Jake Ransom and the Skull King's Shadow

by James Rollins

  The room was pie shaped, stretching wider toward a pair of windows that overlooked the city. A desk stood under the windows. To either side, bookshelves rose to the rafters, crammed with dusty tomes and rolled parchments. One section was stuffed with strange odds and ends: a bony skeleton of some creature held together by bronze wire, a neat row of polished rocks, a collection of small wooden blocks carved with Mayan glyphs. Walking into the library was like stepping inside one of the Cabinets of Curiosity back at his family home in North Hampshire.

  But Jake didn’t have time for sightseeing.

  He crossed to the desk and searched without touching anything. Books were stacked as high as Jake’s shoulders, and he was afraid of toppling them over. Instead his attention was drawn to an open book in the center of the desk. It had a cover made out of wood and pages that were coarse and thick.

  The book was a rare Mayan codex, one of their great books of ancient knowledge. The invading Spanish conquistadors had burned most of them centuries ago. Only a few still existed in the world.

  Jake leaned over the open codex. The page showed a map of the valley. A jagged circle marked the volcanic cone, and in its center had been drawn a crude representation of the pyramid. From the tip of the temple a stylized spiral wound outward and brushed the valley rim at four points.

  North, south, east, and west.

  Jake leaned closer.

  The western point had an arch drawn over it. Despite the sketchiness of it, Jake recognized the Broken Gate, or rather how it might look if it wasn’t broken. The picture at the point of the eastern gate looked familiar. It was a two-headed snake tied up into the shape of a figure eight.

  Jake tensed, recognizing it though it was crudely drawn. He hurriedly reached into his pocket and removed his father’s field logbook. He flipped open the page he had read in the British Museum.

  Clearly from the intricate curling of the serpent into a figure eight, the relic must represent the Mayan belief in the eternal nature of the cosmos….

  Jake heard his father’s voice as he read, while at the same time picturing the museum artifact, a golden snake with ruby eyes, a Mayan treasure recovered from his parents’ dig.

  Jake swallowed and stared at the map. Here was a drawing of that same artifact, marking the eastern gateway into the valley. How could that be? Jake’s mind whirled. He could come up with only one explanation: Someone must have seen that gateway and gone back to their own time to tell about it.

  Jake felt a surge of hope. He stared at the pyramid in the center of the crude map. He guessed the spiraling line represented the field that protected the valley.

  He had to know more.

  A scrape behind him made him jump. He’d been so focused on what he’d found that he forgot about being here too long. If Marika discovered him trespassing…

  Jake whipped around to find a figure standing in the doorway. But it wasn’t Marika. The small Neanderthal boy—Bach’uuk—stood at the entrance to the library. His face showed no shock or emotion at Jake’s trespass. He merely stared. Then the boy turned and returned to the table outside. He had been bringing in plates for dinner.

  Jake followed him out and closed the library door. “I was just looking,” he mumbled.

  Bach’uuk ignored him.

  A few seconds later, a shout echoed from upstairs. “Papa, I’ll call you when supper is ready.” Marika was heading down. “Ah, Bach’uuk. Let me help you with that.” Marika took the last of his armload of plates.

  The Neanderthal bowed his head and backed toward the servant’s door. As Marika turned away, Bach’uuk stared at Jake and lifted a finger to his lips in the universal gesture to remain silent. Then he vanished, closing the door behind him.

  14

  A MIDNIGHT INTRUDER

  It was hard to say what woke him.

  One moment Jake was in a deep sleep, and the next he was wide awake in his small bedroom. The room was pitch-black. The window was tightly shuttered, and the door firmly closed. He heard no noises.

  But something had woken him.

  Wrapped in his bedsheets, Jake strained to figure out why he was instantly tense. Every fiber and nerve in him felt stretched taut. He searched the room, holding his breath. Beyond the foot of his bed, he could make out the bulk of the wardrobe. But nothing else. No shadows stirred, nothing rustled.

  Still, Jake knew he was not alone. He couldn’t say how he knew this with certainty, but he did. The hairs on his arms stood on end. Someone—or something—was in the room with him. He felt eyes studying him out of the dark.

  Then he heard it—a low buzzing, like a thousand bees. It started, then immediately stopped. Jake could not tell where it came from, but it froze his blood. It was an alien sound. And it was in his room.

  His eyes ached from trying to see into the dark corners. His heart pounded. Then he heard a quiet, furtive noise.

  …scritch, scritch, scritch…

  It sounded like fingernails scratching on wood. He didn’t know what was making that noise, but he knew it was getting closer to him. His fingers bunched the blanket tighter to his chin. He slid his legs away from the foot of the bed, pulling tight to himself.

  There was a lamp on a small table next to his bed. Marika had shown him how to turn its crystal on and off. But he was afraid to reach out from under the blanket.

  …scritch, scritch, scritch…

  The sound was definitely closer. Then the strange buzzing rose again.

  What was it?

  Jake’s eyes strained. Dark shadows shifted and rose from the foot of his bed. He could stand it no longer. He shot an arm out toward the bedside lamp and flicked a fingernail against the crystal bulb. It chimed and light flared brightly. He closed his eyes for a blink against the glare, then stared at what crouched atop the foot-board.

  It was a huge black insect, the size of a small dog, with crablike claws in the front. Wings like those of a dragonfly stretched to either side. As Jake cringed back, the wings fluttered up into a whirring buzz. The insect rose into the air like a helicopter taking off.

  Suddenly, from behind its back, a curved scorpion’s tail arched up, ending in a vicious barb as long as Jake’s index finger. In the lamplight, the barb looked wet with poison, and giant claws snapped in the air.

  Jake wanted to scream but his chest was too tight with terror.

  The giant scorpion tilted further and suddenly dove straight at Jake. He reacted on instinct, drawing upon a lesson his mother had taught him about how cannibals in Papua New Guinea trapped their victims in snares.

  As the monstrous beast dive-bombed toward him, Jake bunched his legs and arms, then shoved and kicked his blanket straight into the air like a net. The blanket fell over the scorpion, tangled around it, and knocked it to the floor. Jake rolled out of bed in his bare feet, dressed only in his boxers. He had no weapon.

  The creature fell between him and the door. It thrashed and writhed under the blanket. He would have to jump over it. Then one black claw cut through and waved wildly. It was almost free. Jake backed up a step and bumped the bedside table, causing the lamp to bobble.

  The lamp!

  He reached behind him and grabbed it up.

  The scorpion wiggled through the hole in the blanket. Jake jumped forward with the lamp over his head and swung it down hard. Something crunched, and liquid shot out and sprayed his bare foot.

  Disgust froze him for a fraction of a second too long.

  The blanket ripped, and the barbed tail struck out, lancing straight for Jake’s calf. He swung the lamp and knocked it aside. The barb only grazed his right leg and struck the stone floor. Poison splattered from its tip.

  Still, a line of fiery pain ignited where the barb had scratched him.

  The tail lifted again.

  Jake did not hesitate and hammered the lamp into the blanket, again and again, as if trying to drive a tent stake into frozen ground. Black liquid oozed from under the blanket. He kept pounding until nothing moved.

&nbs
p; Then he dropped the lamp and stumbled back.

  His right leg burned like a flaming torch, but he hobbled to the door, opened it, and yelled. “Help!” It came out more as a gasp. But his pounding must have already woken Marika and her father.

  Both of their doors flew open. Marika wore a long sleeping gown. Her father came out in an ankle-length robe. Balam signaled Marika to stay back and rushed over to Jake’s side.

  Jake tried to explain, but he was still shell-shocked. He pointed an arm into the bedroom, toward the ruin on the floor.

  Balam peeked under the blanket. “A stingtail!” He swung to Jake and grabbed him by the shoulders. He stared up and down his body. “Did it bite you?”

  “Nicked me.” Jake pointed to his right calf.

  Only a trickle of blood flowed, but already the skin around the scratch had turned bright red. He felt woozy. If Balam hadn’t been holding his shoulders, he might have fallen over.

  Balam called over to Marika. “Grab a blanket! Then help me get him downstairs.”

  Jake waved for them not to bother. He could walk on his own. Then the world went all tilt-awhirl, and he fell into darkness.

  “He’s waking up,” a voice whispered, sounding faint and far away, like a radio station that wasn’t quite dialed in.

  Jake groaned as darkness fell away and brightness swirled around him. He took a couple deep shuddering breaths, fighting off motion sickness. Then his vision settled.

  “Help me get him up,” a voice said in his ear. It was Marika’s father. He had an arm under Jake’s shoulder.

  As Jake steadied himself, he was lifted up into a sitting position. He saw that he was in the common room, on the table, wrapped in a blanket. Marika stood a few steps away. One hand covered her mouth with worry. Magisters Oswin and Zahur were also here. The round-bellied Magister wore a striped nightshirt that reached to his toes and a matching peaked hat. He looked like a blown-up version of one of Snow White’s dwarfs. Plainly he had come here straight from his bed.

  Zahur had grown dark circles under his eyes. He crouched at the edge of the table and had a grip on Jake’s ankle.

  Balam kept hold of Jake’s shoulder. “How are you feeling?”

  Jake’s mouth was dry. He could hardly nod.

  Fingers squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. “You are a lucky boy, Jacob Ransom. Few survive the bite of a stingtail. If that cut had been any deeper…”

  Jake knew the man was trying to comfort him, but he was not doing a very good job of it.

  Zahur still held his ankle. Around his calf was wrapped a thick brown bandage that looked damp. Maybe some sort of poultice to draw off any poison from the scrape.

  Then the bandage moved. Jake felt it squeeze a little tighter to his calf, then loosen again.

  “The mud leech grows restless,” Zahur said. “A sure sign that the blood is clear of poison.”

  He reached and peeled the meaty body from around Jake’s calf. A large sucker at one end required a tug. It came off with a wet pop. Jake shivered as the leech writhed in Zahur’s hand. The Magister dropped it into a jar of murky water. The leech continued to churn and wiggle.

  Jake’s stomach did the same.

  But Jake’s leg looked fine, except for the large sucker mark near the scratch. The redness was gone, and Jake felt no stinging burn.

  “He should be fine,” Zahur said. “Let him rest into the morning, and all will be well.”

  Magister Oswin shifted his trunklike feet. “Which only leaves the question of how the stingtail ended up in the boy’s room.”

  Balam helped Jake off the table and into a chair. Marika came over and put a mug of hot chocolate in his hands. Jake’s fingers wrapped around it, appreciating the warmth. He sipped it—and had never tasted anything better.

  Oswin crossed his arms. “I checked his room upstairs. The shutters were tightly closed.”

  “But it could have gotten through the window earlier in the day,” Balam said. “Perhaps it sought to escape the heat of the day for the cool shadows of the room…and once night fell, it came out of hiding. From under the bed, behind the wardrobe.”

  Jake tightened his fingers on his mug. He would make certain he checked every corner of the room in the future.

  Balam turned to Jake. “Did you leave your windows open during the day?”

  Jake thought back for a moment. He remembered opening them in the morning, after his bad dream. He slowly nodded. “I think I did.”

  Balam nodded, as if that settled the matter.

  Oswin’s eyes narrowed, plainly not satisfied. “It’s still strange to find a stingtail so far from the jungle.”

  “They do sometimes fly into town,” Balam said.

  Zahur spoke up as he stood. “I fear I may be to blame. When I heard of what attacked the boy, I checked my cages. I keep six stingtails down there to aid in my study of their poisons. I found one of the cages empty, the door hanging open. I don’t know how long it might have been gone. I’ve been very busy with the care of Huntress Livia.”

  The Egyptian’s countenance grew grimmer. “And I should return to her bedside even now. She grows more fragile with every passing hour.” He collected his leech jar and headed toward the door.

  “Thank you for your care,” Balam called over to him.

  “Yes…thank you,” Jake said.

  Zahur said not a word and vanished through the door.

  Oswin made a dismissive sound. “I don’t care what you say. Something still stinks like a pile of skunktoad about all this. Maybe the stingtail flew in there…and maybe someone planted it in there.”

  “Planted?” Balam scoffed.

  “To kill the boy.”

  Balam frowned at Oswin and gave him a slight shake of the head, as if to say Not in front of the kids.

  But Jake sat straighter. “Who would want to kill me?”

  Oswin shrugged. “Perhaps one of the Skull King’s spies. Maybe he fears your sy-enz. Either way, you are an unknown piece in whatever game Kalverum is playing. Maybe he wants to take you off the board.”

  “Oswin, that’s enough,” Balam said. “You’ll have the poor boy jumping at every shadow.”

  Oswin sighed. “Maybe it’s time we were all jumping a bit more at shadows.” He shook his head and lumbered toward the door. “Or maybe I’m just too tired. Everything looks the darkest in the middle of the night.”

  After he departed, Balam touched Jake’s shoulder. “Don’t listen to him. It was just an unfortunate set of circumstances. An accident.”

  But the fat Magister’s words stayed with Jake. His father had once said, Words are like bullets; once shot, they can’t be taken back. And those bullets had struck deep into Jake.

  If it wasn’t an accident, who could have planted the scorpion in his bed? Jake pictured the Egyptian Magister, who by his own word admitted that the stingtail had come from his cellar laboratories. But Jake also stared at the narrow door at the back wall of the common room. He remembered how he’d found his clothes laundered and folded. Bach’uuk had come and gone during the night without waking Jake before. And who else knew about the servant stairs that wormed secretly through the tower? The assassin could be anyone.

  Jake set his mug on the tabletop, losing all interest in the hot chocolate as a new fear struck through him. If it wasn’t an accident…if someone truly sought to kill him…

  Balam must have read the distress in his face. “What’s wrong?”

  “Kady…my sister…”

  Jake didn’t have to say more. Balam’s eyes widened. He immediately knew what worried Jake, and that scared Jake even more. Despite Balam’s attempt to dismiss the attack as an accident, the Magister must have had some unspoken suspicions.

  “I will go up to the Astromicon and call upon Bornholm. Make sure she is safe.” He headed toward the door in his robe. Jake stood up to follow, but he swayed a bit on his feet. Balam pointed to him. “Stay here. Mari, make sure he rests. Warm up his cacao.”

  “Yes, Papa.” />
  After he left, Marika pushed a chair closer to Jake and sat down next to him. A moment of uncomfortable silence stretched, maybe because he was half naked under his blanket. But then she turned to him and spoke firmly.

  “I saw what you did to that stingtail,” she said. “Bach’uuk helped me clean it up while you were being leeched of the poison.”

  She reached into a pocket and placed something on the table. It was the barb of the scorpion. “The Ur believe that what is killed should be honored, a piece kept for the hunter.”

  Jake refused to touch it.

  “I’ve boiled it clean of any poison,” she said upon seeing his expression. “It’s safe.”

  He carefully snaked out an arm from his blanket and touched the barb. It had almost killed him. He picked up the barb and examined it. He could see himself one day placing it into his own Cabinet of Curiosity. The idea helped push back the edge of terror. It even made him a little less worried about Kady. She had to be fine.

  “Thanks, Mari.”

  She glanced away a bit too quickly, blushing just a bit. “Bach’uuk suggested I give it to you. It was his idea. He seems really fascinated by you.”

  Jake remembered the Neanderthal boy touching a finger to his lips.

  Marika suddenly stood up. “Would you like me to warm your cacao?” Before he could even answer, she had grabbed his mug and crossed to a sideboard against the wall. A stone pitcher rested on a trivet supported by four glowing ruby crystals. A gentle steam rose from the pitcher. Marika lifted the pitcher and carefully topped off his mug.

  She came back. The blush was gone from her face, replaced with worry. She glanced to the home’s door, then back to Jake. As Jake warmed his hands on the hot mug, Marika settled next to him again. Her brow was furrowed in thought.

  “What?” Jake asked.

  She shook her head.

  “No, tell me.”

  She thought for an extra moment, then spoke. “I didn’t tell my father this, and maybe I imagined it. I don’t know. But I remember waking earlier in the night. I thought I heard someone out in the hall, but when I listened harder, all seemed quiet. At the time, I didn’t think anything of it and went back to sleep. And maybe it was nothing.”