They landed, in the dead of night, on a deserted wharf beside the Charles River.
“Welcome to Boston,” Max said to Lola. “You said you wanted to see it.”
“I’m guessing this isn’t the tourist district,” she replied, taking in the piles of garbage and snuffling rats.
Lord 6-Dog was wide awake and full of energy after his epic sleep. “How happy I am to be back on terra firma,” he said, executing a twirl on his roller skates.
“You’re getting good on those,” said Lola, sounding impressed.
“I cannot believe that my people put wheels on children’s toys and never thought to put them on their own feet. The stone roads we laid between cities would have been excellent for skates.”
“An ancient Maya king on roller skates?” said Max. “I can’t get my head around this.”
“It makes perfect sense,” Lord 6-Dog explained. “My monkey side is loving the breeze in my fur. It’s like swinging through the trees. I feel like I’m back in the jungle.” He threw back his head and emitted a throaty howl, a sound that carried for miles in all directions.
“Hush,” said Lola. “We’re not in the jungle, we’re in the city now.”
A faint roar of response floated back over the wharves.
“That sounded like a jaguar,” said Lola, surprised.
“Must be the zoo,” said Max.
“Let us go there at once,” suggested Lord 6-Dog.
“No.” Max sounded tired. “We’re going to my house. We can walk from here. But no howling, okay? And if anyone stops us, you’re a kid in a monkey mask on roller skates.”
Sneaking like thieves in the night through the sleeping streets, staying in the shadows and avoiding the street lamps, they made it safely to Max’s home.
Home.
Even in the dark, Max could see that the house was still covered with vines and the front yard looked suspiciously jungle-y. The vegetation, now dying in the chill of fall, was a relic from a prank the Death Lords had played on the Murphy household while Max and Lola were in Spain. Their house had acquired its own jungle biosphere, with the climate, plants, and wildlife of a tropical rainforest.
As he unlocked the front door, Max hoped that the last of the exotic creatures—the toucans, gibnuts, iguanas, snakes, and spiders that had made themselves at home—had all long since departed.
“Here we are,” he said, throwing open the door. “Home, sweet home.”
It still smelled of damp and fungus.
“Mmmm.” Lord 6-Dog breathed in great lungfuls of the moldy air. “It reminds me of my palace in the rainy season.”
“Mom and Dad were hoping it would dry out while they were away,” said Max. He surveyed the peeling wallpaper and crumbling paint. “Sorry it’s such a mess.”
“It’s amazing to be here,” said Lola. “Just think. This is where my mom was living all those years when I thought I was an orphan.”
“You can sleep in her room if you like,” said Max.
“I need no bed,” announced Lord 6-Dog. “I have slept enough. Now I have work to do.”
“Suit yourself,” said Max. “But feel free to use the couch.”
The howler began to peruse the Murphys’ bookshelves.
“I give him ten minutes before he needs a nap,” Max whispered to Lola.
Lola yawned. “I give me five minutes before I’m asleep.”
“Okay, so make yourself at home. Help yourself to anything you need. It’s great to have working phones and Wi-Fi again. I’ll e-mail Lucky before I go to bed and tell him we’re safe.” He reconsidered. “Or, at least, I’ll tell him we’re in Boston.”
There was someone else in Boston that Max e-mailed that night, too.
And texted. Quite a few times.
But there was no reply.
Early the next morning, he was awakened by the sound of pounding on the front door. Certain it was Ah Pukuh, Antonio de Landa, or the police, Max hid under the covers.
He heard the front door being opened.
He heard shouting.
He heard footsteps running upstairs.
He closed his eyes tightly, curled into a ball, and braced himself.
The bedcovers were pulled off him suddenly.
“Rise and shine!” said the perpetrator cheerily.
Max opened his eyes. “Lucky? What are you doing here?”
“We got your e-mail and took the first flight.”
“We?”
“Lady Coco and I. She still had her travel documents from Spain, so we sailed through customs. Hermanjilio’s coming as soon as he can. We’re here to help.”
“What about your class? Shouldn’t you be teaching?”
“This is more important. I’ll stay as long as you need me.” Lucky held out his arms for a hug. “I’m here for you.”
Max sat up in alarm. If tough, inscrutable Lucky Jim had started hugging, a crack must have appeared in the fabric of the universe. “What’s happened now?” he asked warily.
“I’m sorry, Max.” Lucky pulled a balled-up piece of paper out of his pocket. “This was stuck to your front door.”
Max smoothed it out. It was a poster for a ball game. Quite possibly, he realized as he read it, the last ball game he would ever attend.
Hero Twins versus Death Lords, the paper said.
Fenway Park. Gates Open at Sunset, Day of the Dead. Sacrifice of losing team to follow game!
Max decided to ignore that last bit.
“When’s the Day of the Dead?” he asked.
“This was stuck to your front door.”
“It’s actually two days,” replied Lucky. “And it starts on November first, otherwise known as tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Max leapt out of bed. “But we haven’t got a team yet!”
“We’ll talk about it downstairs. Lord 6-Dog has been up all night learning the rules of baseball and Lady Coco’s making breakfast.” (Now that Lucky mentioned it, Max noticed a delicious smell of baking.)
“Where’s Lola?”
“She was reading all the Cahokia reports in the newspapers. Now she’s looking through your family albums. We all laughed at that baby snap of you in the bathtub! Speaking of which, you might want to take a quick shower before you come down.”
Max looked at himself. He was still wearing his green shorts and camouflage paint from Cahokia. His mom wasn’t going to be happy when she saw all the paint on his sheets, he thought. Then he remembered where she was, and realized she had bigger problems.
After his shower, he quickly checked his messages. Still nothing from Nasty Smith-Jones, the Boston music blogger he’d met in Spain and who was possibly, or more possibly not, his first girlfriend in an on-off sort of way. (He leaned more toward on; she leaned more toward off.)
He reread the last text he’d sent her:
Hey Nasty! Haven’t seen you since octopus attack in Venice, lol. I’m back in Boston now. Lola’s here, too! Did I tell you she’s my cousin? Long story! Wanna meet up? IOU pizza and movie, remember?
He sighed. His exhaustion had made him sound like a crazy person. Maybe he’d do better this morning. He began typing again:
Hey Nasty, me again! Remember guy with exploding stomach at Spanish wedding? We’re playing ball against him at Fenway tomorrow. We need a team! Know anyone who plays? You??????????
It was only after he pressed SEND that Max realized this text made him sound even crazier than the first one. He severely doubted that Nasty would want to be on his team.
With a heavy heart, he set about composing a more persuasive recruitment e-mail to his friends at school:
Hey guys. Hope you’re having a good semester. Did you miss me? Well, I’m back in town and trying to get a team together to play at FENWAY tomorrow night. That’s right, I said FENWAY. So if you’ve ever wanted to play at FENWAY, this is your chance! Call me!
Max paused, pleased with his efforts. Who wouldn’t want to play at Fenway? Did he need to add any more details? Like, maybe:
P.S.: We’re playing the ancient Maya Lords of Death. Losers to be sacrificed.
Nah, no sense in scaring them off. He deleted the P.S., copied in everyone he knew, and ran downstairs to eat breakfast.
Lola, Lord 6-Dog, and Lucky were sitting in glum silence at the kitchen table. Aside from a half-eaten banana in front of Lord 6-Dog, it looked like they hadn’t touched their food.
Max’s eyes took in the platter of bacon and eggs.
He was surprised to find that he wasn’t hungry either.
“Seen the headlines?” asked Lola, passing him a pile of newspapers. She was wearing a big robe that he’d seen Zia wear a million times. Lola still had a few bits of beard stuck to her chin. “Looks like Landa got away.”
“They’ll catch him soon. It’s on every news channel,” said Lucky.
Max tossed the papers aside. “That’s exactly what Ah Pukuh wants. Maximum publicity. So people will know who he is before he crushes them. It looks like his little plan is working.”
“We’re not beaten yet,” said Lady Coco, carrying over hot buttered toast and a jar of honey. She was wearing one of Max’s mom’s flowery aprons cut down to fit. She surveyed the untouched food with displeasure. “You need to eat, all of you. You’re our team. You need to be strong for the challenge ahead.”
“Four is not a team,” said Max.
“How many is a team?” asked Lola.
“Nine on the field, and a lot more in reserve.”
They all sighed.
“How is your batting, Lady Coco?” asked Max.
“I have good eyes and strong arms, young lord.”
“So five of us, then,” said Max.
“At least we are the home team at Fenway,” said Lord 6-Dog. “I learned last night that visiting players are at a disadvantage, due to the quirks of the field.”
“Only if the home team knows the field,” Max pointed out.
“So tell me,” said Lola. “What quirks?”
“Fenway isn’t like any other ballpark,” Max began.
Lola sighed. “Is this a good moment to remind you that I’ve never seen a ballpark? And I’ve never seen a baseball game?”
“Seriously?” Max looked at her in horror and began jabbing into his phone. “The season’s pretty much over, but I think they still do tours of the ballpark.” He studied his screen. “Yes, here it is. And they have tickets for today! Let’s go!”
“Wait,” laughed Lola, “I can’t go in a bathrobe! I need to borrow some clothes.”
When he’d found her a hoodie, jeans, and sneakers, Max turned his attention to Lord 6-Dog. “You need a disguise,” he said. “Someone will call the zoo if they see a howler monkey loose in Boston.”
“What’s a zoo?” asked Lady Coco.
“They keep animals in cages,” explained Lola.
“A jaguar called to me last night,” Lord 6-Dog told his mother. “He sounded melancholy.”
“I’m not surprised,” said Lady Coco, shuddering. “If you don’t mind, young lord, I will stay home today.”
“Will you be all right on your own?” Max asked her.
“I have little 6-Dog to keep me company,” she said, pulling the Dawg Doll from Cahokia out of her apron pocket.
“But don’t you want to see Boston?”
“My heart is in the rainforest. I care not for cities, unless they are Maya cities. I would rather stay here and cook a dinner. What does your mother make for you?”
Max grimaced. “My mother is the worst cook in the world. But she likes buying cookbooks.” Max showed Lady Coco the crammed kitchen bookshelf. “Look”—he selected a book—“this one’s from a restaurant here in Boston.”
Lady Coco’s eyes lit up as she looked through the photographs. “Clam chowder, Boston cream pie … this all sounds delicious.”
“Tonight we feast like kings!” declared Lord 6-Dog. “For tomorrow we fight like kings!”
Lola gulped. “So let’s go inspect the battlefield. Did you find a disguise for Lord 6-Dog?”
“I have an idea!” said Max, turning to run upstairs. “Follow me!”
They found him in his room, rooting through a closet. “I know it’s in here!” he called, throwing out footballs, and plastic toys, and stuffed animals, and assorted action figures.
“Aren’t you a bit old for all this?” asked Lola, trying on a pirate hat.
“I know. I keep meaning to clear it all out, but it’s easier to just never open the closet.”
“I think you should keep them.” Lola took off the pirate hat and picked up an old teddy bear. “It must be amazing to have your whole childhood around you like this.”
Max was in the depths of the closet and didn’t hear her, so she continued wandering around the room, inspecting his stuff.
“Adventure Stories for Boys,” she read, taking a book off the shelf. “Anything in here about meeting a Maya girl and some talking howler monkeys, Hoop?” She opened the book. “ ‘Happy birthday, bambino,’ ” she read. “ ‘Wishing you many adventures.’ ” Lola smiled to herself. “Well, that came true all right.” She took the book over to the closet. “I like how your mom always calls you bambino,” she called.
“She’s Italian,” Max called back. “It means ‘little boy.’ ”
“I know that. It’s cute. I bet she’s called you bambino every day since you were a baby.”
“Yeah. I kinda wish she’d stop now.”
Lola went quiet, and when Max looked up to see why, she had a weird expression on her face.
“Sorry,” he said. “It smells a bit funky in here. I need to clean up.”
“It’s not that. I was just thinking that my mom doesn’t have a pet name for me yet. We haven’t had time.” She looked away for a moment. “Did you find what you were looking for?” she asked, a little too brightly.
“Here it is!” said Max, pulling out a white helmet from under a pile of board games. The rest of the costume was stuffed inside the helmet. “It looks perfect.”
And it was.
“Who am I?” asked Lord 6-Dog, his voice muffled by the helmet.
“It’s from a movie called Star Wars,” Max explained to Lord 6-Dog. “You’re a Stormtrooper.”
“A Stormtrooper, thou sayest? What might that be?”
“An elite fighter of the Galactic Empire.”
Lord 6-Dog nodded his approval and went to study himself in the mirror.
Lola was checking out all of Max’s video games—“You have a lot of stuff, Hoop”—when she noticed his drum set, half hidden under a pile of laundry. She cleared off the clothes and sat down to play.
“You’ll need these,” said Max, handing her the headphones. “It’s electronic. You can hear yourself but no one else can.”
“Seriously?” Lola looked horrified. “You sit in your room drumming silently? That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“The neighbors like it.”
“They don’t dance in the streets when they hear drums?”
“No,” said Max. “Maybe in Vermont, but not in Boston.”
“What are you doing up there?” called Lucky. “Daylight’s burning.”
“I think I’d like Vermont,” said Lola as they went downstairs.
“Add it to your road trip,” said Max.
“First I need to get my parents back.”
