He had never seen so many staircases, most of them incredibly narrow so that the steps were only wide enough for the ball of his foot. No single path led from one end of the Central Acropolis to the other. Instead, he had to go up and down stairs and either through or around buildings in order to reach the interior buildings and courtyards behind them. It was a maze as complex as any labyrinth designed in Europe, and he wondered how much time the ancient Maya spent just wandering around.
Once again he studied his map trying to make some sense out of the layout as he wandered through the buildings at the east end of the Acropolis, not too impressed with the small rooms. Suffice it to say that that once he’d seen one, he’d seen them all. Every now and then one of the rooms would have a built-in plastered bench or there would be some kind of Maya graffiti. Most of the time he couldn’t make out what this graffiti was supposed to be.
He meandered from courtyard to courtyard, passing through the palaces when necessary bypassing them when possible, and it suddenly dawned on him that nine was indeed the magic number, because the most number of doorways off any particular courtyard was nine. While some had fewer than nine, none seemed to have more. Once again he remembered Maria saying that doorways symbolized entrances to the underworld of Xibalba. The same as caves!
The map showed that only six courtyards of the Central Acropolis had been excavated. He was willing to bet that there would be nine altogether, or some product of nine.
The Central acropolis was unbearably hot. The moist, heavy atmosphere weighed down on him. But, although not deserted, the Central Acropolis was relatively empty and that was what he wanted.
He passed through the middle doorway to a U-shaped building on the northwest side of the Acropolis and was startled by a pair of reddish-brown birds exiting the doorway. Instinctively he ducked, enjoying the rush of air from their wings as they flew over him. He turned and watched as they disappeared from view.
After passing through two empty I-shaped rooms, he found himself in a corner room cooler than any other place he’d been. In fact, it was almost comfortable. Here a collapsed sidewall allowed a nice, cool breeze and an unobstructed view of the Temple of the Masks. A pair of parrots, perched in one of the trees, broke the silence with their raucous squawking.
Suddenly, he was impressed by how much work it had taken just to clear away the six courtyards that he’d been wandering in. He sat down on the floor, leaned against the wall, and closed his eyes.
Voices interrupted his reverie as a group of two men and two women entered into the room.
“Wow!” one of the women exclaimed. “This is fantastic! Almost as good as air-conditioning!” The other woman nodded at her and then smiled at Zack.
He returned a half-hearted smile, got up and returned to the blazing sunshine of the small plaza, wishing that he had somewhere to go besides his bungalow.
A light breeze wafted through the plaza, then intensified. Beneath the parrots’ squawking he heard a high-pitched whistle. It seemed to emanate from a building right behind him and he prayed that the breeze wouldn’t stop before he could find its source.
This building had no doorways opening onto the plaza. However, in the outside wall was a small, rectangular hole. He had noticed these holes before. Too small to be windows, he’d presumed they were for airflow. Someone had placed a stone inside the hole and when the air was forced through the hole by the wind, it made a whistling sound. He removed the stone and peered into a four by eight foot cell, reeking of mildew and fungus.
He dropped the rock and consulted his map. The elongated building ran east to west, bordering rear of the acropolis and all doorways were on its southern side. He’d have to go to the east end of the Central Acropolis, find a building that possessed both north and south facing doorways and backtrack all the way west to this end of the Acropolis once again. It seemed like a damn dumb way to build anything.
Although tedious, finding his way back to the east end of the acropolis was easy. It wasn’t until he reached a narrow alley leading to Courtyard Six that his problems started. What looked like a walkway on the map was instead a retaining wall separating the Central Acropolis from the deep ravine and empty reservoir below. Frustrated, he studied the map again and found a two-story palace that had a back doorway on the second floor.
After a few false turns, he located right building and the right doorway. For a moment he stood in awe at the sight before him. In the distance, surrounded by treetops, the roofcomb of Temple V loomed against the blue sky. Below him, was one of many reservoirs that the Maya had built in Tikal. Overgrown with vegetation, it dipped down and then ascended steeply on the other side.
He climbed up and down narrow staircases, carefully counting every doorway and comparing it to the map, until he reached what he hoped was the building containing the whistling room. He didn’t spend any time in the first room, it overlooked the ravine and he knew that the room he was searching for deep in the interior.
He paused at the entry of the second room. The light penetrated only a few feet beyond the doorway. He took out his flashlight, shined it around the room, and found the entry that led to the next room. The smell of mold was stronger now. Almost overpowering.
Each room led into another and he went from room to room, deeper within the structure until he found himself at a dead end. He must be in the wrong building. He’d miscounted after all. He turned, going back the way he’d come and suddenly it hit him, He’d only gone through eight rooms – not nine! He missed one! But, how could he have missed a whole doorway? Come to think of it, he didn’t remember seeing a doorway at all when he’d removed the brick from the hole and peered into the small dark cell. But, there had to be a doorway. There had to be some way to get into that interior space.
He returned to the first room and began again; studying each wall for an opening he might have missed. And, then he found it around the bend in an ‘L’ shaped room. As soon as he went around the corner his flashlight beam revealed a small jagged opening at the bottom of a wall, just large enough to slither through.
He took off his backpack and pushing it in front of him, crawled into the dark, moldy chamber.
He stood up and ran his flashlight’s beam up and down the walls. Except for a white-plastered bench, the room was empty. Condensation dripped down the walls, leaving black moldy streaks and a revolting odor. As he searched the room for any opening that might hide a book, he shivered and his breathing became labored.
Once again he was in a distant time.
This time he was only an observer. Two defeated enemies knelt before a jaguar priest. The priest raised the knife in his hand and mercifully the vision faded.
Another vision took its place. On the bench before him sat a man with his features. A woman sat beside the man and a small boy and girl played at his feet. Above the sounds of lapping water Zack could hear shouting as men prepared for battle. Somehow, he knew that what he was seeing wasn’t in Tikal, but Tayasal, the small town that Maria had said was now Flores. The man held out his arms and hugged his family to him.
The tingle of ages past continued as a new vision formed. He was witnessing the aftermath of a battle between the Spanish and the Maya. Bloated and contorted bodies lay strewn about a battlefield and Tayasal was thick with blood. The redheaded man with his wife and children looked at the carnage from bow of a Spanish ship. Zack could see the glint of the soldier’s helmets in the bright sunlight. The man looked relieved, but the faces of his wife and children showed fear and confusion.
Zack’s heart pounded in his chest and he couldn’t breathe. He panicked and ran, scenes of death and destruction filling his mind. He stumbled up steps and slipped down them using the rough walls for balance and support. His left hand began to ache and he noticed that somehow he’d scraped it and was leaving bloody smears on whatever he happened to touch.
He ran blindly, not stopping until he reached Court Six, where he slammed into the group of tourists he’d seen earlier and flat
tened the two women.
“Watch it!” warned one of the men.
“Sorry,” Zack mumbled.
One of the men grabbed Zack firmly around the arm. His look of anger faded quickly into concern. “Son?” he asked. “Son? What’s wrong? Are you all right?”
Zack looked at the women he’d knocked to the ground. Both women were wearing tan walking shorts, and one of them had a badly scraped knee and bruised elbow. Zack watched as the other man in the group helped the ladies up. He didn’t even think about helping. He just stood there.
“Calm down, you’re okay,” the first man said, repeating it over and over. “Calm down son, you’re all right.”
The tourists stared at him with concern and in puzzlement. Zack glanced at his shaking hands, the knuckles white from gripping his flashlight and backpack. He wiped his bloody palm on his shirt and forced himself to breathe deeply, to calm down and to relax.
“Claustrophobia,” Zack explained weakly. “I just freaked out in there. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt anybody.”
“We’re okay,” the woman with the hurt knee and elbow said generously. “How about you? Are you better now?”
“Yeah,” Zack tried to reassure her with a limp smile. “I’m okay. Really. And I’m really, really sorry.”
“You still look a little white,” she said. “Is there anyone we should get for you?”
Zack shook his head. “No, I’m fine.” He took a step back, then turned and ran across the plaza, down the steps, and into the jungle.
Chapter Eighteen
Zack felt like running, but instead he forced his pace to be agonizingly slow so he wouldn’t stumble and trip. Of the three visions, the last one had been the longest. He was seeing into the past. Seeing people who’d lived long ago. A past life? He’d heard weird stories about past lives, but he didn’t believe in that sort of thing.
Sweat stung his eyes and blurred his vision. The vegetation looked off color as if he were wearing three-dimensional glasses in a two-dimensional world. Sounds he couldn’t identity assaulted his hearing until he realized that the cacophony was actually the songbirds and the monkeys. The air was flaming, he felt feverishly hot; like when’d he had the flu. He removed his hat, wiped his face with his shirt, and stumbled on. Just when he thought he’d never reach the final ring of hell, he broke through the jungle and came out on the trail behind his bungalow.
He tripped on the porch step and stumbled against the door of his room. It opened under his weight, but he regained his balance before hitting the floor. Fighting against tears, he bypassed the basket of laundered clothes on the table, stripped and stepped into the shower. For once, the cold water was welcoming. Even if the pressure was still low.
His panic began to lessen as he stood in the shower, the water cooling his scalp and dripping down his body. He was here. He was safe. Soon he would go into the main house for supper and be surrounded by people, normal people who didn’t have visions. He closed his eyes, let the water wash over his face and pushed his wet hair back. Once again he reminded himself that he was all right. He heaved a deep sigh, grabbed the bar of soap and lathered up.
With the towel wrapped around his waist, Zack removed his clothes from the laundry basket and got dressed. Then he emptied the basket, switching his clothes to the suitcase. He’d taken five pairs of bluejeans to Mrs. Sanchez to launder, but only four pairs had been returned. She’d mixed up his clothes with someone else’s.
He entered the main house by the side door and carried the empty basket into the kitchen. Mrs. Sanchez was at the stove cooking dinner.
“I brought the basket back,” he said. She nodded and pointed to the stack by the door. He put the basket on top of the others. “I’m missing a pair of jeans,” he told her.
“I know.” Her voice was clipped and she kept her back to him. “Talk to your uncle. He has them.”
Clifton had a pair of his jeans?
“Sure,” he said. “Thanks.” She didn’t answer, so he went in search of his uncle.
He didn’t have to go far. Clifton sat at the small desk by the front door. Linda, Josh and Kyle were seated around the living room. They stared at him darkly.
“Good,” Clifton said, getting to his feet. His mood was dour and his face stern. “You’re back. I want to talk to you. Come in here.” He looked at Kyle and said, “You, too.”
“Me?” Zack asked. He wished he’d stayed back at the ruins, visions or not. He followed his uncle into a small office. Dr. Collins sat behind the desk.
“Sit down,” Clifton ordered, closing the door behind Kyle. Zack slouched in one of the rattan chairs, folded his arms across his chest and stuck his legs out straight.
“What?” Zack asked. The blood in his veins turned to ice water at the look of contempt on Kyle’s face. Something was very, very wrong.
“Where were you today?” Clifton asked.
Zack shot his brother a look. “Out at the ruins.”
“By yourself?” Clifton asked.
Zack stiffened. Warily he responded, “Maria and I were together.”
“All afternoon?”
Zack shook his head. “No, earlier.”
“Listen up, Zack. I’m giving you one chance to tell the truth. No matter what it is. Do you understand?” Zack nodded.“You were seen at the site late this afternoon. Right after you left, some artifacts were discovered missing. I checked your room and I found this.” He set a small carving made of rose-colored coral on the desk. “Want to tell me what it was doing there?”
Zack shook his head. “I wasn’t at the site,” he said evenly. If there was ever a time he needed to keep his cool, this was it. “I was at the ruins, but not at the site. Whoever is saying I was there is wrong. Someone put this in my room. If I had to guess I’d say it was Bruce.”
“You were seen at the site,” Dr. Collins said, his eyes narrow pinpricks. “With someone else. A tall man with dark hair.”
“Well, I wasn’t there,” Zack said. “So I don’t know how that can be. Dr. Collins, except for taking the jeep last night, I haven’t done anything else. I don’t even know anyone here in Tikal except for you guys.”
“That’s not true,” Clifton said. “The description of the man you were seen with this afternoon sounds like the person I saw you with at the restaurant.”
“I told you!” Zack insisted. “I don’t know who that guy was!”
“Okay.” Clifton picked up a paper sack and took out Zack’s pair of bloody jeans and a small zip-lock bag. Inside the bag was the red knife Zack had purchased in Guatemala City. “What about these? Mrs. Sanchez brought them to me. She found the knife in one of the pockets.”
Zack stood up. “There’s nothing to tell,” he said.
“Whose blood is it?” Clifton asked. Zack shrugged. “A man was stabbed to death in Guatemala City the night we were there. Kyle told me that you left the hotel room that night to get some soft drinks. He said you went to a market down the street. How about telling me the rest of the story?”
“You think I killed that man?” Zack asked.
“No, I don’t think you did anything of the sort. I think you know who did, though. Tell me how you are involved. Did you see something? Is that man threatening you?”
Zack shook his head. “I’m not involved,” he protested. “And, I haven’t seen that guy since the day in the restaurant.”
“What about the artifacts?” Dr. Collins interrupted. “Where did you take them?”
“I didn’t take any artifacts! Whoever said I did is wrong!”
“Why?” Kyle sneered. “Because you only steal cars? Maybe you’re expanding your horizons.”
Zack glared at him. “Back off.”
“Just answer the question,” Dr. Collins demanded.
Zack grabbed the doorknob. “I did. I don’t believe this. You people are crazy. I didn’t have anything to do with that guy dying in Guatemala City. I didn’t kill anyone. I didn’t steal anything. And, I can’t believe that you t
hink I did.”
“Your reputation as a thief outweighs your truthfulness,” Kyle said.
Zack looked at his brother in dismay.
“For your sake,” Clifton said, “level with us. What are you in to? We don’t want to hand you over to the authorities, but if you’re helping someone to steal artifacts then I’m not going to have much choice. And, it won’t matter why you’re doing it.”
Zack opened the door and fled through the house, hitting the back door with the hard part of his palm, allowing it to strike the outside wall with a bang.
Clifton followed him. “Zack,” he called. But Zack ignored him, went into the bungalow and slammed the door. Hi uncle came in without knocking.
“Leave me alone!” Zack said.
“I would if I could, believe me. We have to get this settled. And, I’m the one who has to deal with it. That means I have to deal with you. If I could, I’d ship your butt out of here so fast it’d make your head swim. I’m tired of your crap.” Zack didn’t answer and his uncle continued, “Except for supper, you are to stay in your room until we get this figured out. Understand?” Zack nodded. His uncle left, closing the door quietly behind him.
###
An embarrassed silence filled the air at supper. Zack thought about taking his food back to the bungalow and eating it in peace. Samantha alone gave him half a smile. Bruce sneered, Kyle just looked angry and Linda and Josh wouldn’t even look in his direction. Neither would Maria. Zack told himself he didn’t care. He just wanted to go home.
Suddenly Samantha spoke up, “This is ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous. This is exactly how you treated Michael before he left. You were wrong about Michael and you’re wrong about Zack, too.” She patted the empty chair next to her. “Here, Zack, come sit next to me.”
Ninth Lord of the Night Page 15
