Empire of the Skull

by Philip Caveney

  'I think it's what passes for music around here. Mostly drums and ocarinas. And I think that nasal sound is what's called a pan pipe.' Coates looked at Alec and smiled reassuringly. 'Whatever it is, it's not going to give Sibelius any sleepless nights.'

  Alec tried to smile back but couldn't quite manage it. He was scared and he didn't care who knew it.

  'Don't worry,' said Coates, reaching over and putting a hand on his shoulder. 'We'll be all right.'

  'How can you say that?' Alec asked him. 'These people are planning to kill us. And . . . besides, it's all my fault.'

  'It's nobody's fault.'

  'But if I hadn't taken us off to look at that Olmec head, none of this would have happened.'

  Coates sighed and shook his head. 'Master Alec, we can spend a lifetime regretting the things we do, but in the end it doesn't make a jot of difference. You have to be positive. Think for a moment: us going on that trip led us here. We're the only white men, apart from Colonel Travers, who have ever seen this place. An Aztec city, unchanged for hundreds of years! In many ways we've been very privileged.'

  'Oh yes, we're lucky,' said Alec bitterly. 'But what good is it if we don't live to tell anyone about it?'

  'Don't worry, kid,' said Ethan, who was sitting up on the next bunk. 'We won't go without putting up a good fight; and if there's a way out of this mess, we'll find it.'

  At that moment they heard footsteps outside and then the noise of bolts being withdrawn. They all looked anxiously towards the door as it swung open. Tlaloc marched in, followed by half a dozen guards, all carrying spears. They formed a formidable-looking line on either side of the door. Then, after a few moments, Travers entered. He was wearing an opulent embroidered cloak and a necklace made of shells and feathers.

  'Good morning,' he said. 'I trust you all slept well?'

  'How do you suppose we slept?' snarled Nelson. 'It's difficult to relax when you know it might be your last night on earth.'

  Travers bowed his head. 'I . . . sympathize,' he said. 'But let's not jump to conclusions. I have come to tell you that his magnificence, the Emperor Chicahua, is ready to receive you. As I told you yesterday, it is he who will make the final decision as to your fate.' He looked around at them. 'I have decided that you should be allowed to walk into his glorious presence with your hands untied. But it would be . . . foolish to think about trying to escape.' He gestured towards the waiting warriors. 'These men have been instructed to kill anyone who tries to run. I have seen them practising with their spears. They never miss.' He gazed at them to make sure everyone understood. 'Good,' he said. 'Now come, it does not do to keep the emperor waiting. He gets bored very easily.'

  Travers turned and strode out of the room and Tlaloc urged the captives onto their feet. 'We go,' he said.

  'A man of few words,' observed Coates. He looked at Alec. 'Be brave. Let's show them how Englishmen face danger.'

  'And Americans,' added Ethan. He glanced at Luis. 'And Mexicans,' he added, but Luis didn't seem to have anything to say to that.

  Surrounded by armed warriors, the group made their way out to meet the emperor.

  Conchita strolled out of the Hotel Lazaro into the sunlit town square of Tonala. For some strange reason the screen test was to take place here in front of what looked like the entire populace. Among the eager press of onlookers Conchita could see some of her old school friends, looking on in wide-eyed envy.

  Determined to make a good impression, she had chosen a dress of red silk and a widebrimmed straw hat with a red orchid pinned to it. She descended the marble steps of the hotel, and there was Louis B. Mayer waiting to meet her. He was a handsome older man, his hair greying at the temples, giving him a distinguished air. He wore a linen jacket, jodhpurs and long riding boots of expensive leather, and in one hand he carried a megaphone. As Conchita approached him, she wondered where Frank was, but there was no sign of him. Mr Mayer came forward and took her hand. He touched his lips to it respectfully. 'Miss Velez,' he said, 'I'm so glad we finally have the opportunity to meet.'

  She smiled and looked around for Frank, but there was still no sign of him.

  'It was good of you to wait for me,' she told the producer. 'You wouldn't believe the trouble I had getting here.'

  'Good things are worth waiting for,' he assured her. He pointed at the cameraman, standing a short distance away, dwarfed by the big motion picture camera that stood beside him. 'Everything is in readiness,' he said. 'Now, I've taken the trouble to set up a little scenario, something that will demonstrate your range as an actress. If you're happy to start, I'll give you direction from beside the camera.'

  'Of course,' she said. She gave a last glance around for Frank. It felt wrong, him not being here. He was always there for her, no matter what. This should have been his moment too. He had worked so hard to make it happen.

  But then Mr Louis B. Mayer was talking and she realized she would have to concentrate. This was her big chance, the moment she had waited for most of her life. All she had to do was convince the producer that she was a potential star.

  'Now, Miss Velez, here's our story. You're waiting in front of the hotel to meet a man – a man you're in love with. I'm going to tell the cameraman to start rolling and you just react to my words.'

  She nodded and adopted the expression of a woman in love – which she interpreted with a wan, doe-eyed look; though in reality she had no idea what it was like to be in love. Ever since her poverty-stricken childhood all she had known was the desire to be a star, to be somebody who stood out from the crowd. There hadn't been a lot of room left for affairs of the heart.

  'Action,' said Louis B. Mayer, and continued to talk: 'But though you're in love, Miss Velez, you are also apprehensive. You know that there is a rival for your affections who has sworn to avenge himself on the man you have given your heart to.'

  Conchita widened her eyes and placed a hand on her breast. She allowed her breathing to quicken.

  'Suddenly a shout comes from the crowd! You hear somebody say there has been a terrible accident!'

  Conchita snapped her gaze to the left and lifted a hand to her face.

  'Now you hear another sound,' said Louis B. Mayer. 'A strange, menacing sound that you have never heard before!'

  Conchita narrowed her eyes and let her expression turn to one of surprise.

  'You see something approaching you. Not a man, but something from your darkest nightmares.'

  Conchita stared across the town square and the look of fear in her face was not an act . . . because something inexplicable was happening. The sky above the rooftops behind Mr Mayer was darkening, filled with a mass of boiling, writhing clouds; and within the clouds something was moving; something metallic that flashed like stabs of lightning.

  Unaware of what was happening behind him, Louis B. Mayer continued to give direction: 'Yes, that's perfect! Hold that feeling a moment, and . . . your apprehension turns to fear as the thing approaches . . .'

  Now Conchita could see that the crowds of people behind the great man were beginning to panic. Some were turning to point at the moving darkness that was descending from the sky. Others were scattering in all directions. She wanted to say something but Mr Mayer's words kept her pinned to the spot.

  'It is something unspeakably evil and it wants your very soul. You open your mouth and you give vent to your terror. You scream, Miss Velez. You scream for your very life . . .'

  Conchita opened her mouth but no sound emerged. It was as though her throat had seized up. She tried to form a sound until beads of sweat appeared on her forehead. She was aware that Louis B. Mayer was looking at her with a disappointed expression; but he was unaware of the unspeakable thing in the clouds reaching out a withered hand to take him . . .

  'Scream, Miss Velez! Scream! '

  She tried again, summoning all her strength, opening her mouth wide and—

  She was shaken roughly awake by Nelli, who appeared to be in a state of high excitement. 'Come, Conchita,' she said. 'We
go. Chicahua waits!'

  'What?' Conchita looked blearily around her bedroom. For a moment she didn't know where she was; she was still locked in that disturbing dream. Then it all came back to her: the crash in the jungle; their capture by the Indians. She sat up, clutching the sheet to her, to see a group of laughing Aztec women holding out a selection of clothes for her to choose from.

  'Who . . . Who is Chick' – she couldn't pronounce the name – 'Chicken Ha-ha?'

  'Chicahua is emperor,' said Nelli. 'Your new husban'. Come, you dress now.'

  'Don' we have time for no breakfast?' complained Conchita. 'Some pancakes, maybe?' She gave Nelli a look. 'But no dog, please!'

  'No time for eat! You hurry!' Nelli bustled away and the other women closed in, giggling excitedly.

  Conchita sighed. Clearly being the wife of an emperor wasn't all about lying around and being spoiled. She pointed to a racy little number in pale blue and the women began to dress her.

  They emerged into the sunlight and stood blinking at the crowds of shouting, jeering people that surrounded them. There were more than there had been on their arrival. It seemed the entire population had turned out to greet them.

  Alec peered around anxiously – he had never experienced anything like this. Everywhere, a confusion of sights and sounds assaulted his senses. He saw warriors dressed in nothing but loincloths, their bodies decorated with tribal scars, their necks and wrists draped with jewellery. He saw prosperous-looking merchants in richly embroidered robes, their wives walking behind them, many with faces covered, accompanied by slaves holding up straw parasols to shade them from the sun. He saw people with painted faces dancing and singing to the accompaniment of primitive instruments; he saw acrobats standing on each other's shoulders to form impossibly high columns; he saw street vendors offering trays of unidentifiable food, children running in and out in noisy groups – and everyone, everyone staring at these visitors as though they were monsters from outer space. The guards herded the captives through the crowd; as they passed by, hands came out to touch their hair, to pinch their flesh, to tug at their strange clothes.

  'Quit that!' Alec heard Ethan say, but when he turned to look, they had already moved on.

  Ethan gave him a fierce look. 'Don't let 'em spook you, kid,' he growled.

  Alec nodded, but his heart was hammering in his chest like a piston.

  The guards led them towards the open plaza beneath the dark brooding shape of the step pyramid. Several people were waiting for them on a raised platform at the top of a short flight of steps. Alec recognized Itztli, gazing down at them with undisguised hatred, and beside him Travers, smiling but inscrutable. Just behind them stood several other robed men – more priests, Alec surmised – their faces covered by masks depicting the demonic faces of Aztec gods. Trying to stem his mounting fear, he occupied himself by identifying each of them in turn. The scowling snake-like mask depicted Quetzalcoatl, the feathered serpent, god of knowledge and the wind; he thought the human face with its pierced nose and crown of quetzal feathers was a representation of Xipe Totec, god of vegetation and the springtime. But there were other sinister masks that he simply could not put a name to.

  'Looks like they've put on quite a show for us,' growled Ethan, staring around defiantly. 'Like Barnum and Bailey's Circus on a Saturday night.'

  'Look!' cried Frank. He was pointing at a group of women. Alec followed his gaze but couldn't understand what he was making a fuss about. 'It's Conchita,' explained Frank, and Alec saw that he was right. Her hair was braided, she wore Aztec clothes and jewellery, but her lovely features were unmistakable. She was staring down at them despairingly.

  'If they've harmed one hair on her head, they'll be sorry,' said Frank.

  'I wouldn't worry about her,' said Nelson. 'She looks like she's landed on her feet, which is more than can be said for the rest of us!'

  'Shut up! Get down,' said Tlaloc, motioning them down onto their knees at the foot of the steps; when Ethan was a little slow in obeying, he jabbed the end of his spear into the back of Ethan's knee, forcing him down onto the stone with a grunt of pain. He urged the others to follow suit and they quickly did as they were told.

  'First chance I get to pop that big gorilla on the nose, I'm gonna take it,' said Ethan quietly.

  'I wouldn't try that if I were you,' said Coates, sounding as calm and logical as ever. 'I don't think it would go down at all well.'

  'Maybe, but it would make me feel a whole lot better,' said Ethan. He turned and winked at Alec. 'You hanging on in there, kid?' he asked.

  'I've been better,' admitted Alec.

  Everyone lifted their heads as the music swelled suddenly into a cacophonous fanfare. A procession was approaching round the side of the step pyramid. It was led and flanked by powerful-looking armed guards, but at its centre, eight slaves walked two by two, carrying a gilded throne on stout poles across their shoulders. On that throne, wearing a gold embroidered cloak and what looked like a collection of priceless jewels, sat a chubby little boy, perhaps twelve years of age.

  The son of the emperor, surmised Alec; and he peered through the attendants to see if the father was following behind. But the boy was accompanied only by a tall girl of perhaps fifteen or sixteen and a wiry, bald man who was leading a fully-grown jaguar on a length of rope. The big cat gazed balefully around, looking as if it might attack somebody at any moment.

  The slaves lowered the throne to the ground and moved away. The boy sat there, looking down at the captives with interest. The girl and the bald man stood on either side of him. Now Travers approached them and raised a hand to introduce the boy.

  'I give you the great, the omnipotent, the most holy Chicahua, emperor of the great city of Colotlán,' he said.

  There was a long silence.

  'That little kid?' sneered Nelson. 'You're joking, right?'

  Travers came forward and slapped the American hard across his face, rocking him back on his knees. 'You are strangers here,' he snarled, 'and you perhaps do not understand our ways. But believe me when I tell you, you could be executed for making such a remark. Chicahua is not a boy but the living embodiment of the gods, and you would do well to watch your tongue.'

  Nelson muttered something under his breath, but then lifted his head and nodded sullenly. Alec could see that his cheek was bright red where the old man's hand had connected with it. Travers straightened up and turned towards the emperor to find Itztli bowing low to him. The high priest spoke in a loud, aggressive tone and kept pointing accusingly towards the captives.

  'Looks like Laughing Boy is talking about us,' murmured Ethan.

  'Yes, and he doesn't appear to be praising us for our excellent manners,' said Coates.

  'Most likely he's asking for permission to sacrifice us,' said Alec glumly.

  Ethan looked at him in alarm. 'You think so?' he asked.

  Alec nodded. Itztli had pulled out a black stone dagger, which he now held up above his head so that the crowd below could see it. At once there was a great roar of approval.

  'Sounds like the crowd's on his side,' said Ethan nervously.

  Alec was trying desperately to think of a way out of this mess. Suddenly he had an idea – a desperate measure for sure, but their situation was desperate. He slipped a hand into his pocket and found what he was looking for: the round, smooth shape of his compass.

  'I'm going to try something,' he told Ethan.

  And with that, he stood up and began to climb the steps towards the emperor.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The Emperor Speaks

  There was a moment when everything seemed completely frozen, like a tableau in a waxwork museum: Ethan and Coates stared at Alec in horrified dismay, their mouths open to shout a warning; Travers had half turned to glare at him; Itztli was holding the obsidian dagger above his head and his mouth was open, framing a warning; Tlaloc was crouching down, his brutish face registering amazement.

  But Alec continued to climb, one hand outstretched i
n front of him, the compass glittering in his open palm. He was forcing a smile onto his face – though he feared it looked more like a grimace.

  Then the guards blurred into motion. Those standing beside him lifted their spears. Those on the raised platform ran forward to defend their emperor, and Alec found himself looking up at a half-circle of glittering obsidian spear-heads, all pointed at his chest. But he kept moving forward, telling himself that if he hesitated for one moment, all would be lost.

  Behind him, Ethan and Coates tried to get to their feet, but they were immediately forced down again. Alec reached the platform and continued to walk towards Chicahua. Itztli shouted an order and the guards in front of Alec raised their spears, ready to throw. Alec just had time to reflect that maybe his idea hadn't been such a good one when a child's voice rang out in the silence – just one word of Nahuatl that Alec didn't understand, but its meaning instantly became clear: the guards lowered their weapons and reluctantly moved back.

  At first Alec thought it was the emperor who had spoken, but now he realized that it was the young girl. She bent over to whisper something in Chicahua's ear and the boy nodded. He leaned forward on his throne and smiled at Alec, beckoning him forward with a plump, bejewelled hand. Alec was uncomfortably aware that the bald man with the jaguar on a rope was standing beside the throne, looking at him with an expression of distaste on his face; the jaguar didn't look particularly friendly either.

  'Come closer,' said Chicahua.

  Alec hesitated for a moment, surprised to find yet another English speaker in this place. He glanced at Travers, who smiled and inclined his head.

  'My two keenest students,' he said.

  Alec approached the throne and placed the heavy brass compass in Chicahua's hand. As he did so, he experienced a faint twinge of regret. He had loved that compass; but if it got him and his friends out of their current fix, it would be a small price to pay. And he could always get another one.

  Chicahua studied the compass thoughtfully, watching as the silver needle twitched and shuddered towards magnetic north. 'What is it?' he asked, intrigued.