“All three of these boxes are made of iron, which annoys me, and therefore I proceed more slowly than I’d like,” he replied.
“Please hurry. I think I heard something.”
“I am doing what I can. It’s not just the metal. He cast protective spells. There are locks upon locks.”
With a click, Hun-Kamé finally opened the third box to reveal…nothing. There came thin, malicious laughter, and Casiopea turned around to find two young men, their hair slicked back with too much pomade, and an older gentleman standing at the doorway, looking at them. It was the older man who had laughed, a gray-haired fellow in a long gray coat who leaned on a cane decorated with the silver head of a goat, a cigarette dangling from his lips.
“Welcome to my home. I suppose proper introductions are not necessary,” the man said.
“Yet introductions are always proper,” Hun-Kamé replied.
The old man’s steps proclaimed his identity as loudly as if he had yelled it at the door. For there could be no denying that this was the Uay Chivo. His gait was odd, and there were the eyes too, with a strange spark in them, the tilt of the head, and all about him this…stench: tobacco and ashes, covered up with a cloying cologne.
“You behave improperly, riffling through my things. I doubt you found anything worth your while.”
One of the men helped the Uay Chivo out of his coat and placed it on a chair.
“Maybe you were looking for this?” he asked.
The old man pointed to the necklace he was wearing, now revealed after the removal of the coat. It looked heavy and was made of jade beads and a spiny oyster shell. “The boxes were for show. I carry it around my neck.”
Hun-Kamé did not seem perturbed by this revelation. “We are indeed looking for my property,” the god replied simply.
“And did you think it would be that easy to get your claws on it?”
“I was hoping it wouldn’t be too complicated.”
The sorcerer grinned at them, pointing the head of his walking stick at Hun-Kamé, shaking it as he walked slowly toward them.
“Then you’ll be sorely disappointed,” the Uay Chivo said. “I’ve been expecting you. Only a fool would not have guessed this fact.”
“A wise man would choose the words he uses with me.”
“Wisdom! And yet you, dear lord, have been most unwise, or I wouldn’t be wearing the necklace of a Death Lord. I’m afraid I won’t bow to the likes of you.”
“No, you bow your head low before my brother,” Hun-Kamé replied. “Kiss the dust he steps on, I suspect.”
“I do the will of the Supreme Lord of Xibalba,” said the Uay Chivo, and so confident he must have been in the support of Vucub-Kamé that he stepped forward and pressed the tip of the cane against the god’s chest, a threat and the stamp of his authority.
He reminded Casiopea of her grandfather.
“My younger brother is a usurper, gaining his throne with deceit. You do the will of a liar,” Hun-Kamé said.
“Does it matter? Power is power.”
Hun-Kamé slid the cane away with one hand, a gentle motion, as if he were removing a piece of lint from his well-tailored suit.
“I know you, Uay Chivo. You are one of the Zavalas. Carnival magicians with delusions of grandeur,” Hun-Kamé said casually.
The god was all quiet elegant contempt and his words held no threat. It was as if threats would be beneath him at that moment, as if he would not waste his breath on a creature as humble as the sorcerer. The Uay Chivo must wave his cane and snarl, but Hun-Kamé would not. It was a double humiliation, in words and gesture, the mark of the deepest scorn. And the old man knew it. He stepped back, gripping his cane tightly with one hand, his face red.
He handed his cane to one of the young men who stood next to him and took a deep drag from his cigarette.
“Carnival magicians, huh?” the Uay Chivo repeated.
The sorcerer inspected his cigarette with great care. Flames curled out from his mouth, resting there, hot against his lips, before he spat them out and pushed them away with a wrinkled hand, tossing a fireball against Hun-Kamé. The impact of it sent the god crashing against the floor, toppling a side table and a vase in the process.
Casiopea leaned over him.
