They all sat together, cross-legged on the floor, in the open space at the heart of the settlement.
There was an air of tension and excitement among the natives after the events of the previous night. Now some of the adoration for Jak had transferred to Ryan. Many of the warriorsparticularly the younger oneskept nudging one another, whispering, often touching their eyes as if they were talking about the horrific way that their visitor had mutilated the jaguar man.
The food was more of the atolli , the maize-based gruel, flavored with both chili and honey, as well as smoked ham and a mess of scrambled eggs that was scorched and liberally speckled with bits of shell. Mildred was delighted to see large wooden platters of fresh fruit, hardly any of which she recognized.
“That’s a mango and a kind of kiwi fruit. These are nectarines, only a lot juicier. Pineapples. But I don’t know what that one is. Or those gold-speckled berries. Or that one.”
Itzcoatl was subdued, concentrating on his food, hardly speaking at all.
Finally Ryan leaned across and asked him what was wrong. “We won last night. They’ll think twice before they risk a midnight raid like that.”
The native nodded. “You are the straight arrow, Ryan. And you hit a good lick for us. But I think you will move on soon. Then there will be no joy in Mudville. Take Jak with the snow hair and we will be left very alone. Caught between between rock and strong place.”
“Hard place,” Krysty corrected. “You say caught between a rock and a hard place, Chief.”
He nodded solemnly. “I thank you. The slavers and the people of the Jaguar. We between them.”
“Could get in firstest with the mostest,” J.B. suggested. “Reckon we could easy set the death bell chiming with the Jaguars. Probably bloody the noses of the slavers, as well.”
Ryan looked across at his old friend. “We haven’t talked about this,” he said, not bothering to conceal his anger. “Don’t go making offers we might not be able to follow up on.”
The Armorer stared calmly back at him, the sunlight reflecting off the polished lenses of his spectacles, making it impossible to see his eyes. “We don’t argue in public, Ryan.”
“Stick to our rules, J.B., and we won’t have anything to argue about.”
“I only said that we could lend a hand. Didn’t say that we would.”
Itzcoatl looked from man to man, understanding that there was a bitterness in the argument. But both men were speaking quickly and quietly, so it was difficult for him to follow what was being said.
“Cool it out, guys,” Mildred said. “Not saying either of you is right. But carry on like this, and you both finish up being wrong. Save it.”
Ryan bit his lip, busying himself with slicing a layer of hair-specked fat off the ham, nodding. “Right, Mildred. Sorry, J.B., but we”
The Armorer interrupted him. “I’m sorry, too. Let my tongue do my talking instead of my brain. You’re right.”
“But there might be something we can do here,” Ryan said. “Have to see.”
AFTER BREAKFAST CAME the ceremonial burial of the men killed in the night attack.
Ryan and his companions waited in the hut where Doc and the others had slept while teams of natives worked in the other building, excavating a square hole for the interment of the slain warrior.
It was dug out beneath the fireplace and was roughly four feet deep.
Itzcoatl joined them, already wearing his full ceremonial robes of green linen. He carried the large feathered mask in his right hand, the obsidian sword at his hip.
“Will you honor us?” he asked, speaking to Ryan, whom he had come to recognize as the undisputed leader of the group. But his eyes strayed to Jak.
“Surely. The gravethe burial holeis smaller than our people would use.”
The native smiled at him. “We told of the long holes of your people, Ryan. But it is not necessary. You lie down to meet your gods. We sit ready.”
A priest appeared, masked, in a black robe, beckoning to Itzcoatl and the others to follow him into the hut.