Seated at the head of the table was a very handsome, olive-skinned man with eyes that were both kindly and grave — the eyes of someone who knew the worst but tried to see the best. He rose, pushing back his chair, and nodded to Stuart.
“Nice to see you up and about. Glad you’re feeling better. Take a seat.”
This was the man Stuart had overheard earlier talking to Toci, the one who’d incapacitated him in the forest with an explosion of light. The one Toci had addressed as Kay.
The androgynous man-or-woman drew out an empty chair next to him or her in invitation. Stuart sat down. One of the other people at the table, the dark man, grumbled: “Shouldn’t be here. No right.” His neighbour, an elderly woman with a regal bearing and a spectacularly sumptuous bosom, hushed him.
Food lay heaped on dishes in the centre of the table. A plate was set in front of Stuart. He helped himself. It was good fare, simple, classically Aztec, centred on the twin staples of maize and agave. He stuffed his belly, aware of everyone’s eyes on him, not caring. They seemed, most of them, to regard him as an interloper. Well, so what? He never asked to be here.
“So,” said the one called Kay, as Stuart cleared a second plateful of food. “I expect you have questions, Mr Reston.”
“Are you going to answer them honestly?”
“Yes.”
“Then I do. First off, what is this place? It feels like we’re underground. Partly that’s an instinct, but also an inverted pyramid makes no sense otherwise, in practical architectural terms. Am I right?”
“Very good. We are underground. As to our location, we’re not far from what your friend Mr Chel described as his forward operating base. A few miles to the west, within spitting distance of Lake Texcoco.”
“Should you be telling him this much?” griped the dark man. His body was massively muscled, of bodybuilder proportions, while his voice was like gravel grinding on granite. “Should you be telling him anything?”
“I don’t see why not, Mic,” Kay replied. “Mr Reston is our guest. We brought him to our lair. So why hide the truth from him?”
“ You brought him here.”
“He was hurt. He needed our help. I had no choice.”
“But we’re not ready to make our presence known. This could ruin everything.”
“I’m sure we can rely on Mr Reston, a.k.a. the Conquistador, to be discreet. He, perhaps more than anyone else on earth, understands the value of keeping secrets.”
“Oh, yes,” said the person who was either a feminine man or a masculine woman. His or her voice was pitched mid-range, indeterminately husky. “He has led a double life. He has balanced on the tightrope between what is and what seems to be. He knows how to appear one thing and be the other.” The androgyne placed a slender hand on Stuart’s arm and caressed it approvingly.
“Of course we could always kill him,” said the hairless man matter-of-factly. “I can do it right now if you like. Fork, table knife, bare hands, whatever you prefer.”
“Enough, Xipe,” Kay rebuked him. “Save the resident-psycho act for when it’s really needed.”
“Just saying.”
“No one is killing Mr Reston. He is under my protection. I’ve been keen to meet him. I was hoping he and I might have a quiet chat in the forest last night, but that was not to be. I blame myself for that. I should have anticipated his reaction to the sight of Xolotl reiterating his own words, in his own voice. Anyway, he’s here now, among us, and that’s just how it is. All of you accept that and move on.”
“Why me?” Stuart asked. “That’s my next question. You’ve singled me out for some reason, some purpose. What?”
“Because you’re mixed up in this Xibalba business, this plot to assassinate the Great Speaker. But unlike the ringleader, Chel, you strike me as someone who’s open to debating matters — someone who’s less committed to a certain course of action than the rest of them are — someone I can deal with on a polite, diplomatic level.”
“I’m not as hell-bent on suicide as the others, if that’s what you mean.”
“That’s the impression I get from our surveillance.”
“Okay, so I’m beginning to get a handle on what’s been happening this past couple of days,” said Stuart. “You people have been trying to warn Xibalba off, haven’t you? We’re in your neck of the woods, on your turf. We’ve strayed into the middle of something that’s already in progress. We’re treading on your toes and you don’t appreciate that. Hence stalking us through the forest. Hence, also, that business with the ants. That was something you lot arranged, wasn’t it? Hoping to frighten us away.”
One man at the table, sporting a shock of red hair, held up a hand in acknowledgement. “Guilty as charged. Did you like my composite-colony figure? I thought it an impressive piece of ant wrangling. Great deal of finesse required to get it to wave its arm like that. You didn’t have to go and blow it to bits, though. My lads weren’t going to do you any harm. The colony’s pretty upset so many of them got vaporised. I spent the whole of yesterday having to soothe them and get them to calm down.”
“Your ‘lads.’ You talk to ants. And they have feelings.”
“Yes, I do,” said the redhead. “Not talk talk, of course. That would be absurd. Ants lack ears. It’s more… pheromonal and vibrational. And yes, they do have feelings. They may look all hard and military on the outside but they’re sensitive, too, underneath it all.”
“All right,” Stuart said sternly, slapping the tabletop, startling several of the people around him. “That’s enough. Let’s drop the charade. I get what this is now. I know who you’re pretending to be. It’s a clever act. The props are good, too. Doors that disappear, someone whose skin goes transparent, a dog that can talk… I’ve no idea how you’re doing any of it, although I suspect the dog was some sort of high-class ventriloquism act. But bravo, well done. Spectacular work. Round of applause.”
“Pretending to be?” said Kay, eyes crinkling. The rest seemed offended by their guest’s sudden outburst, but he was amused.
“Yes, Kay. Or should I call you Quetzalcoatl? And you.” Stuart pointed to the redhead. “Azcatl. The ‘red ant.’ The messenger. And you.” He turned to the androgyne next to him. “Ometeotl, the dual divinity, opposites reconciled. Not forgetting Xipe Totec over there, the Flayed One. And Mictlantecuhtli, if I’m not mistaken.”
The dark man just blinked slowly, otherwise impassive.
“The pantheon,” Stuart declared. “Pardon me if I can’t put a name to every face, but that’s who you’re all supposed to be, right? The gods and goddesses. It’s blindingly obvious, really. I was a bit slow on the uptake but I was disorientated and my blood sugar was low. Penny’s finally dropped.”
“Go on,” said the regal-looking woman.
“Coatlicue, I presume?” The matriarch, the earth mother, giver and devourer of life, mother of Huitzilopochtli.
A necklace of jewelled hands, hearts and skulls bounced on the woman’s deep cleavage as she nodded. Two bulky metal snake earrings clinked slightly.
“Well, I’m surrounded by some sort of religious re-enactment group, aren’t I? A society of role-players holed up in the Anahuac rainforest, fancying themselves the Aztecs’ long-gone deities, dressing the part, acting the part, even throwing in a few parlour tricks to add to the illusion. All very entertaining. I’m sure you all have super fun doing this in this splendid clubhouse of yours. You’ve spent some money on the place, too, so I imagine you’re pretty well off, or maybe just one of you is. But if you’re after me to join, the answer’s thanks, but no thanks. It’s a neat piece of performance art you’ve cooked up, and I’m grateful for the grub and everything, but you’re barking up the wrong tree.”