So you all know the drill: SPOILERS, SPOILERS, BIG AS DOUBLE BOILERS!
^That's trochaic pentameter. I'd go for the iambs, but I like starting big with the stressed syllables. So it's sort of the opposite of iambic, I guess... not that that should deter any one of you fellow writers! Make a sonnet out of it, and I'll knight you by the power vested in me (which is none). But you will earn some serious brownie points.
The sound of the alarm pushed Henrik's feet faster. His clothed fingers curled around the jade carving so tightly that the muscles in his hand soon became sore. It had been depressingly easy to steal the Pacal. No video cameras, no security guards. He probably didn't even need the ski mask and gloves. Of course he couldn't afford to leave any fingerprints or hairs behind. Considering his reputation, that scenario would be embarrassing at best.
As he scrambled out to the garden, Henrik considered returning to Joanna's office after hiding it. He could tell her that it was a rhetorical theft—maybe now she'd finally listen about Beech Hill needing more security—and he wouldn't tell her where the carving was for a week to make sure she got the point.
She'd be livid, to be sure. But she wouldn't call the cops on him. And she wouldn't fire him. After all, she herself had been surreptitious with museum dealings, and she needed him to get this exhibit off the ground. Henrik grinned behind his mask. He knew he was an asset to the museum. If she fired him, whom else could she hire to translate so close to the opening of the exhibit? Joanna knew that. And she would know that the Pacal was safe. And for all Joanna's faults, she was still loyal to her employees. She'd hate covering for Henrik, but she'd do it and make him pay later.
That option was tempting. However, it would be unfair to give Joanna information and ask her to cover for him when Henrik had no intention of telling her what was really going on. As much as he disliked Joanna sometimes, he knew it wasn't right for her to be in trouble on his account. He only hoped no one would find out about the cinnabar order. He always tacked her names on the orders. By the time he'd done it again simply by habit, it was too late to correct his mistake.
Henrik whipped around to the torch-lit outside door to the pyramid. Once he was safely inside, he whipped off his mask and gloves. Later he'd find a safe place to put them. For now he kept going until he'd reached the bottom level, Level Three, of the pyramid. He headed straight for the Pacal tomb. No one would look there—not even Nancy. He'd left her a note to go through the temple activities, but he knew she probably wouldn't get past the last question on Level Two. Apparently Beech Hill had no exhibits on Mayan matchmakers. And even if she was ambitious and researched Mayan matchmakers on her own time, she'd never get the question on Level Three. Mostly because counterfactuals simply were not found in the history books. Silently he thanked Sonny Joon for unwittingly helping him in this endeavor.
Impatiently he slid his card through the reader and waited. After a few seconds, the tomb unlocked. He placed the Pacal carving in the skeleton's jaw, covered it with the plaque, and shut it, ignoring the prize glowstick. He walked back to the garden door. After taking a look around, he walked briskly outside again. The police must not have arrived yet because the garden was vacant. He tossed the mask and gloves behind a bush. It wasn't the most ideal of solutions, but he didn't want the equipment discovered on him if anyone encountered him, and at least it wasn't in proximity of the interior pyramid. No one would think to look there, since no one would think it could possibly be an inside job, given the miniscule size of Beech Hill's staff.
Now he retreated to the bottom level of the pyramid through the door he'd just left. He would stick around there until things cooled down. However long that meant. And how would he manage to collect the other carvings before his competitor would snatch them and use them to his own malicious end?
It was bad enough Henrik felt prideful enough to throw "The Fool Suffers A Plague of Oozing Hives" on there. No one would remember it, he assured himself. All everybody talked about with the other robberies was "that gruesome red hand." And just putting a handprint on paper was… tacky. Personalizing it with a message would exude far more class.
When he got to the middle of the bridge, he stopped thoughtfully.
Was Amoxcalli really just a few feet away from him?
It was a risky move for anybody's career, Henrik knew. Doing all this on a rumor.
But he did believe he'd found Amoxcalli's tomb at last.
Besides, custom dictated that the poisonous writings be locked up, too. Those writings were now historic.
And that was the first thing his mind went to in 1972. He couldn't do it now, hiking around Mexico, he knew—he loved air conditioning too much. But when he first heard that story and connected it with his own knowledge of Pacal's severity, immediately the writings had his mind reeling.
Finally people started arriving. Even through the thick walls of the pyramid, Henrik could hear the hullabaloo he'd caused. It's be at least a few hours before he'd be going anywhere. With that thought, Henrik pulled out his brick of a cell phone (truthfully he didn't approve of the things, but his more surreptitious hobbies necessitated it) and dialed for the Mexican Consulate.
"Mexican Consulate. How may I help you?"
Henrik bit back a smile at Alejandro's characteristic brevity. "Bad news to report," he said, careful not to let amusement permeate his tone. Now that it had started, Henrik was having quite the time quashing it. He felt himself rising with a manic glee over what he'd just accomplished. Ridiculous, of course. But practically inexorable.
"Oh?" Alejandro replied.
"Someone stole the Pacal carving."
"It was stolen? That must be a shame."
Now Henrik had to raise a hand to his mouth to stifle the ensuing chuckles. Diplomats and their calculated wording. "I see you're just broken up about this."
"If it gets back to Mexico, pin a medal on him."
"Will do. I have to go."
"Goodbye."
Henrik hung up, then slid to his feet and pushed his head onto his shoulder.
It was a good nap, and when Henrik awakened, he couldn't tell how much time had passed. He couldn't hear anything outside the pyramid anymore. That was promising. In truth he'd been a little surprised that nobody had even bothered to search the bottom two levels. Apparently the police were convinced that this was an outside job. Either that, or they were just shoddy investigators. Henrik had a sudden inexplicable feeling that Beech Hill's current intern, Nancy Drew, would've done a much better job.
Henrik rose and made his way to the garden exit. Upon entering the dark chamber, he produced his pen light. Then, to be extra careful, he opened the door to the garden just a crack.
Footsteps.
Pushing his eye close to the crack, Henrik wondered who it was. Joanna seldom left her office. Were the police still skulking about?
Then he saw the brief kneeling figure of someone wearing a plaid skirt and blouse.
Nancy.
When she straightened, her red hair came into view.
That was Nancy, all right.
What was she doing out there?
The pyramid quizzes, Henrik reminded himself. She must be on Level Two.
Stifling a sigh, Henrik closed the door quietly and went to the stairs. If Nancy was out in the garden, she wasn't in the pyramid testing the quizzes, so he could make his exit the long way.
Henrik was on his way to the top level when a thought occurred to him. Nancy must have been here at some point if she was looking for answers to the computer quiz… meaning of course that she'd attempted the quiz itself. He hadn't heard her, though. Either the floors were thicker than the walls or he had been sleeping deeply.
When he'd reached the top stair of the second level, a sound behind the door made him pause. If Nancy wasn't in the pyramid, and Joanna always stayed in her office, then who on Earth was it?
The police?
Immediately Henrik banished the thought from his mind. Even if it were the police, they could not possibly suspect him after meeting him in the pyramid for that fact alone. Besides, he could hardly go through the garden with Nancy out there. Warily, he opened the door.
A figure right at the entrance turned.
When Henrik saw who it was, he was drolly surprised only for a second or two.
Then he thought that if he believed in fate, it would be playing a mighty good trick on him.
Henrik's lip twitched. "This is a far cry from Mexico."
"Not as far as you think."
He turned to face his old partner. Immediately the foundations of a smile fell away. "Taylor, for goodness' sake, don't look so serious. I'm just about to go home."
"You remember when we were talking about that smuggling racket?"
"Now's a little late in the day to start joking, Sinclair." At least, Henrik hoped he was joking. Sadly, Taylor actually was the kind of person who would swap a sibling for a relic. Blood for greed.
"How did you do it?" Taylor stepped forward until Henrik could see each of his moustache hairs and smell Oaxacan cookies on his breath. Good grief. Henrik didn't consider himself a physical person most of the time, but he could think of approximately four different people he'd rather be in this situation with than Sinclair.
Henrik blinked. "Do what?"
"The Pacal," Taylor said.
Henrik sighed. "You know I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Well, you didn't have to worry about any video footage. I know you don't have cameras."
"If I did steal anything, do you think I'd tell you about it, you bumptious little sneak?"
Taylor scowled as if his toe had been stepped on. Then he got back in the game with a smile. "I could help you."
"Help me what? Translate the artifacts?"
"No, Henrik. Do you remember the conversation we had about paying off debts by… redistribution?"
"A very long time ago? Yes, vaguely. Why bring this up now, Sinclair? You're trying my patience."
"Because I would like to renew the proposition."
"What do you mean?"
"We could start," Taylor smiled in the light of the entrance beyond them, "with the Pacal you just stole."
"Step away from the entrance. I can't see you."
"Gladly." Taylor grinned bonafide Cheshire and walked over to him.
"I am not still looking to join a smuggling racket, Taylor. And think whatever you like about who stole the Pacal, but I beg you, please do not take your asinine ideas to the police and lead them all on wild goose chases. None of us really has the time for that with the new exhibit."
"I wouldn't be, though. I'd be leading them to the burglar."
Henrik looked boredly at him.
Taylor chuckled. "You really should not have put your glyphs on there, Henrik."
Eyes hardening, Henrik waited for him to back down.
He didn't.
"Of course, I'm not going to tell them that," he continued, "if you tell me where the Pacal is."
Henrik chuckled. "You think I know where it is? Then by all means tell me. I'd really love to find out so Joanna won't get on my case about it."
"Look, I see this as a win-win situation, don't you?" Taylor continued, undeterred. "You tell me where it is, and you're part of my team and you don't have to go to jail!"
"I would hate to see what jail looks like for you."
Glowering at Henrik, Taylor continued. "I haven't forgotten about Amoxcalli, you know. You probably hoped I did. But I didn't."
Henrik's mouth tightened. "Careful what you remember, Sinclair. You were high on a cup of tea."
Shaking his head with a smirk and a chuckle, Taylor replied, "I didn't have to remember anything, Henrik. Not when you had it all written down."
Bristling, Henrik turned away from him. "Wow. You really don't have any limits, do you?"
Taylor shrugged. "It isn't like I had much better to do. But everything you wrote was always… boring. Very calculated."
"In future, will you please stay out of my things?" Or I could write in Nahuatl, Henrik brainstormed.
"You know, I miss those days," Taylor said, and his small squinty eyes clouded over. "Wandering around Mexico in that crazy heat, seeing things I wasn't sure were real or hallucinations, annoying the hell out of you. Today should be better because now I actually make a living, but it's much less… free."
Was there anything to say to this? Henrik didn't really want to hear stories right now, given his rather precarious position at the moment, but… well, yes, precisely. He was in a rather precarious position. It was far too soon to alert anyone of his plan, much less the police. Perhaps he could get Sinclair to see some sense.
"Back then I convinced myself that you only pretended to hate me. I still tell myself that today even though I knew it wasn't true. I just wanted to be your friend."
Wondering briefly how to navigate this, Henrik stayed silent for the next several moments. "I'm not friendly with most people, Taylor. Surely you've noticed that."
"Oh, I've noticed. But that couldn't have mattered less to me when we were both in the middle of nowhere and I didn't know because I barely saw you talk to anyone. That would make anyone think, 'Oh, it's you.'"
It was you, Henrik almost said. Fortunately he bit his teeth down hard on that response.
"Anyway, I know you don't like me, and you're too cold for me to like you, but that doesn't mean we can't work together."
This time Henrik couldn't hold back a laugh at the acute lack of logic in that sentence. He ducked his head to mitigate the show of condescension. "Actually, Sinclair, I believe it does."
Taylor did not take this well. Even from just his peripheral vision, Henrik saw his face shrivel up. "I'll tell," he said as Henrik turned. "I'll tell Joanna. Alejandro. The whole board."
Henrik scoffed. "What will you tell them? What proof do you have?"
He almost heard the scowl deepen.
"I'll find the proof," Taylor said in a low voice. "Who do you think's been getting the other jade carvings, Henrik?"
"Not you, surely," Henrik replied. Still, his curiosity slightly peaked, he turned back around to face his old travel companion.
"You never thought I was capable of much, did you?" Sinclair's nose twitched.
"No," Henrik replied shortly, "but I do have high standards. Is this a surprise to you?"
"I'm telling the truth, Henrik."
"Tell the truth. Just don't expect me to help you with it." Henrik moved toward the entrance. "And if you are telling the truth," he added, "you will lose."
"If you don't help me, I can't help you. You leave this pyramid, and my next stop's going to be the police."
"Fine. Go to the police. Show them your 'proof' and unwittingly expose yourself in the process. I have more pressing matters to worry about."
"Bet you wouldn't if you knew I knew where the Pacal was." Taylor's voice rose.
Before turning back to address him, Henrik forced his mind to blank. Don't think of the Pacal's location, he thought, biting his lip so he wouldn't mouth the words or whisper them, steeling his eyes so they wouldn't dart in that direction. Just in case his face gave indications of his disconcertion, he'd be prepared. Hopefully Taylor was bluffing. He probably was. A raised voice usually indicated desperation.
"It's in the garden, isn't it?"
Henrik looked down.
"Well, never mind. After I find the other pieces, I'll find it." He put his face near Henrik's. "And then I'll come find you."
Unappreciative of the proximity, Henrik took a step backward and felt his heel on air. He'd forgotten how close he was to the front stairs. "You are a very foolish man," he said quietly. All wry humor was gone from his face.
"No, Henrik," Sinclair said lightly. "This time, you're the fool." With one hand he wrenched Henrik around to face the entrance. The other shot hard into the center of his back. Henrik didn't have time to say anything, only howl feebly until he hit the ground 20 steps down.
Blood for greed.
And it was such a good tradeoff.
Taylor's satisfied smirk froze on his face at the sound of footsteps. His own feet tore out of the pyramid. He suppressed a hiss. Now he was in plain view. Wringing his hands, he turned and ran around the corner to the side. Haltingly he poked his head in the little space between the wall and the back of the pyramid.
A red-headed figure rushed in from the opposite garden entrance, quickly passing to the front of the pyramid without so much as a glance upward.
Taylor retracted his head and examined the five ledges of the pyramid grumpily. Any authentic pyramid had steps on all four sides. Beech Hill's deviance was right now uncalled for and incredibly unfair. Wincing at the necessity of physical activity, he got down on his knees and gingerly lowered himself to the next ledge. "That's four steps right there—oof!" he muttered to himself, glowering, then clamped his lips shut as his eyes went wide. What if they heard him? But he hadn't had to worry—now Henrik and Nancy both saw right in making a racket. Taylor suppressed an eye-roll. And everybody said hewas dramatic.
Four ledges and sixteen imagined steps later, he got to the bottom of the pyramid and wasted no time in dashing out to the garden.
He'd win.
Henrik could've won with him, but he chose not to.
Taylor should not have been surprised. After all, Henrik was still a penniless fool.
And Taylor had long since found something better than friends.
I love writing Henrik. He's so awesome. However, I also tried to make this at least slightly sympathetic to Taylor. I mean, I don't see Henrik and Taylor loving or even liking each other, but nobody goes for Taylor's "Oaxacan cookies," if you know what I mean. Poor guy.
…should I raise the rating just for that comment? Perhaps. The mere thought of it could cause nightmares. Tell me if it does in a review!
^Outwardly ashamed but inwardly more proud of this witticism than I am of the actual story.