When I got near the taxi stand, I stood in a darkened doorway and surveyed the scene. My driver was already there, still arguing with his younger brother. All looked reasonably normal.
I was about to step out of the darkness and make a dash for the taxi when I heard sirens, and a police car pulled up to the main door of the bus station, just a few yards from the taxi stand. Major Martinez himself jumped out of the cruiser. It would seem that he was a good investigator when he chose to be.
I quickly reversed direction, away from the taxi stand, but I could see a figure I recognized coming up the street from the opposite direction.
I ducked back into the doorway and pressed myself back as far as I could into the shadows. Within a minute or so, Lucas May passed my position, apparently without seeing me. I waited until he rounded the corner, then went as fast as I could in the opposite direction.
I passed through the little square where I had been the night before, past Pajaros, now locked up tight. I headed down another little lane, uncertain as to which direction I was going.
Eventually I came out to a main road, hailed a taxicab, and directed the driver to the only place I could think to go.
Almost an hour later the taxi pulled up at Jonathan’s little house and I made a dash for the door. It was opened by Esperanza, who looked genuinely pleased to see me. She led me to the little study off the bedroom where Jonathan was working. “I’m so glad you’ve come to me, my dear,” he said. “I was hoping you would.”
In short order my clothes were all handed to Esperanza for washing, and I found myself in a hot bath, bubbles almost overflowing the tub. Jonathan brought me a cognac—“It’s never too early in the day for Remy Martin,” he said—and sat on the side of the tub while I soaked.
Later, all squeaky clean, and wearing a white terry-cloth robe of Jonathan’s, I sat with him in the living room, the midafternoon sun streaming through the window.
Suddenly he crossed the space between us, knelt beside the sofa on which I sat, and took my hand.
“Lara, I really would like to help you. But you must confide in me. I don’t know what I am fighting here, and I must if I am to be of any use whatsoever.”
“Jonathan, I’ll tell you everything, I promise. But I really don’t know where to start.”
“Why not from the beginning?” he said.
“I guess the beginning is the call I received from Don Hernan to come here to help him find something— something he told me over the telephone was written by a rabbit.
“I’ve been trying to figure out what that is ever since. But as I told you a day or two ago, I think it is a hieroglyphic codex. I have no idea where it is, or how to find it. All I know is that two people have been killed—at least one of them on account of it.”
“Any idea who would have killed Don Hernan?”
“All trails seem to lead to Diego Maria Gomez Arias. He and Don Hernan had a fight over ownership of Maya artifacts; from what I can tell he is in grave financial difficulty and there is no question a Maya codex would be worth whatever the possessor asked, at least in some circles; and frankly he seems to be the kind of person who could manage to do this kind of thing.”
“All by himself, you mean?”
“No, I guess not. He doesn’t seem the type to do his dirty work himself. If I had to point a finger at an accomplice, I guess I’d say Major Martinez, but maybe that’s just because I don’t like him. Or maybe someone close to you, Jonathan,” I said, thinking of Lucas.
He looked surprised. “Perhaps the best thing then would be to try to find the codex,” he said slowly.
“That’s what I’m trying to do. I found the stub of what I think is a bus ticket to Valladolid in Don Hernan’s personal effects, so I went there…”
“And then?”
“And then… and then… Jonathan,” I said, “I am unbelievably weary. I really want to talk to you about all this. But first I need to sleep.”
“I’m sorry, my dear. I really am. How thoughtless of me!” he exclaimed, getting up and pulling me up off the sofa. “Come, get some rest. We’ll talk later.”
Just then he noticed the cut on my hand. “How did you do that?” he asked.
“Later, Jonathan,” was all I could manage.
And so with that, he led me to the bedroom and tucked me into bed. It was so soft and white and clean, I could have wept with sheer gratitude, and I soon felt myself slipping into sleep.
“Don’t tell anyone I’m here,” I murmured. “Especially not Lucas.”
“You can be absolutely sure I won’t,” he said.
The last thing I remember was the brush of his lips against my cheek and the thought that, with time, I really could love this man.
I awoke in the very late afternoon, the western sky already turning pink. The house was absolutely silent. I went out to the kitchen and found my clothes all neatly washed and ironed, on a chair. There was also a note on the counter from Jonathan.
Another crisis at the site, it said. I’ll be back in time for supper. We’ll talk some more then. Love, Jonathan.
I checked the refrigerator. There was cold chicken and a bottle of very nice white wine. I had a shower, just on principle, and changed into my clean clothes.
I supposed that while I waited for Jonathan’s return, I might as well continue my search. I went into Jonathan’s study, which I noticed had a nice collection of books on the Maya, and retrieving the scrap of paper on which I had traced Don Hernan’s jottings, began to try to find the two glyphs.
There was a book of Maya hieroglyphs I was familiar with from my studies that I began to work my way through. It did not take me long to find that the glyph associated with the Maya warrior was the glyph for Smoking Frog, an ahau, or nobleman, of Tikal, who had waged war on the rival city of Uaxactun on behalf of the king of Tikal, Great-Jaguar-Paw.
It was a new kind of warfare for the Maya, one in which the stakes were very high. For the first time, rather than simply humiliating rivals and taking captives, the winner took the kingdom of the loser. Tikal conquered Uaxactun on January 16, 378, and Smoking Frog was installed on its throne. Tikal became one of the most powerful and prosperous cities of the early classic period of Maya history, and its influence on the arts, architecture, and perhaps more importantly, on Maya ritual was enormous. I suppose in some ways, it signaled the beginning of the great Maya civilization as we know it.
The second glyph took a little longer. But when I found it, it made me sit back and ponder for some time. The glyph that had reminded me of two upraised arms, sort of like two dragons hinged at the bottom, was the symbol for the Maw of Xibalba. It is supposed to be a gaping head of some skeletal creature, marking the point at which our world and the world of Xibalba meet. Presumably to pass through a portal on which this symbol appears is to enter the realm of the Lords of Darkness.
I opened the desk drawer to find some paper and a pen on which to make notes, and found, wrapped in cotton and tissue, part of a terra-cotta vessel with a hieroglyphic inscription. Much to my surprise, the Smoking Frog glyph and the symbol for the Maw of Xibalba both appeared on the fragment. Holding the Maya hieroglyphic dictionary in one hand and the pottery shard in the other, I tried to decipher the inscription on the fragment.
I cannot say that I got it exactly right. But I was able to figure out that the fragment had been etched by a scribe by the name of Smoking Frog, not the warrior of Tikal, but someone living at the time of the Spanish Conquest.
This second Smoking Frog was trying to protect what he called the Ancient Word, probably the history, mythology, or ritual of the Maya people, by hiding it in what he referred to as the caves of the Itza, at the entrance to Xibalba.