The Mayan Prophecy

by Alex Scarrow

  ‘How the hell did you –?’

  ‘Good God!’ he gasped, his legs buckling, as he collapsed to an unsteady kneel. ‘God help me, what was that place?!’ His eyes were wide and rolling, his face pale and grey with shock.

  She ignored his question. ‘How did you get into our room?’

  The others were staring at Bertie, equally dumbstruck.

  ‘Jay-zus! What’s he of all people doing here?’ asked Liam.

  ‘That’s exactly what I’m trying to find out.’ Maddy squatted down beside him. ‘What the hell were you playing at, you idiot?’

  Bertie still seemed to be in complete shock. ‘It was – it was – I saw a nothingness! I saw … Infinite … empty! I – I … saw –’

  ‘Yeah, yeah … just relax. Deep breaths,’ she said impatiently. ‘That’s it, nice and easy.’

  Bertie seemed to recover his composure after a few moments. ‘My God, that place is the embodiment of Hell!’

  ‘It’s what we go through every time. It’s quite normal.’

  He looked at her, glassy-eyed. ‘A godless void! I – I saw a godless void!’

  ‘Well, look, you made it through in one piece.’ She offered him her best reassuring smile. ‘But now, I’m afraid, you’re just gonna have to go back.’

  ‘OK, so is anyone going to explain who this bloke is?’ demanded Adam.

  ‘Bertie Wells,’ replied Maddy. ‘We rent that room under the viaduct from his boss, Delbert. Herbert’s his assistant and his bookkeeper.’

  ‘Please!’ Bertie looked at her. ‘Don’t make me go back into that place!’

  Adam joined her, squatted down beside her. ‘So what just happened? Did he walk into the room just as you were about to leave and …’ His voice suddenly tailed away. He frowned. Pensive. ‘Hold on, did you just say his first name was Herbert?’

  Bertie looked at Adam and nodded vigorously. ‘Yes – yes, th-that is my name.’

  ‘Herbert Wells?’

  Maddy did a double-take. ‘Why? You’re not about to tell me you know him or something?’

  ‘Herbert … George … Wells?’

  Bertie nodded again. ‘How do … h-how is it you know my middle name, sir?’

  Adam suddenly laughed and smacked the floor of the cave with the palm of his hand. ‘Oh, no way! No way!’ He looked around at the others. ‘None of you have any idea at all who this is, have you?’

  Liam shrugged. ‘It’s Bertie.’

  ‘Herbert George Wells!’ Adam cried. He suppressed a gleeful giggle. ‘Better known as H. G. Wells!’

  It finally fell into place for Rashim. ‘You are not talking about the famous writer?!’

  Adam was already nodding. ‘Yes! The author of The Time Machine, The War of the Worlds!’

  He rocked back on his heels. ‘Jesus. This is incredible!’

  Liam looked perplexed. ‘You’re saying he’s a famous person?’

  ‘Only the father of all science fiction!’ said Adam.

  Maddy closed her eyes and nodded. ‘Of course! You know, I can’t believe I didn’t put that together. I am so stupid.’

  Bertie was still looking lost. ‘You – you people all know me?’

  ‘You’re going to be one of the most famous writers that ever lived!’ said Adam. ‘You’re going to inspire a generation of writers to –’

  ‘Hang on,’ cut in Maddy. ‘This is all going to have to wait till later. We’ve got much more important things to sort out. We need to get a fix on whether we’ve got the time right.’

  She got to her feet. ‘And then we’ll have to arrange to send you back.’

  ‘I … I can stay? For now? ’ asked Bertie, looking up hopefully at her.

  She sucked on her teeth for a moment. ‘Right, OK … yeah. For now, I guess.’ She turned away impatiently and began to make her way towards the rear of the cave. ‘Jesus,’ she muttered to herself. ‘It’s one frikkin’ thing after another.’

  She snapped on her torch as the receding daylight coming from the cave’s entrance grew too weak to be of any use. She picked her way towards where the writing was meant to be. It was there, as she’d hoped, only this time the paint was noticeably darker and more distinct. She shone her light on it.

  Liam was beside her. ‘That still looks pretty old to me, though.’

  She nodded; it did. Although the paint was a darker hue, it had still flaked away in places. The others joined them, Bertie wild-eyed and still quite clearly in shock, following along like a lost sheep.

  ‘This is the year 1479,’ said Becks. ‘Our calculations will have an error margin.’

  ‘How much of an error margin?’

  ‘Approximately nine months.’

  Liam looked at them. ‘So you’re saying we could be hanging around here for up to nine months before this power surge happens?’

  ‘That is correct, Liam,’ replied Bob.

  ‘Or … it could just as likely happen in the next hour. It’s an error margin,’ said Maddy. ‘We’ll find out how close we are soon enough.’

  ‘I say,’ Bertie interrupted, ‘I say, would someone mind telling me … where exactly are we?’

  Maddy turned to look at him standing at the back of their growing band of time travellers.

  Eight of us now. Nine once we’ve got Sal back. This is getting ridiculous.

  ‘We’re in the jungles of Central America. The year is 1479.’

  Bertie nodded politely.

  She turned back to Liam. ‘We’ll head down to the chamber and Bob and Becks should be able to –’

  ‘And might I humbly ask another question, Miss Carter?’

  Maddy sighed. Turned back to look at Bertie. ‘What?’

  ‘Might I humbly ask why you are here?’

  ‘Not really. It’s private business. And we’re going to have to send you back –’

  ‘Would it be that you are here to rescue Miss Saleena?’ he quickly added. ‘I know that she has gone missing!’ He looked sheepishly at her. ‘I overheard the matter being discussed in your room.’

  She frowned and put her hands on her hips. ‘Crap! What else have you overheard?’

  ‘I heard she may be in grave danger.’ He stepped forward. ‘I would like to offer my assistance … in any way I can.’

  ‘I’ve got a lot on my plate right now, Bertie. I really can’t be doing with –’

  Bertie clasped his hands together in supplication. ‘I beg you to allow me to assist in any way I can and not send me back. I assure you I will be no burden or –’

  ‘No worse than having Billy or Adam along with us,’ said Liam.

  Maddy sighed and stared at him with a thanks-for-the-support expression on her face.

  ‘You’re really H. G. Wells?’ said Maddy. Not really a question. ‘The problem I have, Bertie, is that you’re a famous writer. Or, at least, going to be.’

  ‘But … you must have me mistaken for someone else! I am no such thing, Miss Carter. I am just a bookkeeper and a maths tutor.’

  ‘No, but you will write books. And millions of people will read them. You’ll have a name that’s known around the world. That means you’re far too big a risk for us.’

  ‘Does he not already know too much?’ said Liam. ‘Surely the damage is already done, Mads?’

  ‘What if he writes books with our names in them, Liam? What if he writes books about a small group of people who –’ she chose her words carefully – ‘who have a certain task they have to do? What if he sets their story in Victorian London? Don’t you see? If all of a sudden a time wave alters the title of The Time Machine to, say, The Displacement Machine Beneath Holborn Viaduct … don’t you think a certain person might not just pick up on that and send some of his heavies to come and take us out?’

  ‘I assure you – all of you – I won’t tell a soul of anything I see!’

  ‘Why not let him come along for now?’ Liam shrugged. ‘We’re about to meet some ancient Indians. We might be grateful for an extra pair of hands?’

 
Bertie would up their numbers. Eight people, three firearms. Perhaps Liam had a point there.

  ‘All right … just for now.’ She nodded towards the rear of the cave where the tunnel was hidden in darkness.

  ‘We’re about to present ourselves to a tribe of Mayan Indians. We’re probably going to need their co-operation. Which means we’ll want to look all scary and god-like so they’re frightened enough that they don’t try to kill us and eat us. OK?’

  She looked directly at Bertie. ‘So here’s how it is, Herbert. You can tag along until we’ve found Sal again. Then you can take her back to London with you. Then we’ll have to decide what we’re going to do about you.’

  Herbert looked alarmed at that.

  ‘She doesn’t mean we’re going to kill you,’ said Liam.

  ‘No,’ Maddy agreed. ‘But we have a way of making you not remember any of this: making sure this never actually happened in the first place.’

  Bertie looked at Rashim. ‘Dr Anwar, let me ask you, sir, if I might be allowed to –’

  ‘Do not ask me,’ he said with a wave of his hand, ‘she is the one in charge here.’

  Maddy was in no mood to waste any more time on this. ‘That’s how it is, Bertie. You can be a help, or a hindrance. If you’re going to be the latter, then we’ll just have to throw you back in the white stuff, OK?’

  His face instantly paled. ‘I will not be any hindrance. I assure you!’

  ‘Good.’ She clapped her hands together. ‘Right, let’s get those guns loaded and ready to use. We’re going to give these Mayans a bit of a show.’

  This time, the tunnel entrance at the back of the cave was not hidden by a boulder or overgrown with vines and ivy nor filled with centuries’ worth of spiders’ webs. As she expected, it was clearly a well-used access into the city. The people living within the sinkhole must have walked through this tunnel all the time, carrying goods that would have been brought up the cliff-face trail from the settlement down by the river.

  Sunlight from the far end glowed brightly, and as they entered they could see ahead of them the silhouette of a young goatherd coaxing his animals up the tunnel towards them with a stick, their bleats and the clip-clap of their hooves echoing off the stone walls.

  Closer, the young boy halted. Cocked his head for a moment, then cried out in alarm. He turned and ran back the way he’d come, leaving his animals behind to curiously regard the approaching strangers.

  ‘I think we’ve been spotted,’ said Liam.

  ‘You think?’ Maddy glanced sideways. Bob and Becks had already unshouldered their rifles ready for action and Billy slipped the safety catch off his battered old AK.

  ‘OK, just to be clear about this. We’re not massacring everyone. Right? We may actually need these people’s help. So, we’re just going to make a bunch of noise and look very impressive.’

  ‘We got to brass it out, Danny,’ uttered Adam under his breath.

  Maddy turned to look at him. ‘What’s that?’

  Adam shucked his shoulders nervously. ‘Just a quote. From an old film.’

  ‘Right, thanks for that.’ She looked back at the glow of light ahead of them and watched the boy’s fleeing silhouette. ‘Showtime.’

  They shooed the goats aside, and finally approached the passage’s exit, bright daylight dazzling them as they emerged into the warmth of the sun.

  Chapter 47

  1479, the Lost City of the Windtalkers

  Liam stood beside her and gazed out at the scene before them. The very same city built into a natural basin as before, of course – a wide panorama full of buildings, terraces, balconies and courtyards jostling and overlooking each other – receded away in stepped descent down to a circular plaza at the bottom.

  The first time they’d emerged from the overgrown tunnel entrance the scene had been dominated by two hues, the rust of the sandstone and the green of vegetation, whereas now … it was an amateur artist’s overladen palette, an argument of colours. Woven mats decorated stone floors and tapestries of beads threaded on to twine hung in every doorway and window. Smoke curled up into the sky from dozens of clay-pot chimneys and every narrow street seemed to be teeming with people, goats, llamas and barking dogs.

  Liam was reminded of the chaotic life of Port Royal, Jamaica. Life lived cheek-by-jowl; a riot of noises, colours and smells.

  They watched the boy running away from them, his bare feet slapping against stone and carrying him down towards the plaza where market stalls laden with fruits and animal carcasses clustered in the centre. His shrill voice, crying the same word over and over – Hantuh-ha! Hantuh-ha! – was lost now amid the general echoing hubbub of a normal busy day, but they noticed heads were turning their way and each face that spotted them suddenly became smudged with a static, dark ‘O’ of alarm.

  Like a ripple slowly spreading across a pond, the busy sinkhole city quietened as more and more bronze-coloured faces stared up at them with a sense of apprehension. Very soon the noise and bustle of life had petered out, to be replaced with an unsettling stillness, filled only by the far-away hooting of jungle life and the sporadic barking of a dog tethered on the plaza.

  Liam looked at Maddy. ‘Looks like it’s our turn.’

  He could hear her breath fluttering nervously, see her lips trembling.

  ‘You OK there?’ he whispered.

  She took a deep breath to steady her nerves. ‘I’m OK.’ And then she did seem fine. ‘Just wasn’t expecting so many of them.’ She turned round. ‘Bob, Becks – you two with me. The rest of you better stay here.’

  She paced forward, down the sloping paved walkway with the support units flanking her. The crowd nearby stepped back from them warily as they approached.

  Liam turned to Adam. ‘She may get a little prickly from time to time,’ he said, smiling proudly as he watched her pacing confidently forward, ‘but she’s got guts, so she has.’

  Adam nodded. ‘More than anyone I’ve ever met.’

  Maddy stopped and held a hand out to one side. ‘Here’s probably far enough,’ she said quietly. The support units came to a halt, both of them glaring menacingly at the silent, frozen crowd.

  She cleared her throat.

  Showtime.

  ‘WE. MEAN. YOU. NO. HARM!’ Her voice echoed across the silent city, and she looked at Becks. ‘Did that sound as cheesy as I think it did?’

  ‘They do not understand what you are saying, Maddy,’ she replied.

  ‘Also,’ added Bob, ‘cheesiness is not a concept they would be familiar with.’

  As the echo of her voice faded, she spotted movement towards the back of the crowd of frightened-looking people. Heads parted, creating a gap for someone who was making their way forward.

  ‘Looks like someone’s coming to meet us.’

  Presently, the front of the crowd of wary onlookers stepped back to make way for a frail elderly man carried on a litter by four young bearers. His small frame was covered in a poncho made of coloured beads that rattled and hissed like a rainstick with his every movement. He wore a copper circlet round his head; above it, a transverse crest of colourful turquoise-green and sky-blue parakeet feathers. The bearers set the litter down on the ground and one of them helped the old man up on to his feet. He shuffled forward, supported by the elbow until he stood just six feet short of them.

  Deep sunken eyes, almost lost beneath drooping folds of leathery brown skin, studied Maddy intently, then looked Bob up and down for a full minute before the old man finally spoke with a weak, reedy voice.

  She had no idea what he said, obviously. She could guess. Who are you? Why have you come?

  Maddy pointed, slowly, at the plaza. ‘We need to visit the thing beneath your market over there.’ She tried to ‘draw’ the room and the central column in the air with her fingers. He frowned, confused, as he watched her flapping hands.

  ‘You’re not getting what I’m saying, are you?’ she muttered, more to herself than the old man. She looked around for inspiration a
nd saw a stick lying on the ground nearby. The young goatherd’s discarded switch of cane.

  ‘OK … how about this?’ She stepped to the side, picked it up and then returned to stand in front of the old man. She found a patch of the stone-paved ground covered in a light dusting of dry dirt, and with the stick she drew a circle in it.

  The old man squinted down at the simple drawing at his feet, the lines of his forehead deepening as he looked at it. She drew another much smaller circle in the middle of the first. And then she pointed her stick across at the plaza.

  ‘We need to visit that place – the place underground.’

  Confusion cleared from the old man’s face as he looked where she was pointing, then back at her drawing. The expression on his face evolved into something entirely different: an expression of dawning realization.

  Then he gasped. His eyes suddenly rounded with shock. He staggered unsteadily forward, his twisted and gnarled old hands outstretched towards her. He grasped one of Maddy’s hands tightly and then collapsed to his knees in front of her, beginning to wail pitifully, rocking back and forth.

  ‘Jeez, what the hell did I just do?’

  Beyond the old man, his people began to drop to their knees as well, row after row in turn, until every person they could see right across the city, male, female, young and old alike, were kneeling, their faces buried in their hands, rocking backwards and forwards. The air was suddenly alive with the keening, mournful cry of thousands of voices.

  To Maddy it sounded like grief. It sounded like a funeral wake. She turned round and picked out Billy. ‘What’s the matter with them? What did I do wrong?’

  ‘I think …’ The guide shrugged and waved a hand dismissively. ‘I am think they celebrate.’

  ‘Celebrate?’ She looked back at the old man, then back at Billy. ‘This is them being happy?’

  ‘Oh yes. Very happy. Very glad you come, I think.’

  Chapter 48

  1937, 13 Hanover Terrace, Regent’s Park, London