Chapter 19: After Midnight
^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^)
I try, but I can't sleep. Something about this scenario does not work. I think about that. Maybe talking to Dick will help.
A careful check outside the door. No visible guard. Which also means no guide, but I'm confidant I can find the clinic again. And no one said I could not go there.
I check the closet. Decent selection. I pick a black sweatshirt to go with my dinner pants. Unsuspicious and damn near invisible. I follow the curves I remember. The wall pictures make a good guide. Wish to hell I could read them. Likely Jones can. Which reminds me of the papers I picked up back at the camp.
Memo: See Jones for translation ASAP. Hate to ruin Dinah's sleep, but she'll understand.
The clinic is empty. At least this section.
I look in. Dick is sleeping. I tap on the glass
"Dick?"
The pressure chamber is soundproof, but he can read my lips through the glass. Better. No need to risk the noise.
"Huh? Hi, Bruce. You OK?" he lips back.
"I'm fine. Natives seem friendly. How are you feeling."
"A hundred times better." Dick raises himself to his elbows to give me a clearer look at his face. "Doc says I'll be out in the morning. But you didn't come for that. If we don't have to roll now? What's on your mind?"
"Just a mystery. Something doesn't fit." I pull over a chair and sit as close as possible to Dick's window. "Here's what I know so far. Someone - presumably an Aztec 'king' named Tepiltzin - hired Simon Templar to steal the Jaguar's Tongue. Tepiltzin want's it because the thing has local ju-ju. Templar succeeded, but was killed himself, presumedly before delivery. Or perhaps after." I don't like that second possibility, but I must consider it. Some crooks aren't honest with paying their help, and dead men make real quiet debtors. The Saint has a tougher reputation then that, but everyone makes mistakes.
Dick smiles encouragingly and I continue. "Artifact vanishes. Several parties head down the river. Us, the pirates, that tourist Walker. That's where it goes off. Drax vanishes. His crew shows up. None of it hangs together."
"Pirates claim they never touched the village. Savage says they are lying. I'm not sure." Which is frustrating as hell. I wish I could pace, but then Dick could not 'hear' me. "But if the pirates didn't burn the villages, then who did? And why? And what the hell happened to the pirates, if it wasn't you, me, or this bunch?"
I rest my head against the window for just a moment. Dick always helps me with these things. His very presence helps me. And now, while he is near, he is still apart.
He must understand, because he brushes his fingers against the glass. It touches my heart - almost as much as if he had touched my cheek.
I lay my hand on the glass, fingers matching his.
"So." I shrug. "That's my question."
Dick thinks a moment, then mouths, "Wrong question."
"What?" In my shock I almost speak out loud.
"First question, Bruce, is who killed The Saint."
Shit! Yes. If..... "Thanks Dick." I pat his window. "You get healthy, I'll see you in the morning."
^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^)
I make my way back to the visitor's wing unnoticed. Which is good, because I'm not in the mood to waste mental energy on making excuses, or worse yet being civil.
Dr. Jones's room should be the second past mine. No inside doors in this wing. I ease past the heavy cloth hanging that does duty without a ripple.
He is in bed. Good. I didn't feel like going looking for people at this time of night. I light one of the flat vegetable oil lamps. Not as suspicious as my own flashlight, and we will need some light for what I need done.
"Dr. Jones."
"Huh?" The low murmur comes not from Jones but from his blonde companion.
"Sorry, Dinah." Her robe is over a chair, so I hand it to her. "I have a few questions."
Jones blinks at the light. "Won't it wait until morning?"
"That's the first question."
"Wha...?"
"Give me everything you know about the Aztec and Mayan politics."
He sits up against the headboard. "Got a few years?"
"Condense it."
"One word? War."
"Always?"
"Mostly always." He runs his hands through his hair, brushing the shaggy bangs back from his forehead. "Two groups too near. I wouldn't count on them to agree on anything. Religion, government - which in this part of the world is pretty much the same thing - right down to the hats they wear. Aztecs and Mayans just don't get along."
That would match with Mrs. Savage's attitude, but... "Odd." I consider his words. "Given the long history of the area, and their mutual enemies, I would think they could have worked out an accommodation by now.
Jones shakes his head. "Two cities might make a treaty every so often to pound on a third party - whichever of the 'jungle' tribes they got the urge to rob or enslave - but it never lasted. No way to make it last. No common gods, for all they *sound* identical, and no civil law at all. And hostages only last until kings change or the old king desides he doesn't really like his kids that much after all.
"So a treaty with this Tepiltzin's father...?"
"Was valid about till he was out the door. Maybe."
"That's insane."
Dinah looks at Jones, then at me. "Ever heard of Yugoslavia?"
I ignore her. "So say that Mrs. Savage is right about this Tepiltzin fellow? That he's out for power?"
Jones snorts at that. "Know someone who's not?"
"Then this Jaguar thing could get it for him?"
"Maybe." Jones reaches for his pants. "Look Wayne. I don't know how much you know about MesoAmerican culture..."
"Less then you." Which is why I hired him. Obviously.
"Which is why I'm here. Right." He reaches for his shirt, which is currently on the floor, then decides against it. "I don't know much about local politics. And things can change over a few centuries. But this deal now - that makes me nervous."
That get's Dinah's attention. "Should we leave? Tonight?"
"As soon as possible." Jones answers. "Follow me now. This Savage fellow is the local king - which translates to local god. Not too sure how he got the job - likely by marriage - but he's got it. He's got some sort of political crisis going on." I see him consider his whip, but after a few seconds hesitation he leaves it on the nightstand. "No shock there. I've never seen a government without one. Get four people together for bridge and you get dissidents. But for this crisis he sends for the Jaguar's Tongue. Bad sign. I don't want to be anywhere near the type of political problems you settle with a knife."
Dinah's listening. Carefully. She's not quite going for her suit, but I catch her checking out her pendant and earrings. Which means she's taking Jones very seriously. For all her purported bad judgment in boyfriends, Dinah has always been a very *good* judge of allies. That much I learned in our JLA days. If she's listening.. so should I.
Jones continues. "The Jaguar Tongue is a sacrificial blade. You have to figure he's planning a sacrifice. Probably animal. The avatar of the God. That is statistically most common, but..."
"You mean..." Dinah is clearly shocked. "People?"
Jones side steps the question. "Let's just say my hankering for divinity has been permanently cured."
"OK. Next question." I pull out the paper I took from the Pirate leader's desk. " What about this?"
"Interesting." Jones moves closer to the light. "A codex. Where did you get it?"
"I found this is the pirate chief's tent. Can you read it?"
"Read? Not exactly." Reaching into the free-standing closet, Jones begins rummaging through his jacket pockets. It takes a few seconds, but he manages to produce both a penlight and a jewelers loupe. "There's a bit debate as to weather the locals were *literate* at all. I mean, walls full of dates don't exactly add up to Shakespeare." He unrolls the paper on top of the desk, weighting the edges down with various handy knickknacks. "They did have these picture scrolls. But to what degree that constitutes literacy..."
"Can you read it?" I cut in. That is the question that matters now. He can annoy someone with the lecture later. Preferably someone else.
"Well... interesting." Jones uses his knife to scratch a bit at the paint. "First, this scroll is recent." He rolls the parchment between his fingers. "This century, maybe this decade."
"Go on."
"It's a map of some sort." He floats his finger just above a line of squared-off symbols. "Not geological, more like a travel guide. But definitely instructions on how to get *somewhere*."
"Here?" Dinah bends over his shoulder to get a closer look at the pictures.
"Possibly..." Jones taps his fingernail on several bright cartoons. Monkeys, snakes, birds... even one spotted cat. "Without knowing the starting point and local landmarks, it's hard to be sure, but..." He hesitates, then mutters. "not quite...although maybe...." He squints at the icons, running his fingers down the row like a child learning to read. "This is very interesting."
"Yes?" I say.
"These symbols are *not* Mayan."
"Aztec, then." Not too surprising. And it would confirm that they are behind this.
"No, actually. Inca."
"Christ." The last thing this little tangle needs is *another* pack of players. Where do they fit in? I thought Inca's *were* Aztec. Or something. More specifically, I hadn't though about it. My business is not conducive to spending time speculating about dead governments. I have enough trouble with the living type. "How do Inca's fit in to the local scheme? Aztec allies?"
"Not a chance." Jones shrugs. " Same as with the Mayans. Local politics is real simple to follow. It's a clear game of all against all. The ones that were still around after the Aztec conquests happily joined Cortes in wiping Montezuma and his troops off the face of the earth."
Dinah blinks at that. "I thought it was the Spanish guns that..."
"Guns helped. Horses helped. Disease helped. Montezuma being an idiot *really* helped." That last line is said with a snort. "But only in comic-book fantasy can 160 men take on an army and not get their asses handed to them. Cortez had plenty of local volunteers."
I get the impression he doesn't think things have changed. Bad news for the stability of the region. Up to this point I haven't taken this Jaguar nonsense seriously, but another Santa Prisca revolution? When the whole region is just recovering from the last crisis? Not that I have proof of anything that wide-spread. Yet.
Perhaps I should have Barbara run some scenarios. Check the risk factors. I'd ask Jones, but he has clearly vanished into the haze of theory.
"This is very interesting." Jones gestures at the codex. "If you don't mind..."
"No, Dr. Jones." I've seen this distraction in Carter on occasion. More trouble then it's worth to draw him back to reality. And I'm done with him for now. "I'll leave you to your reading."
I nod to Dinah. She'll tell me if he comes up with anything more. "I think a short walk might help me...think."
^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^)
I do walk. Mostly to clear my head, but also to check the layout of the city. If we do need to leave suddenly, I want to know where we're going. The moment I see starlight I send a pulse off to Oracle, confident she will have it tracked and plotted within the hour. Sent up to J'onn at the Lunar tower within two. Which means Savage's Hidden City is considerably less hidden then before. Not that it should matter. Oracle's entire reputation depends on her silence, and J'onn ethics tend to discourage unrequested interference. Fine with me. I have no desire to save the world - or even this over-foliaged corner of it. That's Diana's job. I just want to be confident I can save my own people if required.
The courtyard is darker then when we landed. Even the mercury vapor 'moonlight' lamps have been turned off. Wise. Their sky cover is good, but nothing is impenetrable. Even a faint illumination might attract attention over time.
I snap a few photo's in infrared. Sent over to Oracle they will help coordinate any removal plans... if we in fact need to call for a way out. That is my first and most important decision.
The main courtyard is empty. Both helicopters are there, but not guarded. A good sign if it marks their trust. Less good if it signals their confidence. I leave the question for now. No evidence, and either mind set can be used in our favor. If necessary. Because there is also the possibility of waiting through the week and saying farewell like a gentleman. Not my usual style, but it does have the advantage of tact.
I turn back.
The second courtyard is equally deserted, but not as dark. A few lights shine on the first floor. They send the silhouette of a male figure faintly against the heavy homespun curtains.
I considering eavesdropping, but between the heavy draperies and bad angle i hear nothing. Very well. There's always the direct approach.
Mussing my hair and rumpling my sweatshirt, I quietly open the main door and stroll casually down the hall. A quiet tap in the doorframe beings a quick answer. "Come in."
A library. Decorated in the classic style. Leather chairs and ceiling-high shelves. Old photo's filling the wall over the desk. Not quite the oasis of untouched books-by-the-yard of Drake's house, but not Dick's cheerful trove of paperbacks either.
I check the population. As I had hoped. Mine host. Along with Mayfair and Brooks. Interesting confirmation. Despite Renwick's obvious authority and family ties, I did get the impression that these two were 'closer'. Not that I could point to any distinction. Just an impression, but I have learned to trust my impressions. Also Dr. Littlejohn, who is looking busy over at the desk. He has a bit of that glazed look I just saw on Jones. A good indication that they are *not* talking football and girls.
I step into the room. "Doctor Savage?"
"Please." He gestures at the sofa. "Call me Clark, or Doc."
"Doc then." No way am I calling him Clark. I smile and try to look harmless.
"You're out late."
"I couldn't sleep, so I took a walk." I look all around the room, but no one here is talking except the Doc."I hope that's all right?"
"Of course, Bruce. You're our guest, not a prisoner." He smiles, and I can feel the rest of the crew relax. Not that they give any visibly sign, but the lessening of tension is still there. Another case of bad and good signs combined. "I hope that wasn't what was making you uneasy," Savage continues.
"No, just.." I consider how to phrase this and stay in character. Perhaps a bit of need for reassurance might be called for. "It has been a rather...eventful day."
"Regrettably." Brooks picks the coffee - or in this case kakaw - pot off the warmer. "I fear you got caught up in our local problems."
"Well, yes." I smile politely as I wave off another cup of kakaw. Not the wisest prescription for insomnia. And I will want to sleep tonight. Probably. "I don't want to intrude, but... I am rather concerned. For my people, and..."
"Yes, of course. But your lady friend is fine, and Virginia assures me that your man will be back to work by morning."
"Yah." Mayfair heads for the bar. " Your folks are safe here. No way the bums gonna take this city."
"A great comfort. And I do appreciate your assistance. I truly do. But..." I smile at Mayfair, who has produces a much more acceptable glass of fruit juice. "At some point I do need to get back to Gotham. And return the captain and his wife to their boat. Which looks like a bit of a jungle hike."
Savage answers politely. "Normally I'd suggest you simply return the way you came, but under the circumstances?"
I nod. "I agree. I may hope we caught all the pirates, but without more assurances? Another route might be safer."
"Through Aztec territory?" Brooks sips his kakaw. "Not advisable even in peacetime, although we can usually make some arrangements.
"Just not with a dame." Mayfair pours himself fruit juice as well. "Not with Tepiltzin on the war path."
I set my voice for a a point somewhere between flattered and confused . "Surely there is some other way out?"
Mayfair shrugs. "Sure, by air over the mountains to Ixchel, then ride in to Hap'osil."
"That could be..a problem." Brooks looks at Doc Savage, seeking either direction or, or likely, permission. There are very clearly secrets in this room. And Savage is the man who owns them.
"We control this city, and the territory up to the Pauahtun Mountains." Savage rubs his chin. " After that the land is held by the various Indian villages. None of them significantly armed. They are normally kept fairly peaceable, but..." He shakes his head, and I am reminded of the mad destruction of the last two days.
"You guys could go by boat to San Luis de Tula." Mayfair offers. "That's a Spanish city, and maybe more stable. Unless someone weird gets the knife."
"But the water wanders through disputed territory. Captain Muwan reports outbreaks of violence along the border. New bodies have been found in the mountain shrines." Savage shakes his head. "And some of the river tribes have managed to aquire guns from the Europeans, despite our ruleings against it. Even in good times you would want a strong company to protect the lady. While this city is under threat I can not spare the troops to escort you out that way."
"I find it hard to accept..."I hesitate, wanting the softest phrasing, "This one incident could throw everything so...off balance."
Brooks fills another cup with kakaw. "While the Jaguar is roaming, everything is uncertain."
Savage accepts that without comment. "Even Hap'osil might be in question, although I believe we can hold it. At least until someone else has the dagger."
"No offense, Mr. Wayne." Savage accepts the biter chocolate. "Renwick was quite impressed by by your prowess. And I'm sure your man is equally competent...whatever Littlejohn might have to say about your taste in employees." The last, a clear reference to Jones, is spoken with a rather fond smile at Littlejohn. The older archeologist smiles back, clearly more flattered then offended.
"A singular lapse, unequivocally."
"I don't doubt that Thomas Wayne's son can take care of himself. Your father was always... capable. Exceedingly so." Savage sips carefully at his drink. "I had great hopes for him, before he chose to return to Gotham, and I see much of him in you." He pauses for a bit before he adds, "It is in days like this that I miss ... lost allies. Thomas among them."
Savage's eyes pass over the photos on the walls. Dozens of black and white prints isolated in their narrow frames. Clusters of young men in their pressed khaki's and white shirts. Ghosts of another, braver age. None I recognize, but I have had no chance to examine them closely. Perhaps my father in his youth is there amoung the hundreds of grey-toned faces. Given the chance, I suppose I will check. Although I wonder if my child's memories would recognize him? When I think of my parents, I envision the formal portrait painted just before their... deaths. I don't think of them as young. As adventurous. As friends. As lovers before they were parents. But I know they were. Must have been.
Savage must remember Thomas Wayne's real face, because his eyes focus without hesitation on a picture in the upper left. Savage and several young men in the white jackets worn by doctors before the invention of 'scrubs'. The third from the left might be my father.. I think.
"Your father was a good man," my host continues. "A good friend. A brilliant student. I regret losing touch with him. More so now, of course. Perhaps I should have made the opportunity to meet his son, but...", Savage smiles faintly. "Time is the one thing that paupers all of us." His eyes drop. "Now there is only enough time to do what I must to keep peace."
"Don't worry, Doc. We'll find the knife."
"No way were' gonna let that Aztec bastard ruin all you've worked for."
"I trust you, Monk. You and the others have been my strengh for so long. But now... The jungle is burning. There are bodies found in the river. We do not hold the blade."
Very sweet - but none of my business. I cut to the chase. "So what you're telling me is, until you have that ... thing back in the Museum, people are going to keep killing each other if they have to do it with sticks and stones. And while they fight, I'm stuck."
The bronze man gives me a glare that is intended to be repressive. No doubt it has proved effective in the past, but not in this instance. I have stared down Saint Michael at the gates of heaven.
It is Dr. Littlejohn who finally answers. "Succinctly affirmative. The bladed relic is a catalyst for machinations, and only public exhibition assures societal security."
"That way, Wayne", the man called Monk adds, "Folks here know what other folks don't got."
Which, when translated, leaves only one question. "Then why the hell did you ask for it back."
"Because, Mr. Wayne, of the equinox", Brooks replies. He gives his words that tone of self evident truth that the best lawyers cultivate. I find it even less effective then the glare.
Savage adds in explanation. "Sotz Ix is a sacred date on our calendar. The only day for the Jaguar sacrifice."
"One question. A calender date tends to come around every year. Why this one?"
He controls his face, but not his eyes. Which means, of course, that he controls nothing. I can see him deciding whether he should answer, and if so how. A calculation, then: "Perhaps, Mr. Wayne." He looks at something far beyond my sight. " It is the last year for me." He pauses. "Cancer, Mr. Wayne. Fully metastasized and quite terminal."
"Your Doctor.....?"
"I *am* my doctor." Savage sounds faintly offended at the question. "I give myself three months, nine at the outside."
"So that's....it's a succession thing." I take a sip while I think. "You will bring in a new ruler for your 'Hidden City of Gold'."
"Precisely." Savage's expression is not so much pleased as ...gratified. The teacher with the competent student. "But it appears the Aztec have a difference of opinion as to who that new ruler should be."
I start to say something- what, I'm not sure - when he cuts me off.
"If you were a father, Mr. Wayne, what would you not do to ensure the future of your son?"
That gets me, because I am a father. Not Dick, although so often people seem determined on that mistake, but for Jason? I have even considered wresting the Lazarus pit from Ra's, despite Talia's insistence that Jason's wounds made it quite useless. If the day comes when I plot the Joker's death, it will be not for his crimes against humanity, but because I can not forgive him that single loss. Jason would have had Wayne Industries, he could have had the world.
That gets me, because I am a son. All these years lost, and I still have a hole in my soul where my father is not. I remember toys, and ponies, and trips to the movies. What will a father not give his son?
I'm not over fond of the thought of killing a cat, but if it will stop a war - OK. Tabby will have to go. I just hope Selina never finds out about this.
"So - if I understand you right." I pause, surveying the faces around me. "You get back the dagger. You do this ... ceremony. The Jaguar's Tongue goes back to the museum. Then everyone settles down for another century or so."
Clear enough. I can't say I feel particularly enthusiastic about this mission, but I can live with it. At least, I can live with it a lot longer and easier than I will with the memory of those burned bodies by the river.
"OK." I answer. " Where do we find the knife?"
END CHAPTER NINETEEN
^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^)
I try, but I can't sleep. Something about this scenario does not work. I think about that. Maybe talking to Dick will help.
A careful check outside the door. No visible guard. Which also means no guide, but I'm confidant I can find the clinic again. And no one said I could not go there.
I check the closet. Decent selection. I pick a black sweatshirt to go with my dinner pants. Unsuspicious and damn near invisible. I follow the curves I remember. The wall pictures make a good guide. Wish to hell I could read them. Likely Jones can. Which reminds me of the papers I picked up back at the camp.
Memo: See Jones for translation ASAP. Hate to ruin Dinah's sleep, but she'll understand.
The clinic is empty. At least this section.
I look in. Dick is sleeping. I tap on the glass
"Dick?"
The pressure chamber is soundproof, but he can read my lips through the glass. Better. No need to risk the noise.
"Huh? Hi, Bruce. You OK?" he lips back.
"I'm fine. Natives seem friendly. How are you feeling."
"A hundred times better." Dick raises himself to his elbows to give me a clearer look at his face. "Doc says I'll be out in the morning. But you didn't come for that. If we don't have to roll now? What's on your mind?"
"Just a mystery. Something doesn't fit." I pull over a chair and sit as close as possible to Dick's window. "Here's what I know so far. Someone - presumably an Aztec 'king' named Tepiltzin - hired Simon Templar to steal the Jaguar's Tongue. Tepiltzin want's it because the thing has local ju-ju. Templar succeeded, but was killed himself, presumedly before delivery. Or perhaps after." I don't like that second possibility, but I must consider it. Some crooks aren't honest with paying their help, and dead men make real quiet debtors. The Saint has a tougher reputation then that, but everyone makes mistakes.
Dick smiles encouragingly and I continue. "Artifact vanishes. Several parties head down the river. Us, the pirates, that tourist Walker. That's where it goes off. Drax vanishes. His crew shows up. None of it hangs together."
"Pirates claim they never touched the village. Savage says they are lying. I'm not sure." Which is frustrating as hell. I wish I could pace, but then Dick could not 'hear' me. "But if the pirates didn't burn the villages, then who did? And why? And what the hell happened to the pirates, if it wasn't you, me, or this bunch?"
I rest my head against the window for just a moment. Dick always helps me with these things. His very presence helps me. And now, while he is near, he is still apart.
He must understand, because he brushes his fingers against the glass. It touches my heart - almost as much as if he had touched my cheek.
I lay my hand on the glass, fingers matching his.
"So." I shrug. "That's my question."
Dick thinks a moment, then mouths, "Wrong question."
"What?" In my shock I almost speak out loud.
"First question, Bruce, is who killed The Saint."
Shit! Yes. If..... "Thanks Dick." I pat his window. "You get healthy, I'll see you in the morning."
^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^)
I make my way back to the visitor's wing unnoticed. Which is good, because I'm not in the mood to waste mental energy on making excuses, or worse yet being civil.
Dr. Jones's room should be the second past mine. No inside doors in this wing. I ease past the heavy cloth hanging that does duty without a ripple.
He is in bed. Good. I didn't feel like going looking for people at this time of night. I light one of the flat vegetable oil lamps. Not as suspicious as my own flashlight, and we will need some light for what I need done.
"Dr. Jones."
"Huh?" The low murmur comes not from Jones but from his blonde companion.
"Sorry, Dinah." Her robe is over a chair, so I hand it to her. "I have a few questions."
Jones blinks at the light. "Won't it wait until morning?"
"That's the first question."
"Wha...?"
"Give me everything you know about the Aztec and Mayan politics."
He sits up against the headboard. "Got a few years?"
"Condense it."
"One word? War."
"Always?"
"Mostly always." He runs his hands through his hair, brushing the shaggy bangs back from his forehead. "Two groups too near. I wouldn't count on them to agree on anything. Religion, government - which in this part of the world is pretty much the same thing - right down to the hats they wear. Aztecs and Mayans just don't get along."
That would match with Mrs. Savage's attitude, but... "Odd." I consider his words. "Given the long history of the area, and their mutual enemies, I would think they could have worked out an accommodation by now.
Jones shakes his head. "Two cities might make a treaty every so often to pound on a third party - whichever of the 'jungle' tribes they got the urge to rob or enslave - but it never lasted. No way to make it last. No common gods, for all they *sound* identical, and no civil law at all. And hostages only last until kings change or the old king desides he doesn't really like his kids that much after all.
"So a treaty with this Tepiltzin's father...?"
"Was valid about till he was out the door. Maybe."
"That's insane."
Dinah looks at Jones, then at me. "Ever heard of Yugoslavia?"
I ignore her. "So say that Mrs. Savage is right about this Tepiltzin fellow? That he's out for power?"
Jones snorts at that. "Know someone who's not?"
"Then this Jaguar thing could get it for him?"
"Maybe." Jones reaches for his pants. "Look Wayne. I don't know how much you know about MesoAmerican culture..."
"Less then you." Which is why I hired him. Obviously.
"Which is why I'm here. Right." He reaches for his shirt, which is currently on the floor, then decides against it. "I don't know much about local politics. And things can change over a few centuries. But this deal now - that makes me nervous."
That get's Dinah's attention. "Should we leave? Tonight?"
"As soon as possible." Jones answers. "Follow me now. This Savage fellow is the local king - which translates to local god. Not too sure how he got the job - likely by marriage - but he's got it. He's got some sort of political crisis going on." I see him consider his whip, but after a few seconds hesitation he leaves it on the nightstand. "No shock there. I've never seen a government without one. Get four people together for bridge and you get dissidents. But for this crisis he sends for the Jaguar's Tongue. Bad sign. I don't want to be anywhere near the type of political problems you settle with a knife."
Dinah's listening. Carefully. She's not quite going for her suit, but I catch her checking out her pendant and earrings. Which means she's taking Jones very seriously. For all her purported bad judgment in boyfriends, Dinah has always been a very *good* judge of allies. That much I learned in our JLA days. If she's listening.. so should I.
Jones continues. "The Jaguar Tongue is a sacrificial blade. You have to figure he's planning a sacrifice. Probably animal. The avatar of the God. That is statistically most common, but..."
"You mean..." Dinah is clearly shocked. "People?"
Jones side steps the question. "Let's just say my hankering for divinity has been permanently cured."
"OK. Next question." I pull out the paper I took from the Pirate leader's desk. " What about this?"
"Interesting." Jones moves closer to the light. "A codex. Where did you get it?"
"I found this is the pirate chief's tent. Can you read it?"
"Read? Not exactly." Reaching into the free-standing closet, Jones begins rummaging through his jacket pockets. It takes a few seconds, but he manages to produce both a penlight and a jewelers loupe. "There's a bit debate as to weather the locals were *literate* at all. I mean, walls full of dates don't exactly add up to Shakespeare." He unrolls the paper on top of the desk, weighting the edges down with various handy knickknacks. "They did have these picture scrolls. But to what degree that constitutes literacy..."
"Can you read it?" I cut in. That is the question that matters now. He can annoy someone with the lecture later. Preferably someone else.
"Well... interesting." Jones uses his knife to scratch a bit at the paint. "First, this scroll is recent." He rolls the parchment between his fingers. "This century, maybe this decade."
"Go on."
"It's a map of some sort." He floats his finger just above a line of squared-off symbols. "Not geological, more like a travel guide. But definitely instructions on how to get *somewhere*."
"Here?" Dinah bends over his shoulder to get a closer look at the pictures.
"Possibly..." Jones taps his fingernail on several bright cartoons. Monkeys, snakes, birds... even one spotted cat. "Without knowing the starting point and local landmarks, it's hard to be sure, but..." He hesitates, then mutters. "not quite...although maybe...." He squints at the icons, running his fingers down the row like a child learning to read. "This is very interesting."
"Yes?" I say.
"These symbols are *not* Mayan."
"Aztec, then." Not too surprising. And it would confirm that they are behind this.
"No, actually. Inca."
"Christ." The last thing this little tangle needs is *another* pack of players. Where do they fit in? I thought Inca's *were* Aztec. Or something. More specifically, I hadn't though about it. My business is not conducive to spending time speculating about dead governments. I have enough trouble with the living type. "How do Inca's fit in to the local scheme? Aztec allies?"
"Not a chance." Jones shrugs. " Same as with the Mayans. Local politics is real simple to follow. It's a clear game of all against all. The ones that were still around after the Aztec conquests happily joined Cortes in wiping Montezuma and his troops off the face of the earth."
Dinah blinks at that. "I thought it was the Spanish guns that..."
"Guns helped. Horses helped. Disease helped. Montezuma being an idiot *really* helped." That last line is said with a snort. "But only in comic-book fantasy can 160 men take on an army and not get their asses handed to them. Cortez had plenty of local volunteers."
I get the impression he doesn't think things have changed. Bad news for the stability of the region. Up to this point I haven't taken this Jaguar nonsense seriously, but another Santa Prisca revolution? When the whole region is just recovering from the last crisis? Not that I have proof of anything that wide-spread. Yet.
Perhaps I should have Barbara run some scenarios. Check the risk factors. I'd ask Jones, but he has clearly vanished into the haze of theory.
"This is very interesting." Jones gestures at the codex. "If you don't mind..."
"No, Dr. Jones." I've seen this distraction in Carter on occasion. More trouble then it's worth to draw him back to reality. And I'm done with him for now. "I'll leave you to your reading."
I nod to Dinah. She'll tell me if he comes up with anything more. "I think a short walk might help me...think."
^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^)
I do walk. Mostly to clear my head, but also to check the layout of the city. If we do need to leave suddenly, I want to know where we're going. The moment I see starlight I send a pulse off to Oracle, confident she will have it tracked and plotted within the hour. Sent up to J'onn at the Lunar tower within two. Which means Savage's Hidden City is considerably less hidden then before. Not that it should matter. Oracle's entire reputation depends on her silence, and J'onn ethics tend to discourage unrequested interference. Fine with me. I have no desire to save the world - or even this over-foliaged corner of it. That's Diana's job. I just want to be confident I can save my own people if required.
The courtyard is darker then when we landed. Even the mercury vapor 'moonlight' lamps have been turned off. Wise. Their sky cover is good, but nothing is impenetrable. Even a faint illumination might attract attention over time.
I snap a few photo's in infrared. Sent over to Oracle they will help coordinate any removal plans... if we in fact need to call for a way out. That is my first and most important decision.
The main courtyard is empty. Both helicopters are there, but not guarded. A good sign if it marks their trust. Less good if it signals their confidence. I leave the question for now. No evidence, and either mind set can be used in our favor. If necessary. Because there is also the possibility of waiting through the week and saying farewell like a gentleman. Not my usual style, but it does have the advantage of tact.
I turn back.
The second courtyard is equally deserted, but not as dark. A few lights shine on the first floor. They send the silhouette of a male figure faintly against the heavy homespun curtains.
I considering eavesdropping, but between the heavy draperies and bad angle i hear nothing. Very well. There's always the direct approach.
Mussing my hair and rumpling my sweatshirt, I quietly open the main door and stroll casually down the hall. A quiet tap in the doorframe beings a quick answer. "Come in."
A library. Decorated in the classic style. Leather chairs and ceiling-high shelves. Old photo's filling the wall over the desk. Not quite the oasis of untouched books-by-the-yard of Drake's house, but not Dick's cheerful trove of paperbacks either.
I check the population. As I had hoped. Mine host. Along with Mayfair and Brooks. Interesting confirmation. Despite Renwick's obvious authority and family ties, I did get the impression that these two were 'closer'. Not that I could point to any distinction. Just an impression, but I have learned to trust my impressions. Also Dr. Littlejohn, who is looking busy over at the desk. He has a bit of that glazed look I just saw on Jones. A good indication that they are *not* talking football and girls.
I step into the room. "Doctor Savage?"
"Please." He gestures at the sofa. "Call me Clark, or Doc."
"Doc then." No way am I calling him Clark. I smile and try to look harmless.
"You're out late."
"I couldn't sleep, so I took a walk." I look all around the room, but no one here is talking except the Doc."I hope that's all right?"
"Of course, Bruce. You're our guest, not a prisoner." He smiles, and I can feel the rest of the crew relax. Not that they give any visibly sign, but the lessening of tension is still there. Another case of bad and good signs combined. "I hope that wasn't what was making you uneasy," Savage continues.
"No, just.." I consider how to phrase this and stay in character. Perhaps a bit of need for reassurance might be called for. "It has been a rather...eventful day."
"Regrettably." Brooks picks the coffee - or in this case kakaw - pot off the warmer. "I fear you got caught up in our local problems."
"Well, yes." I smile politely as I wave off another cup of kakaw. Not the wisest prescription for insomnia. And I will want to sleep tonight. Probably. "I don't want to intrude, but... I am rather concerned. For my people, and..."
"Yes, of course. But your lady friend is fine, and Virginia assures me that your man will be back to work by morning."
"Yah." Mayfair heads for the bar. " Your folks are safe here. No way the bums gonna take this city."
"A great comfort. And I do appreciate your assistance. I truly do. But..." I smile at Mayfair, who has produces a much more acceptable glass of fruit juice. "At some point I do need to get back to Gotham. And return the captain and his wife to their boat. Which looks like a bit of a jungle hike."
Savage answers politely. "Normally I'd suggest you simply return the way you came, but under the circumstances?"
I nod. "I agree. I may hope we caught all the pirates, but without more assurances? Another route might be safer."
"Through Aztec territory?" Brooks sips his kakaw. "Not advisable even in peacetime, although we can usually make some arrangements.
"Just not with a dame." Mayfair pours himself fruit juice as well. "Not with Tepiltzin on the war path."
I set my voice for a a point somewhere between flattered and confused . "Surely there is some other way out?"
Mayfair shrugs. "Sure, by air over the mountains to Ixchel, then ride in to Hap'osil."
"That could be..a problem." Brooks looks at Doc Savage, seeking either direction or, or likely, permission. There are very clearly secrets in this room. And Savage is the man who owns them.
"We control this city, and the territory up to the Pauahtun Mountains." Savage rubs his chin. " After that the land is held by the various Indian villages. None of them significantly armed. They are normally kept fairly peaceable, but..." He shakes his head, and I am reminded of the mad destruction of the last two days.
"You guys could go by boat to San Luis de Tula." Mayfair offers. "That's a Spanish city, and maybe more stable. Unless someone weird gets the knife."
"But the water wanders through disputed territory. Captain Muwan reports outbreaks of violence along the border. New bodies have been found in the mountain shrines." Savage shakes his head. "And some of the river tribes have managed to aquire guns from the Europeans, despite our ruleings against it. Even in good times you would want a strong company to protect the lady. While this city is under threat I can not spare the troops to escort you out that way."
"I find it hard to accept..."I hesitate, wanting the softest phrasing, "This one incident could throw everything so...off balance."
Brooks fills another cup with kakaw. "While the Jaguar is roaming, everything is uncertain."
Savage accepts that without comment. "Even Hap'osil might be in question, although I believe we can hold it. At least until someone else has the dagger."
"No offense, Mr. Wayne." Savage accepts the biter chocolate. "Renwick was quite impressed by by your prowess. And I'm sure your man is equally competent...whatever Littlejohn might have to say about your taste in employees." The last, a clear reference to Jones, is spoken with a rather fond smile at Littlejohn. The older archeologist smiles back, clearly more flattered then offended.
"A singular lapse, unequivocally."
"I don't doubt that Thomas Wayne's son can take care of himself. Your father was always... capable. Exceedingly so." Savage sips carefully at his drink. "I had great hopes for him, before he chose to return to Gotham, and I see much of him in you." He pauses for a bit before he adds, "It is in days like this that I miss ... lost allies. Thomas among them."
Savage's eyes pass over the photos on the walls. Dozens of black and white prints isolated in their narrow frames. Clusters of young men in their pressed khaki's and white shirts. Ghosts of another, braver age. None I recognize, but I have had no chance to examine them closely. Perhaps my father in his youth is there amoung the hundreds of grey-toned faces. Given the chance, I suppose I will check. Although I wonder if my child's memories would recognize him? When I think of my parents, I envision the formal portrait painted just before their... deaths. I don't think of them as young. As adventurous. As friends. As lovers before they were parents. But I know they were. Must have been.
Savage must remember Thomas Wayne's real face, because his eyes focus without hesitation on a picture in the upper left. Savage and several young men in the white jackets worn by doctors before the invention of 'scrubs'. The third from the left might be my father.. I think.
"Your father was a good man," my host continues. "A good friend. A brilliant student. I regret losing touch with him. More so now, of course. Perhaps I should have made the opportunity to meet his son, but...", Savage smiles faintly. "Time is the one thing that paupers all of us." His eyes drop. "Now there is only enough time to do what I must to keep peace."
"Don't worry, Doc. We'll find the knife."
"No way were' gonna let that Aztec bastard ruin all you've worked for."
"I trust you, Monk. You and the others have been my strengh for so long. But now... The jungle is burning. There are bodies found in the river. We do not hold the blade."
Very sweet - but none of my business. I cut to the chase. "So what you're telling me is, until you have that ... thing back in the Museum, people are going to keep killing each other if they have to do it with sticks and stones. And while they fight, I'm stuck."
The bronze man gives me a glare that is intended to be repressive. No doubt it has proved effective in the past, but not in this instance. I have stared down Saint Michael at the gates of heaven.
It is Dr. Littlejohn who finally answers. "Succinctly affirmative. The bladed relic is a catalyst for machinations, and only public exhibition assures societal security."
"That way, Wayne", the man called Monk adds, "Folks here know what other folks don't got."
Which, when translated, leaves only one question. "Then why the hell did you ask for it back."
"Because, Mr. Wayne, of the equinox", Brooks replies. He gives his words that tone of self evident truth that the best lawyers cultivate. I find it even less effective then the glare.
Savage adds in explanation. "Sotz Ix is a sacred date on our calendar. The only day for the Jaguar sacrifice."
"One question. A calender date tends to come around every year. Why this one?"
He controls his face, but not his eyes. Which means, of course, that he controls nothing. I can see him deciding whether he should answer, and if so how. A calculation, then: "Perhaps, Mr. Wayne." He looks at something far beyond my sight. " It is the last year for me." He pauses. "Cancer, Mr. Wayne. Fully metastasized and quite terminal."
"Your Doctor.....?"
"I *am* my doctor." Savage sounds faintly offended at the question. "I give myself three months, nine at the outside."
"So that's....it's a succession thing." I take a sip while I think. "You will bring in a new ruler for your 'Hidden City of Gold'."
"Precisely." Savage's expression is not so much pleased as ...gratified. The teacher with the competent student. "But it appears the Aztec have a difference of opinion as to who that new ruler should be."
I start to say something- what, I'm not sure - when he cuts me off.
"If you were a father, Mr. Wayne, what would you not do to ensure the future of your son?"
That gets me, because I am a father. Not Dick, although so often people seem determined on that mistake, but for Jason? I have even considered wresting the Lazarus pit from Ra's, despite Talia's insistence that Jason's wounds made it quite useless. If the day comes when I plot the Joker's death, it will be not for his crimes against humanity, but because I can not forgive him that single loss. Jason would have had Wayne Industries, he could have had the world.
That gets me, because I am a son. All these years lost, and I still have a hole in my soul where my father is not. I remember toys, and ponies, and trips to the movies. What will a father not give his son?
I'm not over fond of the thought of killing a cat, but if it will stop a war - OK. Tabby will have to go. I just hope Selina never finds out about this.
"So - if I understand you right." I pause, surveying the faces around me. "You get back the dagger. You do this ... ceremony. The Jaguar's Tongue goes back to the museum. Then everyone settles down for another century or so."
Clear enough. I can't say I feel particularly enthusiastic about this mission, but I can live with it. At least, I can live with it a lot longer and easier than I will with the memory of those burned bodies by the river.
"OK." I answer. " Where do we find the knife?"
END CHAPTER NINETEEN