Thieves Till We Die (21 page)

Traynor said nothing, watching him intently.

‘And what about
you
, lady?' Jonah shrugged his shoulders. ‘Sat at the big guy's right hand, you've got to be important. You might know me, but who the hell are you?'

‘My name is Honor Albrecht,' she replied, icy amusement on her face. ‘I am the High Priestess of Sixth Sun.'

‘Got to be high on something to take this old Aztec crap seriously.'

Now Traynor got up slowly from his seat and walked round the table. His council of minions didn't turn to look at him. They seemed frozen in their seats as he approached Jonah, who stood his ground. Tye felt a sick feeling start to build.

‘Pretty impressive entrance, kid,' said Traynor softly. Then he lashed out with his fist, striking Jonah in the breastbone. Caught off-guard, Jonah staggered back, but Traynor lunged forwards and grabbed a handful of his hair. Twisting it savagely, the man forced Jonah to his knees.

‘Leave him alone!' Tye shouted – then flinched as Traynor kicked Jonah in the face, knocking him flat on his back.

‘How impressive is
that
, huh?' Traynor shouted,
clenching his fists as he screamed down at Jonah's prone body. ‘You impressed now, you piece of shit? Huh?'

‘That's enough.'

Tye started as Honor rose from her seat. Traynor slowly turned to face her.

‘Coldhardt's teen puppet thinks he can just stroll in here and make fools of us,' he said, spit catching at the corners of his mouth. ‘Thinks he can mock –'

‘I want to know what he has to say,' Honor insisted calmly. ‘Jonah. Get up.'

Jonah dragged himself to his feet. Tye winced at the size of the welt on his cheek. He dabbed at it, gingerly.

‘Just don't take me for a fool, Wish.' Traynor's cold, quiet voice made Tye shiver. ‘Remember, you're here on sufferance. We can end your life, or the life of your friends here, any time we choose, without hesitation. So, from now on, you're going to treat me, and my organisation and my beliefs, with respect. You got that?'

Jonah looked at him for a long time, rubbing his chest. Then, slowly, he nodded.

Traynor returned to his seat at the table and smiled evenly. ‘Now. Tell us what Coldhardt is planning or we'll kill your friends right now.'

‘He's hoping to find the temple ahead of you,' said Jonah, meeker now. ‘He's got the codex, and the symbols marked upon it match those on a certain statuette of Coatlicue.' Tye stared in amazement as Jonah placed his flightcase on the edge of the council's table and produced a jade statuette from inside it. ‘This one.'

Traynor motioned to another man sat a few places away, who was small and fat and wearing thick glasses. ‘Douglas?'

Douglas got up and peered at the ugly object. ‘Looks to be from the Eagle House of the Great Temple. Taken from the excavations.'

‘That's right.' Jonah carefully passed it to him. ‘There's a hidden symbol picked out in veins in the stone, it only shows up if the light falls on it in just the right way … And that symbol holds the key to the location of Coatlicue's temple. If you can crack it, that is.'

‘This is genuine,' Douglas confirmed, reverently.

‘But are
you
genuine, Wish?' Honor remarked. ‘Do you really want to get with the winning side? What of your loyalties to Coldhardt?'

Jonah turned and gestured to Tye and Patch; he looked terrible, half his face had turned purple-black. ‘I have loyalties to my friends,' he said. ‘Coldhardt wasn't prepared to save them. He's set on getting to the temple above all else.'

Honor smiled. ‘And so you came here to try and rescue them yourself.'

‘I'll trade my loyalty, my skills, all I know.'

‘Quite a risk you've taken,' said Traynor. ‘What makes you think we need you? We are all of us experts in Mesoamerican peoples, culture and rituals.'

Jonah shrugged. ‘How would it be if I guaranteed to get Coldhardt out of your hair for good?'

Traynor smiled through his thick ochre make-up. ‘He's hardly been much of a threat to us so far.'

‘How about you showing
me
a little respect?' said
Jonah, his voice hardening. ‘Why else would you have brought me here, to the heart of your little organisation, if not because you wanted to know what Coldhardt was planning? He's a thorn in your flesh. Made you change your plans for hijacking the lorry, stole your codex, found not one but
two
of your secret hideaways.'

‘How
did
he find them?' Honor enquired.

Jonah leaned heavily against the horseshoe table, he sounded short of breath. ‘Blame Kabacra. We stole the info from his client list.'

Traynor's eyes narrowed. ‘What?'

‘So it's for all those reasons that you agreed to see me, Mr Traynor. You couldn't get me here fast enough. You want to keep Coldhardt out of your way and you couldn't be sure killing Tye and Patch would achieve that.' Jonah looked straight at Traynor. ‘And I've got news for you – it wouldn't.'

‘Coldhardt is irritatingly persistent,' Honor admitted. ‘But what can
you
do for us?'

‘I can hand him to you on a plate.' Jonah promised. ‘But first of all, I'd like some answers. I'd like to know what it is you're actually up to.'

Traynor just went on looking at Jonah, staring him out. Then finally he cleared his throat, like he was ready to give a lecture, and started to speak.

Tye watched him as he talked.

And with a thrill of horror, she realised he meant every crazy word he said.

Jonah stared at Traynor, working hard to keep his composure, starkly aware of how much danger he was in. Even with Tye and Patch beside him, he had never felt quite so helpless. His chest still ached from Traynor's blow. And while this mysterious Honor might be smiling, her teeth looked sharp enough to shred bone; maybe she would pick up where Traynor had left off. His cheek felt burning hot, and Jonah found he couldn't stop pressing his tongue against his aching teeth, checking they weren't loose. If any fell out now, he imagined one of these creepy Council types would scoop them up and thread them on to a bracelet.

‘Millennia ago now,' said Traynor, beginning his story, ‘Mayan records spoke of men who communed with the gods themselves. Men they termed “knowers of occult things – possessors of the traditions”. This was a time when science and superstition came together as never before or since.'

‘To achieve what?' Jonah asked quietly.

‘A classic age. The birth of a true and extraordinary civilisation.' Traynor rose again from the table, and Jonah tried hard not to flinch. ‘How do you think the
Mesoamerican peoples came to enjoy unsurpassed cultural and scientific achievements? Did you know they counted in base twenty, or that they accurately calculated the duration of a lunar month to five decimal places? They measured the movements of Venus as accurately as we are able to today. Their medicines and use of herbs were far more advanced than those of the Europeans at that time. The list goes on and on.'

Jonah nodded nervously as Traynor moved slowly, menacingly round the table towards him. ‘You were right, Wish. I did found Sixth Sun as a kind of hobby. To start with, anyway.' He walked closer, a happy smile on his face. ‘The group was conceived as a meeting of experts, of like minds – those who respected and revered the achievements, the customs and the art of the Mesoamerican peoples. Of course, we dreamed of finding great, lost temples and fantastic archaeological finds. And so I took to arranging weekend expeditions into Mexico. I'd scout out prospective sites myself.'

Jonah swallowed hard. ‘And did you find anything?'

Traynor came in close, too close for Jonah's liking – as if he were about to lean in for a kiss. Jonah could smell his breath, see every red-thread vein in the whites of his staring eyes. The man looked rapt as if at some secret, special memory. ‘I never found a temple. But in the tropical lowlands I discovered an Olmec tomb dating back to 400 BC, made from basalt pillars and covered in earth. I fell through an opening, a drop of seven metres or more. I lay there, broken, like the
jade offerings given up to the priest who lay buried there, my blood seeping into the cracked stone floor. And then …'

Jonah watched nervously as a tear squeezed its way out of Traynor's eye and down his cheek, while the other members of the council lowered their heads as if in reverence.

‘… then
She
communed with me.'

‘She?'

Traynor seemed to become aware of the tear and wiped at it briskly. When he spoke again there was a still stronger note of passion in his voice. ‘I have come to believe – we
all
have – that the founding fathers of Mexican civilisation made connection with some higher force. A
presence
native to the region. A presence that somehow gave them knowledge so advanced they could just barely assimilate the basics.'

‘What kind of a presence?' Jonah was careful to keep the sneer from his voice – this guy had to be a grade-A nutjob. ‘You mean, like, aliens? Or a kind of ghost or something?'

‘Modern day jargon is not helpful,' Traynor said curtly, looking away.

Honor spoke up. ‘We own documents that show how, at the start of the Fifth Sun, the shaman priests reawakened the presence through ceremony, abstinence and human sacrifice. By the time of the Spanish invasion the presence was revered as the goddess Coatlicue.'

‘And that is how we shall address her when we raise up her resting place from beneath the Mexican rainforest,' said Traynor fervently. ‘The Temple of Life
from Death.'

Jonah stared at him. ‘You really do believe this …
presence
exists.'

Traynor nodded. ‘She tasted my blood and it revived her. She communed with me.'

‘What did she say?'

‘How could a piece of trash like you possibly understand a moment that spiritual? It was … It felt to me as if …' He trailed off and took hold of Jonah's shoulders. ‘I know what I felt. Just as I knew that the place I had stumbled upon was not the true dwelling place of this presence. Here there were only the after-echoes, still bound to the bones of the long-dead priest in his tomb.' His fingertips dug into Jonah's skin. ‘Imagine how often that priest must have communed with the presence in the Temple of Life from Death.'

Jonah licked his lips. ‘You said you fell seven metres; you hurt yourself bad. This “presence” could just be some bad dream or a hallucination.'

The rest of the council didn't seem to take kindly to that idea. A round of scandalised mutters and whispers started up. He looked round at them all – little men for the most part, who clearly dreamed of bigger things.

‘You have no faith,' said Douglas, the fat expert with the glasses. ‘
We
do.'

An old professor-type nodded proudly. ‘Faith is what binds the council in fellowship. It sustains us.'

‘Seems the kid thinks I'm a liar.' The council chamber fell silent again as Traynor pushed Jonah down to his knees, then hissed in his face. ‘I know what I felt that day, Wish. And I knew from that moment, it was
my destiny to commune with Her again. Only next time, I would be prepared. Next time I would
summon
her – and from a position of strength.'

Jonah closed his eyes. Good old destiny. It would have to be the rich, influential head of a secret weapons research facility this kind of freaky crap happened to, not some student backpacker who'd put it down to a bump on the head and laugh about it with a bunch of Aussies back at his hostel.

Suddenly Traynor slackened his grip and let go. Jonah decided it was wisest to stay on his knees – he didn't trust his legs to support him any longer. He risked a glance at Tye and Patch. They both looked as scared as he felt.

‘We have read the sacred accounts,' Traynor went on more calmly, ‘experimented with the scraps of knowledge the priests wrote down – depictions of the temple, the ways to summon Coatlicue, the great prophecy …' He looked into the distance and smiled. ‘Soon I will prove to the presence that I'm worthy of all Her secrets and mysteries. If She will share them with me and my priests, then I will work to welcome in a new age – a Sixth Sun – where She shall be worshipped again. Her influence and power shall grow …'

‘With you as her right-hand hummingbird,' Jonah murmured.

Traynor reacted as the little jibe hit home, and Jonah flinched as he swung round to face him. But then the new Aztec king seemed to recover himself, almost starting to backtrack as he crossed back to his ceremonial seat. ‘I cannot lose. Should my attempts to
commune with Her fail, I will still have raised up the fabled lost Temple of Life from Death from Mictlan, the underworld. All the Aztecs' greatest treasures shall be ours to share, riches beyond imagining …'

Jonah didn't buy this rational act for a moment. ‘You mentioned the great prophecy. How does it go again? “When the earth shakes the sun from the sky, when the bloodied sword is wiped clean, when Perfect Sacrifice is made and her attendants reach into their hearts … then Coatlicue will arise from her temple and feast on the poison in men.”'

Honor smiled, and even Traynor seemed grudgingly impressed. ‘You've translated it very quickly.'

‘Oh, I'm good,' said Jonah coolly, getting up from his knees. ‘Just ask Miss Albrecht here. I'm guessing the bloodied sword is Cortes's?' He nodded to the rapier mounted on the wall. ‘Suppose that's it there, right? Courtesy of Kabacra.'

‘We shall destroy it in the heart of the temple,' hissed Traynor.

‘First, you've got to
find
the temple,' Jonah reminded him.

Honor just laughed. ‘I have known of its location for some years, now.'

‘Years?' he heard Tye echo behind him.