“What if I cut my hand right this instant?”
“Too soon. Hun-Kamé might win his throne back.” He stood before the white liquor cabinet, throwing it open, and looked over his shoulder at her. “Besides, you have an unfortunately brave and kind heart.”
“How do you know what heart I have?”
“You’d make a poor card player, dear. Can’t hide yourself.”
She did not understand what he meant; it was her cousin who played games of chance, not her, although here now she’d stepped into a rather intricate game.
Loray poured himself a drink, and as he raised it to his lips Hun-Kamé walked into the living room in a white linen suit, a smart straw hat in his hands and a black handkerchief knotted around his neck. Again it was difficult to perceive the lack of an eye, the ear. Yet it was not as if he concealed himself. He was much too striking. Preternatural beauty; it made Casiopea dip her head and look down for a heartbeat.
“Good day,” Loray said, his voice cheerful. His raven had migrated again to his shoulder.
“Good day,” the raven said, echoing the greeting.
“I trust you obtained passage for us, Marquess,” Hun-Kamé said. “I do not wish to dally.”
Businesslike and to the point, but polite. Grandfather yelled, stamped his cane against the floor to make himself heard. Martín threatened her into obedience. This type of authority was alien to Casiopea.
“Would I fail you in this matter?” Loray said, sounding a tad annoyed. “There is a vessel departing from Progreso this evening. It is fast. You’ll reach Veracruz in a couple of days.”
“My tracks must remain hidden.”
“I will do what I can, but your brother has his ways. He may already be looking for you,” Loray warned him.
“I wove an illusion. It will conceal my escape, for a while.”
There was gravity to their exchange, but the demon punctured it by holding up his glass.
“Good! Drink with me. I won’t have you say I am not hospitable. We must toast. Our fortunes will soon change, and let’s hope for the better.”
“I will drink with you once I have recouped my throne.”
The answer was not what the demon had expected, but the god softened it somewhat. “The clothing you’ve provided is a thoughtful detail,” Hun-Kamé added. An oblique way of saying thanks.
“I thought you might like it. New fashions. The top hat is gone and not a moment too soon. You might find the music amusing. The dances are livelier. The old century was too prim.”
“What do I care which dances the mortals dance?” Hun-Kamé said.
“Don’t be dull. You’ll scare the lady away,” Loray told him.
Again there was that slight glint of malice in the demon’s face. He filled a second glass and handed it to her, leaning down and whispering so lightly she might have imagined his voice in her ear.
“Remember what I told you,” he said. “If you should be on the losing side, there may be a chance to side with the victor. Whoever that may be.”
Then he clinked his glass against hers, a smile across his face. Casiopea took a sip.
Nine levels separate Xibalba from Middleworld. Although the roots of the World Tree extend from the depths of the Underworld up to the heavens, connecting all planes of existence, Xibalba’s location means news does not travel fast in this kingdom. It is therefore hardly surprising that Vucub-Kamé, sitting on his fearsome obsidian throne, set upon a carpet of bones, was not immediately aware of his brother’s escape from his prison.
And yet, even at such distance, a warning echoed in Vucub-Kamé’s chamber. He thought he heard a note, muffled, like a flute being blown; it sounded once and he dismissed it, but the second time he could not.
“Who speaks my name?” he said. He felt it, like a volute of smoke brushing against his ear, a white flower in the dark.
The god raised his head.
His court was as it always was, busy and loud. His brothers—there were ten of them, five sets of twins—reclined on cushions and ocelot pelts. They were not alone. The noble dead who went to their graves with treasures and proper offerings, who were buried in their finery and jewels, were allowed safe passage down the Black Road and a place in the Black City of Xibalba (sometimes, for their amusement, the Lords of Xibalba had turned back or tricked these noblemen, instead picking a common peasant to join them, but not often). Thus, courtiers milled about, their bodies painted with black, blue, or red patterns. Women wearing dresses with so many jade incrustations it was difficult for them to walk whispered to one another while their servants fanned them. Priestesses and priests in their long robes talked to scholars, while warriors watched the jesters cavort.
Xibalba can be a frightful place, with its House of Knives and its House of Bats and many strange sights, but the court of the Lords of Death also possessed the allure of shadows and the glimmer of obsidian, for there is as much beauty as there is terror in the night. Mortals have always been frightened of the night’s velvet embrace and the creatures that walk in it, and yet they find themselves mesmerized by it. Since all gods are born from the kernel of mortal hearts, it is no wonder Xibalba reflected this duality.
