by J
“At least we are the home team at Fenway,” said Lord 6-Dog. “I learned last night that visiting players are at a disadvantage, due to the quirks of the field.”
“Only if the home team knows the field,” Max pointed out.
“So tell me,” said Lola. “What quirks?”
“Fenway isn’t like any other ballpark,” Max began.
Lola sighed. “Is this a good moment to remind you that I’ve never seen a ballpark? And I’ve never seen a baseball game?”
“Seriously?” Max looked at her in horror and began jabbing into his phone. “The season’s pretty much over, but I think they still do tours of the ballpark.” He studied his screen. “Yes, here it is. And they have tickets for today! Let’s go!”
“Wait,” laughed Lola, “I can’t go in a bathrobe! I need to borrow some clothes.”
When he’d found her a hoodie, jeans, and sneakers, Max turned his attention to Lord 6-Dog. “You need a disguise,” he said. “Someone will call the zoo if they see a howler monkey loose in Boston.”
“What’s a zoo?” asked Lady Coco.
“They keep animals in cages,” explained Lola.
“A jaguar called to me last night,” Lord 6-Dog told his mother. “He sounded melancholy.”
“I’m not surprised,” said Lady Coco, shuddering. “If you don’t mind, young lord, I will stay home today.”
“Will you be all right on your own?” Max asked her.
“I have little 6-Dog to keep me company,” she said, pulling the Dawg Doll from Cahokia out of her apron pocket.
“But don’t you want to see Boston?”
“My heart is in the rainforest. I care not for cities, unless they are Maya cities. I would rather stay here and cook a dinner. What does your mother make for you?”
Max grimaced. “My mother is the worst cook in the world. But she likes buying cookbooks.” Max showed Lady Coco the crammed kitchen bookshelf. “Look”—he selected a book—“this one’s from a restaurant here in Boston.”
Lady Coco’s eyes lit up as she looked through the photographs. “Clam chowder, Boston cream pie … this all sounds delicious.”
“Tonight we feast like kings!” declared Lord 6-Dog. “For tomorrow we fight like kings!”
Lola gulped. “So let’s go inspect the battlefield. Did you find a disguise for Lord 6-Dog?”
“I have an idea!” said Max, turning to run upstairs. “Follow me!”
They found him in his room, rooting through a closet. “I know it’s in here!” he called, throwing out footballs, and plastic toys, and stuffed animals, and assorted action figures.
“Aren’t you a bit old for all this?” asked Lola, trying on a pirate hat.
“I know. I keep meaning to clear it all out, but it’s easier to just never open the closet.”
“I think you should keep them.” Lola took off the pirate hat and picked up an old teddy bear. “It must be amazing to have your whole childhood around you like this.”
Max was in the depths of the closet and didn’t hear her, so she continued wandering around the room, inspecting his stuff.
“Adventure Stories for Boys,” she read, taking a book off the shelf. “Anything in here about meeting a Maya girl and some talking howler monkeys, Hoop?” She opened the book. “ ‘Happy birthday, bambino,’ ” she read. “ ‘Wishing you many adventures.’ ” Lola smiled to herself. “Well, that came true all right.” She took the book over to the closet. “I like how your mom always calls you bambino,” she called.
“She’s Italian,” Max called back. “It means ‘little boy.’ ”
“I know that. It’s cute. I bet she’s called you bambino every day since you were a baby.”
“Yeah. I kinda wish she’d stop now.”
Lola went quiet, and when Max looked up to see why, she had a weird expression on her face.
“Sorry,” he said. “It smells a bit funky in here. I need to clean up.”
“It’s not that. I was just thinking that my mom doesn’t have a pet name for me yet. We haven’t had time.” She looked away for a moment. “Did you find what you were looking for?” she asked, a little too brightly.
“Here it is!” said Max, pulling out a white helmet from under a pile of board games. The rest of the costume was stuffed inside the helmet. “It looks perfect.”
And it was.
“Who am I?” asked Lord 6-Dog, his voice muffled by the helmet.
“It’s from a movie called Star Wars,” Max explained to Lord 6-Dog. “You’re a Stormtrooper.”
“A Stormtrooper, thou sayest? What might that be?”
“An elite fighter of the Galactic Empire.”
Lord 6-Dog nodded his approval and went to study himself in the mirror.
Lola was checking out all of Max’s video games—“You have a lot of stuff, Hoop”—when she noticed his drum set, half hidden under a pile of laundry. She cleared off the clothes and sat down to play.
“You’ll need these,” said Max, handing her the headphones. “It’s electronic. You can hear yourself but no one else can.”
“Seriously?” Lola looked horrified. “You sit in your room drumming silently? That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“The neighbors like it.”
“They don’t dance in the streets when they hear drums?”
“No,” said Max. “Maybe in Vermont, but not in Boston.”
“What are you doing up there?” called Lucky. “Daylight’s burning.”
“I think I’d like Vermont,” said Lola as they went downstairs.
“Add it to your road trip,” said Max.
“First I need to get my parents back.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
HALLOWEEN
Out on the gray streets, the fallen leaves were crispy under their feet and they kicked them as they walked along. Lord 6-Dog skated ahead. They were barely halfway to the T station when Lord 6-Dog let out a howl that set all the dogs of Boston barking.
“Death Lords approaching! Take cover,” he shouted, diving over a low garden wall in his roller skates. The other three followed him without thinking and found themselves crouched behind some scraggly bushes in someone’s front yard.
A trio of skeletons walked past them, chattering excitedly.
Max noticed how small they were.
And how they carried orange plastic pumpkins.
“It’s Halloween!” he said. “The kids are wearing their costumes to school!”
A witch and a dead bride skipped happily by on the other side of the street.
Max, Lola, and Lucky waited until the coast was clear, then stood up, gave Lord 6-Dog a hand up on his skates, and brushed themselves off.
“Now I understand why Ah Pukuh chose tomorrow for the game,” said Max. “Halloween is the only time that ghouls and ghosts can come in to town unnoticed, since all the kids are in costumes.”
“And tomorrow, on the Day of the Dead,” added Lucky, “the doors on the graves are opened and the dear departed return to visit their loved ones. It’s a spooky time of year.”
Max’s phone pinged. “It’s Nasty,” he said, reading the message. “She says: Hey Mac! Hey Lola! I’ll put word out. Everyone talking about game. Posters everywhere. Line about sacrifice putting off players. See you there.”
“Why does she call you Mac?” asked Lucky.
“It’s a private joke,” said Max. To be honest, Nasty Smith-Jones had gotten his name wrong so many times that he wasn’t sure if it was a joke or not.
“So, is she on our team?” asked Lola.
“I guess we’ll find out tomorrow.” Max put his phone away. “But if everyone’s freaking out about the sacrifice, that explains why none of my friends have called back.”
“Thy friends are cowards,” opined Lord 6-Dog as he skated around a confused squirrel on the sidewalk.
“You can hardly blame them,” said Max. “No one wants to get sacrificed after a game. Anyway, it’s a school night.”
Nasty was right. Ah Pukuh’s posters were up everywhere. On lampposts, in shop windows, on bus sides, on subway walls. When they emerged from the green line to Kenmore Square, they felt sure that no one in Boston could be unaware of the event.
“Looks like Ah Pukuh has publicity covered,” said Lucky.
“He’s been studying PR,” said Max. “He’s convinced it’s the way forward for the villains of the world.”
On Yawkey Way, outside the stadium, a large group of people milled around.
“Who is that?” asked Lord 6-Dog, eyeing a bronze statue. “Is it one of your kings?”
“Yes,” said Max. “It’s Ted Williams. They call him the greatest hitter who ever lived.”
“I wish he was on our team,” said Lola.
“He’s dead,” said Max.
“Like us,” wailed Lola.
“Next tour departs in two minutes!” called a guide. They bought tickets and mingled with the rest of the tourists.
“Did you see that poster for tomorrow’s game?” one woman asked another. “Hero Twins versus Death Lords. I haven’t heard of those teams. Have you?”
“They let all sorts of riffraff play here in the off-season,” said her friend.
“I heard that tickets are free,” said the first woman.
“In that case, we’ll definitely be there. The whole of Boston will probably be there!”
Max and Lola exchanged a look of terror.
For the next hour they tried to forget their fears as they listened to their tour guide telling stories from the history of the Red Sox. They posed for photographs in the stands. They sat on the Green Monster, the high scoreboard wall at left field that routinely turned home runs into doubles. They inspected the red-painted seat that marks the landing spot of the longest ball ever hit at Fenway, shot by Ted Williams of statue fame.
But whatever part of the ground they were being shown or whatever piece of local pride was being pointed out, their eyes kept straying back to the home plate.
Max’s stomach did a double-flip every time he imagined standing there in the footsteps of all the great Red Sox players, waiting for a pitch from a cheating Death Lord. Even the mighty Ted Williams would have trouble hitting under those circumstances. Max felt a lump in his throat. Once news of his brave self-sacrifice got out, maybe the Red Sox would erect a statue to him next to Ted Williams on Yawkey Way.
“Hoop!” Lola interrupted his thoughts. “Come on! The tour’s over.”
“So what did you think?” asked Max.
“It’s smaller than I expected,” said Lola, “not quite as intimidating.”
“Those stories were really neat,” said Lucky.
“I sensed the history in every brick and every blade of grass,” said Lord 6-Dog.
Max asked, “Any ideas for getting a team together?”
“Leave it to me, young lord,” said Lord 6-Dog. “This ball court has inspired me. I would be honored to form a team to play on this hallowed ground.”
“You?” Max stared at the little Stormtrooper. “But you don’t know anyone in Boston.”
“Dost thou not trust me, young lord? When have I ever let thee down?”
Max remembered all the tight spots they’d been in, all the narrow escapes they’d survived, all the times that the monkey king’s wisdom had saved his life.
“Of course I trust you,” he said. “But—”
“But nothing. I will be your manager. Lucky will be your coach. My mother will be your nutritionist. By sunset tomorrow, I will have found seven players, plus reserves, to join you and Lady Lola on the Hero Twins’ team. I have a most excellent plan. Do not give it another thought.”
Max knew he would think about nothing else.
Lola pointed to the team shop. “We should get some stuff to practice with—bats and balls.”
“And Red Sox gear,” said Max, “so people will know we’re the home team.”
Loaded up with their shopping, they walked to the nearest park and tried out their skills with their new bats and balls. It didn’t go well. Then they sat down and ate the lunch that Lady Coco had packed for them, and watched little monsters trot by on the candy trail.
“Feels like it’s getting dark already,” said Lola. “The days are short here.”
“This time tomorrow,” said Max, “we’ll be warming up for the game.” He shivered. “Let’s go home and practice some more.”
“What’s the point?” said Lola. “It’s not going to make any difference. I’d rather forget about baseball and be a tourist for my last night on Earth. I’ve never been a tourist before.”
“I guess it will be too dark to practice by the time we get home. But you have to promise to watch baseball with me on TV tonight.” Everyone nodded. “So what do you want to see?”
“What is there?” asked Lola.
Max shrugged. “There’s the aquarium. Or a duck boat down the river. Or the swan boats.”
“No fish, no boats, and no water,” demanded Lord 6-Dog, skating backward past them. He’d tied his red blanket over his costume for warmth. “And somewhere indoors, it’s getting cold.”
“I have a suggestion,” said Lucky. “How about the Peabody Museum? Their Maya collection is famous.”
“That would be of great interest to me,” agreed Lord 6-Dog.
“I’m down with that,” said Lola. “Isn’t that where your parents work, Hoop?”
“Yeah, it’s just across the river. At Harvard.”
“Harvard?” Lola’s eyes were shining.
Lucky smiled at her. “Thinking about applying?”
She rolled her eyes at him. “Yeah right, like Harvard would admit someone who grew up barefoot in a hut with no electricity.”
“You’re as smart as any Harvard student,” Lucky said. “We need to believe in ourselves if we’re going to stand a chance tomorrow.”
“Hear, hear!” cheered Lord 6-Dog, executing a perfect double axel, his red blanket streaming out behind him like a cape.
He looks like a monkey superhero, thought Max.
Which, in many ways, he was.
It was twilight by the time they reached Harvard Square. Students dressed as vampires and werewolves flitted through the shadows.
“This place is beautiful,” said Lola.
“Then you’d fit right in here,” said Lucky.
Max thought he saw her blush.
They crossed the road to a big redbrick building and ran up the steps.
“Welcome to the Peabody Museum of Archaeology and Ethnology,” said the lady at the desk. “You’re my only guests this afternoon. But I must warn you that we close in one hour. No roller skates inside the building.”
“We’ll be quick,” Max promised her.
He led them up the stairs to the third floor, home of the Americas exhibits. After so many rainy weekends being dragged around this museum by his parents, he knew it like the back of his hand.
Lucky pointed out a display of Maya fabrics and backstrap looms to Lola. “Look at the craftsmanship. See how the strength of our people comes out in every stitch.”
She nodded. “They look like the patterns the women weave in my village. I wish I could tell them that their shawls and tablecloths are on display in a fancy museum in Boston, Massachusetts.”
“You can tell them when you go back. After we win.”
“Like that’s going to happen,” she said.
“I had hoped that coming to the Peabody would inspire you,” Lucky said. “At this moment, you are surrounded by the achievements of your people. Try to draw strength from it. With our pyramids, our writing system, and our calendar, we Maya have always defied people’s expectations. I would add to that list the fact that we have endured so much and lived to tell the tale. The impossible is what we do. And tomorrow we will continue that tradition.”
“I just wish,” said Lola, “that we had a tradition of playing baseball. All this old stuff is not going to help us.”
She caught up to Max at the Da
y of the Dead exhibit, where an altar decorated with skulls and paper flowers dominated a room full of tributes to the dead. Skeletons in hats and party dresses hung from the ceiling, dancing in the breeze from a ceiling vent. On a table, sugar skulls and coloring pages awaited the next day’s school visits.
Lord 6-Dog swooped into the room. “I sense danger!” he whispered. “Be on thy guard.”
Before they could ask him to explain, he ran to the far end of the Americas floor and disappeared behind a large screen bearing the notice:
“Better follow him,” said Max. “He’s not supposed to be back there.”
On the other side of the screen, workmen assembled stands and display cases. A museum director bustled around giving instructions.
She glared at Max over her spectacles. “Can’t you read, boy? This section is closed to visitors. Off you go now. Shoo. We’re very busy.”
Playing for time while he looked around for Lord 6-Dog, Max said: “I’m … I’m Max Murphy, Frank and Carla Murphy’s son.”
The museum director examined him more closely. “Ah, red hair like your father, I see the family resemblance. But that still gives you no right to come back here. I suppose they told you to come and check up on the new Maya pottery exhibition?”
Trying to keep her talking, Max decided to wing it: “Yes. That’s right. How’s it going?”
“Nothing broken so far, thank goodness. There were so many pieces in storage that have never been shown before. And of course, your parents’ shipment arrived in the nick of time. Do thank them for us—what we’ve glimpsed so far is spectacular!”
“Thank them for … um … what exactly”—Max peered at her badge—“Dr. Delgado?”
She looked at him like he was stupid. “For sending the shipment.”
“Mom and Dad sent a shipment?”
Dr. Delgado’s laughter trilled like fingernails on a chalkboard. “Of course. It’s from the Black Pyramid in San Xavier. It just arrived. Who else would send it?”
Max didn’t know the answer to that question. But he did know that it was not from his parents. They’d been way too busy getting locked up in jail to be shipping any artifacts back to Boston.
“What was in it?” he asked.
