by J; P Voelkel
In fact, it was the reek of lavender that woke him. You didn’t need a monkey nose to know that the two soft and fluffy specimens descending the ladder had used rather a lot of Lola’s precious French soap.
She opened her mouth to protest, but Hermanjilio cut in. “Lord 6-Dog! Lady Coco! It is an honor to make your acquaintance. If there’s anything we can do to make your stay more comfortable, you have only to ask.”
But the king and his mother didn’t hear him. They were standing in the plaza, transfixed.
“What is this place?” asked Lord 6-Dog.
“Itzamna,” said Hermanjilio.
“Itzamna?” they repeated in bewilderment.
“Welcome home, Your Majesties,” announced Lola with a flourish. To her dismay, the monkeys looked distraught.
“It cannot be,” said Lady Coco, looking around. “My Itzamna was surrounded by fields and fertile terraces. Where are the markets, the houses, the workshops? Fifty thousand people lived in this city. Where are they?” Her gaze settled at the far end of the plaza. “My palace,” she wailed.
Lord 6-Dog’s liquid monkey eyes looked sadder than ever. He pointed mournfully toward the ruins at the other end of the plaza. “Could that be the great Temple of Itzamna,” he whispered, “with its red paint all stripped away?”
Hermanjilio nodded.
“My father is entombed beneath those stones,” said Lord 6-Dog angrily. “What enemy has dared to desecrate his memory?”
“That enemy was time, Your Majesty,” said Hermanjilio. “The golden age of Itzamna was twelve hundred years ago.”
“Twelve hundred years,” repeated Lord 6-Dog wonderingly. “Three baktuns. Like a whirlpool, time encircles me and confounds my memory in its bubbling waters.” He stared intently at Hermanjilio. “Who art thou, sir? I feel as if I have known thee all my life.”
Hermanjilio looked away from the monkey’s intense gaze. “My name is Hermanjilio Bol. My ancestors were the guardians of the royal library. It was I who summoned you here.”
“Then I should thank thee, sir, for I am glad to walk in Middleworld again.”
While the men were talking, Lady Coco was looking longingly at the bowl of fruit.
“Would you like something to eat?” said Lola.
“Yes, please, my dear. Where is the women’s table?”
“We’ll all be sitting together.”
“Disgraceful!” growled Lord 6-Dog.
“Delightful!” cooed Lady Coco.
“Please make yourselves comfortable, Your Majesties, while I go and fry the eggs,” said Hermanjilio.
Lord 6-Dog looked puzzled. “Lord Hermanjilio,” he said, “thou hast the look of a noble warrior, yet thou dost act like a kitchen maid. Cooking is woman’s work. Let us talk, man to man. Send the girl for the food.”
Hermanjilio smiled meaningfully at Lola.
Reluctantly, she went to look for the frying pan. It wasn’t that she minded cooking, so much as she was bad at it. She hoped these eggs would turn out better than her last attempts, which had bounced off the plates like rubber balls.
Lord 6-Dog took the stool at the head of the table, where Hermanjilio usually sat. Hermanjilio, who’d been making his way to the same place, was left standing. For a moment, the monkey and the archaeologist locked glances in a battle of wills. Lord 6-Dog glared at his rival autocratically. Hermanjilio’s gaze was bleary but unwavering.
“Chill,” whispered Lola to him as she brought in the plates.
Hermanjilio blinked rapidly, like someone snapping out of a trance. “Of course,” he said, graciously ceding his place.
“What was that about?” Max asked Lola.
“It’s the dominant-male thing,” she said. “They both think they’re king of Itzamna.”
“Wilt thou tell me about my people?” Lord 6-Dog asked Hermanjilio. “Tell me everything that has happened in the last three baktuns.”
As Lord 6-Dog heard about the invasion of the conquistadores, how Diego de Landa had burned all the books, how the Jaguar Stones had been lost, and how all the great Maya cities now lay in ruins, his monkey face grew sadder and sadder.
“Hast thou no tales of heroism?” he asked.
Hermanjilio thought for a moment. “There was Nachankan. He was a great Maya lord from the north. When the Spanish demanded tribute, he said he’d give them ‘turkeys in the shape of spears and corn in the shape of arrows.’”
Lord 6-Dog laughed a booming howler-monkey laugh.
“Many Maya lords stood firm,” continued Hermanjilio. “In fact, the Maya fought the Spanish for another two hundred years after the Aztecs surrendered.”
“The Aztecs? Pah!” Lord 6-Dog sneered. “In my day, they were nothing but a pack of swamp-dwelling scavengers.”
“A few hundred years later, they got to be quite big,” said Hermanjilio.
“They did?” Lord 6-Dog looked disappointed.
“At their height, they had ten million citizens,” continued Hermanjilio. “Of course, they sacrificed them at an alarming rate. Sometimes they ate the corpses.”
“That’s disgusting,” Lady Coco said, grimacing.
“No wonder their empire only lasted three hundred years,” said Lola, coming out with a platter of eggs. She sniffed haughtily. “We Maya have been around for three thousand years. And counting.”
“Well spoken, Lady Lola,” said Lord 6-Dog, cheering up. “I will wager that the Aztecs yielded to the Spanish like a gaggle of old women.”
“Excuse me?” Lady Coco turned on him angrily. “That statement is offensive to old women. I’ll have you know that an old Maya woman would fight to the death—”
“Eggs, anyone?” said Lola, trying to keep the peace.
“Omelets!” said Hermanjilio. “They look delicious.”
Lola glared at him. “They’re fried eggs actually.”
“Thirteen thanks for all our blessings,” began Lord 6-Dog. He thanked the wild turkeys that laid the eggs, the earth that grew the corn for the tortillas, the trees that bore the fruit, the rain for water to drink—
Lady Coco’s stomach gurgled loudly. “And we thank Lord Hermanjilio for his hospitality,” she said. “Let’s eat!”
It was the last civilized moment of the meal.
Perhaps the hunger of twelve hundred years superseded the constraints of table manners. Or perhaps Chulo and Seri were venting their inner monkeys.
Whatever the cause, the breakfast was soon in chaos.
Lady Coco started it by sitting on the fruit bowl.
“Mother! Off the table! Hast thou lost thy mind?” shouted Lord 6-Dog.
Lady Coco considered this question for a moment, then lobbed a banana skin at her son, quickly followed by a ripe papaya that exploded on contact and showered him with black seeds. Lord 6-Dog jumped onto the table to retaliate, and the two monkeys started wrestling, tails lashing, pots crashing, food flying until Hermanjilio and Max pried them apart.
“And these guys are going to save the world?” sighed Max.
A small melon bounced off the side of his head. He looked around to see Lord 6-Dog celebrating a direct hit. Remembering that, on the inside, his assailant was a mighty warrior-king, he decided against retaliating. “That hurt, Your Majesty,” he said. “We’re on the same side, remember?”
Lord 6-Dog looked mortified. “My apologies, young lord, but Chulo made me do it. It seems he bears thee much ill will. I will try to control him.”
Balanced giddily on the back of a chair, Lady Coco brushed bits of food off her fur and attempted to muster her dignity, an effort diminished by the raffia fruit bowl she now wore like a rakish straw hat. “I do apologize,” she said, trying to sound refined. “I can assure you this is not our usual …”
Her concentration lapsed as she watched her son use his tail to grab a mango and bring it to his open mouth. “Let me try that,” she screeched.
Soon both monkeys were fully absorbed in experimenting with their newly discovered prehensile tails.
It was the craziest breakfast Max had ever experienced.
At one point, Lady Coco bounced over to perch beside him. “And who are you, young lord? Are you of royal birth? Who is your father?”
“My father is an archaeologist,” said Max. She looked blank, so he added, “He studies history.”
“A wise man indeed,” said Lord 6-Dog, nodding sagely. He tipped back his head, poured the last of the juice into his mouth, and upended the empty jug. “It is only by studying the past that we can predict the future. What has happened before will happen again.” He turned to Hermanjilio. “Speaking of which, art thou sure we have not met before?”
“I am positive,” said Hermanjilio quickly. “And now perhaps we could discuss more pressing matters. How do you propose we stop Count Antonio de Landa from using the Black Jaguar to raise the Undead Army?”
“Landa, didst thou say? Was that not the name of the varlet who burned our books?”
“That was Friar Diego de Landa. Antonio is his descendant.”
“Then it will be my pleasure to take him captive and flay him alive.”
“He has bodyguards,” interjected Max. “And guns.”
Lord 6-Dog stroked his chin. “How many armies dost thou command, Lord Hermanjilio? How many warriors will join us in this battle?”
“Four.”
“Four armies?”
“Four warriors.”
“This is no time for jest.”
“It is the truth. There are four of us: you, me, Lola, and Max.”
“Make that five, Lord Hermanjilio; you can count me in,” said Lady Coco. “But in all that you have told us, there is one name you have not mentioned.”
“And who would that be?” asked Hermanjilio.
“Tzelek!” She spat out the word like a curse.
“My twin brother?” said Lord 6-Dog. “What has this to do with him?”
“His old crony, Ah Pukuh, is about to take the reins of power. Do you really think Tzelek would miss such an opportunity to make mischief? It was common knowledge in Xibalba that he was hanging around the surface, trying to find a way through.”
Max remembered the grip on his ankle in the Temple of Itzamna.
“Does Tzelek have long, bony fingers?” he asked.
Lady Coco nodded. “He kept his nails specially sharpened for ripping out hearts with his bare hands. You mark my words, if there’s evil afoot in Middleworld, Tzelek is involved in it up to his villainous neck. I’ll wager ten baskets of cocoa beans that he’s already here. I expect he glimpsed a hole in the gateway and squeezed through it like the cockroach he is.”
“Then the question we should be asking,” said Hermanjilio, “is whose body is Tzelek living in? And I’m sorry to tell you, I think I know the answer.”
“Is it me?” said Max in a small voice. “I think he grabbed my ankle in the Star Chamber and tried to suck out my soul.”
“Surely you’d know if you’d been possessed by Tzelek,” said Lola. “Do you get black moods? Do you think evil thoughts? Are you bad-tempered and irrationally angry?”
“Yes.” Max felt nauseous. “It’s me, isn’t it?”
“Of course it’s not you!” snapped Hermanjilio in exasperation. “Let us not confuse the emotional turmoil of adolescence with the inner workings of one of history’s most evil villains! Guess again.”
Blank faces stared back at him.
“Isn’t it obvious?” said Hermanjilio. “Who’s been playing around with Jaguar Stones? Who has an interest in the black arts? Who would welcome an ally like Tzelek?”
“Count Antonio de Landa!” burst out Max in horror.
Hermanjilio nodded gravely.
“Well, that explains why he’s been too busy to look for us,” said Lola.
“This just gets worse and worse,” groaned Max. “Now the evil descendant of one of the most evil men in history has been possessed by the evil spirit of an evil Maya priest. And my parents are caught in the middle of it.”
Chapter Twenty
COUNTING THE DAYS
It was too awful to contemplate: the fiendish Tzelek in league with the ruthless Count Antonio de Landa. Between them, they represented twelve hundred years of absolute evil. Who knew what warped scheme they were hatching?
“But why would Tzelek come back? What does he want?” asked Lola.
“He wants what he has always wanted,” said Lord 6-Dog, “to be the supreme and sacred ruler of Middleworld.”
“It’s such a cliché,” said Max. “Why do bad guys always want to rule the world?”
“Deep-seated emotional insecurity masquerading as a superiority complex?” suggested Lola.
They all looked at her in amazement.
“I’m thinking about majoring in psychology,” she explained.
“Whatever,” said Max. “It’s stupid. An ancient Maya madman can’t just suddenly appear and declare himself king of the world.”
“With his friend Ah Pukuh in charge of the new baktun,” said Lord 6-Dog, “he can do whatever he wants.”
“And this time,” said Hermanjilio, “his power will not stop at the limits of the Maya realm. This time, all humanity will be under his dominion.”
Lady Coco pulled a branch off a nearby tree and stripped the leaves with her teeth. “At least we know where and when he’ll make his first move,” she said, in between bites.
“We do?” said Max.
“We do,” confirmed Lord 6-Dog. “The place will be the Black Pyramid of Ah Pukuh. And the time will be at the rising of Venus on 5-Kimi—or 5-Death, in thy parlance. It is an auspicious day, a day of sacrifice and mourning. …”
“Most importantly,” interrupted Lady Coco, “it is in four days’ time.”
Max swallowed. “And how far is it from here to the Black Pyramid?”
Lord 6-Dog and Hermanjilio spoke at the same time.
“One day,” said the ancient Maya king. “It is an easy march.”
“Two days,” said the archaeologist, “and it won’t be easy.”
They looked at each other in surprise.
“The straight stone roads your warriors marched on are long since overgrown,” said Hermanjilio. “We’ll have to hack our way through. We must leave tomorrow. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have much to do.”
“Thou art dismissed,” said Lord 6-Dog imperiously. As Hermanjilio strode away, the king furrowed his monkey brow. “He is so familiar to me, and yet I cannot place him. Does he remind thee of someone, Mother?”
“He has shifty eyes,” said Lady Coco.
“Oh no, not Hermanjilio,” Lola insisted, getting up to clear the table. “He’s the kindest man you could ever meet.”
“When is his birthday?” Lady Coco asked Max.
Max shrugged. “I have no idea.”
“And you, young lord?” persisted Lady Coco. “On what day were you born?”
“In the Maya calendar?” he said. “Who knows.”
Lord 6-Dog and his mother looked at each other in alarm.
“No wonder Middleworld teeters on the brink of destruction,” said Lord 6-Dog. “For if mortals have forgotten how to read the days, they are doomed to stumble through time like children wandering across a battlefield.”
“What’s the big deal?” asked Max.
Lola threw him a cloth to wipe the table. “Our royal guests believe that a person’s entire character and destiny are decided by the day of their birth,” she explained. “Like a horoscope—except a bad one could ruin your life.”
“And a good one could ensure success,” pointed out Lady Coco.
“But how could anyone look at a newborn baby and pronounce it a liar or a thief?” said Lola.
“When your future’s been decided by the gods, you don’t question it,” replied Lady Coco.
“Well, maybe you should question it,” said Lola. “Did you know that the Spanish used your beliefs against you? They convinced your priests that your defeat was written in the stars, and it became a self-fulfilli
ng prophecy.”
“All history is a self-fulfilling prophecy,” said Lord 6-Dog. “What has happened before will happen again.”
Lady Coco looked thoughtful. She lowered her voice. “But you do believe you can beat Tzelek this time, don’t you, son?”
Max and Lola pretended to be engrossed in washing up, while straining to hear the great king’s reply.
“Why dost thou doubt me, Mother?”
“Because Tzelek has always wrapped you around his little finger. You must face the truth, 6-Dog. He is evil from his balding head to his stinking feet. You must not give him another chance. He must be stopped.”
“I understand the situation, Mother.”
“Then why didn’t you finish him off last time?”
“He is my twin, my flesh and blood.”
Lady Coco spat a nutshell onto the ground. “No,” she said. “No, he isn’t.”
“What art thou saying?”
“Tzelek was born a few minutes after you, but he was not my child. His mother was a witch. She died in childbirth that very day—but not before she’d made me promise to adopt her evil spawn.”
“Why wouldst thou, a royal queen, adopt a witch’s son?”
“His mother vowed that, from that day forward, your lives would be intertwined as you grew up. If I abandoned Tzelek or he failed to thrive, you, too, would wither and die. Your father knew nothing of this curse, and for three baktuns I have kept my silence.”
“Tzelek is not my brother? But I always thought he was thy favorite.”
“He was always so very jealous of you. When your father died and you became king, he plotted against you constantly. I thought you might be safer if I pretended not to care for you. But all the while, I was trying to help you in unseen ways. I used to pray to the spirit of your father to show me what to do. He was so proud of you, 6-Dog. He still is.”
“If I had not gone hunting that day, he might have lived,” said Lord 6-Dog, looking across to the pyramid of Itzamna, his father’s final resting place.
It had been a day of merrymaking, a katun celebration to mark Punak Ha’s first twenty years on the throne. As the elder twin, 6-Dog was expected to stand by his father’s side at the ceremony. But he’d slipped away to go hunting instead. How could he have known that Punak Ha would come looking for him? Or that he’d be ambushed while calling his son’s name?