by J
“I can see the moon,” said Lola.
Lord 6-Dog looked out of the porthole. “Canst thou see the moon goddess, Ixchel?”
Max smiled. “I seem to remember that she had quite a crush on you at the White Pyramid, Lord 6-Dog. Maybe she’ll help us.”
“No one can help us,” said Lola.
“I feel unwell,” said Lord 6-Dog.
“Go to sleep,” Lola told him. “We’ll wake you if it looks like we’re landing.”
“He’s been sleeping all day,” Max pointed out.
“He’s a howler monkey. That’s what they do. Plus, he’s had a hard day. He’s been shot by a tranquilizer gun and singed by a laser. He deserves to rest.”
“I wish I could sleep,” said Max. “I don’t want to know what happens next.”
In fact, what happened next was that the Birdman stood up, walked over, and made strange garbled sounds at them.
“We don’t speak your language,” said Lola. “We don’t understand you.”
The Birdman held his head with his clawed hands. Then slowly he peeled off his face. At first, Max was repulsed, but then he realized it was a latex mask.
“Is that better?” asked Lord Kuy. “Sorry about the bumpy takeoff. I’ve never flown one of these before.” He threw the mask on a chair. “I think that went well, don’t you?”
Max and Lola were staring at him in disbelief.
“You’re welcome,” said Lord Kuy.
“What for?” asked Lola coldly.
“For building this thing and rescuing you. Tzelek was about to ruin everything.”
Lola gaped at him. “You built a spaceship just to rescue us?”
“We Maya can build anything. You know that, Ix Sak Lol.”
Max felt a furious anger bubbling inside him. “Why did you send us to get the Jaguar Stones if you were just going to zoom in and destroy them?”
“It was a surprise to us, too,” explained Lord Kuy. “When you told us that Tzelek was at Cahokia, we had to think quickly. And we came up with an even better plan.”
“So how are we supposed to get our parents back?” asked Lola.
“I am just the pilot,” said Lord Kuy. “That would be a question for the captain.”
“Did somebody call?” The voice came from a high-backed chair they had assumed was empty. It spun around to reveal Ah Pukuh, his bulging body squeezed into the silver Elvis jumpsuit he’d worn at Graceland, his black hair gelled into a quiff with a captain’s hat balanced jauntily on top. His face and his many chins were painted with silver makeup.
“What do you think of my outfit, Maxie? Is it too much? I was going for a nautical space-age vibe.”
“Yes, it’s too much,” said Max. “It’s all too much.”
Ah Pukuh’s face clouded over.
“No, it’s just right,” Lola assured him. “You look amazing.”
“I thought so.” Ah Pukuh relaxed. “Back to the bridge, Kuy,” he commanded. “The cosmic crocodile is frisky tonight.” He smiled at Max. “So, Maxie, have I been a good friend?”
“What do you mean?” asked Max sulkily.
“You said friends give each other space. Look out of the porthole. Have I given you enough space?”
“Oh, very funny. Is this another setup? Did you send Tzelek to Cahokia like you sent the monsters to Uncle Ted’s?”
“Tzelek is a loose cannon. Even I cannot control him. He runs on hatred for his brother, like the universe runs on blood. You know that.”
“Then why did you come for us? What do you want?”
“I have a new proposition. A better one.”
“No. We’ve done what you asked us to do,” said Max. “Pretty much.”
“Don’t you get it? We never cared about Great Sun’s Jaguar Stones. We sent you to Cahokia to ignite world interest in the Hero Twins. And I think that alerting the media to this evening’s little alien abduction has done the trick, don’t you?”
“What’s the point of all this?” asked Max wearily. “Where are you taking us?”
“It’s a good question. I am still deciding. I need somewhere with excellent satellite communications, a good tourist infrastructure, and established media links. I’m thinking Chichen Itza.”
Again Max asked, “Why?”
“To play the game.”
“What game?”
“The game of life and death.”
“I’m guessing,” said Lola, “that the deaths would be ours.”
“Absolutely.”
“Why does it have to be us?” asked Max. “We’re not actually the Hero Twins.”
“Try telling that to the crowds at Cahokia. As of tonight, the whole world knows you two as the Hero Twins. And, let’s not kid ourselves, it’s personal. Much as I hate every mortal on this planet, I hate you two the most.”
“So you and I, we’re not BFFs anymore?” asked Max sarcastically.
“You never know. I might reconsider if you just do this one little thing for me, Maxie.”
“Which is?”
“I just told you. A ball game to the death. Hero Twins versus Death Lords.”
“But didn’t we already do that at the Grand Hotel Xibalba?” said Lola. “And we won?”
“Exactly!” exclaimed Ah Pukuh. “I’m proposing a rematch. But this time, we’ll get the ending right. And thanks to your visit to Cahokia, we’ll have millions of viewers all over the world. There won’t be a single mortal who hasn’t heard about Ah Pukuh, the new king of Middleworld, after this game is over. And once we have their undivided attention, the new age of suffering can begin.”
“What happened to the peace train?” asked Max.
“It crashed,” said Ah Pukuh. “No survivors.”
Max shrugged. “Well, your master plan won’t work.”
“Why not?”
“No one in Middleworld cares about the Maya ball game. You might get a few nerds and archaeologists tuning in, but apart from that, forget it.”
“Forget it?” Ah Pukuh’s plague sores were bursting through his silver face paint and throbbing red with anger. “Forget the ball game? It is what the Maya have done since the beginning of time. When we want to settle a dispute, or celebrate a new king, or mark an important occasion, we play ball. That’s what we do.” He reached out and grabbed Max by the neck. “You better make this work or I’ll throw you overboard right now.”
“You could … you could play our ball game,” croaked Max.
Ah Pukuh released him. He smiled. “Where is the finest ball court in all of Middleworld?”
Max didn’t have to think. “Fenway Park. In Boston, Massachusetts.”
“How many mortals watch these games?”
“Millions. All around the world.”
“In that case,” announced Ah Pukuh, “it is decided. The Hero Twins will play for the future of the cosmos at Fenway Park.”
“What if we refuse to play?” asked Lola.
“Then, I win by default. And the losing team is sacrificed. Including their parents and supporters.”
“You do understand,” said Max, “that our ball game is different from yours? It’s called baseball. It has different rules.”
“Whatever.” Ah Pukuh waved a fat hand dismissively. “We’ll cheat anyway.” He stood up and smoothed out his jumpsuit. “I take it there are costumes?”
Max nodded.
“Good. I will be in touch about the details. By the way, on your travels, did you happen to meet Baron Saturday?”
“You know we did,” said Lola.
“Did he talk to you about your funeral arrangements?”
“Just stop,” said Max. “You’re not funny.”
“I am trying to be helpful. Now is a good time to start planning your tombstones. I suggest something fun and catchy like: Death Lords Rule, Hero Twins Drool. Anyway, it’s your choice. I have to get to work on my media platform. This is going to be mega. Finally, I’ll get the recognition I deserve.”
“Can we get off now?” as
ked Max.
“You can get off when we land.” Ah Pukuh swiveled in his chair. “Kuy, set the controls for Boston, Massachusetts!”
And so, that night, unseen by any radar, a space canoe sailed over the sleeping cities of the Eastern Seaboard. Its pilot was half man, half owl. Its captain was a Maya death god on a mission to extinguish the twinkling lights of planet Earth forever.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
STEALING HOME
They landed, in the dead of night, on a deserted wharf beside the Charles River.
“Welcome to Boston,” Max said to Lola. “You said you wanted to see it.”
“I’m guessing this isn’t the tourist district,” she replied, taking in the piles of garbage and snuffling rats.
Lord 6-Dog was wide awake and full of energy after his epic sleep. “How happy I am to be back on terra firma,” he said, executing a twirl on his roller skates.
“You’re getting good on those,” said Lola, sounding impressed.
“I cannot believe that my people put wheels on children’s toys and never thought to put them on their own feet. The stone roads we laid between cities would have been excellent for skates.”
“An ancient Maya king on roller skates?” said Max. “I can’t get my head around this.”
“It makes perfect sense,” Lord 6-Dog explained. “My monkey side is loving the breeze in my fur. It’s like swinging through the trees. I feel like I’m back in the jungle.” He threw back his head and emitted a throaty howl, a sound that carried for miles in all directions.
“Hush,” said Lola. “We’re not in the jungle, we’re in the city now.”
A faint roar of response floated back over the wharves.
“That sounded like a jaguar,” said Lola, surprised.
“Must be the zoo,” said Max.
“Let us go there at once,” suggested Lord 6-Dog.
“No.” Max sounded tired. “We’re going to my house. We can walk from here. But no howling, okay? And if anyone stops us, you’re a kid in a monkey mask on roller skates.”
Sneaking like thieves in the night through the sleeping streets, staying in the shadows and avoiding the street lamps, they made it safely to Max’s home.
Home.
Even in the dark, Max could see that the house was still covered with vines and the front yard looked suspiciously jungle-y. The vegetation, now dying in the chill of fall, was a relic from a prank the Death Lords had played on the Murphy household while Max and Lola were in Spain. Their house had acquired its own jungle biosphere, with the climate, plants, and wildlife of a tropical rainforest.
As he unlocked the front door, Max hoped that the last of the exotic creatures—the toucans, gibnuts, iguanas, snakes, and spiders that had made themselves at home—had all long since departed.
“Here we are,” he said, throwing open the door. “Home, sweet home.”
It still smelled of damp and fungus.
“Mmmm.” Lord 6-Dog breathed in great lungfuls of the moldy air. “It reminds me of my palace in the rainy season.”
“Mom and Dad were hoping it would dry out while they were away,” said Max. He surveyed the peeling wallpaper and crumbling paint. “Sorry it’s such a mess.”
“It’s amazing to be here,” said Lola. “Just think. This is where my mom was living all those years when I thought I was an orphan.”
“You can sleep in her room if you like,” said Max.
“I need no bed,” announced Lord 6-Dog. “I have slept enough. Now I have work to do.”
“Suit yourself,” said Max. “But feel free to use the couch.”
The howler began to peruse the Murphys’ bookshelves.
“I give him ten minutes before he needs a nap,” Max whispered to Lola.
Lola yawned. “I give me five minutes before I’m asleep.”
“Okay, so make yourself at home. Help yourself to anything you need. It’s great to have working phones and Wi-Fi again. I’ll e-mail Lucky before I go to bed and tell him we’re safe.” He reconsidered. “Or, at least, I’ll tell him we’re in Boston.”
There was someone else in Boston that Max e-mailed that night, too.
And texted. Quite a few times.
But there was no reply.
Early the next morning, he was awakened by the sound of pounding on the front door. Certain it was Ah Pukuh, Antonio de Landa, or the police, Max hid under the covers.
He heard the front door being opened.
He heard shouting.
He heard footsteps running upstairs.
He closed his eyes tightly, curled into a ball, and braced himself.
The bedcovers were pulled off him suddenly.
“Rise and shine!” said the perpetrator cheerily.
Max opened his eyes. “Lucky? What are you doing here?”
“We got your e-mail and took the first flight.”
“We?”
“Lady Coco and I. She still had her travel documents from Spain, so we sailed through customs. Hermanjilio’s coming as soon as he can. We’re here to help.”
“What about your class? Shouldn’t you be teaching?”
“This is more important. I’ll stay as long as you need me.” Lucky held out his arms for a hug. “I’m here for you.”
Max sat up in alarm. If tough, inscrutable Lucky Jim had started hugging, a crack must have appeared in the fabric of the universe. “What’s happened now?” he asked warily.
“I’m sorry, Max.” Lucky pulled a balled-up piece of paper out of his pocket. “This was stuck to your front door.”
Max smoothed it out. It was a poster for a ball game. Quite possibly, he realized as he read it, the last ball game he would ever attend.
Hero Twins versus Death Lords, the paper said.
Fenway Park. Gates Open at Sunset, Day of the Dead. Sacrifice of losing team to follow game!
Max decided to ignore that last bit.
“When’s the Day of the Dead?” he asked.
“This was stuck to your front door.”
“It’s actually two days,” replied Lucky. “And it starts on November first, otherwise known as tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Max leapt out of bed. “But we haven’t got a team yet!”
“We’ll talk about it downstairs. Lord 6-Dog has been up all night learning the rules of baseball and Lady Coco’s making breakfast.” (Now that Lucky mentioned it, Max noticed a delicious smell of baking.)
“Where’s Lola?”
“She was reading all the Cahokia reports in the newspapers. Now she’s looking through your family albums. We all laughed at that baby snap of you in the bathtub! Speaking of which, you might want to take a quick shower before you come down.”
Max looked at himself. He was still wearing his green shorts and camouflage paint from Cahokia. His mom wasn’t going to be happy when she saw all the paint on his sheets, he thought. Then he remembered where she was, and realized she had bigger problems.
After his shower, he quickly checked his messages. Still nothing from Nasty Smith-Jones, the Boston music blogger he’d met in Spain and who was possibly, or more possibly not, his first girlfriend in an on-off sort of way. (He leaned more toward on; she leaned more toward off.)
He reread the last text he’d sent her:
Hey Nasty! Haven’t seen you since octopus attack in Venice, lol. I’m back in Boston now. Lola’s here, too! Did I tell you she’s my cousin? Long story! Wanna meet up? IOU pizza and movie, remember?
He sighed. His exhaustion had made him sound like a crazy person. Maybe he’d do better this morning. He began typing again:
Hey Nasty, me again! Remember guy with exploding stomach at Spanish wedding? We’re playing ball against him at Fenway tomorrow. We need a team! Know anyone who plays? You??????????
It was only after he pressed SEND that Max realized this text made him sound even crazier than the first one. He severely doubted that Nasty would want to be on his team.
With a heavy heart, he set about composing a mo
re persuasive recruitment e-mail to his friends at school:
Hey guys. Hope you’re having a good semester. Did you miss me? Well, I’m back in town and trying to get a team together to play at FENWAY tomorrow night. That’s right, I said FENWAY. So if you’ve ever wanted to play at FENWAY, this is your chance! Call me!
Max paused, pleased with his efforts. Who wouldn’t want to play at Fenway? Did he need to add any more details? Like, maybe:
P.S.: We’re playing the ancient Maya Lords of Death. Losers to be sacrificed.
Nah, no sense in scaring them off. He deleted the P.S., copied in everyone he knew, and ran downstairs to eat breakfast.
Lola, Lord 6-Dog, and Lucky were sitting in glum silence at the kitchen table. Aside from a half-eaten banana in front of Lord 6-Dog, it looked like they hadn’t touched their food.
Max’s eyes took in the platter of bacon and eggs.
He was surprised to find that he wasn’t hungry either.
“Seen the headlines?” asked Lola, passing him a pile of newspapers. She was wearing a big robe that he’d seen Zia wear a million times. Lola still had a few bits of beard stuck to her chin. “Looks like Landa got away.”
“They’ll catch him soon. It’s on every news channel,” said Lucky.
Max tossed the papers aside. “That’s exactly what Ah Pukuh wants. Maximum publicity. So people will know who he is before he crushes them. It looks like his little plan is working.”
“We’re not beaten yet,” said Lady Coco, carrying over hot buttered toast and a jar of honey. She was wearing one of Max’s mom’s flowery aprons cut down to fit. She surveyed the untouched food with displeasure. “You need to eat, all of you. You’re our team. You need to be strong for the challenge ahead.”
“Four is not a team,” said Max.
“How many is a team?” asked Lola.
“Nine on the field, and a lot more in reserve.”
They all sighed.
“How is your batting, Lady Coco?” asked Max.
“I have good eyes and strong arms, young lord.”
“So five of us, then,” said Max.
