Aaron Elkins - Curses!

"Everybody's sick, Worthy. Whoever did it is smart enough to realize he'd stick out like a sore thumb if he was the only healthy one."

Worthy twisted his gangling, sandy-haired legs around each other, left knee behind the right, right ankle behind the left; an arrangement most men's pelvic anatomy made impossible.

"No,” he said after a moment, “I wouldn't say that"

"Wouldn't say what?"

"Wouldn't say we're all sick."

They had looked sick enough to Gideon. “What do you mean? Who isn't sick?"

"Stanley Ard,” Worthy said evenly.

"Stanley Ard?"

"The reporter."

"Yes, I know, but why would-” But of course he knew very well why. It just hadn't occurred to him before. As Abe had implied, Ard wasn't the kind of reporter who would have scruples about manufacturing events when it came to improving a story. And if it meant bellyaches for a few others, well, that was a price that just might have to be paid.

"Worthy,” he said, “that's an interesting thought."

"Yes,” Worthy said, and wiped his forehead again. “And now I really think I should lie down."

When Julie awakened at five-thirty she was hungry and cheerful. They ate omelets for dinner (Julie having overcome her reservations about the brown-yolked eggs) and then brought some more soup to a shaven and largely restored Abe. They had talked about Stan Ard, whom Gideon offered to confront, but this time Abe had been adamant. It was his job, and he would talk with Ard the next day about the tainted juice and see where it led. As to the attack on Gideon, it was agreed that Marmolejo was the one to follow up on that.

It was the end of the next workday before Julie, Abe, and Gideon got a chance to talk again at length.

They were on their way back to the hotel along the path. The crew was eighty or ninety feet ahead of them, out of sight and hearing. Behind, the policeman maintained a discreet twenty-foot distance, ambling as casually as a man strolling through a zoo.

Indeed, they might have been in some wildly extravagant walk-through aviary. They moved along a moist green corridor impossibly crowded with gorgeous little birds of blue, red, and orange, which darted by their heads as nimbly as swallows or watched gravely and openly from the branches. Motmots, jacamars, cotingas, manakins, according to Julie. And some she swore were not in her Birds of Mexico.

"How did it go with Ard?” Gideon asked. “I noticed him around today."

"We had a nice talk. He fervently denied putting anything in the apple juice. He was thoroughly shocked at the idea."

"That's not too surprising,” Julie said.

"You want a surprise?” asked Abe. “How's this: the mysterious digger was at it again. Two more steps excavated."

Julie looked at him open-mouthed. “What happened to the guards you hired?"

"I hired them for night duty. But the site was deserted during the day yesterday, and someone took advantage.” He shrugged. “I didn't think of it. I had other things on my mind yesterday.” He retreated gloomily into his own thoughts, walking along, head down, hands clasped behind him.

Gideon shook his head. “What in the hell are they looking for?"

"Well, I hate to repeat myself,” Julie said, “but I keep thinking that no one's actually seen that codex since the cave-in…"

"Impossible. If that codex was down there and anyone knew it-or even thought it-that stairwell would have been dug long ago. Besides-"

"I know,” Julie said, sighing. “I know."

Gideon paused to let a beaded, spiny-backed iguana scuttle across his path and into the foliage. “Julie, you don't suppose that was the point of getting us all sick-so that someone could have the site all to himself?"

She glanced at him. “That just might be. And Stan would have been the only one who was healthy enough to go out there and dig while the rest of us just flopped around at the hotel."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that. I could have done some digging yesterday if I'd had a good enough reason. I wouldn't have wanted to, but I could have. So could most of the others, I imagine."

"Maybe, but Stan makes such a satisfying villain."

Gideon smiled. “I can't argue with you there."

Abe returned from wherever he'd been. “Did you hear Ard's leaving tomorrow night? He says he's got all he needs for his first installment."

"He is?” Julie said. “Shouldn't Marmolejo talk to him first?"

"Don't worry, I'm calling the inspector as soon as we get back.” He laughed suddenly. “I almost forgot. I have some good news for you. Emma buttonholed me this afternoon to tell me now she's established a second-level pretersensory interface with Huluc-Canab."

"Terrific,” Gideon said. “Maybe he'll tell her what we have to do to propitiate the gods."

"He did. He says we have to be more respectful of personality entities from other culturotemporal horizons."

Julie cocked her head. “Meaning?"

"Sorry, that's as specific as he got."

"Emma,” Julie mused. “Emma always gets in her two cents’ worth, doesn't she?"

Gideon knew what she was thinking. Just after lunch Abe had passed on some information: Preston had proudly told him that Emma was writing a book on the events of Tlaloc, to be told from the perspective of Huluc-Canab, who had revealed himself to be a tenth- century ahlelob from nearby Xlapak. (The fact that the loquacious Huluc-Canab predated the curse by five hundred years did not seem to affect his intimate knowledge of it.) According to Preston, Emma had already spoken on the telephone to a New Age publisher in Los Angeles and gotten a tentative six-figure offer for Beyond Dreaming: The Tlaloc Dialogues of Huluc-Canab.

Thus, as Julie now pointed out, Emma would seem to have a considerable stake in the fulfillment of the curse; even more than Ard did.

"I don't know, Julie,” Gideon said. “I don't have any trouble imagining her slipping something into our water, but I still can't see her as the one who jumped me at Chichen. I just can't."

"I can,” Julie said. “The woman is wacko, if you haven't noticed. But let's be fair. As long as we're talking about eccentric characters, what about Worthy?"

"What about him?” Gideon asked.

"Well, what's he doing here anyway? Does he strike you as the type who thinks sweating over a spade in the jungle is fun?"

"He's working on that adventure series about Mayan kids, remember?"

"Oh, that's right."

"Not to mention,” said Abe, “that this dig is all-expenses-paid. Everything's on Horizon. People will go to the most miserable places in the world if it's free. Not that this is so miserable."

"That's certainly true,” Julie said with a smile. “All right, what about Harvey, then? Aside from its being free, what draws him here? He's some kind of computer specialist now, isn't he?"

"He has ulcers,” Gideon said. “A nice, stress-free vacation in the jungle was supposed to be good for them."

"Not only that,” Abe said, “but once anthropology gets into your blood it stays there. And don't forget,” he added with a nod in Gideon's direction, “Harvey learned his anthropology from a wonderful teacher. So who does that leave, as long as we're being fair and casting aspersions equally?"

"It leaves Preston,” Gideon said, “but Preston's presence doesn't need a lot of explanation."

Abe nodded. “Withersoever Emma goes, Preston goes too."

"It also leaves Leo,” Julie said slowly. “Now just what is a guy like Leo doing here? What was he doing here last time?"

"Leo,” said Gideon. “Hm."

"Hm,” Abe said “Leo."

They walked on silently for a minute or two, while inquisitive birds zipped and swooped around them. From a pendulum-tailed, cinnamon-colored bird in a branch above them came a shy, liquid ch-ch-chwipp. At their feet another iguana shuffled resignedly out of their way, muttering.