Age of Aztec

FIFTEEN

Same Day

Come noon, they emerged into a large clearing in the forest. The first thing Stuart noticed was a medium-range aerodisc parked on the grass. It was hard to miss, as it filled a good two thirds of the available space. A huge square of camouflage netting was stretched over it, with a garnish of vines, moss and other plant matter to make the disguise complete. The disc would be impossible to spot from the air, even to a vessel passing just a couple of hundred feet above.

Near the aerodisc was a small plank-built cabin, its roof so overgrown with foliage that it too was effectively camouflaged. Beside the cabin sat a row of tents, military issue, made of green jungle-pattern canvas. A small waterfall gurgled nearby, cascading into a deep, limpid pool. The surrounding trees formed a sturdy stockade.

This was the forward operating base Chel had spoken of.

A pretty, petite woman stepped out from behind one of the legs of the aerodisc’s landing gear. She was dressed in dungarees and wiping her hands on an oily rag. Seeing Chel, she let out a cry of delight and made a beeline for him. She leapt on him, scissoring her legs around his waist, and they kissed passionately for several minutes, or at least so it seemed to those watching.

“That’s Chimalmat,” Zotz informed Stuart.

“Mrs Chel?”

“They’re not married, though they might as well be, the way they argue sometimes. Chimalmat’s our resident mechanic, in case you couldn’t guess. She’s been out here for weeks maintaining that disc, keeping the damp and the bugs from getting into the works. She and the boss don’t like being apart for that long, so I doubt we’ll be seeing either of them for the next few hours, if you catch my drift.”

Sure enough, Chel and Chimalmat disappeared into the aerodisc. She said she had something to show him, some technical problem she needed to discuss with him. He replied that he would give the matter his full attention and do all he could to help out. If either of them thought this coded talk was fooling anyone, they were sorely mistaken. Probably neither cared. They were like a pair of horny teenagers.

The guerrillas chose tents for themselves, dumping their backpacks in front as claim markers. The tents were two-man, but there were enough of them that not everyone had to share. Stuart, for instance, had one to himself. The cabin was for Chel and Chimalmat’s exclusive use, their little love nest.

Some of the guerrillas clambered into the relative coolness of their tents for a nap. Others went out to bathe in the pool and wash their clothes. Everyone was careful not to mention the events of the past twelve hours, the strange visitations in the forest. Chel had made it clear that topic of conversation was embargoed. There had been no weirdness. Nothing just happened. End of story.

Zotz broke out a patillo board and found two of his fellow Mayans to play with. Stuart was invited to make up a four. He refused at first; Patillo was an Empire game, and for that reason alone, he scorned it. It was also far too dependent on the roll of the dice for his liking. Little skill involved. Zotz insisted, however, and in the end Stuart relented.

They played several games, betting with matchsticks. The dice fell in Stuart’s favour often enough that he won twice, getting all his four pieces home first. In general, however, Zotz was the victor. He had a knack for throwing just the right number he needed to capture an opponent’s piece or occupy one square with two of his own pieces and form a blockade.

“Luck, that’s all it is,” he told Stuart as he packed up the board afterwards. “I’ve always been lucky.”

“That would account for your permanently sunny disposition.”

“Don’t push it, Englishman,” came the reply. “Just because Chel thinks you’re hot shit, doesn’t mean we all have to. Frankly, nothing I’ve seen from you yet has impressed me. The Conquistador’s supposed to be this big action hero, but the evidence says otherwise. Big pussy more like. Always getting himself into difficulties. Screwing up at the crucial moment. If you ask me, we can manage without you, and we should. You’ll be nothing but a millstone round our necks.”

For punctuation, Zotz hawked up a wad of phlegm and spat it at Stuart’s feet.

The other two patillo players waited to see how Stuart would respond. The spitting was out-and-out provocation. Nobody could let an insult like that pass unchallenged.

Stuart had no alternative. Zotz had set things up well and selected his moment with care. Ah Balam Chel wasn’t around to intervene and defuse the situation. This was where something got settled. Zotz didn’t hate Stuart; he just wanted the Englishman to prove his mettle, with other Xibalba men present to see it happen.

“Pussy, huh?” Stuart said. “Well, that’s better than being a big fat cheat.”

“What did you just call me?”

“You heard. I saw you spinning the dice rather than throwing them. Pathetic, really. I mean, if there’d been money on the table, then I could understand. But in a friendly game? For matchsticks? That’s just sad.”

“Say that again.” Zotz bellied up to Stuart. He was shorter by several inches, but that didn’t seem to bother him.

“Which part? The part about being a cheat, or the part about being pathetic?”

“You want pathetic? I’ll tell you what pathetic is. It’s getting your butt kicked by a woman. We all saw that Jaguar detective taking you down, shoving you into the river mud. No self-respecting man should let himself be bested like that — by a girl half his size.”

“Speaking of half my size, what’s the weather like down there, shrimp?”

“I prefer ‘piranha.’ I eat big sluggish catfish like you for breakfast.”

This wasn’t going to stop at putdowns, and both of them knew it. Blows would have to be traded too.

Might as well get it over with.

Stuart threw the first punch. Zotz was quick and ducked, then retaliated with a jab to Stuart’s midriff.

What followed was vicious and inelegant. Stuart couldn’t decide if the fight was a genuine grudge match or just for show. Both, he thought. Zotz certainly didn’t hesitate to play dirty, trying head-butts and ball grabs and even going for an eye gouge. Stuart blocked, warding off all of the Mayan’s attacks, and in return he employed every close-combat technique the Eagles had taught him, aiming for nerve clusters and vulnerable spots such as the floating rib and the Adam’s apple. He had no wish to injure Zotz seriously, and he sensed the feeling was mutual. At the same time, it had to look authentic. They both had to acquit themselves well. Otherwise honour would not be served and Zotz would have nothing to show for picking the fight in the first place.

The other guerrillas gathered round to egg on the fighters. The noise roused the ones indoors and brought them out. Soon everyone was cheering Stuart and Zotz on with gusto. Nobody was taking sides. They were simply relishing watching a good scrap.

The two combatants ended up on the ground, scuffling like junkyard dogs. They rolled and hammered and elbowed and kneed, eventually falling into the pool. They reared up from the water and went at each other. They crashed under the surface sideways and staggered upright again.

Stuart was tiring; the Mayan, too. They lumbered together in a bear hug, scrabbling below the water with their feet to kick each other’s legs from under them. They toppled simultaneously and rose to their knees, panting furiously. They grabbed each other’s shirtfronts, holding each other up now rather than brawling. One of Zotz’s eyes was swelling shut. Stuart could feel blood pouring from his nose.

“Enough!”

It was Chel, striding across the clearing, doing up his belt as he went. Chimalmat was close behind, fastening one strap of her dungarees back into place.

“What is this?” the Xibalba leader bellowed. “I leave you alone for two minutes and a brawl breaks out? Explain yourselves!”

Stuart looked at Zotz, Zotz at Stuart. In the Mayan’s eyes Stuart glimpsed what he took to be approval. Stuart nodded to him, an almost imperceptible tipping of the head. They had both performed as required. There was respect now, and the guerrillas knew Stuart was not to be trifled with.

“It was nothing,” said Zotz to Chel. “A misunderstanding. I think Reston’s grasp of Nahuatl may be faulty.”

“Yes, that’s it,” Stuart said. “I used the wrong verb tense. Got my syntax muddled up. What sounded like a rude remark wasn’t meant to be. I’ll be more careful in future.”

Chel appraised them both. His expression said he understood what was going on but couldn’t be seen to condone it. “Get out of the water, the pair of you. Don’t let this happen again.”

As Stuart and Zotz waded exhaustedly out of the pool, Chel turned to Chimalmat. “Now, where were we? You said the neg-mass drive has been playing up.”

“Yes,” said Chimalmat with a sly smile. “But I’m sure we can have it lifting off again in no time.”

Chel reappeared at dinnertime, looking deeply satisfied with his lot in life. He ate a hearty meal, and when the table talk strayed in the direction of what had been seen in the forest, as it couldn’t help but doing, he steered it back to more mundane subjects.

That night, however, he posted men on guard round the edge of the clearing, on four-hour shifts. He said it was just a basic precaution, in case a Serpent patrol should happen by.

If anyone believed that, they were a fool.