The Lost City

by J

  To make things more interesting, in much the same way that he’d loaned Max and Lola superhero abilities at the Grand Hotel Xibalba, he’d given each of the Death Lords phenomenal skills in baseball.

  But there were two things he hadn’t counted on.

  The first was that Max and Lola would show up with, excluding themselves, the greatest team in the history of baseball.

  The second was that baseball is not just about the physical skills of pitching, hitting, fielding, and running. It also requires mental qualities like courage, patience, endurance, and the capacity for teamwork—none of which the Death Lords possessed.

  Even though the Death Lords directed most plays toward the Hero Twins as the weakest links in their team, the seasoned Red Sox players anticipated this and covered for them. They also used their knowledge of the quirky layout of Fenway to their best advantage.

  By the end of the third inning, the Hero Twins had crept into the lead and the crowd was beginning to sense that victory was possible. This strengthened the home team’s mental resolve and further spurred them on.

  Ah Pukuh was livid.

  Realizing that the Death Lords could not win by out-playing their opponents, he called on a skill his team had been honing for thousands of years in Xibalba—the art of blatant cheating.

  At his signal, the Death Lords began to use every trick they could think of to gross out, distract, disgust, and confuse their opposition.

  Skull Scepter was the master of this tactic.

  For example, when he’d just rounded third base and was heading for home. Jimmie Foxx sent the ball to catcher Hick Cady on home base, but Skull Scepter kept on running. Ten feet from home, he purposely disintegrated his body into a mass of bones, sinews, and intestines that slithered on independently, in order to get past Cady.

  Undaunted, Cady calmly tagged several squishy parts of Skull Scepter before any of them hit home plate and called for a new, clean ball. The Hero Twins cheered the out. The Death Lords argued that Skull Scepter couldn’t be out because his foot was still on second.

  And there it was—his disembodied foot on second base, wiggling its toes in victory.

  The Hero Twins appealed to the umpires.

  After some deliberation, the Paddler Gods decided that in the nature of Maya duality, Skull Scepter was both in and out, and had both scored and not scored.

  Max was tearing his hair out, but the bottom line was that the Death Lords were up by one and Skull Scepter was still on second.

  Such wayward tactics, coupled with increasingly more baffling pronouncements from the umpires, helped the Death Lords edge forward. By the time they reached the bottom of the ninth inning, they were ahead by seven runs to five.

  The game was winding to a close.

  Jimmie Foxx was on third and Max was up to bat.

  “We have two outs, kid,” muttered Babe Ruth. “We need two runs to stay in the game. Think you can handle it?”

  Max nodded, because how could he tell the legendary Babe Ruth that he didn’t have any hope of hitting the ball? Max had had a really bad night. Not only had he failed to get on base, he hadn’t even been able to get a good hit.

  He stepped up to the plate.

  The Death Lords smirked at each other. If it had been one of the Red Sox players, they might have been a little nervous. As it was, they knew the game was securely in their bony hands.

  Max could feel the crowd willing him on.

  Just hit it, he told himself. Just hit it.

  The Demon of Pus was on the mound. His first pitch was a curveball that seemed so far out of the zone, Max didn’t even think of swinging at it.

  At the last minute, whether by fair means or foul, the ball swung in over the plate.

  “Strike one!” shouted the umpires.

  The second pitch was a blistering fastball that blurred past Max and hit the catcher’s mitt before he’d even started to swing.

  “Strike two!”

  This was it.

  Max was two strikes down and one pitch away from defeat.

  The future of the world hung on this next pitch.

  Max stepped back and looked at the crowd. He saw Och’s little face, so tense and worried. He saw his parents’ faces, full of encouragement. He saw Lucky, nodding at him sagely, and Lady Coco, pumping her hairy little fists.

  If he missed this ball, he was condemning everyone in this park and their children and their great-great-great-grandchildren to four hundred years of misrule by an unstoppable Ah Pukuh. If he got a hit, the Hero Twins would be on track to win for Middleworld.

  He stepped back up to the plate and focused on the Demon of Pus.

  He never even saw the ball.

  All he knew was that he swung the bat with all the anger and frustration that had been building up inside of him since the day that his parents had announced they were canceling the family vacation and taking off for a dig in San Xavier.

  Crack!

  Against all expectation, logic, and common sense, the bat made solid contact with the ball.

  There was stunned silence in the stands, in the field, and in the dugout.

  But no one was more stunned than Max himself. He just stood there with his mouth hanging open in disbelief.

  The bat dropped from his hands.

  The ball floated out past the infield, past center field, and hit deep into the stands, where it was caught by Och. The crowd went wild.

  A home run.

  The only home run Max had ever hit.

  Eventually, he came to his senses and, to wild cheering from the crowd, did the obligatory run around the bases.

  The score was now tied and Dom DiMaggio was up to bat.

  Rattled by Max’s home run, the Demon of Pus struggled to get the ball over the plate and Dom walked to first base.

  Babe Ruth was up next and the crowd went wild, sensing that a victory for the good guys was at hand.

  Ah Pukuh pulled Skull Scepter out of center field and put in Lord Kuy.

  Ruth came up to the plate, waved to the crowd, and then pointed with his bat to the single red seat in the stands that marked the longest home run ever hit at Fenway.

  “That’s what you think,” snarled the Demon of Pus. He wound up and threw a fastball straight at the Babe, who only just jumped out of the way.

  “Ball one!” shouted the umpires in chorus.

  The next pitch bounced off the plate.

  “Ball two!”

  The next pitch was another lethal fastball, but Babe Ruth was waiting.

  Crack!

  The ball lofted high and arced toward the stands.

  It was a home run for sure.

  Until …

  … Lord Kuy spread his owl wings …

  … flew after the ball …

  … and caught it in his talons.

  NO! NO! NO! The home team’s fans protested, but the umpires ruled it a fair catch. Now the score was tied and the game was going into extra innings.

  Lord Kuy’s dastardly aerial defense had a devastating effect on the Red Sox players. Nobody could get a ball past the swooping owl in outfield.

  In the twelfth inning, the Death Lords scored.

  Once again, the home team had to tie the score or lose the game.

  Joe Cronin, up first, was caught out by Lord Kuy’s flying fielding.

  The great Ted Williams stepped up to bat.

  He hit low, fast and straight down the first base line. Kuy flew to catch it and crashed into Pesky’s Pole. As the owl-man was carried away on a stretcher, Ted Williams smiled a “mission accomplished” kind of smile.

  In his anger, Ah Pukuh’s bloated body released a cloud of gas so toxic that a nearby popcorn seller passed out from the smell.

  Johnny Pesky was up next and hit a single. Hick Cady and Jimmie Foxx both got hits. With the bases loaded and two outs, it was Max’s turn to bat again.

  He relished the moment.

  This time, when he stepped up, the crowd didn’t groan. They knew wha
t he was capable of. They waited for him to repeat his home run.

  “Go, bambino!” cried his mother’s voice.

  The first two pitches flew by as strikes.

  Max let slip a curse word.

  The crowd went quiet.

  Someone said: “Did he just curse?”

  Someone else said: “Did she call him bambino?”

  Babe Ruth put his head in his hands.

  With the fate of the world resting on his next ball, Max focused.

  Time slowed.

  He saw the ball coming at him and swung his bat hard.

  He missed.

  “Strike three!” called the umpires. “You’re out.”

  The Curse of the Bambino had struck again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  PAYBACK TIME

  So that was it. In the great rematch between the Hero Twins and the Death Lords, the Death Lords won. No bones about it.

  “Thanks for coming,” said Max to Ted Williams. He couldn’t meet the great man’s eyes.

  “Our pleasure. We’ll be off now, if you don’t need us anymore.”

  Max nodded. “No sense in us all getting sacrificed.”

  Ted Williams rubbed his neck. “We can stick around if you want us to. We’re dead anyway, so it makes no difference.”

  “You’ve done more than enough,” said Max.

  “Wish we could’ve got a win for you.”

  “Me too,” said Lola.

  Ted Williams smiled at her ruefully. “You know what they say about the Red Sox?”

  Lola rolled her eyes. “It’s not about winning, it’s about believing.”

  “Yes,” said Ted Williams. He looked embarrassed. “Good-bye, then.”

  “Good-bye,” said Max.

  Lola said nothing.

  “Keep believing,” called Ted Williams as he and the rest of the greatest players in Red Sox history vanished back into the mist.

  Ah Pukuh’s voice came over the loudspeaker.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, zombies and ghouls, we hope you enjoyed tonight’s game. The winners were, of course, the Death Lords, and the losers were all the rest of you. There will be a brief interlude while we set up for the human sacrifice portion of the program. Please do not attempt to leave the ballpark as all gates have been locked.”

  Max wanted to go and say good-bye to his family, but the field was ringed by Ah Pukuh’s heavies, and they weren’t letting anyone go anywhere. He could see his mother crying hysterically and his father arguing with a security guard. Uncle Ted and Zia were calling out to Lola. All over the stands, people were screaming and crying, and fighting to get out.

  The noise was like hell on earth.

  Max sat in silence with Lola and Lord 6-Dog in the dugout.

  He was almost glad when the bogus Plague Rats launched into another set.

  All was hustle and bustle on the field as Ah Pukuh’s lackeys assembled a stage under the Green Monster. On it they placed a huge throne swathed in jaguar fabrics and a long, low table.

  Next, a massive stone altar was rolled in and set in the middle of the field.

  A procession of grim-looking priests, draped in black with matted hair and painted faces, circled the field, each swinging a large incense burner.

  When the priests’ acrid smoke had dispersed, five monkey-faced monstrous little men paraded in, each carrying a Jaguar Stone on a cushion. They arranged the five Jaguar Stones on the table below the throne and sat in front of them to guard them.

  Another squad of priests entered, this time carrying blue paint, knives, and special bowls to catch the blood.

  Max felt sick to his stomach.

  “We could run,” he said.

  “Where to?” said Lola.

  “Do you think it will hurt?”

  “Maybe not,” she said. “Those obsidian knives are very sharp.” They watched for a moment as the priests set out their equipment. She took his hand. “Hey, Hoop, do you remember the first time we met? Landa was chasing you, and I told you to follow me to the Blue Pool and we escaped down the underground river?”

  Max nodded.

  “I wanted to tell you that I’ve always regretted that. I should have taken you back to your uncle’s house. Then maybe you’d never have gotten involved in any of this.”

  “And I wouldn’t have gotten to know you. And you wouldn’t have found your parents. And we wouldn’t be cousins. It all happened for a reason. You can’t go back.”

  Lola did a double take. “You’re sounding a bit like Lord 6-Dog.”

  Max laughed. “And what an honor to meet an ancient Maya king. Shame I’ll never get to tell my children about it.”

  “This wasn’t your world. You’re not Maya. You shouldn’t be here. You don’t deserve any of this. I’m so sorry.”

  “You can’t say that,” Max pointed out. “The Death Lords chose me because I look like my ancestor, the Spanish conquistador Rodrigo Pizarro. They chose you because you look like your ancestor Princess Inez. They needed both of us to get their hands on the Yellow Jaguar. There was nothing we could have done to stop this from happening.”

  Lola was staring at him.

  “What? What’s the matter?”

  “Really, Hoop? You’re not going to say that it’s not fair?”

  “That used to be my catchphrase, didn’t it? But I’ve learned a lot from you, Monkey Girl. And I get that life isn’t ever fair. It’s a challenge. A different challenge for everyone. And it’s how we react to that challenge that says who we are.”

  “I think I’ve fainted,” said Lola. “I’m hallucinating. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Are you sure you’re Hoop? You’re not some actor he paid to stand in for him?”

  “I wish I was an actor. Because this is how it ends. We get sacrificed and Ah Pukuh gets to boast that he beat the Hero Twins and the Red Sox.”

  “In a Yankees uniform,” added Lola.

  “Stop it,” said Max.

  Lola groaned. “I kind of wish they’d get on with it. This waiting is torture, too.”

  “So what do you think Ah Pukuh will do next?” asked Max. “He’s not going to settle for trophies on the mantelpiece. He’s got the attention of the world and he’s got the Jaguar Stones.”

  “You don’t need Jaguar Stones to be unthinkably evil,” said Lola, looking at the ground. A moment later, her head popped up excitedly. “That’s it!” she said. “You don’t need Jaguar Stones!”

  Max shook his head. “Say what? We’ve been risking our lives to track down Jaguar Stones and—not very successfully—keep them out of the hands of the bad guys. Now you tell me it’s not about them?”

  “Yes! You know how the Maya don’t look at things as black-and-white? Nothing is all good or all bad. Well, it’s the same with the Jaguar Stones. They’re not innately good or bad. They simply channel the powers of the king. It’s all about how you look at it.”

  “I haven’t got a clue what you’re talking about.” Max was too freaked out to follow her philosophical musings. He couldn’t take his eyes off the obsidian blade that awaited him on the altar.

  Time was moving far too quickly now.

  The band stopped, the trumpeters played their conch shell fanfare, and Ah Pukuh swaggered onto the stage in a black sequined tuxedo jacket. This time, his headdress was made of three live quetzal birds, the most endangered creatures of the cloud forest, bound cruelly together chest to chest, so that their beautiful, long, iridescent tail feathers sprayed out like a waterfall over Ah Pukuh’s fat head. His blotchy, pox-marked face was plastered in thick white makeup, his eyes were daubed in black, and his mouth was a red slash.

  He looked repulsive, ridiculous, insane. But Max felt only fear at what this maniac was about to do.

  Ah Pukuh picked up the microphone.

  His ugly face was broadcast on the big screen.

  “As Venus, the morning star, rises in the sky and heralds the start of a war that will never end, I want to thank the Hero Twins for ushering in my r
ule. You saw how I crushed them, outwitted them, broke them … and I will do the same to every living soul in Middleworld. So look your last at your loved ones, kiss your children good-bye. It’s time to get real, Middleworld. You are entering the pain zone. And you have only yourselves to blame.

  His headdress was made of three live quetzal birds.

  “When I first came here, I wooed you with hurricanes, floods, and epidemics. Instead of paying me tribute, you clubbed together and helped each other. That disgusting behavior will not go unpunished. It’s payback time. We’re playing by my rules now. And I am about to introduce you to the five Jaguar Stones that will make you wish you had never been born. Individually, they control time, weather, death, blood, and fertility. Together they form a Five-Headed Jaguar that will control every aspect of your miserable lives until the day I end them.

  “As soon as we have dispatched the Hero Twins, symbols of all that is good, we can get on with my new age of all that is bad!” Ah Pukuh’s minions applauded, he posed for some press photographs with a baseball bat, and then he kicked the photographers off the stage. “Sacrifice time!” he bellowed.

  Lord 6-Dog, Max, and Lola were pulled to their feet.

  A minion with a clipboard dashed over to babble in Ah Pukuh’s ear. His voice carried over the war god’s microphone.

  “We need to spare the monkey, your lordship. Research has shown that many humans prefer animals to other humans.”

  “Why do I care about research anymore? I’m about to kill my entire demographic.”

  “Quite so, Lord Ah Pukuh. But it was my understanding that you intend to do it as slowly and as painfully as possible. If we are to sustain the fear factor without jeopardizing our broadcasting coverage, we need to spare the monkey.” Lord 6-Dog was thrown back, while Max and Lola were dragged forward to the stage.

  “Here they are,” boomed Ah Pukuh, “the famous Hero Twins, the last hope of Middleworld. Now watch, all of you here tonight, and”—he smiled into the TV camera—“all you viewers at home, and see how easily their little bones are broken, and how quickly their little hearts stop beating.”

  As if to dramatize his words, a marching band of drummers began to tap out a slow roll like a fragile heartbeat.