The Lost City

by J

  “It’s magnificent. A round lidded pot with a lizard handle. Yale would kill for it! Of course, it’s still in its crate and we haven’t had time to translate the glyphs yet, but it’s going to be a real showstopper.”

  Lord 6-Dog appeared from behind a screen. He carried his helmet under his arm.

  “It’s a monkey!” screamed Dr. Delgado. “A monkey in a space suit! I hate monkeys! Get it out of here!”

  Max froze in panic.

  “Excuse me, have you seen my little brother?” asked Lola, running in. “I think he came this way.” She saw Lord 6-Dog and grabbed his hand. “There you are, you naughty boy. Don’t you ever run way like that again. Come on, it’s time to go home.”

  “Your brother is a monkey?” asked Dr. Delgado in shock.

  Lola giggled. “It’s his Halloween costume.

  He’s a space monkey.”

  Dr. Delgado relaxed. “Silly me. It’s Halloween. I quite forgot.”

  “The Peabody Museum is now closing. All visitors are asked to make their way to the exit,” came a voice over the public address system.

  “Time to go home, children,” said Dr. Delgado. “But do come back tomorrow for our Day of the Dead party.” She was still looking at Lord 6-Dog suspiciously.

  As they left, Max distinctly heard her comment to a workman that the boy in the space suit was the ugliest kid she’d ever seen.

  “That was close,” he said to Lord 6-Dog. “Why did you take off your helmet?”

  “I thought I detected the smell of evil.”

  Max nodded knowledgeably. “That’s probably from the Natural History Department. They have a lot of stuffed animals. Some of them are getting a bit old.”

  Lord 6-Dog shuddered. “Let us leave this place.”

  “Happy Halloween!” the woman at the desk called after them.

  “Seeing all the pumpkins on people’s doorsteps makes me think of Chan Kan,” said Lola as they walked to the subway station. “I know you didn’t like him, Hoop, but he did what he thought was right, and he taught me a lot. He was always saying that one little seed of good can change the world. So every time we ate pumpkin, I’d make him a necklace from the seeds.”

  “Nice,” said Max. “But he was your grandfather and he paid Landa to kidnap you from your own parents. I don’t see the seed of good in that.”

  “I don’t either. But I know he regretted it. And he gave his own life to save you and me at the White Pyramid. We should buy some pumpkins. It’s Halloween.”

  “Okay,” said Max. “We can carve them while we watch old baseball games on TV.”

  It was rush hour and the train was crowded.

  They squashed in by the door.

  Lord 6-Dog pulled at Lola’s jacket to get her attention. He pointed to one of Ah Pukuh’s posters pasted on the car’s window. Someone had scrawled Maya glyphs on it in red marker, like ancient Maya graffiti.

  “What does it say?” asked Max.

  “Too advanced for me,” said Lola.

  Lord 6-Dog pulled at her again and she crouched down. Unseen by the crush of commuters, he lifted his helmet slightly and whispered the translation into her ear.

  “Did he tell you what it says?” Max asked when she stood up.

  “The Death Lords reign supreme and the Hero Twins salivate!”

  “I don’t get it,” said Max.

  “Death Lords rule, Hero Twins drool! It’s what Ah Pukuh said we should write on our tombstones. He’s trying to psych us out.”

  Had Ah Pukuh been on this train? Max surveyed the faces of their fellow passengers. A few minutes before they’d looked tired, preoccupied, dazed, uncomfortable. Now they all looked sinister to him.

  “You know, Hoop,” whispered Lola. “I bet we’re the only people on this train whose family members are being held prisoner by the Maya Lords of Death.”

  “And who are going home to a dinner cooked by a howler monkey,” added Max.

  Even with a stop at the store to pick up pumpkins and candy, it didn’t take long to get back. As soon as they piled through the front door of the Murphys’ vine-covered house, Lady Coco ran out to greet them.

  “I’m so happy to see you!” she said. “You have no idea! This neighborhood’s got more spirits than Xibalba! The doorbell’s been ringing all afternoon, and every time I peeped out of the window, I saw ghosts and skeletons at the door.”

  “It’s just kids dressing up for Halloween,” said Max.

  “How do you know it’s not the Death Lords’ supporters come early for the ball game?” demanded Lady Coco.

  Max realized that he didn’t know that at all. Which is why, after a quick discussion, he and his teammates decided that they should eat all their Halloween candy themselves and not open the door again until morning.

  Back at the Peabody Museum, the workmen had gone home. Down in the basement, a crate sat waiting to be unpacked. Inside was the showstopping lidded pot with the lizard handle that had recently arrived from San Xavier. And inside it, something stirred. It was waiting for the Day of the Dead to dawn and the doors between worlds to open.

  It wasn’t a person or an animal, more like a seething gas that was the essence of evil.

  “Trick or treat,” cackled Tzelek to himself.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  THE LAST PIZZA

  The next day was Wak Ok in the Maya calendar, the day of 6-Dog the monkey king’s birthday. Lady Coco made him a cashew and banana cake, and stuck a beeswax candle in it.

  “How old are you, your majesty?” asked Lola.

  “In thy solar years? About twelve hundred.”

  “We should have gotten you something,” said Max.

  “No, I shall give thee something. I shall give thee the greatest team in the history of baseball.” He wiped his hairy chin with his napkin, jumped down from the table, and bounded to the front door to strap on his skates.

  Max and Lola followed him.

  “Lord 6-Dog, I’m worried. Please tell me who’s on the team,” begged Max.

  “Why all the mystery?” asked Lola. “If this team exists, where did you find them?”

  “Trust me. I will see thee at Fenway.” And with that, Lord 6-Dog jammed on his Stormtrooper helmet and skated off into the Boston backstreets.

  “If anyone can pick a team to take on the Death Lords, he can,” said Max when he went back to the others. He sounded like he was trying to convince himself. Lola and Lucky gave him weak smiles.

  “I was busy yesterday,” said Lady Coco brightly. “Come and see my secret weapon.” She lifted the lid off a pot that was boiling furiously on the stove.

  Max peered in. It was dark and unctuous. “What is it?”

  “Do you remember, young lord, when I used flatulence as a weapon at the Black Pyramid to fell several soldiers in Landa’s army?”

  Max nodded. “No one can beat you in that department, Lady Coco.”

  She pointed to an open page in the Boston cookbook. “I found a local dish that will serve my purpose well.”

  Max looked at the recipe and laughed.

  “Boston Baked Beans,” said Lady Coco. “Guaranteed to fell an army of Death Lords. Now you two go practice your ball game. And I will cook up more ammunition.”

  “I’ll coach,” volunteered Lucky. “I picked up a few tips watching those old games last night.”

  So Lucky coached, and Lola pitched, and Max batted.

  Then Lola batted, and Max pitched, and they both argued with Lucky’s coaching.

  As the afternoon wore on, they gathered for one last meal in the Murphy kitchen and everyone chose one course. Max went for thin-crust pepperoni pizza with extra cheese. Lola chose tropical fruit salad. And they added a banana-pecan pie for Lord 6-Dog, who hadn’t come home yet. Lucky suggested they finish up all the ice cream in the freezer as they didn’t know when they’d be back.

  “What about you, Lady Coco?” asked Lola. “Where’s your favorite food?”

  “Right here,” said Lady Coco, tuck
ing into another plate of baked beans. Or, as she called it, loading up on ammo.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  WARMING UP

  “Ready?” asked Lola.

  “No,” said Max.

  “Come on, Hoop, there’s nothing else we can do. We’ve watched games, we’ve practiced all day, we’ve gone over the rules, we’re wearing our Red Sox uniforms—it’s time to get down to Fenway.”

  “Where’s the rest of the team?”

  “You know where. Lord 6-Dog said they’d meet us there.”

  “This has disaster written all over it. I should never have trusted him.”

  “Have faith, young lord,” said Lady Coco, taking off her apron. “My 6-Dog always keeps his word. If he says he will find you a team, he will find you a team.”

  “But how can he? He’s a howler monkey! It’s not like he can just walk up to people on the street. Can you imagine?” Max put on a Boston accent and pretended to talk into a phone. “Yeah, a talking monkey came up to me today and asked me to play ball against the Maya Lords of Death. Did I say yes? ’Course I didn’t say yes. I ran screaming down the street, is what I did.”

  “It’s too late to worry now,” said Lola. “Let’s just get there.”

  “A lot of people are rooting for you guys,” said Lucky, reading the messages on his phone as he came downstairs. “The word is out. I’m hearing from people all over the world.” A car horn honked outside.

  “There’s the cab,” said Max.

  Lady Coco pulled on her child-size Red Sox shirt.

  “Time to go,” she said.

  It took a little while to persuade the driver to accept a howler monkey in his taxi, but in the end he agreed because of Lady Coco’s shirt. “What’s the game tonight?” he asked.

  “It’s a … a charity game,” said Max.

  “Looks like there’s a good crowd.”

  Traffic around Fenway, always bad on game days, was even worse than usual. They were still several blocks away and not moving an inch.

  All around them, people surged toward the ballpark.

  “It’s not the usual Red Sox fans,” said Max. “Most of these people look Maya.”

  It was true. As soon as word had gotten out about this grudge match—in e-mails, texts, tweets, status updates, letters, phone calls, notices in hallways, and whispered messages—Maya people from all over the American continent had dropped everything to head for Boston.

  A surgeon from San Francisco had laid down his scalpel and jumped on a plane. A bellboy from Atlanta had abandoned his luggage cart in the hotel lobby. A weaver from Maine had left her loom to catch a bus. A chef from Chicago put her sous chef in charge. Students from Seattle left their lectures, refugees from Florida hit the road, a university professor from Texas brought his entire class with him.

  From farther afield were costumed performers from a theme park in Cancun; a gang of workmen from Chichen Itza; a party of archaeologists from Honduras; a whole village from the Lacandon rainforest—men, women, and children all with long black hair and wearing their distinctive white tunics; market traders from Guatemala, carrying their wares in straw baskets on their backs; a punk band from the Highlands in leather and jeans with their hair carefully gelled and spiked; village elders in straw hats with long flowing ribbons; old women in intricately woven shawls.

  “Wow.” Max stared at them all in amazement. “I can’t believe it.”

  Lady Coco wiped a tear from her eye.

  “What’s the matter?” Lola asked her.

  “I’m so proud. It’s been a long time since I saw our people come together. All the costumes and the colors, it reminds me of markets in the old days.”

  “These folks need you to win today,” said Lucky to Max and Lola. “If they see a couple of kids stand up to the Death Lords, they’ll know that anything is possible.”

  “We are so doomed,” said Lola.

  “Look!” said Lady Coco, pointing through the taxi window. “Sacrifice victims!”

  They looked where she pointed and saw three men painted blue from head to toe.

  Max laughed. “That’s the Blue Man Group. It’s a show in town. They’re actors.”

  “Well, I hope Ah Pukuh doesn’t see them,” fretted Lady Coco. “You know that my people painted sacrifice victims that exact same color. They’re taking their lives in their hands, walking around in blue paint like that.”

  A Blue Man saw her looking and mimed falling in love by pretending to give her his heart. “That man has a death wish,” said Lady Coco, shaking her head.

  Max was panicking now. “This traffic isn’t moving. It would be quicker to walk.”

  He started to open his door and quickly pulled it shut again as a motorbike almost clipped the paintwork. Next minute, the taxi was surrounded by bikes, their riders wearing black knitted ski masks.

  Lucky rolled down his window and shouted something in Mayan to the leader of the gang, a woman with a bandanna across her face.

  “What’s he saying?” Max asked Lola.

  “They’re rebels from the mountains,” she explained. “They fight for the rights of the poor. They’re offering us a lift to the game.”

  Max, Lola, Lucky, and Lady Coco each took a seat on the back of a bike. Then, to the cheers of the crowd, the rebels took off, revving their engines, weaving through the traffic, and pumping their fists in the air.

  When they finally arrived at Fenway, it looked very different from the day before—like some evil alien version of itself from a parallel universe. The usual red, white, and blue Red Sox pennants along Yawkey Way were gone, replaced by black Death Lord pennants with skulls on them. The rotating baseball sign by the parking lot across the street had been swapped out for a rotating skull. Even the Red Sox merchandise in the team shop sat side by side with souvenirs of Xibalba.

  Fenway looked very different from the day before.

  Yawkey Way had been closed to traffic and now bustled with pregame excitement.

  Max noticed that many of the food stalls had added fried grasshoppers to their usual offerings of peanuts and Cracker Jack. A program seller with a fearsomely painted face waved a brochure in Max’s face. “Get yer programs and completed scorecards here.”

  “How can they be completed?” asked Max. “The game hasn’t started yet.”

  “This game is a foregone conclusion, sonny,” said the program seller. “The Death Lords win. End of story.”

  They headed for the players’ entrance.

  “Names?” said the one-eyed ogre on security.

  “They’re Max and Lola, the Hero Twins,” said Lady Coco indignantly. “They’re the home team in today’s game.”

  The ogre checked his list and waved them through. Lucky and Lady Coco went to follow, but the ogre barred their way.

  “I’m under strict instructions. No one but the twins gets through,” he said. “You two, scram. You’re not on the list.”

  “But we’re with them,” argued Lucky. “I’m the coach and—”

  The ogre curled his massive fist.

  “It’s okay,” said Max to Lucky, trying to sound brave. “Go get good seats. We’ll be fine. It’s too late for coaching, anyway.”

  Lola forced a smile. “We have to say good-bye sometime.”

  Lady Coco gave a little toot of melancholy. “Please come back safe to me,” she sniffled.

  They nodded unconvincingly.

  “And remember,” said the monkey queen. “I ate that whole pot of beans. So if you need artillery, just tell me where to point and shoot.”

  Lucky and Lady Coco watched as Max and Lola went inside, following signs to the home team locker room.

  “Good-bye, Hero Twins!” they called. “Good luck!”

  “I feel sick,” Max said to Lola. “I’m so nervous I could throw up.”

  “It’s just the smell of hot dogs,” said Lola. She didn’t look very well herself.

  She looked even worse when they found their locker room and it was empty. “
Great!” said Max, kicking a locker door. “Where’s Lord 6-Dog? Where’s the team?”

  Lola bit her lip. “We still have time,” she said. “Want to practice?”

  “We should be practicing with our team,” objected Max. But he grabbed a bat and ball and followed her anyway.

  As they walked through the tunnel to the field, they heard a cacophony of drums and screeching guitars.

  Lola put her hands over her ears.

  Max winced. “This is the worst warm-up band I’ve ever heard.”

  When they reached the end of the tunnel and saw where the noise was coming from, they stood and gaped. Fenway’s interior had also been transformed.

  For a start, the Green Monster—that towering green wall—had been daubed blood-red. On top, instead of the usual seating, was a rock stage with a massive PA system and light show. Performing on this precariously high platform was Max’s favorite band, the Plague Rats.

  Or at least, it looked like them. But Max wasn’t taken in. After all, the real Plague Rats took pride in bad musicianship, but this was something else. This was painful.

  He instantly realized that the four skinny dudes in black leather prancing about on the stage were the same four demons of hell who’d impersonated the Rats in Spain. Apparently, Ah Pukuh was a Plague Rats fan, too.

  Meanwhile on the floodlit field, pandemonium ruled.

  Flaming trapeze artists flew high above the stands. Zombies with nothing left to lose were fire-eating, juggling chain saws, and sword-fighting on stilts. Heads and body parts flew everywhere, all in a swirling mist of dry ice.

  It was chaos.

  It was terrifying.

  It was fantastic.

  “I guess this is what Ah Pukuh meant when he said he wanted a spectacle.”

  They peered at it all from the safety of the tunnel.

  “We can’t let them intimidate us,” said Lola. “We need to go out there. Get started with batting practice.”

  Max took a deep breath. “Let’s do it!”

  As soon as they ran onto the field, a cheer went up from the crowd, followed by a weak chorus of boos. Max looked around the stands. He estimated that the crowd was 20 percent ghouls and 80 percent good guys; about the same ratio as Yankees to Red Sox fans when the two arch-rivals played at Fenway.