by Evan Hunter
Rixal reached into the wooden bowl and scooped three plums into the palm of his hand.
“No,” Neil said in Maya. Then, not knowing the Maya word for one, he shook his head and held up one finger.
Rixal understood immediately and handed Neil one plum. And that had started them off on numbers and the Maya system of counting.
They sat at a low table in front of one of the temples, the table having been set up in the court for Neil and his guides. Rixal rose and tugged at Neil’s hand, leading him to a patch of dry earth beyond the court. He knelt then, and held up one finger.
Neil nodded.
With the end of a stick, Rixal poked into the sand, making a large dot. He pointed to the symbol, · , and held up one finger again. Neil smiled and nodded.
Rixal then held up two fingers and poked into the dried earth again, twice this time. · · .
Neil nodded in understanding again. Rixal repeated the process until he was holding up four fingers, with four dots in the sand.
Then he held up five fingers. He moved the stick across the sand in a long symbol.
Neil understood that the bar was five. Rixal dropped the stick near his knees, held up five fingers of one hand and one of the other, and made the symbol in the earth. This was six. It continued: was eight; was ten; was nineteen.
Neil understood now and drew some symbols in the sand to show that he knew what they meant. Rixal was delighted, and he chattered in rapid Maya to Tela , who was no longer shy in Neil’s presence.
Then Rixal dragged Neil to one of the huge pillars embedded in the earth at various spots around the city. He pointed to the faces carved on the stone, and began holding up fingers again. Neil realized that there was probably a face symbol for each number, too, but he had had enough teaching for one day.
He held up his hands in protest, and Rixal and Tela laughed uproariously. They went back to their fruit, and Neil made a mental note to look into the Maya face symbols at a later date. It was while they were eating that he used his new-found knowledge to scrawl his age on the table top with a charred stick, using the bars and dots system that Rixal had taught him.
The weeks seemed to float by lazily. Neil was so busy with his sight-seeing and his absorption of the language that he’d almost forgotten about Dave, Erik, and the time machine. One day, he went down to the beach alone, walking through the forest, and making sure he marked a trail this time.
The machine stood on the white sand, its rotors still badly twisted, the surf whipping whitely onto the beach behind it.
The ocean was a clear green, stretching as far as the eye could see. Neil stood on the edge of the forest, looking at the machine and the ocean, his heart suddenly filling with a terrible loneliness for home. He walked to the machine and opened the hatchway.
“Dave,” he called.
“Yeah?” came the shouted answer.
“It’s Neil.”
“Hiya, stranger. Just a second, I’ll be right down.”
Neil waited while Dave climbed down the aluminum ladder. When Dave stepped out into the sunlight, he grinned in near-embarrassment and extended a grimy hand toward Neil.
Realizing that the hand was covered with grease, he withdrew it hastily and wiped it on the back of his dungarees.
He held it out again and Neil gripped it tightly.
“Long time no see,” Dave said.
“They’ve been showing me around the city,” Neil explained, feeling a little awkward. He was usually asleep by the time Dave returned at night, and Dave was up and gone long before Neil awoke. “I’ve been learning a lot.”
“Good,” Dave answered in earnest honesty. “You’ll have a lot to tell your father when you get back.” His face clouded. “If we get back,” he added.
“Is it that bad?” Neil asked, looking at the rotors at the top of the machine.
Dave’s eyes followed Neil’s to the twisted rotors. “Oh, I can fix that, all right. I think. It’ll just take a lot of heat and some steady pounding. I’m worried about the time mechanism.”
“Has something happened to the crystal?” Neil asked, a faint touch of panic in his voice.
“That’s just it,” Dave replied. “I don’t know. I’ve been over every inch of the panel and I can’t find the trouble. She’s as dead as yesterday, though; that’s for sure.”
Neil hesitated. “Think you can fix her?”
“I don’t know,” Dave replied slowly. He grinned. “How’d you like to spend the rest of your life in Chichen-Itza?”
Neil gulped hard. “I . . . I . . . is there a possibility we might have to?”
“A strong possibility,” Dave said, suddenly sobering.
“Well. . . I suppose if we have to . . .”
Dave clapped Neil on the shoulder. “Say,” he said, changing the subject, “I am glad you came down to the beach. I’ve been dying for a cigarette all morning, and you have my lighter.” He held out his hand.
Neil dug into his back pocket and fished out Dave’s lighter. Dave took a cigarette from a crumpled package and put it between his lips. He clicked the lighter and the top snapped up, but no flame appeared.
“Darn,” he said.
He pressed down again, the top rising to expose the wick, a faint spark snapping momentarily into life.
“I really should throw this away,” Dave said, “but I’ve had it since the Army.”
“Sentimentalist,” Neil joked.
“Yeah,” Dave said, “just sentiment. I agree.” He pressed down with his thumb again, and this time a weak flame sprang up. Quickly he cupped his hand around the flame and lighted the cigarette, dropping the top over the wick immediately to conserve fuel.
“Here you are, my boy,” he said. “Keep it well.” He gave the lighter back to Neil.
“Maybe you’d better hang onto it,” Neil suggested.
“Nope. I’ve got about eight cigarettes left. If I had the lighter, I’d smoke them all in a few hours. This way, I can only afford that luxury when you’re around.”
“Okay.” Neil pocketed the lighter again.
“Say,” Dave exclaimed, “about time for chow, isn’t it? Come on, I’ll walk you back to the city.”
They started back through the forest, Dave leading the way.
“I know this woods like the back of my hand now,” Dave said. “I can even find my way back at night.”
They walked in silence most of the way, while the monkeys swung in the trees overhead, gossiping noisily.
When they reached the edge of the forest, the city in plain view, Neil stopped and faced Dave. His face was serious, and his blue eyes looked into Dave’s searchingly.
“Dave. Will we really have to spend the rest of our lives here?”
Dave squinted at Neil, concern on his features. He rubbed a hand over his broken nose as he said, “I don’t know, Neil.” Softer, then, “I don’t really know.”
They walked into the city, and Dave left Neil as he went to wash up. Neil saw Erik standing beside a tall tree, talking to Talu , or at least trying to talk to him.
Talu was shaking his white-thatched head vigorously when Neil approached.
“What’s the trouble?” Neil asked in Swedish.
Erik grinned and ran a big hand through his fiery beard.
“Nothing, Neil. I was just asking our friend if he would feel safer if my men and I gave him our weapons again.”
“And?” Neil asked.
“You saw,” Erik said. “He refuses. He thinks we need our weapons for protection in the woods.”
“What’s there to fear?” Neil asked Talu, switching tongues.
“Many animals,” Talu said. “Jaguars . . .”
He stopped, his eyes glued in fascination to the branch of the tree overhead. His words seemed to catch in his throat, and they gave way to a slight intake of breath, an almost soundless cry.
Neil’s eyes darted rapidly to the hanging branch.
Curled there, the powerful muscles of its body wrapped tightly a
round the branch, slithering downward, jaws opened wide, flat, ugly eyes dull, fangs pointed and bared, was an enormous green snake.
Neil gasped as the snake reared back and halted in its downward glide.
With a quick sideward motion, Neil threw Talu to the ground, tumbling on top of the priest.
“Erik!” he screamed. “Be careful! A snake!”
The flat, ugly head drew back like the taut string of a bow.
Then, without warning, its jaws stretched wide to reveal a yawning red chasm, its fangs gleaming whitely, it struck!
Chapter 10 — Treachery Afoot
NEIL rolled over again, his arms wrapped about the Maya priest. Together, like two wrestlers, their bodies spiraled in the dust.
The great head struck with vicious speed, striking the dust, sending a billowing cloud into the air. Then with the same alarming speed, the snake drew back its head, its enormous coils corkscrewing backward along the branch of the tree, from which the beady eyes surveyed the two figures sprawled in the dust.
A forked tongue darted out rapidly; jaws opened wide, fangs dripping, and then clamped shut again. Still the flat eyes were motionless, pinning Neil and Talu to the ground.
The head reared back, gauging the distance for the strike, poised murderously between branch and earth.
“Don’t move!” Erik commanded.
Neil lay still, his breath coming in rushed gasps. Beside him, Talu covered his eyes with a skinny hand and waited. The snake, apparently unaware of Erik, hung from the branch, its flat head cocked back.
Slowly, barely moving, inch by inch, Erik’s fingers crept to the ax hanging at his side.
The snake’s eyes flicked sideways for a moment, and then darted back to their prey.
Like a character in a slow-motion movie, Erik slid the ax from his belt, slowly . . . slowly . . .
Neil watched the painful process, wondering when that head would come flashing down, those fangs sink in a death grip.
The ax was free.
Neil drew in a deep breath.
Without warning, as suddenly as the flick of a bull whip, the head lashed out. With devastating speed, jaws widespread and fangs darting pin points of light, it flashed toward the figures lying in the dust.
The ax slashed through the air, swishing wildly in a metallic, murderous arc.
It’s too late, Neil thought. The snake is too fast.
Muscular, writhing body. Gaping throat. Pointed fangs. Green, red, brilliant white, blurred together in the speed of the snake’s strike. And under it all, like the subdued theme in a symphony, was the swish of Erik’s ax.
Like two great forces trying to avoid an ultimate meeting, the snake’s head and the ax sped toward their respective marks.
It seemed so long. It seemed ages, eternities. Neil saw everything clearly and distinctly. The eyes were close now, moving so slowly, closer, closer. And yet he knew those eyes and those gaping jaws were moving more swiftly than he could possibly imagine.
There was a dull sound and the ax connected with the flashing head. This was followed immediately by a slight squishing noise as the ax sank into flesh.
And then there was no more head threatening — only a great writhing, twisting body that hung from the branch, thrashing wildly, blood spurting from the severed end of the body.
On the ground the jaws of the severed head snapped open and shut in a convulsive last burst of energy. The muscles of the body shook in convulsion, tightened on the tree, seemed to squeeze the branch in a powerful grip, and then loosened completely.
The body dropped to the earth, writhing once in the dust and then it lay still, a pool of blood soaking into the ground beneath it.
Neil let out his breath.
Erik, his face covered with sweat, his eyes tired, dropped the ax to the ground and helped Neil and Talu to their feet. His arm tightened around Neil’s shoulder.
“My friend,” he whispered. “I thought I would lose you.”
Talu was still trembling, his thin body shaking like a hollow tube in the wind.
He reached out and touched Erik’s arm.
“Thank you,” he said. He looked down at the still body of the snake. “You are mightier than the serpent, stranger.” His body shook in a new spasm.
Neil tried to grin, but his teeth were still chattering.
“Let’s eat,” he suggested, but he didn’t feel hungry.
* * *
It was four days later when Erik approached Talu about the food.
“How much food will you need?” Talu asked.
“Enough for my crew. That is all.”
“And how long is your journey?”
Erik thoughtfully considered this. “Many months,” he said at last. “At least eight.”
Talu sighed deeply and said, “Come with me, friend.”
He led him to a square stone building before which two soldiers stood. The soldiers touched their foreheads as Talu approached, admitting him to the building, along with Erik and Neil.
The room was dark, and a soldier inside hastily lighted a torch. Neil waited for his eyes to accustom themselves to the darkness, the single torch providing very little light.
Lining the walls of the room were baskets of food. Fruit, vegetables, jars of honey and crushed chili. Hanging from pegs set into the wall were cured meats and fowl. Neil thought he recognized a few monkeys.
“This is our storeroom,” Talu explained.
“Then you will supply me?” Erik asked.
Talu sighed again. “My friend, you have saved my life, and I am eternally grateful to you. Anything you ask for, I will grant. Gold, fabric, water, weapons.”
He paused, wrung his thin hands together, and added, “Anything but food.”
Erik stared at him curiously.
“This is our entire stock until the harvest. We have not yet begun to plant, and the harvest is a long way off. Already my people are eating less, trying to prolong our food supply.”
Neil looked around the room again, and noticed that there wasn’t really as much food as he had first imagined. Not enough, at any rate, to keep an entire city alive for many months. “How many men are there in your crew?” Talu asked.
“Twenty-seven, counting myself,” Erik answered.
“Feeding twenty-seven men for eight months would require a great deal of food.”
“But you feed us while we are here,” Erik said. “What difference if we eat it here or if we take it with us?”
“We hunt daily,” Talu answered. “And we add other foods to the storeroom in small numbers whenever we can. I would have to give you much meat from our storeroom, if you were to leave. If you stay, I can feed you from the small amount we bring in daily.”
Erik nodded. “How soon will you plant?” he asked.
“A month, two months. When the fields are ready.”
“And after the harvest?”
“If the gods are good,” Talu said, “and if there is a good harvest, I will give you all the food you will need for your journey.”
Erik stroked his beard. “I will have to wait, I suppose,” he said.
“I know you are anxious to rejoin your own people,’’ Talu said softly. “I hope it will be soon, my friend.”
They left the storeroom, Erik silent as he walked beside Neil.
“I will tell my men,” he said to Talu at last.
“And you are not angry?”
“Your people come first. I understand,” Erik answered simply.
Together, he and Neil went to join the waiting Norsemen. They sat at the edge of the forest, their faces anxious.
Erik stood in the center of the Norsemen and rested his foot on a boulder.
Without preamble, he said, “The Mayas have very little food. We must wait until after their harvest before we can sail.”
The sailors began talking among themselves, their low grumbling reaching Neil’s ears.
Olaf stepped forward as spokesman for the crew. His face was completely healed now,
his eyes no longer puffed and discolored.
“When will the harvest be?” he asked.
“Several months from now,” Erik answered.
“And we must wait until then?”
“Yes.”
Olaf’s mouth curled into a sneer. “Why?” he demanded, and the word was picked up by other sailors in the crew. “Why?” they wanted to know.
“I’ve already told you,” Erik said patiently. “The Mayas have little enough food for themselves. They can hardly be expected to give us . . .”
“They are lying,” Olaf snarled. “I have seen their food with my own eyes. An entire room full. There is everything . . .”
“I have seen the room too,” Erik said, an edge to his voice now. “And I have heard the words of their priest. There is barely enough in that room to last them until the harvest.”
“There is more than enough,” Olaf protested.
A faint smile flicked at Erik’s mouth. His hand dropped to the head of his ax and rested there. “Do you call me a liar?” he asked Olaf.
“No. I merely say there is enough . . .”
“And I say there is not. Do you doubt my word?”
For a moment Olaf seemed ready to rebel. Suddenly he changed his course of action. “What if there isn’t enough for the Mayas? There is enough for us.”
“Yes,” the sailor with the patch over his eye spoke up. “What do we owe the Mayas?”
“They are savages,” Olaf said, his eyes sparkling proudly.
“They are our friends,” Erik replied softly.
“If they are our friends, why are we kept prisoners?”
“We are not prisoners. They’ve given us our weapons,” Erik reminded the squat Norseman.
“And we should put these weapons to good use,” Olaf said, twisting the logic behind Erik’s words. “There are only two soldiers guarding the storeroom. We could easily overpower them and take what food we . . .”
“You would suggest, then,” Erik said, the grin on his face once more, “that I turn captain of a band of thieves.”
“I would suggest,” Olaf countered, “that you lead your men home.”
Erik drew himself up to his full height and his big hand tightened on the head of his ax. “And I would suggest,” he added, “and this is to be the final suggestion today, that you hold your vicious tongue.