pointed to the right door and held up two fingers. Three fingers were displayed after she gestured towards the left. I nodded and winked, motioning for them to stay put.
Nodding to the Captain I made my way to the right door as he went to the left. The door itself was a worm-eaten relic held closed by a loop of leather wrapped around a nail, but it sagged enough that I was able to cut the cord with my pocket knife without any difficulty. Easing into the room I was startled to see two hammocks slung in the room’s center, the undyed cotton constructs sagging so deeply that they seemed to envelop their occupants like a fly entombed in spider web.
Letting my eyes adjust to the dimmer room, I studied the contraptions until I worked out where the heads were, helped by one fellow’s snoring.
Ducking under the nearer hammock’s support rope I positioned myself between t
he two sleeping figures; I started to check on Captain but the sleeper to my left stirred, warned by the sort of sixth sense veterans develop; had he developed the habit of sleeping with his weapons he would have found it useful as well. I fired the right barrel into his head as he started to sit up, and swung my shotgun to bear on his comrade as the Mauser barked with authority in the far room and a girl let lose a short but heart-felt shriek in the main room. I waited until right-hand got his head clear of the hammock before shooting him squarely in the melon.
Breaking the shotgun open as I walked into the main room, I slid two more shells into the weapon and snapped the breeches closed as Captain emerged, unshipping his pistol’s stock.
“Those three ain’t coming back,” he advised me cheerfully.
“Yeah, the job is done. I’ll gather the rifles, you get these young ladies dressed.”
“Well, that ought to have them looking over their shoulders,” Mac observed as Tobias crouched on a tall rock and exchanged mirror flashes with the presidio advising them we were sending two rescued girls and a string of horses to them.
“A little here, a little there,” I nodded. “At some point they should be rethinking their choice of employers.”
“What if they don’t?” Billy asked.
“Then there will be five less when we face them for real.” I turned in the saddle to glare at him. “You seem awfully sensitive for a man running guns to rebels.”
“We weren’t really running guns per se.”
“Yeah, just helping, I know. Well, today we helped those two girls to stop getting raped.”
Billy sighed and kept his mouth shut.
“So what’s next, hoss?” Captain asked once the two girls and the string of horses entered the gates, pursued by a smattering of rifle fire from disgruntled Chuj.