The House of the Scorpion (27 page)

W
hat should I do? What should I do?” whispered Matt, hugging himself and rocking back and forth in the dark passageway. He loved El Patrón. He wanted to be with him at the hospital, to watch over him and urge him back to health. But at the same time Matt remembered María saying that she did know the source of El Patrón's transplants:
And it's evil!

Celia would be looking for him. Unbidden, another memory surfaced. Celia was fussing with the suit Matt had worn to the birthday party long ago.
If anything bad happens
, she had said,
I want you to come straight to me. Come to the pantry behind the kitchen.

What do you mean, bad?
Matt had asked.

I can't say. Just promise me you'll remember.

And even longer ago Matt remembered Tam Lin speaking to him soon after his rescue from Rosa:
I'll tell you this: El Patrón has
his good side and his bad side. Very dark indeed is his majesty when he wants to be. When he was young, he made a choice, like a tree does when it decides to grow one way or the other. He grew large and green until he shadowed over the whole forest, but most of his branches are twisted.

So many hints! So many clues! Like a pebble that starts an avalanche, Matt's fear shook loose more and more memories. Why had Tam Lin given him a chest full of supplies and maps? Why had María run from him when they found MacGregor's clone in the hospital? Because she knew! They all knew! Matt's education and accomplishments were a sham. It didn't matter how intelligent he was. In the end the only thing that mattered was how strong his
heart
was.

And yet Matt wasn't—quite—sure.

What if he was wrong? What if El Patrón really loved him? Matt thought about the old man lying on a hospital bed, waiting for the one person who could bring him a glimpse of his youth. It was too cruel! Matt curled up on the floor of the passage. He lay in a welter of fine dust that had drifted into this dark, secret space over the years. He felt like the inhabitant of an ancient tomb, an Egyptian pharaoh or Chaldean king. El Patrón loved to talk about such things.

The old man enthusiastically described the wealth that filled the pyramids, for the use of the old kings in their afterlife. He liked the tombs of the ancient Chaldeans even more. Not only did they have clothes and food, but their horses were slaughtered to provide transport in the shadowy world of the dead. In one tomb archaeologists had discovered soldiers, servants, and even dancing girls laid out as though they were sleeping. One girl had been in such a hurry, the blue ribbon she was meant to wear in her hair was still rolled up in her pocket.

What a fine thing that was, El Patrón had told Matt: that a
king got to rule in this life but also had his entire court to serve him in the next. That was even better than El Dorado powdered with gold on the balcony of his great house.

Matt choked on the dust and sat up to clear his throat. He didn't want to make any noise. He didn't want anyone to find him until he'd decided what to do. He leaned against the wall, and the darkness outside was equaled by the darkness inside his mind. What was he to do? What
could
he do?

Footsteps running up the passage made him jump to his feet. He saw a flashlight bobbing in front of a slight figure. “María,” he whispered.

“Oh, thank heavens! I was afraid you'd gone somewhere else to hide,” she whispered back.

“Hide?” he said.

“They're looking for you everywhere. They tore up Celia's apartment, and they've been through every room in the house. They've sent bodyguards to comb the stables and fields.”

Matt held her by the shoulders and looked closely at her face. In the dim light he saw her face was wet. “Why are they looking for me?”

“You
have
to know. Tam Lin said you were too clever not to figure it out.”

Matt felt turned to stone. The bodyguard evidently gave him more credit than he deserved. Matt hadn't figured it out—not really—until a few minutes ago.

“I'm supposed to be throwing a hysterical fit in my room. Emilia says I'm always getting hysterical. She says you're only the latest edition of Furball; but she's wrong! You're not a dog. You're so much, much more.”

Ordinarily, Matt would have been thrilled by María's words, but the situation was too dire for happiness.

“Tam Lin says you're to stay put for now. He's going to spread a rumor that you've taken a Safe Horse north to the United States. He says that should keep the Farm Patrol busy.”

Matt felt dazed by all that was happening. He couldn't seem to get his mind working. “How's El Patrón?” he asked.

“Why do you care?” María said passionately. “You should pray that he dies.”

“I can't,” murmured Matt. And it was true. No matter how treacherous El Patrón had been, Matt loved the old man. No one was closer to him in the whole world. No one understood him better.

“You're exactly like Tam Lin,” said María. “He says El Patrón is like a force of nature—a tornado or volcano or something. He says you can't help being awestruck even when you might get killed. I think it's all rubbish!”

“What am I supposed to do?” Matt said. He felt drained of willpower.

“Stay here. I'll go throw the hysterical fit everyone's expecting. When it gets dark, I'll come back for you.”

“Where can we go?” said Matt. He could think of only the oasis, but it was a long way without a Safe Horse to carry them.

“To Dada's hovercraft,” said María.

Matt's eyes widened. “You know how to fly?”

“No, but the pilot was going to take me back to the convent after the wedding. I told him to expect us.”

“How will you explain me?”

“You're my new pet eejit! Emilia has a dozen, and I told the pilot I was jealous and demanded one of my own.” María had to cover her mouth to keep the giggles from spilling out into the dark passage. “Nobody ever asks questions about eejits. They're just part of the furniture.”

•   •   •

Matt slept most of the time he was waiting. He was tired from the illness that had come over him recently and exhausted by all that had happened. He woke, parched and thirsty, and realized he had no water.

The passageway was dry and dusty. Matt swallowed, trying to soothe his burning throat. His throat hurt all the time these days, with or without water.

He found the machine room stuffed with bodyguards. Every view screen was being watched, and Matt realized there wasn't a single safe place in the house. He couldn't go out for water. He began to worry about María. How had she gotten past them before, and how would she get back in? He leaned against the wall, sunk in the deepest despair.

Time passed slowly. Matt thought about the lemonade Celia always left in the fridge. He imagined the juice sliding down his throat. Then, because the air had grown cooler, he thought about hot chocolate instead. Celia made it with cinnamon. One of his earliest memories was of her hands holding a cup to his lips and of a wonderful, spicy aroma swirling around his head.

Matt swallowed painfully. It didn't help to think about drinking when you couldn't do it. Long ago he'd seen a dead eejit in the poppy fields. Tam Lin said the man had died of thirst. Matt wondered how long it had taken.

He heard footsteps. He sprang up and was immediately swept with dizziness. He must be more dehydrated than he thought.

“I'm sorry. I forgot about water.” María thrust a bottle at him, and Matt snatched it and drank ravenously.

“How's El Patrón?” he asked after he drained the bottle.

“Better, unfortunately.”

“You sound like you don't want him to get well.”

“Of course I don't!”

“Keep your voice down,” said Matt. “If he lives, I can come out.”

“No, you can't. He needs a new heart if he's going to survive, and there's only one place to get it.”

Matt put his hand out, to keep from swaying. It was one thing to understand his fate and very different to hear María say it out loud. “El Patrón loves me,” he said.

María made a small, impatient noise. “He loves what you can
do
for him. We don't have time to waste. Here's an eejit uniform to wear—Tam Lin got it for me. Remember, you can't say a word if we meet anyone.”

Matt quickly changed clothes. The uniform reeked of sweat and a chemical odor that awoke evil memories in Matt.
The wastelands
, he thought. The person who wore this had lain in the fields on still nights, when the air near the eejit pens had gone bad.

“Here's your hat,” said María.

She led him through the passage. They were moving away from the music room and past El Viejo's old apartment. Matt wondered who was living there now or if perhaps it had been sealed up. A lot of the mansion was, but you couldn't count on a place being empty.

They came to a stretch where Matt had been unable to find a peephole. María shone the flashlight along the wall.

“There's nothing here,” Matt said.

“Wait.” She slid a piece of red plastic over the flashlight. The walls turned the color of dried blood. It made the place look darker and more sinister. The air suddenly seemed stale, like a tomb that hadn't been opened for a very long time.

“There!” cried María.

In the middle of the wall, where Matt could have sworn nothing had been a minute ago, was a red, glowing patch. He bent close. The patch disappeared.

“You're in the beam,” said María. Matt stepped back and the patch appeared again.

It reminded him a little of the stars Celia had pasted on his bedroom ceiling. It was a different color, though, and it wasn't a star. “It's a
scorpion
!” he cried.

“The mark of the Alacráns,” said María. “Tam Lin told me about it. It shows up only in red light.”

“What does it mean?”

“I think—I
hope
—it's a way out.”

Matt put out his hand to touch the scorpion, and María grabbed his arm. “Wait! I have to explain something. I've been going in and out of this passage from El Patrón's bedroom. The view screens can't see in there, according to Tam Lin, but they can watch everything around it. You couldn't escape from there.”

Matt was hypnotized by the red scorpion. It seemed to shimmer with a life all its own.

“This is another way out,” said María. “I thought this passage was built so El Patrón could spy on people. Of course, he
did
spy on people—Tam Lin said he called it his private soap opera—but El Patrón really made the tunnel to escape from his enemies. He has a lot of enemies.”

“I know,” said Matt.

“The problem is, I don't know whether you want to take the chance—”

“What?” Matt said impatiently.

“It works only for El Patrón. That's to keep enemies from
sneaking in. When he presses his hand against the red scorpion, the wall opens, and he can get in and out of the house without being seen. The escape route goes to the hovercraft landing field. But, if the wrong person touches the scorpion, it sends a lethal jolt of electricity through his arm and the whole passage fills with a poisonous gas. At least that's what Tam Lin says. He hasn't tried it.”

Matt stared at María. “
This
is your plan to rescue me?”

“Well, it might work,” she said. “Tam Lin says the scorpion recognizes the fingerprints and DNA of El Patrón. And you're his clone.”

Matt suddenly felt light-headed. She was right. He
was
El Patrón's clone. His fingerprints would be the same, his DNA identical. “If you're wrong,” he told María, “we'll die.”

“We'll die together, dearest.”

Matt's heart jolted when he heard
dearest.
“I can't let you do it. I'll go alone. I have a secret hiding place.”

“The oasis?” said María. “You'll never make it there ahead of the Farm Patrol.”

So she even knows about that
, Matt thought. Tam Lin must have told her everything. “I can try.”

“And so can I,” she said, getting that mulish look in her eyes Matt knew so well. “Either you press that scorpion and we escape together, or we stay here and
starve
together. I'm not leaving you! Not now or ever!”

“I love you,” Matt said.

“I love you, too,” said María. “I know that's a sin, and I'll probably go to hell for it.”

“If I have a soul, I'll go with you,” promised Matt. He thrust his hand against the glowing scorpion before he could change his mind. He felt a strange sensation, like hundreds of tiny ants
crawling up his arm. The hairs on the back of his hand stirred. “Run! It's not working!” he yelled. Instead, María grabbed him.