Ice Shock (33 page)

Mom and I waited six months to say good-bye to my father. When we finally did, it was for the third time. There'd been the first funeral in Chetumal, alongside the one for Camila. Goodness knows whose ashes we sent off that time. The second time was the memorial service at his Oxford college. I sat through the whole thing in a daze.

And now here we are again. This time with a coffin, on a cool December morning, two days before Christmas. By a pristine white church surrounded by orange trees.

All members of the ruling Executive of Ek Naab are there with their families, except one—Blanco Vigores. Everyone lines up in the church to give the
pesame
—condolences—to Mom and me. I look along the line but can't see Vigores. It doesn't seem like a polite question to ask right now, but still I wonder, and not for the first time:

Where is Blanco Vigores? Where does a blind old man disappear to on all these important occasions?

In case anyone is spying on us via satellite, everyone dresses like regular Mexicans. As far as the outside world is concerned, this is supposed to be a private chapel on the huge ranch of some rich Mexican family. The men wear black suits; the women dress in smart black skirts and dresses, their heads covered with black lace mantillas. I'm always amazed at how many people can get their hands on a nice-looking black suit at the shortest notice.

They even find something to fit me.

“You look really nice,” Ixchel whispers to me as her turn comes to kiss my cheek.

“So do you,” I mumble. She does, too. Sleek black hair pouring over her shoulders, her eyes and lips lightly made up, she looks elegant. Talk about cleaning up well.

It's the craziest scene, straight out of a Mexican soap opera. Everybody dressed to the nines and wearing fancy cologne. I can hardly believe that these are the same people who lined the underground streets of Ek Naab a few months ago in their traditional dress and watched me go to be installed as the Bakab Ix.

My mom looks amazing. She's getting good at being the grieving widow. She and Susannah really stand out with their fair hair under the black mantillas. In front of all these strangers from Ek Naab, Mom is elegant and charming. Not a tear in sight.

Susannah is calm the whole time. I don't expect her to be
moved—she didn't know my dad, after all. What's a bit odd is that she also seems perfectly at home in these surroundings. I've never met anyone who could take so much weirdness in stride. Nothing fazes her.

The priest—a woman—even wears robes of liturgical purple. All a little bizarre. My mom doesn't say anything, but I'm sure I notice her pursing her lips.

Inside, the church is crammed with hibiscus flowers. Pride of place in the church goes to a statue of the Virgin Mary. Statues of saints line the pews. Candles burn in hanging chandeliers. Dad's coffin, draped in white, stands in front of the altar.

The service is in Latin, sung by the priest and two robed attendants, who stand with their backs to the congregation for most of the time. A choir chimes in with music that sounds just like the kind of thing you hear in the chapel of an Oxford college. I have to watch everyone else to know when to stand, sit, or kneel. It's obvious to me that at least half the people there are as clueless as I am. Carlos Montoyo stands on the other side of my mother. I'm between Mom and Ixchel. I find myself wondering about Montoyo. Does he have a family? Does he do anything, apart from quietly run Ek Naab?

I'm strangely disoriented. The whole experience is so odd, it's hard to believe this is actually happening. I seem to go through everything on automatic pilot. Sit, stand, kneel, listen to prayers; what is it all for? How can the guy in the
coffin really be my dad? How can the choir be singing a mass straight out of sixteenth-century Spain? I feel like I'm existing in the past and in the present; in Mexico, Spain, and Oxford, all at the same time.

The priest talks about redemption. Whatever my father ever did wrong in his life, she says, his sacrifice at the end will redeem everything. He's a hero in everyone's eyes. I wonder why no one blames me, but they don't.

As we process out of the church, the members of the choir, high in their stalls, throw hibiscus petals over the coffin. Falling on the simple white coffin drapings, they look like drops of blood against snow.

Outside, the sky is flat and gray, like a beach pebble. High above the clouds, the air stirs, preparing for a storm. We bury my father on the slope of the nearby hill, in the shade of a tree. It feels like reaching the end of a very, very long day.

As I watch the coffin being lowered into the ground, I clasp my hands together hard, to stop them shaking. It doesn't work. Ixchel moves closer to me, her fingers reaching for mine. Her hand is small and hot. She's trembling too.

At the touch of Ixchel's hand, my mind flicks back to the memory of my dad in his hut on the slopes of the volcano, listening to Miles Davis on his iPod while Ixchel made the tea. How his eyes filled up with tears.

I sense Ixchel next to me, our shoulders touching. She turns to me, but I can't bear to look at her. I blink rapidly;
tears sting my eyes as I stare directly ahead. In my chest there's an almost unbearable ache.

“You'll get through this, Josh,” Ixchel whispers, and squeezes my hand.

I was desperate to have all my questions answered … I never imagined it would end like this. But I guess it has. Now I really do know how my father died … he was saving my life.

Meanwhile, pieces of the puzzle keep falling into place; the human race still has an appointment with the super-wave in 2012. As to how things will turn out for me and my family … I'm still in the dark.

On my wrist, under the sleeve of a crisp white shirt and the suit jacket, the Bracelet of Itzamna tingles gently against my skin. I find myself focusing on the sensation. It's as though the Bracelet were communicating with me:

This isn't over
.

I'd like to thank good friends and expert consultants: Reba Bandyopadhyay for astrophysics, Kate Salesse for forensic science, and Barry Clarke for codes and ciphers.

Thanks also to all the wonderful team at Scholastic, especially my editors, Elv Moody and Jessica White, and publicists, Alyx Price and Camilla Allen.

Also to my agent, Peter Cox, for a truly brilliant suggestion and steadfast enthusiasm. Finally to my husband, David, and daughters for their support and patience. It's not easy keeping Joshua's secrets …

Enter
www.themgharris.com
to find out!

•
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•
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M. G. Harris was born in Mexico City but moved to England as a young child. On regular visits back to Mexico, M. G. became fascinated by Mayan archaeology and made several trips to Mayan ruins in Yucatán and Chiapas. One such trip provided the seed of the idea for The Joshua Files.

M. G. studied biochemistry at Oxford University and spent several years working in research laboratories before setting up an Internet company. While recovering from a skiing accident, M. G. began writing
Invisible City
, the first book in the Joshua Files series.

M. G. lives in Oxford, England.

Also by M. G. Harris

The Joshua Files: Invisible City

In memory of my Aunty Jose, who told me to go to Veracruz

Copyright © 2009 by M. G. Harris
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means,
electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval
system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Originally published in Great Britain in 2009
by Scholastic Children's Books, an imprint of Scholastic Ltd.
First published in the United States of America in July 2011
by Walker Publishing Company, Inc., a division of Bloomsbury Publishing, Inc.
E-book edition published in July 2011
www.bloomsburyteens.com

For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to
Permissions, Walker BFYR, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, New York 10010

Library of Congress has cataloged the hardcover edition as follows:
Harris, M. G. (Maria G.)
The Joshua files : ice shock / by M. G. Harris.
p. cm.
Sequel to: The Joshua files : invisible city.
ISBN 978-0-8027-2302-4 (paperback) • ISBN 978-0-8027-2303-1 (hardcover)
[1. Fate and fatalism—Fiction. 2. Mayas—Fiction. 3. Fathers and sons—Fiction. 4. Science fiction.] I.
Title. II. Title: Ice shock.
PZ7.H242245Jop 2011     [Fic]—dc22     2010035850

ISBN 978-0-8027-2301-7 (e-book)