Once Martín realized it was futile to maintain his watch, grasping the stupidity of the endeavor, he hurried outside, walking around downtown until he found a vendor who was carrying cigarettes. Casiopea had purchased his smokes, and as he grabbed his lighter he was reminded of this detail, which diminished any pleasure he might otherwise have taken in the cigarette.
Martín went in search of an establishment that served alcohol and found no lack of them downtown, picking a cheap pulquería with a mural of Mexico City’s twin volcanos painted on a wall. There were more dignified establishments, including The Opera, where the revolutionary Pancho Villa supposedly shot bullets into the ceiling one evening, but Martín did not give one rat’s ass about the quality of the drinks he was imbibing. Each glass of pulque tasted more bitter than the last, as he drummed his fingers against the table. Women with too much rouge on their cheeks stopped by, hoping to make a few pesos off the surly man in good clothes, but he waved them away, complaining about the faults of the female sex. It all started with Eve and ended with Casiopea, according to him. Serpent, damn viper, that’s what she was.
Finally, when night fell, Martín walked back to his hotel, cursing Casiopea under his breath.
“Twenty times a whore and fifty a bitch,” he said.
It was in her blood, of course, Jezebel. Not only her gender, but her father’s Indian blood committed her to this state—Martín would have never conceived of any genetic ailment in the Leyva side of the family; it had to have been the part of her that was Tun that caused such reckless behavior.
“I’ll tell her mother and I’ll tell Grandfather, and I’ll tell everyone,” he promised.
Their whole town would know Casiopea now walked around Mexico City, shameless, almost bald, disobeying the instructions of the family.
Disobeying him.
At this, he paused. No, no, no, he wouldn’t mention she’d disobeyed him.
He smoked a cigarette and circled the hotel, needing space, needing time, running a hand through his hair.
In his room, Martín splashed water on his face and admitted that he could dally no longer; the god would be expecting news. He clutched the jade ring Vucub-Kamé had given him, and standing in the middle of his room he uttered the god’s name.
The lights grew dim as the darkness in the room pooled itself together in a corner, and out of this darkness stepped out Vucub-Kamé. He was clad in white, a cape made of pale seashells falling down his back, and his hair was very light, but he evoked pitch-black darkness nevertheless.
Vucub-Kamé’s eyes did not fall on Martín; he seemed as if he were more concerned with other matters.
When Martín first met Vucub-Kamé, he’d had little understanding of the god. Afterward, Cirilo corrected his lack of instruction, muttering his story to his grandson. Cirilo had also explained the character of the Lords of Xibalba and how they should be addressed, including their predisposition for flattery. So, when Vucub-Kamé walked into the room, Martín fell on his knees, head bowed, even if his natural haughtiness made him cringe at such a display.
“Supreme Lord of the Underworld,” Martín said. “I thank you for coming. I am unworthy of your visit.”
“You must be since your tongue trembles. Have you failed me?” the god asked, but he did not deign to look at the mortal man.
“My cousin, she would not speak to you,” Martín admitted, clutching his hands together. “She is a stubborn, ungrateful child. But if my lord would wish it, I will find her and seize her, dragging her by her hair—”
“Such wasteful violence. And what should that accomplish?”
Martín blinked. “She’d do as you wanted, whatever you wanted.”
“You cannot force her hand,” Vucub-Kamé said.
“I don’t—”
“Martín Leyva…Martín. When you play chess, do you move your pawns as if they were horses? When you roll the dice do you pretend you tallied four points instead of two? Do you understand?”
Martín shook his head yes, unable to comprehend what the god was about, but knowing at this point he should simply agree.
Vucub-Kamé undid a pouch at his waist and held up four dice painted black and yellow on each side, the kind used for playing bul. Martín had not played the game—it was the sort of thing taken up by the Indians—but he understood the objective of it was to “capture” and “kill” the opponent’s pieces.
“If I thought brute force could grant me what I wish, I would have plucked your cousin from Middleworld already. But since she is a player in this game, I must respect her role. And being a thing not quite human and not quite divine, the girl cannot be dragged by her hair to rest at my feet.”
“I…Of course not, no.”
“Neither can I directly address her at this point, which is why I must use an intermediary, and I’m stuck with you,” the god concluded.
Vucub-Kamé motioned for him to stand, so Martín did.
“I will give you a new task, to which you might be better suited, seeing as your cousin is a stubborn creature.”
“Yes, my lord,” he whispered.
The Lord of Xibalba threw the dice against the floor. They spiraled and fell, all on their yellow side. Around them rose lines like soot, faint. As faint as the silvery thread in a spider’s web, from one angle catching the light and visible, from the other invisible. Martín squinted, trying to find a proper shape to the lines. Was this a board game?
“I’ll have you head to Baja California, to Tierra Blanca, on the wings of my owl this night. My brother and your cousin will make their way there, eventually, but you will arrive first.”
“What will I do in Tierra Blanca?” Martín asked.
“You will learn.”
“Ah…and what will I learn?”
“To walk the shadow roads of my kingdom. Aníbal Zavala should be able to instruct you.”
Martín was not sure what walking the shadow roads meant, but he did know he did not want to be anywhere near Xibalba. It was called the Place of Fear for a reason.
He cleared his throat. “I will do as you say, but why would I want to…learn such a lesson? And who would Aníbal Zavala be?”
“My disciple. As for the reason for that lesson, because symmetry in everything is most pleasing, and since it seems Casiopea is poised to be Hun-Kamé’s champion, you will be mine. Cousin against cousin, brother against brother. I hope you can appreciate the symbolism.”