Jix walked into his field of vision, and the king seemed annoyed. “Your Excellency,” said Jix. “I have returned with gifts from the North.” He spoke in English so the king would respond in the same tongue.

“Oh,” said the king. “It’s you. Didn’t we just send you on a mission?”

“That was more than a month ago, Your Excellency.”

Nick hung back with Mikey and watched the interchange, trying to take in everything around him. Nick studied the king, his shiny black onyx throne, the statue, and the diligent luchador—even the vizier, who peered out every few moments from behind the statue, so hidden in shadows he could barely be seen. Nick’s gut told him that something was very wrong here, but he couldn’t put his finger on what it was. As for the king, Nick found him to be overadorned and so full of himself that he might just explode in a flurry of glitter. He had straight hair, as dark and shiny as raven feathers. He wore a golden headdress, golden wrist cuffs and golden anklets, and a golden skirt that went almost to his knees, and the way his hair was cut in bangs straight across his forehead, it made him look like a very short, very tan, very shiny Mr. Spock. Other than the gold adornments, though, the king had no other clothes. It was clear that these objects were all add-ons, and didn’t cling to him as Everlost clothes would. Nick suspected that he either crossed naked, or in a loincloth beneath his golden skirt—but Nick was definitely not curious enough to check.

“Your assignment was to bring us the Eastern Witch,” the king said to Jix, “but neither of these two look like her, unless she is very clever with disguises.”

“DON’T TRUST THEM!” screeched the vizier from behind the statue. “CAST THEM DOWN TO XIBALBA. THE STARS TELL ME THEY WILL BRING YOUR DOOM.”

While Jix looked concerned, and Mikey just annoyed, something about the vizier’s voice tripped in Nick’s mind. His thought processes had gotten better, but he was still not fully himself. There were memories and thoughts bouncing around his head that had not found a suitable place to cling . . . and one of those loose memories was the sound of the vizier’s voice. Was it his imagination or did the vizier sound familiar?

The king just reclined on his dark stone throne, dismissing the fearful prophecy with a wave of his hand, as if swatting away a gnat. “We see no stars; it is daytime.” Then he turned to the luchador. “It is daytime, isn’t it?” But apparently he had been in there for so long, he had no idea.

“Why does he keep saying ‘we’?” Mikey whispered to Jix. “Are there more than one of him in there?”

“No,” Jix whispered back. “Royalty always does that, even if there’s just one.”