Middleworld

by J; P Voelkel

  Everything was shrouded in a humid mist. In the dim light, Max felt like he was underwater, but with butterflies instead of fish.

  On the positive side, it was the most amazing morning of his life.

  On the negative side, he was lost, sore, itchy, hungry, smelly, and caked in mud. Somehow he had to find his way back and face the wrath of Uncle Ted. He felt sick at the thought. If only he could have returned in triumph, bringing the Red Jaguar with him. But it was too late for that now.

  Thud!

  A wild avocado, hard as a rock, landed at his feet.

  Deep in the foliage he saw a flash of Red Sox cap and heard the whooping of monkey laughter.

  Max was sure now that these were the monkeys who’d stolen the Red Jaguar. After all, they seemed to like hanging around humans, they were intelligent in an annoying sort of way, and they were light-fingered enough to have pilfered his baseball cap.

  A seed of hope began to grow.

  Maybe the human thief and the Red Jaguar weren’t far away, either. Maybe Max’s triumphal-return scenario was still a possibility.

  There was a crashing of branches as the monkeys moved off through the trees. They seemed to be headed in the direction of the trail. Every so often, they stopped and looked at Max as if waiting for him to catch up.

  He decided to follow them.

  Although it was just after dawn, the air felt wet and heavy. There was an insistent drumming sound that Max could not identify. As the noise grew louder and louder, water began to drip from the leaves above. Soon the drops became a downpour. Of course! The drumming sound—it was rain on the forest canopy!

  Max ducked under a huge leaf for cover. He watched the rain running down the center of the leaf in front of him, and he caught as much as he could in his cupped hands. It was the sweetest water he’d ever tasted.

  When the deluge was over, a hailstorm of nutshells told Max that the monkeys were waiting for him to resume his trek through the dripping jungle. With his wet clothes chafing, bugs biting him, and thorns tearing at his skin, his high spirits soon plummeted. He trudged along, trying to ignore the voices in his head that were telling him how lost he was, how stupid he was, how doomed he was to follow a pair of crazy monkeys. The voices were right, of course, but there wasn’t much he could do about it now.

  A shaft of sunlight burst through a gap in the tree canopy.

  At the same moment, Max rounded a turn in the path.

  In front of him was an ancient stone slab, about eight feet tall, standing in a spotlight of brilliant sunshine. Brushing aside the purple flowers that clung to it, he saw that the slab was covered in worn hieroglyphs. A swarm of yellow butterflies danced around his head, and the sun bathed the whole incredible scene in a golden glow.

  Max paused for a moment to take it all in: the stone, the butterflies, the smoky scent of the flowers … Smoky? Wait—

  He caught the unmistakable whiff of campfire.

  The thief had made camp!

  The monkeys had led him to his quarry!

  The Red Jaguar was at hand!

  But what now?

  He’d been so intent on the chase, he hadn’t considered what he’d do if he actually caught up with the thief. With no knowledge of any combat technique that wasn’t computer-generated, how could he hope to overpower this criminal and steal back the Red Jaguar? It might be wiser to follow at a safe distance and wait for the police to show up. But first, he’d take a closer look at the enemy camp.

  Grabbing a fallen branch as a weapon, his senses on high alert, Max tiptoed down the path. The trees were thinning out, and he was approaching an open space. For the last ten yards, he crept forward on his hands and knees. Then, using a large tree as cover, he peered into the clearing.

  The remains of a campfire smoldered in the middle. Behind it, some leaning at crazy angles, others lying on the ground, were ranks of carved stone slabs like the one he’d just seen by the trail. And behind them, as if they were guarding it, was a small, square building, half buried by earth and vegetation.

  After so many hours of traipsing through the tentacled, tangled jungle, it was extraordinary to come upon something so angular, so solid, so … man-made. It should have been a welcome sight, but this architecture was distinctly disturbing.

  The rubble-filled doorway was unmistakably a mouth, edged top and bottom by rows of pointed stone teeth. Above the door, Max made out two square eyes and a flat, stubby nose. The rest of the face was carved into intricate geometric patterns, like a tattooed Maori warrior. The overall expression was of intense malevolence. Even the lack of greenery around the face was sinister, as if the nose and mouth were keeping the facade clear of weeds with their toxic exhalations.

  Hiding behind the tree, Max scanned the area for signs of life.

  No one.

  He’d arrived too late.

  Secretly, he was relieved.

  But hey, he’d been hot on the trail, and he took pride in that. For his first time in the jungle—with no map and no compass—he’d done really well to get this far. He’d slept in a tree, he’d survived the night, and the worst was surely over. This clearing would be plainly visible to the rescue helicopter. If he revived the fire and sent out some smoke signals, he could be back at Villa Isabella in time for lunch.

  He was so busy congratulating himself that he didn’t hear the swish of a machete behind him, didn’t hear the thief creeping up on him, until a voice whispered in his ear, “Looking for me?”

  Max spun around.

  There in front of him was the mysterious figure in black.

  It was a girl.

  A pretty girl.

  She was taller than him and maybe a little older.

  She had amber-colored eyes and coppery black hair.

  She was wearing black cargo pants, a Ramones T-shirt, and hiking boots. A black sweatshirt was knotted around her waist. She held the machete loosely in one hand with the ease of one who knew how to use it.

  Max had the strangest feeling he’d seen her somewhere before.

  She spoke again. “What took you so long, Hoop?”

  Max was speechless. So many questions were going through his mind. He stood there with his mouth open, until one question formed itself into words.

  “Who are you?” he stammered.

  “My name is Ix Sak Lol.” (To Max, it sounded like Eech Sock Loll.) “It’s Mayan for ‘Lady White Flower.’ But most people call me Lola.”

  “But who are you? Why did you steal the Red Jaguar?”

  She ignored his questions. “Come and sit down, Hoop.”

  He couldn’t move. He just stood there, staring at her.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, do excuse my manners,” she said, affecting a formal bow. “Please do me the honor of taking a seat in my humble campsite, Massimo Francis Sylvanus Murphy.” She led him into the clearing and indicated that he should sit on one of the fallen stone slabs. “Perhaps you would care for some jungle soda, otherwise known as water?”

  “How do you know my name?” he asked, grabbing the canteen she offered him.

  “Massimo is Italian, after your grandfather,” she announced confidently. “Francis is after your father. And Sylvanus is after Sylvanus Griswold Morley, the famous archaeologist who excavated Chichén Itzá. He was also a spy, you know.”

  Max stopped drinking and gawked at her in amazement. “But how …?”

  She laughed. “I met your parents at Ixchel last week. They talk about you a lot. My friend Hermanjilio Bol”—she pronounced it herman kee leo—“was working with them. I went to help him set up camp before your parents arrived.”

  “Have you heard from this Herman guy?” asked Max eagerly. “Mom and Dad haven’t come back yet, and Uncle Ted thinks the trails might be impassable after the storm. He thinks your friend is probably leading them to safety.”

  “I left Ixchel before the storm, and I haven’t talked to Hermanjilio since. But I’m sure everyone’s okay, Hoop.”

  Another question formed
in Max’s addled brain. “Why do you keep calling me Hoop?” He tried to copy her pronunciation, which was somewhere between hoop and hope.

  “That’s what I called you in my head, when I was tracking you. It’s short for chan hiri’ich hoop, which means ‘little matchstick’ in Mayan. With your red hair and your thin little legs, that’s what you look like!”

  “My hair is brown,” said Max. “But what do you mean, when you were tracking me? I was tracking you.”

  “Ha! You’d have been eaten by jaguars if I hadn’t kept an eye on you. And what about that crocodile’s nest you nearly disturbed when you fell in the river? Or the vampire bat that was hovering around while you slept—in the strangler fig bed that I made for you?”

  “Liar,” said Max, but he swallowed uncomfortably.

  “How about the arrow I cut into the tree? And the bioluminescent fungi?”

  “What?”

  “The glow-in-the-dark mushrooms I placed by the trail. You’d still be sitting on that rock, feeling sorry for yourself, if I hadn’t shown you the way. Which reminds me”—she handed him a mud-caked towel—“this is yours.”

  It was his, all right. He must have left it by the stagnant river. He shook off the dried mud and pushed the towel into his backpack.

  “I think the phrase you’re looking for is thank you,” said Lola.

  “What should I thank you for? Luring me into the jungle in the middle of the night? Leading me across that bridge to be attacked by killer ants? Setting those monkeys on me?”

  “Oh, poor Hoop,” said Lola, ruffling his hair.

  He pushed her away.

  She pushed him back.

  Next thing, they were scuffling on the ground and, a split second later, Lola had Max flat on his back and trussed up with a vine.

  “So, Hoop, admit that I am the better fighter.”

  “No.”

  “Admit it.”

  Max looked her straight in the eyes. “I admit it, Monkey Girl,” he said. “You are the better … thief!”

  Lola tightened the vine around Max’s body. “It’s not stealing when you take back something that belongs to you,” she said.

  “Liar!” squeaked Max, his voice constricted by the vine. “If it belongs to anyone, the Red Jaguar belongs to the ancient Maya.”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “Right,” said Max. “So you’re ancient Maya, are you? You’re over a thousand years old, and you chop up tourists for human sacrifices?”

  “Maybe I do,” said Lola, raising her machete.

  “I’m not stupid,” said Max. “Even I know that the ancient Maya disappeared hundreds of years ago. It’s a big mystery. Some experts think they were abducted by aliens.”

  “What experts?” Lola was laughing so hard, she relaxed the vine a little.

  “I read it on the Internet. The Maya are living in another galaxy, and when their calendar ends this year, they might come back in spaceships to reclaim their land. That’s if the world isn’t destroyed by a tsunami, of course.”

  “Do you believe every crazy thing you read on the Internet, Hoop?”

  “Well, I don’t believe you’re a Maya. They vanished. Everyone knows that.”

  “Is that so? Well, maybe I’ll vanish and leave you tied up like a tamale.”

  She walked away and began stamping out the fire.

  Max tried to break free of the vine, but he wasn’t strong enough.

  “Hey, Monkey Girl …?”

  “That’s not my name.”

  “Lola …? Lady White Flower …? Untie me!”

  “How can I? I don’t exist, remember?”

  A column of ants was making its way toward him.

  “Stop messing around! Untie me!”

  She came back and stood over him, hands on hips. “I’ll untie you because I like your parents. But get it into your head that I’m just as Maya as the guys who built that temple behind me.”

  “Are you a ghost?” said Max dubiously.

  “No!” Lola looked like she didn’t know whether to laugh or be angry. “Don’t you know that the Maya are still alive? There are millions of us! We didn’t disappear. There’s no mystery. We just left the old cities.”

  “In spaceships?”

  She rolled her eyes. “On foot.”

  “Why?”

  “All sorts of reasons. Drought, deforestation, overpopulation, conquest … but it didn’t happen overnight. Different cities rose and fell over time. We’ve been around for three thousand years. I wear jeans and eat pizza, but I’m still Maya.”

  “Pizza?” echoed Max, all other thoughts disappearing at this mention of food. “Do you have any?”

  Lola slashed through the vine with her machete. Then she reached into her backpack and pulled out a little parcel wrapped in a leaf.

  “Here,” she said. “No pizza on the menu today.”

  Max opened the leaf and found a rough-looking tortilla filled with a paste of brown beans. He inspected it with distaste. “Haven’t you got anything else?”

  “You’re welcome,” said Lola sarcastically.

  “Some people say the old temples are still alive.”

  Max tried a bite—it didn’t taste as bad as it looked. As he wolfed down the tortilla, he looked at the building. “Did you say that’s a temple?”

  “They think so. The archaeologists just call it Structure Thirteen. They started excavating it a few years ago but they ran out of money. Whenever you see a hill or a mound around here, it’s usually a Maya structure waiting to be excavated.”

  “What a waste! If this place was in the States, they’d dig it out in no time. They’d have souvenir shops and snack bars and costumed interpreters. It’d make a fortune.”

  “And you think that’s a good idea?”

  Max shrugged defensively. “Why not?”

  “Some people say the old temples are still alive,” said Lola.

  “I bet it’s just a rumor to keep looters away.” He looked sharply at Lola. “Are you a looter? Or a tomb raider?”

  “No!” she said, shocked at the suggestion.

  “But you stole the Red Jaguar. Are you working for Count de Landa?”

  “No! I work with howler monkeys, not snakes!”

  Max became aware of several large black and brownish monkeys sitting in the nearest tree, watching them. One of the lighter-colored monkeys dropped to the ground and sat in front of him, regarding him with an air of disappointment.

  “What’s the matter with him?” asked Max.

  “Her,” corrected Lola, stroking the monkey’s head. “This is Seri. She and her brother Chulo woke you up this morning. Your snoring was disturbing the whole forest.”

  “Oh, ha-ha,” said Max. “I’m amazed I got any sleep at all.”

  “What a lazy boy you are. I watched you on the beach. I’ve never seen anyone work so little and complain so much.”

  Max ignored the insult. “So it was you! I knew someone was spying on me.”

  “I wasn’t the only one. Landa’s men are everywhere,” said Lola as she smoothed over the earth to remove all traces of the campfire. She put a finger to her lips and cocked her head to one side. Max had no idea which of the many forest sounds she was listening to. After a few seconds, she whispered, “The monkeys say men are coming.” She shouldered her backpack. “Can you swim?”

  “Why?”

  “There’s a place near here, the Blue Pool; we can give them the slip. …”

  “But what if it’s Uncle Ted? I’ll tell him how you saved me in the jungle—”

  “Ah, so you admit I saved you?”

  “No, but I’ll say it so he won’t be mad at you. We’ll give the Red Jaguar back to him and—”

  “Forget it. Are you coming with me or not?”

  “To swim in a pool?”

  “It leads to an underground cave system. There are caves and tunnels under the whole jungle in this area. You’re not claustrophobic, are you?”

  Max shook his head, wit
hout conviction. He didn’t like the sound of this at all. But meeting this girl felt like fate. And besides, she had the Red Jaguar.

  “Let’s go then,” he said, trying to sound casual.

  She fished some waterproof zipper bags out of her backpack. “Here, put your flashlight and anything else in one of these.”

  While Max fiddled with the bags, Lola called to the monkeys. From the wistful tone of the growls, he guessed she was saying good-bye.

  Then, with a nod at Max to follow her, she ran across the clearing and into the trees. After a while, the ground sloped down and they came to a large pool with a rocky cliff on the far side. The water was light blue in the shallows, darkening to a brilliant cobalt as the bottom fell away.

  Lola waded purposefully in, with Max trailing cautiously behind. A few more steps and they had to swim. She seemed to be heading for the cliff face. As they got closer, Max saw a small opening in the shadow of an overhanging rock.

  Lola swam straight into it.

  Max swam to the mouth of the cave and held on to the side, afraid to go farther. All he could see was inky blackness. There was a strange sound like the hissing of gas.

  “Come on, Hoop,” said an impatient voice from out of the darkness. “The water’s shallow inside the cave. Just swim toward my voice.”

  A few strokes later, his feet touched bottom. He stood for a moment as his eyes adjusted to the dim light coming from the entrance. He could just see Lola several yards ahead, pulling herself up onto a ledge. Max splashed his way over to her and tried to scramble up beside her.

  To his embarrassment, she had to give him a hand.

  “Where are we?” he asked.

  “Take a look,” said Lola.

  When they switched on their flashlights, Max saw that the ledge was in a huge cavern. In some places, the stream below them was narrow; in others, it spilled out into wide expanses of dark, still water. Minerals had seeped through the cave walls, staining them in rich metallic colors of blue, gold, silver, and red. Against this vibrant backdrop, white calcite formations rose up like abstract marble statues.