House Of The ScorpionNancy FarmerATHENEUM HC (2002)

the house of thescorpion

ALSO BY THEAUTHOR

A Girl Named DisasterThe Warm Place

The Ear, the Eye and the ArmDo You Know Me

Atheneum Books for Young ReadersAn imprint of Simon & SchusterChildren’s Publishing Division1230 Avenue of the AmericasNew York, New York 10020www.SimonandSchuster.com

This book is a work of fiction.Names, characters, places, and incidentsare either products of the author’simagination or are used fictitiously. Anyresemblance to actual events or localesor persons, living or dead, is entirelycoincidental.

Copyright © 2002 by Nancy FarmerAll rights reserved, including the right

of reproduction in whole or in part inany form.

Book design by O’Lanso GabbidonThe text for this book is set in Bembo.Printed in the United States of

America

10 9

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Farmer, Nancy.The house of the scorpion / Nancy

Farmer.—1st ed.p. cm.Summary: In a future where humans

despise clones, Matt enjoys specialstatus as the young clone of El Patrón,the 140-year-old leader of a corrupt

drug empire nestled between Mexicoand the United States.

ISBN 0-689-85222-3eISBN 978-1-439-10655-6ISBN 978-0-689-85222-0[1. Cloning—Fiction. 2. Science

fiction.] I. Title.PZ7.F23814 Mat 2002[Fic]—dc21 2001056594

To Harold for his unfailing love andsupport, and to Daniel, our son. To mybrother, Dr. Elmon Lee Coe, and my

sister, Mary Marimon Stout. Lastly, andno less importantly, to Richard Jackson,il capo di tutti capi of children’s book

editors.

CONTENTSYOUTH: 0 TO 61. In the Beginning2. The Little House in the Poppy Fields3. Property of the Alacrán Estate4. María5. Prison

MIDDLE AGE: 7 TO 116. El Patrón7. Teacher8. The Eejit in the Dry Field9. The Secret Passage

10. A Cat with Nine Lives

11. The Giving and Taking of Gifts12. The Thing on the Bed13. The Lotus Pond14. Celia’s Story

OLD AGE: 12 TO 1415. A Starved Bird16. Brother Wolf17. The Eejit Pens18. The Dragon Hoard19. Coming-of-Age20. Esperanza21. Blood Wedding22. Betrayal

AGE 1423. Death24. A Final Good-bye25. The Farm Patrol

LA VIDA NUEVA

26. The Lost Boys

27. A Five-legged Horse28. The Plankton Factory29. Washing a Dusty Mind30. When the Whales Lost Their Legs31. Ton-Ton32. Found Out33. The Boneyard34. The Shrimp Harvester

35. El Día de los Muertos36. The Castle on the Hill37. Homecoming38. The House of Eternity

CAST OFCHARACTERS

THE ALACRÁN FAMILY

Matt: Matteo Alacrán, the clone

El Patron: The originalMatteo Alacrán; a powerful drug lord

Felipe: El Patrón’s son; diedlong ago

El Viejo: El Patrón’s grandsonand Mr. Alacrán’s father; a very old man

Mr. Alacrán: El Patrón’s

great-grandson; husband of Felicia,father of Benito and Steven

Felicia: Mr. Alacrán’s wife;mother of Benito, Steven, and Tom

Benito: Oldest son of Mr.Alacrán and Felicia

Steven: Second son of Mr.Alacrán and Felicia

Tom: Son of Felicia and Mr.MacGregor

Fani: Benito’s wifeVISITORS AND ASSOCIATES OFTHE ALACRÁNS

Senator Mendoza: A

powerful politician in the United States;father of Emilia and María; also calledDada

Emilia: Oldest daughter ofSenator Mendoza

María: Younger daughter ofSenator Mendoza

Esperanza: Emilia’s andMaría’s mother; disappeared whenMaría was five

Mr. MacGregor: A druglordSLAVES AND SERVANTS

Celia: Chief cook and Mattscaregiver

Tam Lin: Bodyguard for bothEl Patron and Matt

Daft Donald: Bodyguard forEl Patron

Rosa: Housekeeper; Matt’s jailer

Willum: Chief doctor for theAlacrán household; Rosa’s lover

Mr. Ortega: Matt’s musicteacher

Teacher: An eejit

Hugh, Ralf, and WeeWullie: Members of the FarmPatrol

PEOPLE IN AZTLÁN

Raúl: A Keeper

Carlos: A Keeper

Jorge: A Keeper

Chacho: A Lost Boy

Fidelito: A Lost Boy; eightyears old

Ton-Ton: A Lost Boy; driverof the shrimp harvester

Flaco: Oldest of the Lost Boys

Luna: Lost Boy in charge of theinfirmary

Guapo: Old man celebrating ElDía de los Muertos

Consuela: Old womancelebrating El Día de los Muertos

Sister Inéz: A nurse at theConvent of Santa ClaraMISCELLANEOUS CHARACTERS

Furball: María’s dog

El Látigo Negro: TheBlack Whip, an old TV character

Don SegundoSombra: Sir Second Shadow, anold TV character

El Sacerdote Volante:The Flying Priest, an old TV character

Eejits: People with computerchips in their brains; also known aszombies

La Llorona: The WeepingWoman; mythical woman who searchesin the night for her lost children

Chupacabras: The goatsucker; mythical creature that sucks theblood out of goats, chickens, and,occasionally, people

ALACRÁN FAMILY

HISTORY

the house of thescorpion

1

IN THE BEGINNING

In the beginning there were thirty-six ofthem, thirty-six droplets of life so tinythat Eduardo could see them only undera microscope. He studied them anxiouslyin the darkened room.

Water bubbled through tubes thatsnaked around the warm, humid walls.Air was sucked into growth chambers. Adull, red light shone on the faces of theworkers as they watched their ownarrays of little glass dishes. Each onecontained a drop of life.

Eduardo moved his dishes, one afterthe other, under the lens of themicroscope. The cells were perfect—orso it seemed. Each was furnished withall it needed to grow. So muchknowledge was hidden in that tinyworld! Even Eduardo, who understoodthe process very well, was awed. Thecell already understood what color hairit was to have, how tall it wouldbecome, and even whether it preferredspinach to broccoli. It might even have ahazy desire for music or crosswordpuzzles. All that was hidden in thedroplet.

Finally the round outlines quiveredand lines appeared, dividing the cells intwo. Eduardo sighed. It was going to be

all right. He watched the samples grow,and then he carefully moved them to theincubator.

But it wasn’t all right. Somethingabout the food, the heat, the light waswrong, and the man didn’t know what itwas. Very quickly over half of themdied. There were only fifteen now, andEduardo felt a cold lump in his stomach.If he failed, he would be sent to theFarms, and then what would become ofAnna and the children, and his father,who was so old?

“It’s okay,” said Lisa, so close by thatEduardo jumped. She was one of thesenior technicians. She had worked forso many years in the dark, her face waschalk white and her blue veins were

visible through her skin.“How can it be okay?” Eduardo said.“The cells were frozen over a

hundred years ago. They can’t be ashealthy as samples taken yesterday.”

“That long,” the man marveled.“But some of them should grow,” Lisa

said sternly.So Eduardo began to worry again.

And for a month everything went well.The day came when he implanted thetiny embryos in the brood cows. Thecows were lined up, patiently waiting.They were fed by tubes, and their bodieswere exercised by giant metal arms thatgrasped their legs and flexed them asthough the cows were walking throughan endless field. Now and then an

animal moved its jaws in an attempt tochew cud.

Did they dream of dandelions?Eduardo wondered. Did they feel aphantom wind blowing tall grass againsttheir legs? Their brains were filled withquiet joy from implants in their skulls.Were they aware of the children growingin their wombs?

Perhaps the cows hated what had beendone to them, because they certainlyrejected the embryos. One after anotherthe infants, at this point no larger thanminnows, died.

Until there was only one.Eduardo slept badly at night. He cried

out in his sleep, and Anna asked whatwas the matter. He couldn’t tell her. He

couldn’t say that if this last embryo died,he would be stripped of his job. Hewould be sent to the Farms. And she,Anna, and their children and his fatherwould be cast out to walk the hot, dustyroads.

But that one embryo grew until it wasclearly a being with arms and legs and asweet, dreaming face. Eduardo watchedit through scanners. “You hold my life inyour hands,” he told the infant. As thoughit could hear, the infant flexed its tinybody in the womb until it was turnedtoward the man. And Eduardo felt anunreasoning stir of affection.

When the day came, Eduardo receivedthe newborn into his hands as though itwere his own child. His eyes blurred as

he laid it in a crib and reached for theneedle that would blunt its intelligence.

“Don’t fix that one,” said Lisa, hastilycatching his arm. “It’s a Matteo Alacrán.They’re always left intact.”

Have I done you a favor? thoughtEduardo as he watched the baby turn itshead toward the bustling nurses in theirstarched, white uniforms. Will you thankme for it later?

2

THE LITTLE HOUSE IN THE POPPY FIELDS

Matt stood in front of the door andspread his arms to keep Celia fromleaving. The small, crowded living roomwas still blue with early morning light.The sun had not yet lifted above the hillsmarking the distant horizon.

“What’s this?” the woman said.“You’re a big boy now, almost six. Youknow I have to work.” She picked himup to move him out of the way.

“Take me with you,” begged Matt,

grabbing her shirt and wadding it up inhis hands.

“Stop that.” Celia gently pried hisfingers from the cloth. “You can’t come,mi vida. You must stay hidden in the nestlike a good little mouse. There’re hawksout there that eat little mice.”

“I’m not a mouse!” Matt yelled. Heshrieked at the top of his voice in a wayhe knew was irritating. Even keepingCelia home long enough to deliver atongue-lashing was worth it. He couldn’tbear being left alone for another day.

Celia thrust him away. “¡Callate!Shut up! Do you want to make me deaf?You’re just a little kid with cornmeal forbrains!” Matt flopped sullenly into thebig easy chair.

Celia immediately knelt down and puther arms around him. “Don’t cry, mivida. I love you more than anything inthe world. I’ll explain things to youwhen you’re older.” But she wouldn’t.She had made the same promise before.Suddenly the fight went out of Matt. Hewas too small and weak to fightwhatever drove Celia to abandon himeach day.

“Will you bring me a present?” hesaid, wriggling away from her kiss.

“Of course! Always!” the womancried.

So Matt allowed her to go, but he wasangry at the same time. It was a funnykind of anger, for he felt like crying, too.The house was so lonely without Celia

singing, banging pots, or talking aboutpeople he had never seen and neverwould see. Even when Celia was asleep—and she fell asleep easily after longhours cooking at the Big House—therooms felt full of her warm presence.

When Matt was younger, it hadn’tseemed to matter. He’d played with histoys and watched the television. He’dlooked out the window where fields ofwhite poppies stretched all the way tothe shadowy hills. The whiteness hurthis eyes, and so he turned from themwith relief to the cool darkness inside.

But lately Matt had begun to look atthings more carefully. The poppy fieldsweren’t completely deserted. Now andthen he saw horses—he knew them from

picture books—walking between therows of white flowers. It was hard totell who rode them in all that brightness,but it seemed the riders weren’t adults,but children like him.

And with that discovery grew a desireto see them more closely.

Matt had watched children ontelevision. He saw that they wereseldom alone. They did things together,like building forts or kicking balls orfighting. Even fighting was interestingwhen it meant you had other peoplearound. Matt never saw anyone exceptCelia and, once a month, the doctor. Thedoctor was a sour man and didn’t likeMatt at all.

Matt sighed. To do anything, he

would have to go outdoors, which Celiasaid again and again was verydangerous. Besides, the doors andwindows were locked.

Matt settled himself at a smallwooden table to look at one of hisbooks. Pedro el Conejo, said the cover.Matt could read—slightly—both Englishand Spanish. In fact, he and Celia mixedthe two languages together, but it didn’tmatter. They understood each other.

Pedro el Conejo was a bad littlerabbit who crawled into SeñorMacGregor’s garden to eat up hislettuces. Señor MacGregor wanted toput Pedro into a pie, but Pedro, aftermany adventures, got away. It was asatisfying story.

Matt got up and wandered into thekitchen. It contained a small refrigeratorand a microwave. The microwave had asign reading PELIGRO!!! DANGER!!!and squares of yellow notepaper sayingNO! NO! NO! NO! To be extra sure,Celia had wrapped a belt around themicrowave door and secured it with apadlock. She lived in terror that Mattwould find a way to open it while shewas at work and “cook his littlegizzards,” as she put it.

Matt didn’t know what gizzards wereand he didn’t want to find out. He edgedaround the dangerous machine to get tothe fridge. That was definitely histerritory. Celia filled it with treats everynight. She cooked for the Big House, so

there was always plenty of food. Matthelped himself to sushi, tamales,pakoras, blintzes—whatever the peoplein the Big House were eating. And therewas always a large carton of milk andbottles of fruit juice.

He filled a bowl with food and wentto Celia’s room.

On one side was her large, saggy bedcovered with crocheted pillows andstuffed animals. At the head was a hugecrucifix and a picture of Our Lord Jesuswith His heart pierced by five swords.Matt found the picture frightening. Thecrucifix was even worse, because itglowed in the dark. Matt kept his back toit, but he still liked Celia’s room.

He sprawled over the pillows and

pretended to feed the stuffed dog, theteddy bear, the rabbit (conejo, Mattcorrected). For a while this was fun, butthen a hollow feeling began to growinside Matt. These weren’t real animals.He could talk to them all he liked. Theycouldn’t understand. In some way hecouldn’t put into words, they weren’teven there.

Matt turned them all to the wall, topunish them for not being real, and wentto his own room. It was much smaller,being half filled by his bed. The wallswere covered with pictures Celia hadtorn out of magazines: movie stars,animals, babies—Matt wasn’t thrilledby the babies, but Celia found themirresistible—flowers, news stories.

There was one of acrobats standing onone another in a huge pyramid. SIXTY-FOUR! the caption said. A NEW RECORD ATTHE LUNAR COLONY.

Matt had seen these particular wordsso often, he knew them by heart. Anotherpicture showed a man holding a bullfrogbetween two slices of bread. RIBBIT ON

RYE! the caption said. Matt didn’t knowwhat a ribbit was, but Celia laughedevery time she looked at it.

He turned on the television andwatched soap operas. People werealways yelling at one another on soapoperas. It didn’t make much sense, andwhen it did, it wasn’t interesting. It’snot real, Matt thought with suddenterror. It’s like the animals . He couldtalk and talk and talk, but the people

couldn’t hear him.Matt was swept with such an intense

feeling of desolation, he thought hewould die. He hugged himself to keepfrom screaming. He gasped with sobs.Tears rolled down his cheeks.

And then—and then—beyond thenoise of the soap opera and his ownsobs, Matt heard a voice calling. It wasclear and strong—a child’s voice. And itwas real.

Matt ran to the window. Celia alwayswarned him to be careful when helooked out, but he was so excited that hedidn’t care. At first he only saw thesame, bleached blindness of the poppies.Then a shadow crossed the opening.Matt recoiled so quickly, he fell over

and landed on the floor.“What’s this dump?” someone said

from outside.“One of the worker’s shacks,” said

another, higher voice.“I didn’t think anyone was allowed to

live in the opium fields.”“Maybe it’s a storeroom. Let’s try the

door.”The door handle rattled. Matt squatted

on the floor, his heart pounding.Someone put his face against thewindow, cupping his hands to seethrough the gloom. Matt froze. He hadwanted company, but this was happeningtoo quickly. He felt like Pedro el Conejoin Señor MacGregor’s garden.

“Hey, there’s a kid in here!”

“What? Let me see.” A second facepressed against the window. She hadblack hair and olive skin like Celia.“Open the window, kid. What’s yourname?”

But Matt was so terrified, he couldn’tsqueeze out a single word.

“Maybe he’s an idiot,” the girl saidmatter-of-factly. “Hey, are you anidiot?”

Matt shook his head. The girl laughed.“I know who lives here,” the boy said

suddenly. “I recognize that picture on thetable.”

Matt remembered the portrait Celiahad given him on his last birthday.

“It’s the fat old cook—what’s hername?” the boy said. “Anyhow, she

doesn’t stay with the rest of the servants.This must be her hangout. I didn’t knowshe had a kid.”

“Or a husband,” the girl remarked.“Oh, yeah. That explains a lot. I

wonder if Father knows. I’ll have to askhim.”

“You will not!” the girl cried. “You’llget her into trouble.”

“Hey, this is my family’s ranch, andmy father told me to keep an eye onthings. You’re only visiting.”

“It doesn’t matter. My dada saysservants have a right to privacy, and he’sa United States senator, so his opinion isworth more.”

“Your dada changes his opinionsmore often than his socks,” the boy said.

What the girl replied to this, Mattcouldn’t hear. The children were movingaway from the house, and he could makeout only the indignant tone of her voice.He was shivering all over, as thoughhe’d just met one of the monsters Celiatold him haunted the world outside, thechupacabras maybe. The chupacabrassucked your blood and left you to drylike an old cantaloupe skin. Things werehappening too fast.

But he had liked the girl.The rest of that day Matt was swept byboth fear and joy. He had been warnedby Celia never, never to show himself atthe window. If someone came, he was tohide himself. But the children had beensuch a wonderful surprise, he couldn’t

help running to see them. They wereolder than he. How much older Mattcouldn’t tell. They were definitely notadults, though, and they didn’t seemdangerous. Still, Celia would be furiousif she found out. Matt decided not to tellher.

That night she brought him a coloringbook the children had thrown away inthe Big House. Only half of it had beenused, so Matt spent a pleasant half hourbefore dinner using the stubby crayonsCelia had brought on other occasions.The smell of fried cheese and onionsdrifted out of the kitchen, and Matt knewshe was cooking Aztláno food. This wasa special treat. Celia was usually sotired when she returned home, she only

heated up leftovers.He colored in an entire meadow with

green. His crayon was almost gone, andhe had to hold it carefully to use it at all.The green made him feel happy. If onlyhe could look out on such a meadowinstead of the blinding white poppies.He was certain grass would be as soft asa bed and smell like rain.

“Very nice, chico,” said Celia,looking over his shoulder.

The last fragment of crayon fell apartin Matt’s fingers.

“¡Qué lástima! I’ll see if I can findmore in the Big House. Those kids’re sorich, they wouldn’t notice if I took thewhole darn box.” Celia sighed. “I’llonly take a few, though. The mouse is

safest when she doesn’t leave footprintson the butter.”

They had quesadillas and enchiladasfor dinner. The food sat heavily inMatt’s stomach.

“Mamá,” he said without thinking,“tell me again about the kids in the BigHouse.”

“Don’t call me ‘Mamÿ,’” snappedCelia.

“Sorry,” said Matt. The word hadslipped out. Celia had told him long agothat she wasn’t his real mother. Thechildren on TV had mamÿs, though, andMatt had fallen into the habit of thinkingof Celia that way.

“I love you more than anything in theworld,” the woman said quickly. “Never

forget that. But you were only loaned tome, mi vida.”

Matt had trouble understanding thew o r d loaned. It seemed to meansomething you gave away for a littlewhile—which meant that whoeverloaned him would want him back.

“Anyhow, the kids in the Big Houseare brats, you better believe it,” Celiawent on. “They’re lazy as cats and justas ungrateful. They make big messes andorder the maids to clean them up. Andthey never say thank you. Even if youwork for hours making special cakeswith sugar roses and violets and greenleaves, they can’t say thank you to savetheir miserable little souls. They stufftheir selfish mouths and tell you it tastes

like mud!”Celia looked angry, as though the

incident had happened recently.“There’s Steven and Benito,” Matt

reminded her.“Benito’s the oldest. He’s a real

devil! He’s seventeen, and there isn’t agirl in the Farms who’s safe from him.But never mind that. It’s adult stuff andvery boring. Anyhow, Benito is like hisfather, which means he’s a dog in humanclothing. He’s going to college this year,and we’ll all be glad to see the last ofhim.”

“And Steven?” Matt said patiently.“He’s not so bad. I sometimes think he

might have a soul. He spends time withthe Mendoza girls. They’re okay,

although what they’re doing with ourcrowd would puzzle God Himself.”

“What does Steven look like?” Itsometimes took a long time to steerCelia to the things Matt wanted to know—in this case, the names of the childrenwho’d appeared outside the window.

“He’s thirteen. Big for his age. Sandyhair. Blue eyes.”

That must have been the boy, thoughtMatt.

“Right now the Mendozas are visiting.Emilia’s thirteen too, very pretty withblack hair and brown eyes.”

That must be the girl, Matt decided.“She at least has good manners. Her

sister, María, is about your age andplays with Tom. Well, some might call it

play. Most of the time she winds upcrying her eyes out.”

“Why?” said Matt, who enjoyedhearing about Tom’s misdeeds.

“Tom is Benito times ten! He can meltanyone’s heart with those wide, innocenteyes. Everyone falls for it, but not me.He gave María a bottle of lemon sodatoday. ‘It’s the last one,’ he said. ‘It’sreally cold and I saved it especially foryou,’ he said. Do you know what was init?”

“No,” said Matt, wriggling withanticipation.

“Pee! Can you believe it? He even putthe cap back on. Oh, she was crying,poor little thing. She never learns.”

Celia suddenly ran out of steam. She

yawned broadly and fatigue settled overher right before Matt’s eyes. She hadbeen working from dawn to well afterdark, and she had cooked a fresh meal athome as well. “I’m sorry, chico. Whenthe well’s empty, it’s empty.”

Matt rinsed the plates and stacked thedishwasher while Celia took a shower.She came out in her voluminous pinkbathrobe and nodded sleepily at thetidied table. “You’re a good kid,” shesaid.

She picked him up and hugged him allthe way to his bed. No matter how tiredCelia was—and sometimes she almostfell over with exhaustion—she neverneglected this ritual. She tucked Matt inand lit the holy candle in front of the

statue of the Virgin of Guadalupe. Shehad brought it with her all the way fromher village in Aztlán. The Virgin’s robewas slightly chipped, which Celiadisguised with a spray of artificialflowers. The Virgin’s feet rested ondusty plaster roses and Her starspangledrobe was stained with wax, but Her facegazed out over the candle with the samegentleness it had in Celia’s bedroomlong ago.

“I’m in the next room, mi vida,”whispered the woman, kissing the top ofMatts head. “You get scared, you callme.”

Soon the house shook with Celiassnores. To Matt, the sound was asnormal as the thunder that sometimes

echoed over the hills. It in no way kepthim from sleep. “Steven and Emilia,” hewhispered, testing the words in hismouth. He didn’t know what he wouldsay to the strange children if theyappeared again, but he was determinedto try to talk to them. He practicedseveral sentences: “My name is Matt. Ilive here. Do you want to colorpictures?”

No, he couldn’t mention the coloringbook or the crayons. They were stolen.

“Would you like some food?” But thefood might be stolen too. “Do you wantto play?” Good. Steven and Emiliacould suggest something, and Mattwould be off the hook.

“Do you want to play? Do you want to

play?” he murmured as his eyes closedand the gentle face of the Virgin ofGuadalupe floated in the candlelight.

3

PROPERTY OF THE ALACRÁNESTATE

Celia left in the morning, and Mattspent the entire day waiting for thechildren. He had given up hope when,just before sunset, he heard voicesapproaching through the poppy fields.

He planted himself in front of thewindow and waited.

“There he is! See, María, I told you Iwasn’t lying,” cried Emilia. Her handrested on the shoulder of a much smallergirl. “He won’t talk to us, but you’re

about his age. Maybe he won’t be afraidof you.” Emilia pushed the girl ahead ofher and fell back to wait with Steven.

María wasn’t at all shy about comingup to the window. “Hey, boy!” sheyelled, rapping the glass with her fist.“What’s your name? Do you want toplay?”

With one blow, she stole Matt’scarefully prepared speech. He stared ather, unable to think of another opening.

“Well, is it yes or no?” María turnedtoward the others. “Make him unlock thedoor.”

“That’s up to him,” said Steven.Matt wanted to say he didn’t have the

key, but he was unable to get the wordsout.

“At least he isn’t hiding today,”remarked Emilia.

“If you can’t unlock the door, open thewindow,” María said.

Matt tried, knowing it wouldn’t work.Celia had nailed the window shut. Hethrew up his hands.

“He understands what we say,” saidSteven.

“Hey, boy! If you don’t do somethingquick, we’re going away,” Maríashouted.

Matt thought desperately He neededsomething to interest them. He held uphis finger, as Celia did when she wantedhim to wait. He nodded his head to showthat he agreed with María’s demand andwas about to do something.

“What does that mean?” said Emilia.“Beats me. Maybe he’s a mute and

can’t talk,” Steven guessed.Matt raced to his bedroom. He ripped

the picture of the man with the bullfrogsandwich from the wall. It made Celialaugh. Maybe it would make thesechildren laugh. He ran back and pressedthe newspaper against the window. Thethree children came close to study it.

“What’s it say?” asked María.“‘Ribbit on Rye,’” read Steven. “Do

you get it? It’s a bullfrog going ribbit,ribbit, ribbit, and it’s between twoslices of rye bread. That’s pretty funny.”

Emilia giggled, but María lookeduncertain. “People don’t eat bullfrogs,”she said. “I mean, not when they’re

alive.”“It’s a joke, dum-dum.”“I’m not a dum-dum! It’s mean and

nasty to eat bullfrogs! I don’t think it’sfunny at all.”

“Save me from eejits,” said Steven,rolling his eyes.

“I’m not an eejit, either!”“Oh, lighten up, María,” Emilia said.“You brought me out here to see a

boy, and it was miles and miles acrossthe fields, and I’m tired and the boywon’t talk. I hate you!”

Matt stared at the scene withconsternation. That wasn’t the result hewanted at all. María was crying, Emilialooked angry, and Steven had turned hisback on both of them. Matt rapped on the

window. When María looked up, hewaved the picture and then wadded itinto a ball. He threw it with all his forceacross the room.

“See, he agrees with me,” cried Maríathrough her tears.

“This is getting weirder by theminute,” said Steven. “I knew weshouldn’t have brought the eejit.”

“I thought the boy would talk to a kidhis own size,” Emilia said. “Come on,María. We have to get back beforedark.”

“I’m not walking anywhere!” Thelittle girl flopped down on the ground.

“Well, I won’t carry you, fatso.”“Just leave her,” said Steven. He

started walking off, and after a moment

Emilia followed him.Matt was appalled. If the big kids

went away, María would be all alone. Itwas going to be dark soon, and Celiawouldn’t return for hours. María wouldbe alone with nothing but the emptypoppy fields and the …

The chupacabras, who came out afterdark and sucked your juices and left youto dry like an old cantaloupe skin!

Suddenly Matt knew what he had todo. María had walked a few steps awayfrom the window before sitting downagain. She was shouting insults at thevanished Steven and Emilia. Mattgrabbed the big iron cooking pot Celiaused to make menudo and swung itbefore he could worry much about her

reaction. She would be furious! But hewas saving María’s life. He smashed outthe glass in the window. It fell in atinkling, jangling mass to the ground.María jumped to her feet. Steven andEmilia rose up instantly from the poppyfield, where they’d been hiding.

“Holy frijoles!” said Steven. All threestood openmouthed, staring at the emptyhole where the window had been.

“My name is Matt. I live here. Do youwant to play?” said Matt because hecouldn’t think of another thing to say.

“He can talk,” said Emilia after thefirst shock had died away.

“Is that how you usually open awindow, kid?” Steven said. “Stay back,María. There’s glass all over.” He

stepped carefully to the opening andknocked out the remaining shards with astick. Then he leaned inside to lookaround. Matt had to hold on to himself tokeep from bolting to the other room.“This is creepy! The window’s nailedshut. What are you, some kind ofprisoner?”

“I live here,” Matt said.“You told us that already.”“Do you want to play?”“Maybe he’s like a parrot and only

knows a few words,” suggested Emilia.“I want to play,” said María. Matt

looked at her with approval. The girlwas struggling in Emilia’s arms,obviously trying to get to him. Stevenshook his head and moved away. He

looked like he was really going to leavethis time.

Matt came to a decision. It wasfrightening, but he’d never had anopportunity like this before and he mightnever have it again. He shoved a chair tothe opening, scrambled up, and jumped.

“No!” shouted Steven, runningforward to catch him. He was too late.

A terrible pain lanced through Matt’sfeet. He fell forward, and his hands andknees landed on the shards of glass.

“He wasn’t wearing shoes! Oh, man!Oh, man! What’re we going to do!”Steven pulled Matt up and swung himonto a clear patch of ground.

Matt stared with amazement at theblood dripping from his feet and hands.

His knees sprouted rivulets of red.“Pull out the glass!” cried Emilia in a

high, scared voice. “María, stay away!”“I want to see!” yelled the little girl.

Matt heard a slap and María’s shriek ofoutrage. His head was swimming. Hewanted to throw up, but before he could,everything went black.He woke to the sensation of beingcarried. He was sick to his stomach, butworse than that his body was tremblingin a frightening way. He screamed asloud as he could.

“Great!” panted Steven, whosupported Matt’s shoulders. Emilia hadhis legs. Her shirt and pants weresoaked with blood, his blood. Mattscreamed again.

“Be quiet!” Steven shouted. “We’rerunning as fast as we can!”

The poppies, now blue in the longshadows of the hills, stretched away inall directions. Steven and Emilia werejogging along a dirt path. Matt’s breathcaught with sobs. He could hardly getair.

“Stop!” cried Emilia. “We have to letMaría catch up.” The two childrensquatted down and let Matt’s weight reston the ground. Presently, Matt heard thepatter of smaller feet.

“I want to rest too,” demanded María.“It’s miles and miles. I’m going to tellDada you slapped me.”

“Be my guest,” said Emilia.“Everyone be quiet,” Steven ordered.

“You’ve stopped bleeding, kid, so Iguess you’re not in too much danger.What’s your name again?”

“Matt,” María answered for him.“We aren’t far from the house, Matt,

and you’re in luck. The doctor’sspending the night. Do you hurt a lot?”

“I don’t know,” said Matt.“Yes, you do. You screamed,” María

said.“I don’t know what a lot is,” Matt

explained. “I haven’t hurt like thisbefore.”

“Well, you’ve lost blood—but not toomuch,” Steven added as Matt began totremble again.

“It sure looks like a lot,” said María.“Shut up, eejit.”

The older children rose, carrying Mattbetween them. María followed,complaining loudly about the distanceand at being called an eejit.

A kind of heavy sleepiness fell overMatt as he was swayed along. The painhad died down, and Steven said hehadn’t lost too much blood. He was toodazed to worry about what Celia wouldsay when she saw the broken window.

They reached the edge of the poppyfields as the last streaks of sunlight slidbehind the hills. The dirt path gave wayto a wide lawn. It was a shimmeringgreen, growing deeper with the bluelight of evening. Matt had never seen somuch green in his life.

It’s a meadow , he thought, drowsily.

And it smells like rain.They started up a flight of wide,

marble steps that shone softly in thedarkening air. On either side wereorange trees, and all at once lamps wenton among the leaves. Lights outlined thewhite walls of a vast house above, withpillars and statues and doorways goingwho knew where. In the center of anarch was the carved outline of ascorpion.

“Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!” came a flurry ofwomen’s voices as they swept down thestairs to lift Matt from Steven’s andEmilia’s arms.“Who is he?” asked the maids. Theywere wearing black dresses with whiteaprons and starched, white caps. One of

them, a severe-looking female with deepcreases down either side of her mouth,carried Matt as the others went ahead toopen doors.

“I found him in a house in the poppyfields,” replied Steven.

“That’s Celia’s place,” a maid said.“She’s too stuck-up to live with the restof us.”

“If she’s hiding a child, I’m notsurprised. Who’s your father, kid?” saidthe woman who was carrying Matt. Herapron smelled like sunlight, the wayCelia’s did when it came straight fromthe clothesline. Matt stared at a pinfastened to the woman’s collar, a silverscorpion with its tail curved up. Beneaththe scorpion was a name tag that said

ROSA. Matt didn’t feel well enough totalk, and what did it matter who hisfather was, anyhow? He didn’t know theanswer, either.

“He doesn’t talk much,” said Emilia.“Where’s the doctor?” Steven said.“We’ll have to wait. He’s treating

your grandfather. At least we can cleanthe kid up,” said Rosa.

The maids opened a door to reveal themost beautiful room Matt had ever seen.It had carved wooden beams on theceiling and wallpaper decorated withhundreds of birds. To Matt’s reelingeyes, they seemed to be moving. He sawa couch upholstered with flowers thatshaded from lavender to rose like thefeathers on a dove’s wings. It was to this

couch that Rosa was carrying him.“I’m too dirty,” Matt murmured. He

had been yelled at before for climbingon Celia’s bed with muddy feet.

“You can say that again,” snappedRosa. The other women opened a crisp,white sheet and laid it over thewonderful couch before Matt was laiddown. He thought he could get into justas much trouble for getting blood on thatsheet.

Rosa fetched a pair of tweezers andbegan pulling out fragments of glassfrom his hands and feet. “Ay!” shemurmured as she dropped the bits into acup. “You’re brave not to cry.”

But Matt didn’t feel brave at all. Hedidn’t feel anything. His body seemed

far away, and he watched Rosa asthough she were an image on a TVscreen.

“He sure screamed earlier,” observedMaría. She was dancing around, tryingto see everything that happened.

“Don’t act so superior. You yell yourhead off if you get an itty-bitty splinter inyour finger,” Emilia said.

“Do not!”“Do so!”“I hate you!”“Ask me if I care,” said Emilia. Both

she and Steven watched in fascination asblood began to well out of Matt’s cutsagain. “I’m going to be a doctor when Igrow up,” announced Emilia. “This isvery good experience for me.”

The other maids had brought a bucketof water and towels, but they didn’tattempt to clean Matt up until Rosa gavethem permission.

“Be careful. The right foot is badlycut,” said Rosa.

The air hummed in Matt’s ears. Hefelt the warm water and suddenly thepain returned. It stabbed from his foot allthe way to the top of his head. Heopened his mouth to scream, but nothingcame out. His throat had closed withshock.

“Oh, God! There must be glass leftinside,” cried Rosa. She grabbed Matt’sshoulders and ordered him not to beafraid. She seemed almost angry.

The fogginess that had surrounded

Matt had vanished. His feet, his hands,his knees throbbed with more pain thanhe had known existed.

“I told you he was crying earlier,”said María.

“Be quiet!” said Emilia.“Look! There’s writing on his foot,”

the little girl cried. She tried to getclose, but Emilia thrust her back.

“I’m the one who’s going to be adoctor. Rats! I can’t read it. There’s toomuch blood.” She snatched a washclothand wiped Matt’s foot.

The pain wasn’t as bad this time, buthe couldn’t help moaning.

“You’re hurting him, you bully!”shrieked María.

“Wait! I can just make it out ….

‘Property of’—the writing is so tiny!—‘Property of the Alacrán Estate.’”

“‘Property of the Alacrán Estate’?That’s us. It doesn’t make any sense,”said Steven.

“What’s going on?” came a voiceMatt hadn’t heard before. A large,fierce-looking man burst into the room.Steven immediately straightened up.Emilia and even María looked alarmed.

“We found a kid in the poppy fields,Father,” said Steven. “He hurt himself,and I thought the doctor … the doctor—”

“You idiot! You need a vet for thislittle beast!” the man roared. “How dareyou defile this house?”

“He was bleeding—” began Steven.“Yes! All over the sheet! We’ll have

to burn it. Take the creature outsidenow.”

Rosa hesitated, obviouslybewildered.

The man leaned forward andwhispered into her ear.

A look of horror crossed Rosa’s face.She instantly scooped up Matt and ran.Steven dashed ahead to open the doors.His face had turned white. “How darehe talk to me like that,” he hissed.

“He didn’t mean it,” said Emilia, whowas dragging María along behind.

“Oh, yes he did. He hates me,” Stevensaid.

Rosa hurried down the steps anddumped Matt roughly onto the lawn.Without a word, she turned and fled

back to the house.

4

MARÍA

Matt gazed up. Hundreds of stars lay ina bright smear across a velvety, blacksky. It was the Milky Way, which Celiasaid had spurted from the Virgins breastwhen She first fed Baby Jesus. The grasspressed against Matt’s back. It wasn’t assoft as he’d imagined, but it smelledfresh, and the coolness of the air wasgood, too. He felt hot and feverish.

The terrifying pain had subsided to adull ache. Matt was glad to be outsideagain. The sky felt familiar and safe. The

same stars hung over the little house inthe poppy fields. Celia never took himoutside by day, but sometimes at nightshe and he would sit in the doorway ofthe little house. She would tell himstories and point out a falling star.“That’s a prayer being answered byGod,” she explained. “One of the angelsis flying down to carry out God’sorders.”

Matt prayed now for Celia to comeand rescue him. She’d be upset about thewindow, but he could live with that. Nomatter how loud she yelled, he knew thatunderneath she still loved him. Hewatched the sky, but no star fell.

“Look at him. He’s just lying therelike an animal,” said Emilia from not far

away. Matt jumped. He’d forgottenabout the children.

“He is an animal,” Steven said after apause. They were sitting on the first stepleading to the house. María was busypicking oranges from the trees androlling them down the stairs.

“I don’t understand,” said Emilia.“I’ve been stupid. I should have

known what he—it— was the minute Isaw it. No servant would be allowed tokeep a child or live away from theothers. Benito told me about thesituation, only I thought it was livingsomewhere else. In a zoo, maybe.Wherever those things are kept.”

“What are you talking about?”“Matt’s a clone,” said Steven.

Emilia gasped. “He can’t be! Hedoesn’t—I’ve seen clones. They’rehorrible! They drool and mess theirpants. They make animal noises.”

“This one’s different. Benito told me.Technicians are supposed to destroy theminds at birth—it’s the law. But ElPatrón wanted his to grow up like a realboy. He’s so rich, he can break any lawhe wants.”

“Tha t’s disgusting. Clones aren’tpeople,” cried Emilia.

“Of course they aren’t.”Emilia hugged her knees. “It makes

me feel goose bumpy. I actually touchedit. I got its blood on me—María, stoprolling oranges at us!”

“Make me,” jeered María.

“In about one second I’m going to rollyou down the stairs.”

The little girl stuck out her tongue.She threw a fruit so hard, it shot off thebottom step and landed with a soft plopon the grass. “Want me to peel you one,Matt?” she called.

“Don’t,” said Emilia. The seriousnessin her voice made the little girl pause.“Matt’s a clone. You mustn’t go near it.”

“What’s a clone?”“A bad animal.”“How bad?” María said with interest.Before Emilia could answer, the

fierce man and the doctor appeared atthe top of the stairs.

“You should have called me at once,”the doctor said. “It’s my job to make

sure it stays healthy.”“I didn’t find out until I walked past

the living room. There was blood allover the place. I’m afraid I lost my headand ordered Rosa to throw it outside.”The fierce man seemed less dangerousnow, but Matt still tried to wriggleaway. The movement sent a wave ofagony through his foot.

“We’ll have to take it somewhereelse. I can’t operate on the lawn.”

“There’s an empty room in theservants’ quarters,” said the fierce man.He shouted for Rosa, who pattered downthe steps with a furious look on her face.She carted Matt to a different part of thehouse, a warren of dim hallways thatsmelled of mold. Steven, Emilia, and

María were ordered away, to takeshowers and change their clothes.

Matt was deposited onto a hard, baremattress. The room was long andnarrow. At one end was the door and atthe other a window covered with irongrillwork.

“I need more light,” the doctor said,tersely. The fierce man brought a lamp.“Hold it down,” the doctor orderedRosa.

“Please, Master. It’s a filthy clone,”the woman objected.

“Get moving if you know what’s goodfor you,” the fierce man growled. Rosathrew herself across Matt’s body andgrasped his ankles. Her weight made italmost impossible to breathe.

“Stop … stop …,” the boy wailed.The doctor probed in the deepest cutwith a pair of tweezers as Matt struggledand begged and finally broke downentirely when the sliver of glass wasextracted. Rosa held on to his ankles sotightly, her fingers burned like fire.When at last the wound was cleaned andstitched, Matt was set free. He rolledhimself into a ball and looked fearfullyat his tormentors to see if they plannedanything else.

“I’ve given it a tetanus shot,” said thedoctor, putting away his instruments.“There may be permanent damage to theright foot.”

“Can I send it back to the poppyfields?” inquired the fierce man.

“Too late. The children have seen it.”The men and Rosa went out. Matt

wondered what would happen next. If heprayed very hard, Celia would surelycome for him now. She would hug himand carry him off to bed. Then shewould light the holy candle in front ofthe Virgin of Guadalupe.

Except that the Virgin was far away inthe little house, and Celia might not evenknow where he was.

Rosa slammed open the door and laidnewspapers all over the floor. “Thedoctor says you’re housebroken, but I’mnot taking chances,” she said. “Do it inthe bucket if you’ve got the brains.” Sheplaced a bucket next to the bed andpicked up the lamp.

“Wait,” Matt said.Rosa paused. She looked distinctly

unfriendly.“Can you tell Celia where I am?”The maid smiled maliciously. “Celia

isn’t allowed to see you. Doctor’sorders.” She went out and closed thedoor.

The room was dark except for a faint,yellow light filtering through the bars ofthe window. Matt craned his head up tosee where it was coming from. He saw abulb hanging on a wire from the ceiling.It was as small as the lights Celia usedto decorate the Christmas tree, but itshone valiantly and softened what wouldotherwise have been complete darkness.

He could see nothing else except the

bed and the bucket. The waUs werebare, the ceiling high and shadowy. Thenarrowness of the room made Matt feelas though he were locked in a box.

He had never, never gone to bedalone. Always, even though it might bevery late, he could count on Celia’sreturn. When he woke in the night, hersnores in the next room made him feelsafe. Here there was nothing, not eventhe wind over the poppy fields or themurmur of doves in their nests on theroof.

The silence was terrifying.Matt cried steadily. His grief went on

and on. When it lessened, heremembered Celia and started cryingagain. He looked up with tear-blurred

eyes at the little yellow light, and itseemed to waver like a flame. It came tohim that it was like the holy candle infront of the Virgin. After all, the Virgincould go wherever She liked. Shecouldn’t be locked up like a person. Shecould fly through the air or even knockdown walls, like the superheroes Mattsaw on TV—only She wouldn’t do that,of course, because She was Jesus’mother. She could be standing outsideright now, watching his window.Something let go inside of Matt. Hesighed deeply and soon he was fastasleep.

He woke to the sound of someoneopening the door. Matt tried to sit up, butthe pain made him lie down again. A

flashlight shone in his eyes.“Good. I was afraid this was the

wrong room.” A small shape ran over tothe bed, unslung a backpack, and begantaking out food.

“María?” said Matt.“Rosa said they didn’t give you

dinner. She’s so mean! I have a dog athome, and if he doesn’t get fed, hehowls. Do you like mango juice? It’s myfavorite.”

Matt suddenly realized he was verythirsty. He drank the whole bottlewithout stopping. María had broughthunks of cheese and pepperoni. “I’mgoing to put them into your mouth one ata time—but you have to promise not tobite me.”

Matt indignantly said he never bitpeople.

“Well, you never know. Emilia saysclones are as vicious as werewolves.Did you see that story on TV about theboy who got hair all over him when themoon was full?”

“Yes!” Matt was delighted he andMaría had something in common. He hadlocked himself in the bathroom after thatmovie until Celia came home.

“You don’t grow hair or anything, doyou?” asked María.

“Never,” Matt swore.“Good,” María said. She popped bits

of food into Matt’s mouth until hecouldn’t eat any more.

They talked about movies and then

about stories Celia had told Matt of thedangers that lurked after dark. Mattfound that if he lay perfectly still, hiswounds didn’t hurt too much. Maríabounced around and occasionally hurthim, but he was afraid to scold her. Shemight get angry and leave.

“Celia hangs charms over the doors tokeep out monsters,” Matt told María.

“Does that work?”“Of course. They also keep out dead

people who aren’t ready to stay in theirgraves.”

“There aren’t any charms here,”María said nervously.

That thought had occurred to Matt too,but he didn’t want her to go away. “Wedon’t need charms in the Big House,” he

explained. “There are too many people,and monsters hate crowds.”

María’s interest drove Matt to greaterand greater heights. He talked feverishly,unable to stop, and he ground his teethfrom sheer nervousness. He’d never hadso much attention in his life. Celia triedto listen to him, but she was usually tootired. María hung on his words as thoughher life depended on them.

“Do you know about thechupacabras?” Matt said.

“What’s … a chupacabras?” askedMaría. Her voice sounded a little highand breathless.

“You know. The goat sucker.”“It sounds nasty.” María moved closer

to him.

“It is! It’s got spikes down its backand claws and orange teeth, and it sucksblood.”

“You’re kidding!”“Celia says it has a face of a man,

only the eyes are black inside. Likeempty holes,” said Matt.

“Ugh!”“It likes goats best, but it’ll eat horses

or cows—or a child if it’s reallyhungry.”

María was pressed right up againsthim now. She put her arms around himand he gritted his teeth to keep fromwincing with pain. He noticed that herhands were icy.

“Last month Celia said it got a wholepen of chickens,” Matt said.

“I heard about that. Steven saidIllegals stole them.”

“That’s what they told everyone tokeep them from running away out ofsheer terror,” said Matt, echoing thewords Celia had used. “But they reallyfound the chickens in the desert withouta drop of blood inside. They wereblowing around like dry cantaloupeskins.”

Matt was afraid of Steven and Emilia,but María was different. She was hissize and she didn’t make him feel bad.What was it Rosa had called him? A“filthy clone.” Matt had no idea whatthat was, but he recognized an insultwhen he heard it. Rosa hated him, and sodid the fierce man and the doctor. Even

the two older children had changed oncethey knew what he was. Matt wanted toask María about clones, but he wasafraid she might hate him too if hereminded her.

Meanwhile, he had discovered awonderful power in repeating the storiesCelia had told him. They had held himspellbound, and now they wereimpressing María so much that she waspractically glued to him.

“The chupacabras isn’t the only thingout there,” Matt said grandly. “LaLlorona walks in the night too.”

María murmured something. Her facewas pressed against his shirt, so it washard to tell what she was saying.

“La Llorona drowned her children

because she was angry at her boyfriend.And then she was sorry and drownedherself,” Matt said. “She went to heaven,and Saint Peter shouted, ‘You badwoman! You can’t come in here withoutyour kids.’ She ran down to hell, but theDevil slammed the door in her face.Now she has to walk around all night,never sitting down, never sleeping. Shecries, ‘Ooooo … Ooooo. Where are mybabies?’ You can hear her when thewind blows. She comes to the window.‘Ooooo … Ooooo. Where are mybabies?’ She scratches the glass with herlong fingernails—”

“Stop it!” shrieked María. “I told youto stop it! Don’t you ever listen?”

Matt halted. What could possibly be

wrong with this story? He was telling itexactly the way Celia had.

“There’s no such thing as La Llorona!You made her up!”

“No, I didn’t.”“Well, if she’s real, I don’t want to

know!”Matt reached out and touched María’s

face. “You’re crying!”“I am not, you eejit! I just hate nasty

stories!”Matt was horrified. He’d never meant

to scare María that much. “I’m sorry.”“You should be,” María muttered,

sniffling.“Nothing can get through the window

bars,” Matt said. “And there’s tons ofpeople in the house.”

“There’s nobody in the halls,” Maríasaid. “If I go outside, the monsters’ll getme.”

“Maybe not.”“Oh, great! Maybe not! When Emilia

finds out I’m not in bed, I’ll be in reallybig trouble. She’ll tell Dada, and he’llmake me do the times tables for hours,and it’s all your fault!”

Matt didn’t know what to say.“I’ll have to stay here till morning,”

María concluded. “But I’ll still get intoreally big trouble. At least thechupacabras won’t eat me. Move over.”

Matt tried to make room. The bed wasvery narrow, and it hurt to move even afew inches. His hands and feet throbbedas he clung to the far edge.

“You really are a hog,” complainedMaría. “Got any covers?”

“No,” said Matt.“Wait a minute.” María jumped off the

bed and gathered up the newspapersRosa had spread out on the floor.

“We don’t need covers,” Mattobjected as she began arranging them onthe bed.

“They make me feel safer.” Maríacrawled under the papers. “This isn’ttoo bad. I sleep with my dog all the time—are you sure you don’t bite?”

“Of course not,” said Matt.“Well, that’s all right,” she said,

snuggling closer to him. Matt’s mindchurned over the punishment Maríawould endure because she had brought

him food. He didn’t know what the timestables were, but they were probablysomething awful.

So much had happened in such a shorttime, and Matt couldn’t understand halfof it. Why had he been thrown out on thelawn when everyone had been so eagerto help him at first? Why had the fierceman called him a “little beast”? Andwhy had Emilia told María he was a“bad animal”?

It had something to do with being aclone and also, perhaps, with the writingon his foot. Matt had once asked Celiaabout the words on his foot, and she saidit was something they put on babies tokeep them from getting lost. He’dassumed everyone was tattooed. From

Steven’s reaction, it seemed everyonewasn’t.

María wriggled and sighed and flungher arms out in her sleep. Thenewspapers quickly fell to the floor.Matt had to scoot to the extreme edge ofthe bed to keep from being kicked. Atone point she seemed to have anightmare. She called, “Mama … Mama…” Matt tried to wake her, but shepunched him.

In the first blue light of dawn Mattforced himself to get up. He gasped atthe pain in his feet. It was worse thanlast night.

He dropped to his hands and kneesand moved as noiselessly as possible,pulling the bucket along with him. When

he got to the end of the bed where hethought María couldn’t see him, he triedto pee silently. María turned over. Thenoise made Matt jump. The buckettipped over. He had to fetch newspapersto sop up the mess, and then he had torest with his back against the wallbecause his hands and feet hurt so much.

“Bad girl!” shouted Rosa, flingingopen the door. Behind her was a coveyof maids, all craning their necks to seewhat was inside. “We turned the houseupside down looking for you,” Rosayelled. “All the time you were hiding outwith this filthy clone. Boy, are you introuble! You’re going to be sent home atonce.”

María sat up, blinking at the sudden

light from the doorway. Rosa whiskedher off the bed and wrinkled her nose atMatt cowering against the wall. “So youaren’t housebroken, you little brute,” shesnarled, kicking aside the soddennewspapers. “I honestly don’t know howCelia stood it all those years.”

5

PRISON

That night, when Rosa brought himdinner, Matt asked her when María wascoming back.

“Never!” snarled the maid. “She andher sister have been sent home, and I saygood riddance! Just because theirfather’s a senator, the Mendoza girlsthink they can turn their noses up at us.Pah! Senator Mendoza isn’t too proud tohave his paw out when El Patrón handsaround money.”

Every day the doctor visited. Matt

shrank from him, but the man didn’t seemto notice. He grasped Matt’s foot in abusinesslike way, doused it withdisinfectant, and checked the stitches.Once he gave Matt a shot of antibioticsbecause the wound looked puffy and theboy was running a fever. The doctormade no effort to start a conversation,and Matt was happy to leave things thatway.

The man talked to Rosa, however.They seemed to enjoy each other’scompany. The doctor was tall and bony.His head was fringed with hair like thefluff on a duck’s bottom, and he sprayedsaliva when he talked. Rosa was alsotall and very strong, as Matt had foundout when he tried to get around her. Her

face was set in a permanent scowl,although she occasionally smiled whenthe doctor told one of his bad jokes.Matt found Rosa’s smile even morehorrid than her scowl.

“El Patrón hasn’t asked about thebeast in years,” remarked the doctor.

Matt understood that the beast washimself.

“Probably forgotten it exists,”muttered Rosa. She was busy scrubbingout the corners of the room. She was onher hands and knees with a bucket ofsoapy water by her side.

“I wish I could count on it,” the doctorsaid. “Sometimes El Patrón seemsdefinitely senile. He won’t talk for daysand stares out the window. Other times

he’s as sharp as the old bandido he oncewas.”

“He’s still a bandit,” said Rosa.“Don’t say that, not even to me. El

Patrón’s rage is something you don’twant to see.”

It seemed to Matt that both the maidand the doctor shivered slightly Hewondered why El Patrón was sofrightening, since the man was said to beold and weak. Matt knew he was ElPatrón’s clone, but he was unclear aboutthe meaning of the word. Perhaps ElPatrón had loaned him to Celia andwould someday want him back.

At the thought of Celia, Matt’s eyesfilled with tears. He swallowed themback. He would not show weakness in

front of his tormentors. He knewinstinctively they would seize on it tohurt him even more.

“You’re wearing perfume, Rosa,” thedoctor said slyly.

“Ha! You think I’d put on anything toplease you, Willum?” The maid stood upand wiped her soapy hands on her apron.

“I think you’re wearing it behind yourears.”

“It’s the disinfectant I used to cleanout the bath,” said Rosa. “To a doctor, itprobably smells good.”

“So it does, my thorny little Rosa.”Willum tried to grab her, but shewriggled out of his arms.

“Stop it!” she cried, pushing himaway roughly. In spite of her

unfriendliness, the doctor seemed to likeher. It made Matt uncomfortable. He feltthe two were united against him.

When they left the room, Rosa alwayslocked the door. Matt tried the knob eachtime to see whether she had forgotten,but she never did. He pulled on thewindow bars. They were as firmlyattached as ever. He sat disconsolatelyon the floor.

If only he could see somethinginteresting outside the window. Asection of wall blocked off most of whatlay beyond. Through a narrow gap hecould see a green lawn and bright pinkflowers, but only enough to make himwant more. A thin ribbon of sky let indaylight and at night showed a few stars.

Matt listened in vain for voices.Scar tissue had formed a knot on the

bottom of his foot. He inspected thewriting frequently—PROPERTY OF THE

ALACRÁN ESTATE—but the scar had slicedthrough the tiny lettering. It was moredifficult to make out the words.

One day a frightening argumenterupted between Rosa and the doctor.“El Patrón wants me by his side. I’llcome back once a month,” the man said.

“It’s just an excuse to get away fromme,” said Rosa.

“I have to work, you stupid woman.”“Don’t you call me stupid!” the

woman snarled. “I know a lying coyotewhen I see one.”

“I don’t have a choice,” Willum said

stiffly.“Then why not take me with you? I

could be a housekeeper.”“El Patrón doesn’t need one.”“Oh, sure! How convenient! Let me

tell you, it’s horrible working here,” shestormed. “The other servants laugh atme. ‘She takes care of the beast,’ theysay. ‘She’s no better than a beastherself.’ They treat me like scum.”

“You’re exaggerating.”“No, I’m not!” she cried. “Please take

me with you, Willum. Please! I love you.I’ll do anything for you!”

The doctor pried her arms away.“You’re hysterical. I’ll leave you somepills and see you in a month.”

As soon as the door closed, Rosa

hurled the bucket against the wall andcursed the doctor by all his ancestors.Her face turned chalky with rage, exceptfor two splotches of red on her cheeks.Matt had never seen anyone so furious,and he found it terrifying.

“You’re responsible for this!” Rosashrieked. She pulled Matt up by his hair.

“Ow! Ow!” yelled Matt.“Bleating won’t save you, you good-

for-nothing animal. No one can hear you.This whole wing of the house is emptybecause you are in it! They don’t evenput pigs down here!” Rosa thrust herface close to his. Her cheekbones stoodout beneath her taut skin. Her eyes werewide, and Matt could see white allaround the edges. She looked like a

demon in one of the comic books Celiagot from church.

“I could kill you,” Rosa said quietly.“I could bury your body under the floor—and I might do it.” She let him slumpto the floor again. He rubbed his headwhere she had pulled the hair. “Or Imight not. You’ll never know until it’stoo late. But one thing you’d betterunderstand: I’m your master now, and ifyou make me angry—watch out!”

She slammed the door as she left.Matt sat paralyzed for a few minutes.His heart pounded and his body wasslimy with sweat. What did she mean?What else could she possibly do? Aftera while he stopped trembling and hisbreathing returned to normal. He tried

the door, but not even rage had keptRosa from locking it. He limped to thewindow and watched the bright strip ofgrass and flowers beyond the wall.

That night two gardeners, who refusedto look at Matt, removed his bed. Rosawatched with a look of bittersatisfaction. She took away the wastebucket Matt had been forced to use sincehe arrived.

“You can go in the corner on thenewspapers,” said Rosa. “That’s whatdogs do.”

Matt had to lie on the cement floorwithout any covers and, of course,without a pillow. He slept badly and hisbody ached like a tooth in the morning.When he had to use the newspapers in

the corner, he felt dirty and ashamed.How long could this go on?

Rosa merely plunked down thebreakfast tray and left. She didn’t scoldhim. At first Matt was relieved, but aftera while he began to feel bad. Even angrywords were better than silence. At homehe would have had the stuffed bear anddog and Pedro el Conejo for company.They didn’t talk, but he could hug them.Where were they now? Had Celiathrown them out because she knew hewasn’t coming back?

Matt ate and cried at the same time.The tears ran down into his mouth andonto the dry toast Rosa had brought. Hehad toast and oatmeal, scrambled eggswith chorizo sausage, a plastic mug of

orange juice, a strip of cold bacon. Atleast she wasn’t going to starve him.

In the evening Rosa brought him aflavorless stew with cement-coloredgravy. Matt was given no utensils andhad to put his face in the bowl like adog. With the stew came boiled squash,an apple, and a bottle of water. He atebecause he was hungry. He hated thefood because it reminded him of howwonderful Celia’s cooking had been.

Days passed. Rosa never spoke tohim. A shutter seemed to have comedown over her face. She neither metMatt’s eyes nor responded when heasked her questions. Her silence madehim frantic. He talked feverishly whenshe arrived, but he might have been a

stuffed bear for all the notice she took ofhim.

Meanwhile the smell in the roombecame appalling. Rosa cleaned thecorner every day, but the stench clung tothe cement. Matt got used to it. Rosadidn’t, and one day she exploded inanother fit of rage.

“Isn’t it enough that I have to wait onyou?” she cried as he cowered next tothe window. “I’d rather clean out ahenhouse! At least they’re useful! Whatgood are you?”

Then an idea seemed to occur to her.She halted in midrant and looked at Mattin such a calculating way, he felt coldright down to his toes. What was sheplanning now?

Back came the sullen gardeners. Theybuilt a low barrier across the door. Mattwatched with interest. The barrier wasas high as his waist—not tall enough tokeep him in, but high enough to slow himdown if he tried to escape. Rosa stood inthe hallway, watching and criticizing.The gardeners said a few words Matthad never heard before, and Rosa turneddark with rage. But she didn’t reply.

After the barrier was finished, Rosalifted Matt outside and held him tightly.He looked around eagerly. The hallwaywas gray and empty, hardly moreinteresting than the room, but at least itwas different.

Then something happened that madeMatt’s mouth fall open with surprise.

The gardeners trundled down the hallwith wheelbarrows piled high withsawdust. They dumped them, one afterthe other, into his room. Back and forththey went until the floor was full ofsawdust heaped as high as the barrier inthe doorway.

Rosa suddenly swung him up by hisarms and tossed him inside. He landedwith a whump and sat up coughing.

“That’s what dirty beasts get to livein,” she said, and slammed the door.

Matt was so startled that he didn’tknow what to think. The whole roomwas full of the gray-brown powder. Itwas soft. He could sleep on it like a bed.He waded through the sawdust trying tofigure out why it had suddenly appeared

in his world. At least it was somethingdifferent.

Matt tunneled. He heaped the shavingsinto hills. He threw it into the air towatch it patter down in a plume of dust.He amused himself this way for a longtime, but gradually Matt ran out of thingsto do with sawdust.

Rosa brought him food at sundown.She spoke not a single word. He ateslowly, watching the tiny yellow lightthat belonged to the Virgin and listeningfor far-off noises from the rest of thehouse.“What in God’s green earth have youdone?” cried the doctor when he sawMatt’s new environment.

“It’s deep litter,” said Rosa.

“Are you crazy?”“What do you care?”“Of course I care, Rosa,” the doctor

said, trying to take her hand. She threwhim off. “And I have to care about thehealth of this clone. Good God, do youknow what would happen if he died?”

“You’re only worried about whatwould happen to you. But don’t losesleep over it, Willum. I grew up on apoultry farm, and deep litter is by far thebest way to keep chickens healthy. Youlet the hens run around in it, and theirfilth settles to the bottom. It saves theirfeet from getting infected.”

Willum laughed out loud. “You’re avery strange woman, Rosa, but I have toadmit the beast’s in good condition. You

know, I remember it talking when itlived in Celia’s house. Now it doesn’tsay a thing.”

“It’s a sullen, evil-tempered animal,”she said.

The doctor sighed. “Clones go thatway in the end. I did think this one wasbrighter than most.”

Matt said nothing, hunched as he wasin a corner as far from the pair as hecould get. Long days of solitude inCelia’s house had taught him how to bequiet, and any attention from Willum orRosa could result in pain.

The days passed with agonizingslowness, followed by nights of misery.Matt could see little from the barredwindow. The pink flowers withered.

The strip of sky was blue by day andblack at night. He dreamed of the littlehouse, of Celia, of a meadow sointensely green, it made him cry when hewoke up.

And gradually it came to him thatCelia had forgotten him, that she wasnever going to rescue him from thisprison. The idea was so painful, Mattthrust it from his mind. He refused tothink about her, or when he did, hequickly thought of something else todrive her image from his mind. After awhile he forgot what she looked like,except in dreams.

But Matt still fought against thedullness that threatened to overwhelmhim. He hid caches of food under the

sawdust, not to eat later, but to attractbugs. The window wasn’t glassed, andso all sorts of small creatures couldcome in through the bars.

First he attracted wasps to a chunk ofapple. Then he lured a glorious, buzzingfly to a piece of spoiled meat. It sat onthe meat, just as though it had beeninvited to dinner, and rubbed its hairypaws as it gloated over the meal.Afterward Matt discovered a writhingmass of worms living in the meat, and hewatched them grow and eventually turninto buzzing flies themselves. He foundthis extremely interesting.

Then, of course, there were thecockroaches. Small, brown onesstruggled through the sawdust; and big,

leathery bombers zoomed through the airand made Rosa scream.

“You’re a monster!” she cried. “Itwouldn’t surprise me if you ate them!”

Oh, yes, there were all kinds ofentertainment in bugs.

One magical day a dove pushed itsway through the bars and rummagedthrough the sawdust. Matt sat perfectlystill, entranced by the bird’s beauty.When it flew away, it left a single pearlgray feather behind, which Matt hid fromRosa. He assumed that anything beautifulwould be destroyed by her.

He sang to himself—inside whereRosa couldn’t hear—one of Celia’sl ul l a b i e s : Buenos días palomablanca.Hoy te vengo a saludar. Good

morning white dove. Today I come togreet thee. Celia said it was a song tothe Virgin. It occurred to Matt that thisdove had come from the Virgin and thatthe feather meant She would watch overhim here as She had done in the littlehouse.

One day he heard footsteps outside.He looked up to see a strange, new faceon the other side of the bars. It was aboy somewhat older than himself, withbristly red hair and freckles.

“You’re ugly,” said the boy. “Youlook like a pig in a sty.”

Matt wanted to reply, but the habit ofsilence had grown too strong. He couldonly glare at the intruder. In the hazybackground of his mind, he recalled a

boy named Tom, who was bad.“Do something,” said Tom. “Root

around. Scratch your piggy behind on thewall. I have to have something to tellMaría.”

Matt flinched. He remembered acheerful little girl with black hair, whoworried about him and was punished forbringing him food. So she had returned.And she hadn’t come to see him.

“That got you, didn’t it? Wait’ll I tellyour girlfriend how cute you are now.You smell like a pile of dung.”

Matt felt idly beneath the sawdust forsomething he’d been feeding to bugs. Itwas an entire orange. At first it had beengreen, but time had turned it blue andvery soft. Worms filled the inside,

diverting Matt with their wiggly bodies.He curled his fingers around the orange.It held its shape—barely.

“I forgot. You’re too dumb to talk.You’re a stupid clone who wets hispants and barfs all over his feet. Maybeif I spoke your language, you’dunderstand.” Tom put his face against thebars and grunted. At the same instantMatt flung the orange. His accuracy wasexcellent because he had spent daysaiming fruit at targets.

The rotten orange burst apart all overTom’s face. He jumped back, screaming,“It’s moving, it’s moving!” Pulp drippedoff his chin. Wiggly worms dropped intohis collar. “I’ll get you for this!” heshrieked as he ran away.

Matt felt deeply peaceful. The roommight look like a featureless desert toRosa, but to him, it was a kingdom ofhidden delights. Underneath the sawdust—and he knew exactly where—werecaches of nutshells, seeds, bones, fruit,and gristle. The gristle was particularlyvaluable. You could stretch it, bend it,hold it up to the light, and even suck on itif it wasn’t too old. The bones were hisdolls. He could make them haveadventures and talk to them.

Matt closed his eyes. He would liketo lock up Rosa and the doctor. Hewould feed them wormy oranges andsour milk. They would beg him to letthem go, but he wouldn’t, not ever.

He fished up the dove feather and

contemplated its silky colors. Thefeather usually made him feel safe, butnow it made him uneasy. Celia said theVirgin loved all kind and gentle things.She wouldn’t approve of throwing arotten orange in Tom’s face, even if hedeserved it. If She looked inside Matt,She would see the bad thoughts aboutRosa and the doctor and be sad.

Matt found he was sad too. I wouldn’treally hurt them, he thought so theVirgin could see that and smile. Still, hecouldn’t help feeling the warm sensationof pleasure at having zinged Tom.But as Celia had once told him, a smartperson doesn’t spit into the wind. If youthrow a rotten orange into someone’sface, you can bet the orange will sooner

or later come flying back. In less than anhour Tom returned with a peashooter.Matt was clad only in a pair of shorts, sothe peas landed on his bare skin. At firsthe tried to dodge them, but there wasnowhere to run in the narrow little room.Matt settled in a corner with his headcradled in his arms to protect his face.

He instinctively understood that if herefused to react, Tom would loseinterest. It still took a long time. The boyoutside seemed to have an endlesssupply of peas, but eventually he calledMatt a few bad names and went away.

Matt waited a long time to be sure. Hecould be very patient. He thought ofPedro el Conejo, who explored SeñorMacGregor’s garden and lost all his

clothes. Matt too had lost all his clothes,except for the shorts. Rosa said hewould only ruin them.

Finally he looked up and saw hiskingdom was in disarray. Runningaround had destroyed the marks that toldMatt what lay below. Sighing, heworked his way through the sawdust. Hefelt underneath to find his treasures. Hecombed the surface smooth with hisfingers and renewed the lines andhollows that told him where everythingwas. It was very much like Celia movingthe furniture out to vacuum the rugs andthen moving it back again.

When he was finished, Matt sat in hiscorner and waited for Rosa to bring hisdinner. But something shocking and

unbelievable happened first.“¡Mijo! ¡Mi hijo!” cried Celia from

the window. “My child! My child! Ididn’t know you were here. Oh, God!They told me you were with El Patrón. Ididn’t know.” She was holding María upto the window in the crook of her arm.

“He looks different,” observed María.“They starved him, the animals! And

took his clothes! Come here, darling. Iwant to touch you.” Celia jammed herbig hand through the bars. “Let me seeyou, mi vida. I can’t believe what’shappened.”

But Matt could only stare. He wantedto go. He had dreamed of nothing else,but now that the moment had actuallycome, he couldn’t move. It was too good

to be true. If he gave in and ran to Celia,something bad would happen. Celiawould turn into Rosa, and María wouldturn into Tom. The disappointmentwould break him into pieces.

“Hey, eejit, I went to a lot of troubleto come here,” María said.

“Are you too weak to stand?” Celiacried suddenly. “Oh, my God! Have theybroken your legs? At least saysomething. They haven’t torn out yourtongue?” She began to wail like LaLlorona. She stretched her hand throughthe bars. Her misery tore at Matt, andstill he couldn’t move or speak.

“You’re squeezing me,” complainedMaría, so Celia put her down. The littlegirl managed to stand tall enough to peer

through the window. “My dog, Furball,was like that when the dogcatcher gothim. I cried and cried until Dada broughthim back. Furball wouldn’t eat or lookat me for a whole day, but he got over it.I’m sure Matt will too.”

“Out of the mouths of babies comeswisdom,” said Celia.

“I’m not a baby!”“Of course not, darling. You only

reminded me that the most importantthing is to get Matt free,” Celia said,smoothing María’s hair. “We can worryabout the other stuff later. If I give you aletter, can you keep it a secret fromeveryone? Especially Tom?”

“Sure,” said María.“I hate to do it,” Celia said, half to

herself, “I hate like crazy to do it, butthere’s only one person who can saveMatt. María, you must take the letter toyour dada. He’ll know where to send it.”

“Okay,” said María cheerfully. “Hey,Matt. Celia’s going to put chiles inTom’s hot chocolate tonight, only youmustn’t tell anyone.”

“And you mustn’t either,” said Celia.“Okay.”“Don’t you worry,” the woman called

to Matt. “I’ve got more tricks up mysleeve than old man coyote has fleas. I’llget you out of there, my love!”

Matt was frankly relieved to see themgo. They were an unwelcome intrusionin the orderly world he had created. Hecould forget them now and get back to

the contemplation of his kingdom. Thesurface of the sawdust was combedsmooth, the treasures hidden beneathmarks that only he, the king, understood.A bee wandered in, found nothing, andleft. A spider mended its web high upnear the ceiling. Matt took out the dovefeather and lost himself in its silkyperfection.

6

EL PATRÓN

Get up! Get up!” shouted Rosa. Matthad been sleeping in a hollow formed byhis body. As he slept, he sank down untilthe sawdust almost covered him. Thesudden awakening made him gasp. Thesawdust went up his nose, and hedoubled over, coughing and retching.

“Get up! Oh, you’re impossible! I’vegot to wash you, dress you, and whoknows what else. You’re nothing buttrouble!” Rosa yanked him up by the hairand dragged him out of the room.

Matt was hurried down dingyhallways and past doorways that openedinto rooms both cramped and gloomy. Amaid scrubbed the floor with a bigbrush. She looked up with hopeless eyesas Rosa rushed him past.

Rosa pushed him into a steamybathroom. A tub stained with rust wasalready full of water. The womanshucked Matt out of his shorts before heknew what was happening and dumpedhim inside.

It was the first bath he’d had sincebeing locked up. Matt felt like a thirstysponge soaking up water until he was sofull that he could hardly move. Thewarmth soothed his skin, which hadbecome itchy and sore. “Sit up! I haven’t

got all day,” growled Rosa, setting towork with a brush almost as big as theone in the hallway.

She scoured him until he was pink,dried him with a big, fluffy towel, andtried to get a comb through his tangledhair. In a fury because it wouldn’t comeright, she grabbed a pair of scissors andcut it all off. “They want tidy, they’ll gettidy,” she muttered. She stuffed Matt intoa long-sleeved shirt and trousers andgave him a pair of rubber sandals towear.

Very soon he was being hurriedacross a courtyard to another part of thehouse. His legs ached with the effort ofwalking. Halfway across the courtyardhis feet tangled in the unfamiliar sandals

and he stumbled against Rosa.She took the opportunity to lecture

him. “The doctor will be there,” shesaid. “And so will important members ofthe family. They’ll want to make sureyou’re healthy. If they ask questions,don’t answer. Above all, don’t sayanything about me.” She brought her facedown close to his. “You’ll be all alonewith me in that little room,” shewhispered. “I swear I’ll kill you andbury you under the floor if you maketrouble.”

Matt had no trouble believing her. Heforced his trembling legs to follow herto a part of the house as different fromhis old prison as the sun was from acandle. The walls were painted cream

and rose and pale green. It was so brightand cheerful, it raised his spirits in spiteof Rosa’s dire threats. The floorgleamed with polish that made Matt feellike he was walking on water.

Windows looked out on gardens withfountains. They splashed and glittered inthe sun. A magnificent bird with a longgreen tail stepped delicately across awalk. Matt wanted to stop, but Rosashoved him on, all the while cursingbeneath her breath.

Finally they came to a large roomwith a marvelous carpet woven withbirds and vines. Matt wanted to kneeldown and touch them. “Stand up,” hissedRosa. He saw windows framed by bluecurtains that went from floor to ceiling.

A small table set with a teapot, cups,and a silver plate of cookies sat next to aflowered armchair. Matt’s mouthwatered at the memory of cookies.

“Come closer, boy,” said an old, oldvoice.

Rosa gasped. Her hand dropped fromMatt’s shoulder. “El Patrón,” shewhispered.

Matt saw that what he’d taken for anempty armchair actually contained aman. He was extremely thin, withshoulder-length white hair neatlycombed beside a face so seamed andwrinkled, it hardly seemed real. He waswearing a dressing gown, and his kneeswere covered by a blanket. It was theblanket that had fooled Matt into thinking

the old man was part of the chair.“It’s all right,” said Celia from behind

him. Matt whirled to see her in thedoorway. His heart lurched with relief.Celia brushed past Rosa and took hishand. “He’s had a bad time, mi patrón.For six months they’ve kept him like awild animal.”

“You lie!” snarled Rosa.“I’ve seen it with my own eyes. María

Mendoza told me.”“She’s a baby! Who can believe a

baby?”“I can,” said Celia quietly. “She

hadn’t been to the house for six months.When she arrived, she asked to see Matt,and Tom boasted that he’d shot himdead. She flew straight to me.”

“Shot him? Is he hurt?” said the oldman.

“He was already hurt.” Celiadescribed the injuries caused by thebroken glass.

“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”demanded El Patrón. His voice wasn’tloud, but there was a quality to it thatmade Matt shiver even though he—foronce—wasn’t the one in trouble.

“It was the doctor’s place to do it,”Rosa cried.

“It was everyone’s place to do it,”said the old man in the same cold way.“Take off your shirt, boy.”

Matt didn’t dream of disobeying. Heunbuttoned the shirt rapidly and droppedit to the floor.

“¡Diós mio! My God!”“Those bruises must be from Tom’s

peashooter,” said Celia, sounding readyto cry. “See how thin he is, mi patrón?And he’s got some kind of rash. Hewasn’t like that in my house, sir.”

“Call the doctor!”Instantly—he must have been waiting

outside the door—Willum entered andbegan examining Matt. He shook hishead as though he were genuinelysurprised by the boy’s condition. “He’ssuffering from mild malnutrition,” thedoctor said. “He has sores in his mouth.His skin condition, I would say, comesfrom a combination of dirt and anallergic reaction to chicken litter.”

“Chicken litter?” said the old man.

“I understand he was kept in a roomfull of sawdust to cut down onhousekeeping.”

“You knew about it, Willum,” criedRosa. “You didn’t tell me it waswrong.”

“I knew nothing about it until today,”said the doctor.

“You’re lying! Tell them, Willum!You thought it was funny. You said thebeast—the boy—was in goodcondition!”

“She’s suffering from delusions,” thedoctor told El Patrón. “It’s a shame suchan unstable individual was allowed tohave a position of responsibility.”

Rosa flew at the doctor and raked hisface with her nails before he was able to

grasp her wrists. She kicked andscreamed, driving Willum back with theforce of her rage. She actually bared herteeth like a wild animal, and Mattwatched with interest to see whether shewould manage to sink them into theman’s neck. Everything seemed unreal tohim—the sudden appearance of Celia,the old man, the furious battle betweenhis two enemies. It was like watchingTV.

But before Rosa could do any seriousharm, a pair of burly men rushed throughthe door and dragged her away.

“Willum! Willum!” she wailed. Hervoice grew fainter as she was carriedoff. Matt heard a door slam and then heheard nothing.

He became aware that Celia washugging him. He felt her body tremble asshe held him close. The doctor moppedhis face with a handkerchief. He wasbleeding from a dozen scratches. OnlyEl Patrón appeared tranquil. He hadsettled back in the armchair, and his palelips were drawn up in a smile. “Well.That’s the most excitement I’ve had inmonths,” he said.

“I apologize, mi patrón,” saidWillum shakily. “This must have been aterrible shock to you. I’ll check yourblood pressure at once.”

“Oh, stop fussing,” El Patrón said,waving him off. “My life is far too quietthese days. This … was mostentertaining.” He turned his attention to

Matt. “So they kept you on litter like abarnyard fowl. Tell me, boy, did youlearn to cackle?”

Matt smiled. He liked El Patróninstinctively. There was something soright about the way the old man looked.His eyes were a good color. Matt didn’tknow why it was good, only that it was.El Patrón’s face seemed oddly familiar,and his hands—thin and blue-veined—had a shape that appealed to Matt insome deep way.

“Come here, boy.”Without the slightest hesitation, Matt

walked up to the chair and let the oldman stroke his face with a paper-dryhand. “So young …,” El Patrónmurmured.

“You can speak now, mi vida ,” saidCelia, but Matt wasn’t ready to go thatfar.

“Mi vida. I like that,” the old mansaid with a chuckle. “I like it so much, infact, it’s what I’ll call him. Can he talk?”

“I think he’s in shock. In my house hechattered away like a tree full of birds.And he can read both English andSpanish. He’s very intelligent, mi patrón.”

“Of course. He’s my clone. Tell me,Mi Vida, do you like cookies?”

Matt nodded.“Then you shall have them. Celia, put

his shirt back on and find him a chair.We have much to talk about.”

The next hour passed like a dream.

Both the doctor and Celia were sentaway. The old man and the boy satacross from each other and dined notonly on cookies, but on creamedchicken, mashed potatoes, andapplesauce as well. A maid broughtthem from the kitchen. El Patrón saidthese foods were his favorites, and Mattdecided they were his favorites too.

El Patrón had said they had much totalk about, but in fact, only he did anytalking. He rambled on about his youth inAztlán. It was called Mexico when hewas a boy, he said. He came from aplace called Durango. “People fromDurango are called alacránes —scorpions—because there are so manyof them scurrying around. When I made

my first million, I took that as my name:Matteo Alacrán. It’s your name too.”

Matt smiled, well pleased that heshared something with El Patrón.

As the old man talked, Matt picturedin his mind the dusty cornfields andpurple mountains of Durango. He sawthe stream that roared with water twomonths of the year and was dry as a bonethe rest of the time. El Patrón swam withhis brothers, but, alas, they died ofvarious things before they had a chanceto grow up. El Patrón’s sisters werecarried off by typhoid when they wereso small, they couldn’t look over thewindowsill—no, not even if they stoodon tiptoe.

Matt thought of María and worried.

Those little girls weren’t as old as shewhen they were carried off by thetyphoid. He wondered if that monsterresembled the chupacabras. Of all thosechildren, only one lived: MatteoAlacrán. He was skinny as a coyote,with not even two pesos to rub together,but he was filled with a burning desireto survive.

At last the voice fell silent. Mattlooked up to see that El Patrón hadfallen asleep in his chair. Matt wasexhausted too. He was so full of food, hehad been half asleep for some time. Thesame men who had taken Rosa nowentered, gently lifted El Patrón into awheelchair, and rolled him away.

Matt worried about what would

happen to him now. Would Rosa comeback and throw him into the sawdust?Would she make good on her promise tobury him alive?

But it was Celia who triumphantlybore him away. She took him to her newapartment in the Big House. Herpossessions had been moved from theold place, so Matt wasn’t toodisappointed about not returning home.The Virgin sat, as She always had, on atable by his bed. She had gained a newwreath of plastic roses about her robeand a white lace tablecloth beneath herfrom Celia, in gratitude for restoringMatt to safety.

All in all, he was pleased with thechange, although he missed the doves

cooing on the roof and the wind blowingthrough the poppies.“Listen up, eejit,” commanded María.“I’m supposed to make you talk.” Mattshrugged. He had no interest in talking,and besides, María did enough for bothof them. “I know you can do it. Celiasays you’re in shock, but I think you’rejust lazy.”

Matt yawned and scratched hisarmpit.

“El Patrón is going away today.”Now María had Matt’s interest. He

was dismayed that the old man wasleaving. He hadn’t seen him since theday he was rescued. Celia said theexcitement had been too much forsomeone who was 140 years old. El

Patrón had to stay in bed until he feltwell enough to travel to his other housein the Chiricahua Mountains.

“We have to say good-bye to him.Everyone’s coming, and you’d bettertalk or you’ll be in big trouble.” Maríasqueezed Matt’s mouth as though shecould force the words out. He snappedat her. The little girl scrambled away.“You said you didn’t bite!” shescreamed. She grabbed a pillow and hithim several times before collapsing onthe bed.

“Bad clone!” said María, hugging thepillow to her chest.

Matt considered the idea. Being aclone was bad no matter what you did,so why bother being good at all? He

reached over and patted her hand.“Oh, why won’t you talk?” stormed

María. “It’s been over a week. It tookFurball only one day to forgive me afterthe dogcatcher got him.”

Matt wasn’t trying to upset her. Hecouldn’t talk. When he tried to make thewords, he was overcome with terror. Tospeak was to open a door into hiscarefully built fortress, and anythingmight rush inside.

“Matt was locked up a lot longer thanyour dog,” said Celia as she entered theroom. She knelt down and strokedMatt’s face. “Furball was gone only twodays. Matt was trapped for six months. Ittakes time to recover.”

“Is that how it works?” the little girl

asked. “The longer you’re sick, thelonger it takes to get better?”

Celia nodded. She kept strokingMatt’s face, his hair, his arms. It was asthough she were trying to bring feelingback into his body.

“Then I guess,” María said, slowly,“it’s going to take years for El Patrón toget well.”

“Don’t talk about that!” cried Celia sosharply that María hugged the pillow andstared goggle-eyed at the woman. “Don’tsay anything about El Patrón! Shoo! Idon’t have time to entertain you.” Celiaflapped her apron at the girl, who fledwithout another word.

Matt felt sorry for María. Hepurposely made his body go stiff to make

it hard for Celia to dress him, but Celiadidn’t get angry. She hugged him andsang him her favorite lullaby: “Buenosdías paloma blanca. Hoy te vengo asaludar.” Matt shivered. It was the songto the Virgin, who loved all gentle thingsand who had watched over him inprison. Then he knew it was wrong to bemean to Celia and let himself go limpagain.

“That’s my good boy,” murmured thewoman. “You’re a good boy and I loveyou.”

Matt suffered a moment of panic whenshe tried to lead him outside. He feltsafe in his old bed, with the stuffedanimals and the tattered copy of Pedroel Conejo. He kept the blinds closed,

even though the windows looked outonto a beautiful walled garden. Hedidn’t want anything new in his life, nomatter how beautiful.

“It’s all right. I won’t let anyone hurtyou,” said Celia, lifting him in her arms.

Matt had not seen the front of the BigHouse yet. He was enchanted by themarble-walled entranceway and statuesof fat babies with stubby wings. In thecenter was a dark pond covered withwater lilies. Matt clutched Celia whenhe saw a large fish rise casually from thedepths to look at him with a round,yellow eye.

They passed between fluted, whitepillars to a porch with wide stairsleading down to a driveway. Everyone

was lined up on the porch, servants toone side and family on the other. He sawSteven, Emilia, and María standing atattention. When María tried to sit down,Emilia yanked her up again. Matt sawTom holding María’s hand and felt analmost uncontrollable surge of anger.How dare he be friends with her! Howdare she be friends with him. If Matt hadanother wormy orange, he’d hurl itagain, no matter what.

El Patrón sat in a wheelchair with ablanket over his legs. The burly menMatt had seen before guarded him.Willum stood nearby, dressed in a graysuit too warm for the day. His face wasshiny with sweat. Of Rosa, there was nosign.

“Come here, Mi Vida,” said ElPatrón. The old man’s voice was clearlyaudible over the sounds of birds andfountains. It had a quality thatcommanded attention in spite of itsweakness. Celia put Matt down.

Matt walked to the wheelchaireagerly. He liked everything about ElPatrón—his voice, the shape of his face,and his eyes, which were the color of thedark pond with the fish lurking in itsdepths.

“Show him to the family, Willum,” theold man said.

The doctor’s hand was damp. Mattfelt a revulsion to him, but he allowedhimself to be led around the porch. Hewas introduced to Mr. Alacrán, the

fierce man who had thrown Matt out thatfirst night and who was Benito’s,Stevens, and Tom’s father. Benito, itwas explained, was away at college andMatt would meet him another day. Mr.Alacrán looked at Matt with undisguisedloathing.

Felicia, Mr. Alacrán’s wife, was afrail woman with long, nervous fingers.She had been a great concert pianist, thedoctor said, until illness forced her toretire. Felicia flashed Willum a quicksmile that disappeared when she lookedat Matt. With her was Mr. Alacránfather, an old man with white hair whoseemed unsure of why he was on theporch.

Then Matt met—again—Steven,

Emilia, María, and Tom. Tom gave Matta scowl, which Matt returned. No one,except María, seemed pleased to meethim, but they all pretended to befriendly.

It’s because they’re afraid of ElPatrón, Matt realized. He didn’t knowwhy, but it was very good that theywere.

“Has el gato — the cat—still got yourtongue?” inquired the old man whenMatt was at last brought back to thewheelchair. Matt nodded. “Celia willhave to work on that. Listen, all of you,”El Patrón said in a slightly louder voice.“This is my clone. He’s the mostimportant person in my life. If youthought it was any of you sorry,

misbegotten swine, think again.” The oldman chuckled softly.

“Matt is to be treated with respect,just as though I were here in his place.He is to be educated, well fed, andentertained. He is not to be mistreated.”El Patrón looked directly at Tom, whoflushed red. “Anyone—anyone— whoharms Matt will be dealt with severely.Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, mi patrón ,” murmured severalvoices.

“And to be absolutely sure, I’mleaving one of my bodyguards behind.Which of you louts volunteers for theduty?”

The bodyguards shuffled their feet andlooked down.

“Overcome with shyness, I see,” ElPatrón said. “I picked up this lot inScotland, breaking heads outside asoccer field. Always choose yourbodyguards from another country, Matt.They find it harder to make alliances andbetray you. Well, Matt, you make thechoice. Which of these shrinking violetsdo you want for a playmate?”

Appalled, Matt looked at the men.Anyone less playful could hardly beimagined. They were thick-necked andbrutal, with flattened noses and scarswandering across their arms and faces.They both had curling, brown hair thatgrew low upon their foreheads, ruddyfaces, and bright blue eyes.

“That one’s Daft Donald—he likes to

juggle bowling balls. Tam Lin is the onewith the interesting ears.”

Matt shifted his gaze from one to theother. Daft Donald was younger and lessbattered. He seemed a safer person tohave around. Tarn Lin’s ears appearedchewed, they were so misshapen. Butwhen Matt looked into Tarn Lin’s eyes,he was surprised to see a glint offriendliness.

Friendliness was so rare in Matt’slife, he instantly pointed to the man.

“Good decision,” whispered ElPatrón. With the introductions disposedof, energy seemed to desert him. He sankback in the wheelchair and closed hiseyes. “Good-bye, MiVida … until nexttime,” he murmured.

The Alacráns crowded around andassured El Patrón of their fond regards.He ignored them. Then Daft Donaldlifted him, chair and all, and carried himdown the stairs to a waiting limousine.Everyone followed, calling out theirgood wishes. When the car drove off, thefamily members hurried away. Theservants parted around Matt as though hewere a rock in a stream and vanishedinto the house.

He was ignored. Not mistreated, justignored. Only María had to be draggedoff, complaining loudly.

Celia waited patiently for the crowdto clear. And Tarn Lin.

“Well, laddie, let’s see what you’remade of,” said Tam Lin, scooping up

Matt in one beefy arm and slinging himover his shoulder.

7

TEACHER

Matt avoided leaving the safe haven ofCelia’s apartment for as long aspossible. But gradually, Celia and Maríalured him into the walled garden and,from there, to other parts of the BigHouse.

Matt didn’t like these excursions. Theservants drew away from him as thoughhe were something unclean, and Stevenand Emilia turned the other way if theysaw him coming. And there was alwaysthe danger of running into Tom.

Tom insisted on playing with María.He made her cry, but she always forgavehim. He followed her to Celia’sapartment in spite of—or perhapsbecause of—Matt’s hostility. He seemedto like being where he wasn’t wanted.

“It’s nice here,” Tom said, picking upMatt’s treasured teddy bear. “Catch,María.” He swung the bear viciously byone of its ragged ears and smacked herin the face. The ear tore off. He tossed itto the floor.

“Ow!” she squealed. Matt scrambledfor the ear, but Tom put his foot on it.Matt flew at him, and soon they wereboth down on the floor, kicking andpunching. María ran to get Tam Lin.

The bodyguard watched impassively

for a moment, then reached down andpulled the boys apart. “You were told toleave Matt alone, Master Tom,” he said.

“He hit me first!” shouted Tom.“He did,” María said, “but Tom

teased him.”“You’re a liar!” yelled Tom.“I am not!”Matt said nothing. He wanted to throw

Tom to the ground. He even wanted tokick Tam Lin. He tried to shout insults,but the words wouldn’t come out. Theystayed inside, getting bigger and biggeruntil he was sick to his stomach.

“You’re right,” Tom said suddenly. “Idid tease Matt. I’m really sorry aboutit.” Matt was amazed. Tom seemed tochange right before his eyes. The angry

red faded from Tom’s cheeks. His eyesbecame clear and guileless. It was hardto believe it was the same boy who hadbeen kicking and screaming only aminute ago.

Matt wished desperately that he couldget over things that fast. Whenever hewas hurt or angry or sad, the feelingsstuck their claws into him until theywere ready to let go. Sometimes it tookhours.

Tam Lin studied Tom’s earnest facefor a moment and then loosened his gripon the boy’s shirt. “Fair enough,” hesaid. He turned Matt free, too. Mattimmediately took both Tom’s andMarías hands and dragged them to thedoor. He felt swollen with all the words

he wanted to shout at them.“You want us to go?” cried María.

“After we made up and all?”Matt nodded.“Well, I think you’re a pig! And I’m

not going to be mean to Tom justbecause you don’t like him. Besides,everyone thinks you’re awful.” Maríaslammed the door behind her.

Matt sat on the floor with tearspouring down his face. He madesnuffling noises like a pig and hatedhimself for doing it, but he couldn’t stop.Celia would have comforted him ifshe’d been there. Tam Lin only shruggedand went back to his sports newspaper.Later, when Matt had recovered, hesearched for the bear’s ear, but it was

gone.Tom was a master of the near miss.

He punched the air near Matt’s head,practicing—he said—karate exercises.He whispered insults too low for anyoneelse to hear. “You’re a clone,” hemurmured. “Know what that is? A kindof puke. You were puked up by a cow.”

Around important people, Tom wascourteous. He asked how they were andlistened politely to the answers. Hebrought drinks to his mother and openeddoors for his grandfather. He wasthoughtful and yet—

There was something a little off abouteverything Tom did. He brought hismother drinks, but the glass didn’talways seem clean. He opened the door

for his grandfather, but he let it swingshut on the old man’s heel. It wasn’tquite enough to make him fall and itcould have been an accident. Everyonetrusted Tom because he had such anopen, innocent face, and yet—“He’s anunnatural little weevil,” growled TamLin. Matt was relieved to find that thebodyguard didn’t like Tom either.

Tam Lin.Matt spent the first weeks tiptoeing

around him. The man was so large anddangerous looking. It was like having atame grizzly bear in your house. Tam Linplanted himself in Celia’s easy chair andwatched silently as María and Celiatried to tempt Matt to read or do a puzzleor eat. Matt enjoyed these activities, but

it pleased him to be coaxed. He couldmake María almost scream withfrustration. Celia would only stroke hishair and sigh. The bodyguard seemed tobe reading, but his eyes flicked up andback again as he took in the scene beforehim.

Matt thought he looked irritated,although it was hard to tell. Tam Lin’snormal expression wasn’t very pleasant.

The doctor visited often because of acough Matt had developed. At first itdidn’t seem important, but one night hewoke with his throat full of liquid. Hecouldn’t get any air. He stumbled toCelia’s room and doubled up on thefloor. Celia screamed for Tam Lin.

Bursting through the door, the

bodyguard upended Matt and gave him awhack on the back. Matt spat out a massof thick slime. Tam Lin matter-of-factlyran his finger around the inside of Matt’smouth to clear it out. “Done that withlambs on me da’s farm,” he said,handing the boy back to Celia.

When Willum came later, Tam Linwatched everything the doctor did. Thebodyguard said nothing, but his presencemade Willum’s hands slick with sweat.Matt didn’t know why the doctor was soafraid of Tam Lin, but it pleased himdeeply that it was so.

After that, all Matt had to do wascough and Celia or María would fallinto a satisfying panic. Sometimes Mattreally did have trouble breathing, but

sometimes he only wanted to reassurehimself that someone cared for him.“I have to go to school, you eejit,” saidMaría. “The holidays are over.” Mattstared out the window, punishing her forabandoning him. “I don’t live here, youknow. Sometime, maybe, they’ll let youvisit my house—you’d love it. I have adog and a tortoise and a parakeet. Theparakeet talks, but it doesn’t meananything.”

Matt shifted his position to make hisrejection more obvious. If María didn’tnotice she was being snubbed, the wholething was pointless.

“I think you can talk if you want to,”she went on. “Everyone says you’re toostupid, but I don’t believe it. Please,

Matt,” she wheedled. “Say you’ll missme. Or hug me. I’ll understand that.Furball howls when I leave home.”

Matt turned his back on her.“You’re so mean! I’d take you to

school, but they don’t allow clones.Anyhow, the other kids …” María’svoice trailed off. Matt could guess. Theother kids would run away like Stevenand Emilia. “I’ll be back on weekends.And you’ll have a teacher here.” She putout her hand tentatively. Matt shoved heraway. “Oh, dear,” she said with a catchin her voice. She cried too easily, Mattthought.

He felt a breeze as the door opened.How could she betray him by goingaway? She was probably visiting Tom

now, asking him to go to school with herbecause she liked him better, theunnatural little weevil.

“You could’ve been nicer,” remarkedTam Lin. Matt continued staring out thewindow. What business was it of TamLin to worry about María? He wasMatt’s bodyguard, not hers.

“Oh, you can understand me,” the mansaid. “I’ve been watching you, with yoursharp little eyes. You take in everythingeveryone says. You’re like the old man.I don’t know much about this clonebusiness—I was twelve the last time Idarkened a schoolroom door—but Iknow you’re a copy of him. It’s like theold vulture was being given a secondchance.”

Matt’s eyes opened wide at Tam Lin’schoice of words. No one ever criticizedEl Patrón.

“I’ll tell you this: El Patrón has hisgood side and his bad side. Very darkindeed is his majesty when he wants tobe. When he was young, he made achoice, like a tree does when it decidesto grow one way or the other. He grewlarge and green until he shadowed overthe whole forest, but most of hisbranches are twisted.”

Tam Lin settled into Celia’s chair;Matt could hear the springs groan withhis weight.

“I’m probably talking over your head,laddie. What I mean to say is this: Whenyou’re small, you can choose which way

to grow. If you’re kind and decent, yougrow into a kind and decent man. Ifyou’re like El Patrón … Just think aboutit.” The bodyguard left the room. Mattheard him outside in the walled garden.

Tam Lin had energy to spare, and hedidn’t nearly use it up guarding Celia’sapartment. He kept a rack of weights bythe wall. Matt heard him grunt as helifted them.

Matt didn’t understand much of whatTam Lin had said. He’d never thoughtabout growing up. Matt knew—theoretically—it was going to happen,but he couldn’t imagine being biggerthan he was now. The idea that if youwere mean, you might stay mean foreverhad never occurred to him.

Celia said if you scowled all the time,your face would freeze that way. You’dnever be able to smile, and if you lookedinto a mirror, it would fly into athousand pieces. She also said if youswallowed watermelon seeds, they’dgrow out your ears.María was gone, along with Emilia.Soon Steven and Tom left for boardingschool, and Matt found himself the onlychild in the Big House. If he was a child,that is. Tom said clones weren’t thesame as children. They weren’t evenclose.

Matt looked at the mirror in Celia’sbathroom. He couldn’t see muchdifference between himself and Tom, butperhaps he was different inside. The

doctor once told Rosa that clones wentto pieces when they got older. What didthat mean? Did they actually fall apart?

Matt hugged himself. His arms andlegs might drop off his body. His headwould roll around by itself, like in thatmonster movie he’d been watchingbefore Celia ran in and turned off theTV. The idea filled him with terror.

“Time for school, laddie,” called TamLin.

Still hugging himself, Matt emergedfrom the bathroom. A strange womanstood in the living room. She wassmiling at him, but the smile didn’t lookright to Matt. It stopped at the edge ofher mouth, as though there were a wallkeeping it from getting any farther. “Hi!

I’m your new teacher,” said the woman.“You can call me Teacher, ha-ha. Thatmakes it easy to remember.” The laughwas weird too.

Matt edged into the room. Tam Linblocked the door leading to the rest ofthe house.

“Learning is fun!” said Teacher. “I’llbet you’re a smart boy. I’ll bet you learnall your lessons fast and make yourmommy proud of you.”

Matt exchanged a startled look withTam Lin.

“The lad’s an orphan,” Tam Lin said.Teacher paused as though she didn’t

quite understand.“He doesn’t talk,” the bodyguard

explained. “That’s why I have to answer

for him. He can read a bit, though.”“Reading is fun!” Teacher said in a

hearty voice.She took out paper, pencils, crayons,

and a coloring book from a canvas bag.Matt spent the morning copying lettersand coloring in pictures. Every time hefinished a lesson, Teacher cried, “Verygood!” and printed a smiley face on hispaper. After a while Matt wanted toleave the table, and Teacher firmly sathim back down again.

“No, no, no,” she cooed. “You won’tget a gold star if you do that.”

“He needs a break,” growled TamLin. “So do I,” he said under his breathas he ferried Matt to the kitchen for aglass of milk and cookies. He brought

Teacher coffee and watched intentlywhile she drank it. He seemed aspuzzled by the woman as Matt was.

The rest of the day was spent countingthings—beads, apples, and flowers.Matt was bored because he seemed to bedoing the same thing over and over. Healready knew how to count, even thoughhe had to do it silently and write downthe correct number instead of saying it.

Finally, in the late afternoon, Teachersaid that Matt had been very good and hewas going to make his mommy veryproud.

Tam Lin presented a report of Matt’sstudies over dinner, when Celiareturned. “You’re my clever boy,” shesaid fondly, giving Matt an extra slice of

apple pie. She gave Tam Lin an entirepie for himself.

“Aye, the lad’s that,” the bodyguardagreed, his jaws full of food. “Butthere’s something uncommonly strangeabout the teacher. She says the samething over and over.”

“That’s how you teach little kids,”said Celia.

“Perhaps,” said Tam Lin. “I’m notwhat you’d call an expert on education.”

The next day went exactly like thefirst. If Matt thought he’d been boredbefore, it was nothing compared towriting the same letters, coloring thesame pictures, and counting the samewretched beads and flowers all overagain. But he worked hard to make Celia

proud of him. Days three, four, and fivepassed in exactly the same way.

Tam Lin went outside and juggledweights. He dug a vegetable bed forCelia in the walled garden. Matt wishedhe could escape that easily.

“Who can tell me how many apples Ihave here?” warbled Teacher on daysix. “I’ll bet it’s my good boy!”

Matt suddenly snapped. “I’m not agood boy!” he screamed. “I’m a badclone! And I hate counting and I hateyou!” He grabbed Teacher’s carefullyarranged apples and hurled them everywhich way. He threw the crayons on thefloor, and when she tried to pick themup, he shoved her as hard as he could.Then he sat on the floor and burst into

tears.“Someone isn’t going to get a smiley

face on his paper,” Teacher said with agasp, leaning against a wall. She startedto whimper like a frightened animal.

Tam Lin thundered through the doorand gathered Teacher up in a bear hug.“Don’t cry,” he said into her hair.“You’ve done very well. You’ve fixedsomething the rest of us hadn’t a cluehow to mend.” Gradually, Teacher’sbreathing slowed and the whimperingstopped.

Matt was so startled, he stoppedcrying. He realized somethingmomentous had just happened.

“I can talk,” he murmured.“You get two gold stars by your name

today, lassie,” Tam Lin said intoTeacher’s hair. “You poor, sad creature.I didn’t know what I was looking at untilnow.” He gently urged the woman out ofthe apartment, and Matt heard himtalking to her all the way down the hall.

“My name is Matteo Alacrán,” Mattsaid, testing his newly regained voice.“I’m a good boy.” He felt dizzy withhappiness. Celia was going to be soproud of him now! He would read andcolor and count until he became the beststudent in the whole world, and then thechildren would like him and theywouldn’t run away.

Tam Lin interrupted Matt’s ecstaticthoughts. “I hope that wasn’t a one-shotdeal,” he said. “I mean, you really can

talk?”“I can, I can, I can!” Matt sang.“Wonderful. I was going bonkers with

counting beads. The poor thing—it wasall she knew how to do.”

“She was an eejit,” announced Matt,using María’s worst insult.

“You don’t even know what the wordmeans,” Tam Lin said. “Tell you what,laddie. We’ve got something tocelebrate. Let’s go on a picnic.”

“A picnic?” echoed Matt, trying toremember the meaning of the word.

“I’ll explain it to you on the way,”said Tam Lin.

8

THE EEJIT IN THE DRYFIELD

Matt was wildly excited. Not onlywere they going on a picnic, but theywould travel by horseback. Matt hadseen horses from the windows of thelittle house. And of course he’d seenthem on TV. Cowboys and big, toughbandidos rode them. His favorite herowas El Látigo Negro, the Black Whip.El Látigo Negro was on TV everySaturday. He wore a black mask and

rescued poor people from evilcapitalists. His favorite weapon was along whip with which he could peel anapple while it was still on the tree.

Matt was more than a littledisappointed when Tam Lin brought outa sleepy gray horse instead of thespirited steed El Látigo Negro rode. “Bereasonable, lad,” said the bodyguard,tightening the girths on the saddle.“We’re after reliability, not speed. ElPatrón wouldn’t take it at all well if youwere dumped on your head.”

Once Matt was perched on the saddlein front of Tam Lin, he forgot all abouthis disappointment. He was riding! Hewas high in the air, swaying along withthe smell of horse all around him. He felt

the coarse hair of the mane and pressedhis ankles against the warm coat of theanimal.

After all those months without talking,Matt couldn’t wait to catch up. Hechattered about everything he saw—theblue sky, the birds, the flies buzzingaround the horse’s ears.

Tam Lin didn’t stop him. He gruntedoccasionally to show he was listeningand directed the horse along a dirt path.They plodded through the poppy fieldsand gradually moved away from the BigHouse toward the gray-brown hills thatlay on the horizon.

The first fields they encountered werecovered with a mist of new leaves.These were the seedlings. Matt had

watched the growing cycle from thewindow of the little house, and he knewwhat to expect. The older plants werelarger and rounder—like small cabbages—and the leaves were tinged with blue.As they rode, the plants became largeruntil they were as high as the belly of thehorse. Buds opened into crinkled petalsin a glory of white under the hot sun. Afaint perfume hung in the air.

They came to fields where the petalshad fallen. These lay in drifts all overthe ground while the seedpods they leftbehind stuck up like green thumbs. Thepods had swelled until they were thesize of hen’s eggs and ready for harvest.

Matt saw the first Farm laborers.He’d observed them before, but Celia

had warned him to hide from strangers,so he hadn’t watched them closely. Nowhe saw that both men and women woretan uniforms and wide, straw hats. Theywalked slowly, bending down with tinyknives to slash the pods. “Why are theydoing that?” Matt asked.

“To release the opium,” replied TamLin. “The sap oozes out and hardensovernight. In the morning the workersscrape it off. They can collect from thesame plant four or five times.”

On and on the horse plodded. Thefields shimmered with heat, and a sweetodor with something rotten at its corefilled the air. The workers bent andslashed, bent and slashed in a hypnoticrhythm. They didn’t speak. They didn’t

even wipe the sweat off their faces.“Don’t they get tired?” Matt asked.“Oh, aye. They do,” said Tam Lin.At last the horse came to a deserted

field. The plants were beginning to dry.A hot breeze rattled the leaves. “Look!There’s a man lying on the ground,”cried Matt.

Tam Lin halted the horse and gotdown. “Stay,” he ordered the animal.Matt clung tightly to the mane. He didn’tfeel at all safe so far off the ground. TamLin strode over to the man, bent down,and felt his neck. He shook his head andreturned.

“Can’t we—can’t we help him?”faltered Matt.

“It’s too late for that poor soul,”

grunted the bodyguard.“What about the doctor?”“I told you it’s too late! You want to

get your ears cleaned!” Tam Lin hoistedhimself back into the saddle and orderedthe horse to go on. Matt looked back,tears stinging his eyes. The man wasquickly hidden by the poppy plants.

Why was it too late? Matt wondered.The man must be terribly hot, lying as hewas in the full sun. Why couldn’t theystop and give him water? Matt knew theyhad water. He could hear it sloshing inTam Lin’s backpack.

“We could go back—” Matt beganagain.

“Damn it!” roared the bodyguard. Hehalted the horse and sat for a moment,

breathing hard. Matt looked at theground and wondered whether he had thenerve to jump off if Tam Lin really losthis temper.

“I forget. Kids your age don’t knowanything,” said Tam Lin at last. “Theman is dead. Heat or lack of water killedhim. The cleanup crews at the end of theday will find him.”

The horse moved on. Matt had evenmore questions now, but he was toounsure of Tam Lin’s temper to ask them.Why hadn’t the man gone home when hegot sick? Why hadn’t the other workershelped him? Why was he being left outthere like apiece of trash?

All the while, they were riding alonga range of hills that bordered the fields.

Now they turned off into a dry streambedthat led into the hills. Tam Lin got downand led the horse under a cliff, where itwould have shade. Nearby was a troughand a pump, which he workedvigorously to bring up the water. Thehorse was sweating. Its eyes watched thetrough, but it didn’t move.

“Drink,” said Tam Lin. The horsetrotted forward and dipped its muzzle. Itblew noisy bubbles as it drankravenously. “We’ll walk the rest of theway.”

“Can’t we take the horse?” said Matt,looking doubtfully at the streambedsnaking into the hills.

“It wouldn’t obey. It’s programmed tostay on the Farm.”

“I don’t understand.”“It’s a Safe Horse, which means it has

an implant in its head. It won’t bolt orjump. It won’t even drink unless you tellit to.”

Matt digested that idea for a moment.“Not even if it’s very thirsty?” he said atlast.

“It was thirsty just now,” said TamLin. “If I hadn’t told it to drink, it wouldhave stood in front of the trough until itdied. Stay,” he told the horse.

Shouldering a backpack, he started upthe dry stream. Matt scrambled afterhim. At first the way wasn’t difficult, butsoon it was blocked by boulders theyhad to climb. Matt wasn’t used toexercise, and he quickly found himself

out of breath. He didn’t stop, though,because he was afraid Tam Lin wouldleave him behind. Finally the bodyguardheard him gasping and turned back. Hehunted through the backpack. “Here.Drink some water. Have a bite of beefjerky too. The salt’ll do you good.”

Matt devoured the beef jerky. It tastedwonderful.

“Not much farther, laddie. You’redoing very well for a hothouse plant.”

They came to a giant boulder thatseemed to block the trail until Matt sawa round hole in the middle. It was wornsmooth like the hole in a donut. Tam Linclimbed through and reached back tohelp Matt.

The scene on the other side was

completely unexpected. Creosote bushesand paloverde trees framed a small,narrow valley, and in the center of thiswas a pool of water. At the far end Mattsaw an enormous grapevine sprawledover a manmade trellis. In the wateritself, Matt saw shoals of little brownfish that darted away from his shadow.

“This is what you call an oasis,” saidTam Lin, throwing down his pack andtaking out food for the picnic. “Not bad,eh?”

“Not bad!” agreed Matt, accepting asandwich.

“I found this place years ago when Ifirst started working for El Patrón. TheAlacráns don’t know about it. If theydid, they’d run a pipe in here and take

out all the water. I hope I can count onyou to keep the secret.”

Matt nodded, his mouth full ofsandwich.

“Don’t tell María either. She can’thelp blabbing.”

“Okay,” said Matt, proud that Tam Linconsidered him responsible enough tokeep a secret.

“I brought you here for two reasons,”said the bodyguard. “One, because it’snice. And two, because I want to tell youa few things without being spied on.”

Matt looked up, surprised.“You never know who’s listening to

you in that house. You’re too young tounderstand much, and I wouldn’t sayanything if you were a real boy.” Tam

Lin tossed bread crumbs into the pool.The little fish rose to the surface to feed.“But you’re a clone,” he went on. “Youhaven’t got anyone to explain things toyou. You’re alone in a way real humanscan’t understand. Even orphans can lookat pictures and say, ‘That’s me ma andthat’s me da.’”

“Am I a machine?” Matt blurted out.“Machine? Oh, no.”“Then how was I made?”Tam Lin laughed. “If you were a real

boy, I’d tell you to ask your big brotherthat tricky little question. Well, lad, thebest way to describe it is this: A long,long time ago some doctors took a pieceof skin from El Patrón. They froze it so itwould keep. Then, about eight years ago,

they took a bit of that skin and grew itinto a whole new El Patrón. Only theyhad to start at the beginning with a baby.That was you.”

“That was me?” asked Matt.“It was.”“So I’m just a piece of skin?”“Now I’ve gone and upset you,” said

Tam Lin. “The skin was what you mightcall a photograph. All the informationwas there to grow a real copy—skin,hair, bones, and brain—of a real man.You’re exactly like El Patrón when hewas seven years old.”

Matt looked down at his toes. That’sall he was: a photograph.

“They put that piece of skin into aspecial kind of cow. You grew inside,

and when the time came, you were born.Only, of course, you didn’t have a fatheror a mother.”

“Tom said I was puked up by a cow,”said Matt.

“Tom is a filthy little pustule,” saidTarn Lin. “And so is the rest ofthatfamily. If you quote me, I’ll deny it.” Hebrought out a bag of trail mix and passedit to Matt. “To continue: Being a clone,you’re different and a lot of people areafraid of you.”

“They hate me,” Matt said simply.“Aye. Some do.” Tam Lin stood up

and stretched his big muscles. He pacedback and forth on the sand where theywere having their picnic. He hated to sitstill for long. “But some love you. I’m

speaking of María and, of course,Celia.”

“And El Patrón.”“Ah, well. El Patrón’s a special case.

To be honest, the number of people wholove you is small and the number whohate you is large. They can’t get aroundthe fact that you’re a clone. It makes ithard to send you to school.”

“I know.” Matt thought bitterly ofMaría. If she really loved him, she’dtake him with her and not care abouthow the other kids felt.

“El Patrón insists that you be educatedand live, as nearly as possible, a normallife. The problem is, no private teacherwants to teach a clone. And so theAlacráns got an eejit.”

Matt was startled. He’d heard theword so often—mostly from María—he’d thought it was only a swear word,like dum-dum or cootie face.

“An eejit is a person or animal withan implant in its head,” said Tam Lin.

“Like the horse?” said Matt as aterrible thought occurred to him.

“Correct. Eejits can do only simplethings. They pick fruit or sweep floorsor, as you’ve seen, harvest opium.”

“The Farm workers are eejits!” criedMatt.

“That’s why they work without restinguntil the foreman orders them to stop andwhy they don’t drink water unlesssomeone tells them to.”

Matt’s thoughts were whirling. If the

horse could stand there and die in frontof a trough of water, then the man—

“The man,” he said aloud.“You’re bright as a button, lad,” said

Tam Lin. “The man we saw on theground probably lagged behind the otherworkers and didn’t hear the foreman tellthem to stop. He might have worked allnight, getting thirstier and thirstier—”

“Stop!” shrilled Matt. He covered hisears. This was horrible! He didn’t wantto know any more.

Tam Lin was at his side at once.“That’s enough lessons for one day.We’re on a picnic and we haven’t hadany fun yet. Come on. I’ll show you abeehive and a coyote den. Everythinglives around water in the desert.”

They spent the rest of the dayexploring the burrows, the crevices, thehidden lairs of the secret valley. TamLin might not have gone to school for toolong, but he knew a great deal aboutnature. He taught Matt to sit still andwait for things to come to him. He toldhim how to tell the mood of a beehive byits hum. He pointed out droppings andtracks and bone fragments.

Finally, as shadows began to fill upthe oasis, Tam Lin helped Matt climbthrough the hole in the rock and return tothe horse. It was waiting exactly wherethey’d left it. Tam Lin ordered it to takeanother drink before they set off.

The fields were empty, and the longshadows of hills flowed across the land.

Where they ended, the late-afternoon sunmade the poppies glow with a goldenlight. They passed the dry field wherethe man’s body had lain, but it was gone.

“Teacher was an eejit,” said Matt,breaking the silence.

“She was one of the brighter ones,”said Tam Lin. “Even so, she could doonly one lesson over and over.”

“Will she come back?”“No.” The bodyguard sighed. “They’ll

put her to work mending curtains orpeeling potatoes. Let’s talk aboutsomething more cheerful.”

“Could you teach me?” asked Matt.Tam Lin let out a bellow of genuine

laughter. “I could if you wanted to learnhow to break desks with karate chops. I

reckon you’ll do your schooling off theTV. I’ll be around to hang you out thewindow by your ankles if you don’tstudy.”

9

THE SECRET PASSAGE

On the surface Matt’s life settled into apleasant rhythm. He studied via distancelearning over the TV, Tam Lin sent offthe homework, it came back withexcellent grades, and Celia praised Mattlavishly. María praised him too whenshe visited. It didn’t hurt either that Tomhad lousy grades and managed to stay inboarding school only because Mr.Alacrán sent the headmaster a largedonation.

But underneath Matt felt a hollowness.

He understood he was only a photographof a human, and that meant he wasn’treally important. Photographs could lieforgotten in drawers for years. Theycould be thrown away.

At least once a week Matt dreamed ofthe dead man in the field. The man’seyes were open and staring up at the sun.He was terribly, horribly thirsty. Mattcould see how dusty his mouth was, butthere was no water anywhere, only thedry, rattling poppies. It got so bad thatMatt demanded a pitcher of water by hisbed. If only he could take that pitcherinto his dreams. If only he could dreamit there and pour water into the man’sdusty lips, but he couldn’t. And when hewoke up, he drank glass after glass to get

rid of the dry, dead feel of the poppyfields. Then, of course, he had to go tothe bathroom.

On such occasions Matt would tiptoepast Celia’s bedroom. He could hear hersnores and, across the hall, Tam Lin’sthunderous reply. This should have madehim feel safe. But Matt never knew, justbefore he opened the bathroom door,whether the dead man might be lying onthe other side, staring up at the big lightin the middle of the ceiling.

María started bringing Furball on hervisits. He was a shrill, rat-sized dog thatforgot his house training when he gotexcited. Tarn Lin often threatened tosuck him—and the mess he deposited—up the vacuum cleaner. “He’d fit,” he

growled over María’s horrified protests.“Trust me, he’d fit.”

What Matt hated about the creaturewas everyone’s assumption that he andFurball were the same. It didn’t matterthat Matt had excellent grades and goodmanners. They were both animals andthus unimportant.

During Easter vacation Tom saidgood manners were no harder to learnthan rolling over or playing dead. Mattthrew himself at him, and María ranshrieking for Tam Lin. Tom was sent tohis room without dinner. Matt wasn’tpunished at all.

Which was okay with Matt, exceptthat Furball wasn’t punished for hiscrimes either. He couldn’t understand

the difference between right and wrong.He was a dumb beast and so, apparently,was Matt.

When María wasn’t visiting, Mattamused himself by exploring the house.He pretended he was El Látigo Negroscouting out an enemy fortress. He had ablack cape and a long, thin leather beltfor a whip. He skulked behind curtainsand furniture, and he hid if he saw one ofthe Alacráns in the distance.

Felicia—Benito’s, Stevens, andTom’s mother—played the piano in theafternoons. Her crashing chords echoedfrom the music room. She attacked thepiano with a fervor completely differentfrom her usual, sluggish self, and Mattliked to hide behind the potted plants to

listen.Her fingers flew from one end of the

keyboard to the other. Her eyes wereclosed and her mouth was pulled back ina grimace that wasn’t pain, butsomething close to it. The music waswonderful, though.

After a while Felicia would run out ofenergy. Trembling and pale, she wouldhunch over the keys, and this was thesignal for a servant to bring her a brownliquid in a beautiful, cut-glass bottle.The servant would mix a drink—Mattloved the clink of ice—and place it inFelicia’s hand.

She would drink until the tremblingstopped. Then she would wilt over thepiano like one of Celia’s spinaches

when Tam Lin forgot to water thegarden. Maids had to carry her away toher apartment.

One day Felicia didn’t come at herusual time, and Matt hovered behind thepotted plants as he worked up hiscourage to approach the piano. If shecaught him, he knew he’d be banishedfrom the room forever. His fingerstingled with the desire to play. It lookedso easy. He could even hear the music inhis head.

Matt crept out of his hiding place. Hereached out to touch the keys—and heardFelicia’s listless voice in the hallway.She was telling a servant to bring her adrink. Matt panicked. He darted into acloset behind the piano and shut the door

an instant before Felicia came into theroom. She immediately started playing.Matt sneezed from all the dust in thecloset, but Felicia was making too muchnoise to hear him. Matt felt around untilhe found a light switch.

It was a disappointing place. Sheetmusic was stacked against the walls. Aheap of folding chairs filled up onecorner. And it was so covered with dustand spiderwebs that Matt sneezed again.He rolled up a sheet of music and begansweeping off the inner wall, more forsomething to do than from any realcuriosity.

On the inner wall, under a knot ofwebs that would have made Draculahappy, Matt found another light switch.

He flipped it on.He recoiled against a heap of music

when part of the wall slid open andthrew up a cloud of dust that made himchoke. He reached for the asthma inhalerCelia insisted he carry at all times.When the dust had settled, Matt saw anarrow, dark hallway.

He peered around the corner. Anempty passage stretched both to the leftand to the right. By now Felicia hadstopped playing the piano. Matt heldvery still, listening for the clink of ice inglass. After a while he heard the maidscarry Felicia away.

Matt flipped the switch once more andsaw, to his great relief, that the wallclosed up again. He slipped out of the

closet, leaving dusty footprints acrossthe carpet, and was scolded by Celiawhen she saw the state of his clothes andhair.

This was even better than an episodeof El Látigo Negro, Matt thought,hugging the secret to himself. This was aplace that belonged to him alone. Noteven Tam Lin could find him if hewanted to hide.

Slowly and carefully over the nextfew weeks, Matt explored his newdomain. It seemed to snake between theinner and outer walls of the house. Hefound peepholes in the wall but saw onlyempty rooms with chairs and tablesbeyond. Once he saw a servant dustingfurniture.

A few of the peepholes looked intodark closets like the one in the musicroom. Matt didn’t understand until oneday, while feeling his way along thepassage, his hand struck against anotherswitch.

He flicked it on.A panel slid open just like the one in

the music room. Matt’s heart beatwildly. He could walk right into thecloset! It was full of musty clothes andold shoes, but if he pushed them aside,he could get to the door on the otherside. He heard voices. The doctor andMr. Alacrán were pleading with a thirdperson whose replies were muffled. Thedoctor spoke harshly, bringing badmemories back to Matt. “Do it!” Willum

snarled. “You know you have to do it!”“Please, Father,” said Mr. Alacrán,

gentler than Matt had ever heard him be.“No, no, no,” moaned Mr. Alacrán’s

father.“You’ll die without chemotherapy,”

his son begged.“God wants me to come.”“But I want you here,” Mr. Alacrán

pleaded.“This is a place of shadows and

evil!” The old man was clearlybecoming irrational.

“At least get a new liver,” Willumsaid in his harsh voice.

“Leave me alone,” wailed the oldman.

Matt retreated to the passageway and

closed the opening. He didn’t understandwhat the men were arguing about, but heknew what would happen if someonecaught him listening. He’d be locked up.He might even be given back to Rosa.

Matt made his way to the music room,and for a long time he didn’t venture intothe secret passage. He did, however,keep listening to Felicia’s music. It wassomething that had gotten inside him, andno matter how dangerous it was, hecouldn’t go long without hearing it.

One afternoon Matt was alarmed tosee the doctor arrive with Felicias drinkinstead of a servant. “Oh, Willum,” shemoaned as he mixed in the ice. “Hedoesn’t talk to me anymore. He looksright through me as though I weren’t

there.”“It’s all right,” soothed the doctor.

“I’m here. I’ll take care of you.” Heopened his black bag and took out asyringe. Matt held his breath. The doctorhad given him a shot when he was sickand he’d hated it! Matt watched,fascinated, as Felicia’s arm wasswabbed and the needle jammed in. Whydidn’t she cry out? Couldn’t she feel it?

Willum sat next to her and draped hisarm around her shoulders. He murmuredthings Matt couldn’t hear. It must havepleased Felicia, because she smiled andrested her head against the doctor’schest. After a while he guided her fromthe music room.

At once Matt was out of his hiding

place. He sniffed the glass and sampledthe contents. Ugh! It tasted like rottenfruit. He spat it out at once. He listenedcarefully for footsteps outside in the halland sat down at the piano. He carefullypressed a key.

The note rang softly in the musicroom. Matt was entranced. He triedother keys. They were all beautiful. Hewas so enchanted, he almost didn’t hearthe servant coming down the hall, butfortunately, he woke up soon enough toscuttle behind the potted plants.

After that day Matt studied thecomings and goings of the servants, towork out when it was safe to visit themusic room. Felicia never used it in themorning. In fact, she didn’t get up until

the afternoon and was active for only anhour or so then.

Matt discovered he could re-createthe songs Celia sang to him, using onefinger. Felicia used all ten, but he hadn’tfigured out how to do that yet. Even so,the ability to create music filled himwith a joy too large to contain. He forgotwhere he was. He forgot he was a clone.The music made up for everything—thesilent contempt of the servants, Steven’sand Emilia’s snubs, Tom’s hatred.

“So this is where you get to,” saidTam Lin. Matt swung around, almosttumbling off the bench. “Don’t stop.You’ve got a real talent there. Funny, Inever thought of El Patrón as beingmusical.”

Matt’s heart was beating wildly. Washe going to be barred from the room?

“If you’re musical, he must be,” saidthe bodyguard. “But I guess he never hadtime to study. Where he lived, theychopped up pianos for firewood.”

“Can you play?” asked Matt.“You must be joking. Look at these.”Matt saw stubby fingers sprouting

from large, awkward hands. Some of thefingers were crooked, as though they’dbeen broken and healed again. “Youcould use one finger,” he suggested.

Tam Lin laughed. “Music has to be inthe head first, laddie. The good Lordpassed me by when He was handing outtalent. You’ve got it, though, and it’d bea shame not to use it. I’ll talk to El

Patrón about finding you a teacher.”This proved difficult. No human

wanted to teach a clone and no eejit wassmart enough. Finally Tam Lin found aman who had gone deaf and wasdesperate for work. It seemed odd toMatt that someone who couldn’t hearcould teach music, but so it was. Mr.Ortega felt it through his hands. Heplaced them on the piano as Mattpracticed and caught every mistake.

It wasn’t long before Matt addedmusical ability to his growing list ofaccomplishments. He could read tenyears beyond his level, do math that leftTam Lin bewildered—and irritated—and speak both English and Spanishfluently. In addition, his art grew better

by the day. He threw himself intostudying everything that came beforehim. Matt could name the planets, thebrightest stars, and all the constellations.He memorized the names of countries,their capitals and chief exports.

He was in a rage to learn. He wouldexcel, and then everyone would love himand forget he was a clone.

10

A CAT WITH NINELIVES

You’re like a wild animal,”complained María as she stood in thedoorway of Matt’s room. “You hide inhere like a bear in a cave.”

Matt looked indifferently at thecurtained windows. He liked the safe,comfortable darkness. “I am an animal,”he replied. Once those words wouldhave pained him, but he accepted hisstatus now.

“I think you just like to wallow,” saidMaría, striding in to open the curtainsand windows. Outside lay Celia’sgarden filled with stands of corn,tomatoes, beans, peas. “Anyhow, it’s ElPatrón’s birthday, and that means you’dbetter take that snarl off your face.”

Matt sighed. He could unnerve almosteveryone by growling at them, but notMaría. She only laughed. Of course, henever dreamed of growling at El Patronon those rare occasions when the oldman visited. To do so would have beenunthinkable. Each time, El Patrón lookedmore frail and his mind seemed less inorder.

It broke Matt’s heart to look at him.He loved El Patrón. He owed everything

to him.Matt could hardly remember those

terrible days three years before, when hewas kept in a pen with roaches forfriends and old chicken bones for toys.But he knew he’d still be there—orburied under the floor by Rosa—if theold man hadn’t rescued him.

“El Patrón’s one hundred and forty-three today,” said Matt.

María shivered. “I can’t imaginebeing that old!”

“Celia said if they put that manycandles on the cake, it would melt thepaint off the walls.”

“He was kind of strange last time hewas here,” said María.

That’s one way to put it , thought

Matt. El Patrón had become so forgetful,he repeated the same sentence over andover again. “Am I dead yet?” he asked.“Am I dead yet?” And he held his handbefore his face, studying each finger asthough to reassure himself that he wasstill there.

“Are you ready?” cried Celia, rushinginto the room. She made Matt turn andadjusted the collar of his shirt.“Remember, you’re sitting next to ElPatrón tonight. Pay attention and answerall his questions.”

“What if he’s … weird?” said Matt.He remembered answering the question“Am I dead yet?” over and over the lasttime the old man visited.

Celia stopped fussing with the shirt

and knelt before him. “Listen to me,darling. If anything bad happens tonight,I want you to come straight to me. Cometo the pantry behind the kitchen.”

“What do you mean, bad?”“I can’t say.” Celia looked furtively

around the room. “Just promise meyou’ll remember.”

Matt thought it was hard to promisesomething like that—nobody planned toforget—but he nodded.

“Oh, mi hijo, I do love you!” Celiaflung her arms around him and burst intotears. Matt was both startled anddismayed. What could have upset her somuch? He saw María out of the corner ofhis eye. She was making a face thatindicated how totally soppy she found

this display. That was María’s favoriteword recently: soppy. She’d picked it upfrom Tam Lin.

“I promise,” Matt said.Celia sat back abruptly and wiped her

eyes with her apron. “I’m a fool. Whatgood would it do if you understood? Itwould only make things worse.” Sheseemed to be talking to herself, and Mattwatched her anxiously. Then she stoodup and smoothed the wrinkles in herapron. “Run along, chicos, and have funat the party. I’ll be in the kitchen servingup the best dinner you ever saw. Youlook wonderful, both of you, like youstepped out of a movie.” The old,confident Celia was back, and Matt wasrelieved.

“I have to get Furball from my room,”said María after they left.

“Oh, no! You can’t take him todinner.”

“I can if I want. I’ll hide him on mylap.”

Matt sighed. There was no pointarguing with her. María took Furballeverywhere. Tam Lin complained that itwasn’t a dog, but a hairy tumor growingout of her arm. He offered to take her toa doctor and have it removed.

Tom was in María’s room, andFurball was nowhere to be seen.

“You didn’t let him out?” cried Maríaas she looked under the bed.

“I never even saw him,” said Tom,glaring at Matt. Matt glared back. Tom’s

bristly red hair was slicked down, andhis fingernails were neat, whitecrescents. Tom was always perfectlygroomed for these occasions, and itearned him many admiring commentsfrom the women who came to ElPatrón’s birthday parties.

“He’s lost!” wailed María. “He getsso scared when he’s lost. Oh, pleasehelp me find him!”

Reluctantly, Tom and Matt left offtheir glaring contest and began lookingunder pillows, behind curtains, indresser drawers. María whimperedsoftly as the hunt dragged on without anyresults.

“He’s probably running around thehouse having a great time,” said Matt.

“He hates being outside,” said María,weeping. Matt could believe that. Thedog was such a loser that he ran fromsparrows, but he probably was outsidehiding in any of a thousand places.They’d never find him before dinner.Then something odd struck him.

Tom.Tom was searching, but he didn’t

seem to be really looking. It was hard todescribe. Tom was going through themotions, but all the while his eyes werewatching María. Matt stopped what hewas doing and listened.

“I hear something!” he cried. Hedashed into the bathroom, lifted the toiletlid, and there was Furball, sowaterlogged and exhausted, he’d been

able to utter only the faintest whine. Mattpulled the dog out and dropped himhastily on the floor. He grabbed a toweland wrapped up Furball. The dog wasso tired, he didn’t even try to bite. Helay perfectly limp as María snatched himup.

“How did he get in there? Who put thetop down? Oh, darling, sweet, sweetFurball”—she cuddled the revoltingcreature next to her face—“you’re okaynow. You’re my good dog. You’re myhoneybunch.”

“He’s always drinking out of thetoilet,” Tom said. “He must have fallenin and pulled the lid down on top of him.I’ll call a maid to give him a bath.”

He went out but not before Matt saw a

flash of real anger on his face. Tom hadwanted something and hadn’t got it. Mattwas sure Tom had dumped Furball in thetoilet, although he’d never shown dislikefor the dog before. That was like Tom,though. He could be courteous andhelpful on the surface, but you neverknew what was going on underneath.

Matt felt cold. Furball would havedrowned if he hadn’t found him. Howcould anybody be that cruel? And whywould anyone want to hurt María, whowas so tenderhearted, she rescued blackwidow spiders? Matt knew no onewould believe him if he accused Tom.He was only a clone and his opiniondidn’t matter.

Or it didn’t matter most of the time ,

Matt thought as a delightful planoccurred to him.Most of the time the servants ignoredMatt and the Alacráns looked past himas though he were a bug on a window.Mr. Ortega, the music teacher, rarelysaid anything to him except, “No! No!No!” when Matt struck a wrong note.Mr. Ortega didn’t say “No! No! No!”very often now. Matt was an excellentpiano player and thought it wouldn’thave hurt the man to say “Good!” nowand then. But he never did. When Mattplayed well, an expression of joycrossed Mr. Ortega’s face that was asgood as a compliment, though. And whenMatt played really, really well, he wastoo enraptured to care what the music

teacher thought.Everything changed during the annual

birthday party. It was really El Patron’sparty, but it had developed into acelebration for Matt as well. At leastCelia, Tam Lin, María, and El Patróncelebrated for him. Everyone else justgritted their teeth and got through theday.

It was the one time when Matt couldask for anything he wanted. He couldforce the Alacráns to pay attention tohim. He could make Steven and Tom—yes, Tom!—be polite to him in front oftheir friends. No one dared to make ElPatrón angry, and therefore no one daredto ignore Matt.

Tables were set for the party in one of

the vast gardens surrounding the BigHouse. The lawn was flawlesslysmooth, with the grass all of the sameheight. It was cared for by eejits whotrimmed the ground with scissors justbefore the event. It would be trampledinto oblivion by tomorrow, but now itglowed like a green jewel in the softafternoon light.

The tables were covered withspotless, white cloths. The dishes weretrimmed with gold, the silver cutlerywas freshly polished, and a crystalgoblet sat by each plate.

In a corner, under a bougainvilleaarbor, sat an enormous stack of presents.Everyone brought gifts to El Patrón,although there was nothing he didn’t

already own and not much he couldenjoy at the age of 143. There were evena few presents for Matt—small, lovingtributes from Celia and María,something useful from Tarn Lin, and alarge, expensive gift from El Patrón.

The guests wandered around,choosing delicacies brought to them ontrays by the maids. Waiters offereddrinks of every description and broughtwater pipes for those who wished tosmoke. There were senators and famousactors, generals and world-renowneddoctors, a few ex-presidents, and half adozen dictators from places Matt hadheard about on TV. There was even afaded-looking princess. And of coursethere were the other Farmers. The

Farmers were the real aristocrats here.They ruled the drug empire that formedthe border between the United States andAztlán.

The Farmers stood in a knot around aman Matt hadn’t seen before. He hadbristly red hair, a soft, doughy face, anddeep circles under his eyes. He lookedunwell, but in spite of that, he was in agood mood. He harangued the others in abraying voice and punctuated hisstatements by poking them in the chestwith a finger. By that alone Matt knewhe must be a Farmer. No one else woulddare to be so rude.

“That’s Mr. MacGregor,” said María.She had come up behind Matt with afluff-dried Furball draped over her arm.

“Who?” For an instant Matt was backin the little house in the poppy fields. Hewas six years old, and he, was reading atattered book about Pedro el Conejo,who got trapped in Señor MacGregor’sgarden. Señor MacGregor had wanted toput Pedro into a pie.

“He has a Farm near San Diego,” saidMaría. “Personally, I think he’s creepy.”

Matt studied the man more closely. Hedidn’t look like Señor MacGregor in thebook, but there was definitely somethingunpleasant about him.

“They’re signaling everyone to go intothe salon,” said María. She hitchedFurball into a more comfortableposition. “You better not howl,” she toldthe dog, “no matter how awful the

company is.”“Thanks a lot,” said Matt.The salon stood at the top of marble

steps leading up from the garden. Theparty guests drifted toward it, dutifullyobeying the summons to greet El Patrón.Matt braced himself for a shock. Eachtime he saw El Patrón, the old man haddeteriorated more.

The guests arranged themselves in asemicircle. All around the edge of thesalon were giant vases of flowers andthe marble statues so dear to El Patrón’sheart. The conversation died down. Thesounds of birds and fountains becameclearer. A peacock shrieked from anearby garden. Matt waited tensely forthe hum of El Patrón’s motorized

wheelchair.Then, amazingly, the curtains at the far

end of the salon parted and El Patrónwalked in. He moved slowly, to be sure,but he was actually walking. Matt wasdelighted. Behind the old man came DaftDonald and Tam Lin, both pushingwheelchairs.

A gasp echoed around the salon.Someone—the princess, Matt thought—cried, “Hip hip hooray!” Then everyonecheered and Matt cheered too, filledwith relief and joy.

Someone behind Matt muttered, “Theold vampire. So he managed to crawlout of the coffin again.” Matt turnedquickly to see who it was, but hecouldn’t tell which of the party-goers

was guilty.When El Patrón reached the middle of

the salon, he signaled for Tam Lin tobring up his wheelchair. He sank down,and Tam Lin stuffed pillows around him.Much to Matt’s surprise, Mr.MacGregor came forward and sat in theother wheelchair.

So they are friends, Matt thought.Why hadn’t he seen Mr. MacGregorbefore?

“Welcome,” said El Patrón. His voicewasn’t loud, but it commanded instantattention. “Welcome to my one-hundred-and-forty-third birthday party. All of youare my friends and allies—or familymembers.” The old man laughed softly.“I imagine they hoped to see me in my

grave by now, but no such luck. I’ve hadthe benefit of a marvelous new treatmentfrom the finest doctors in the world, andnow my good friend MacGregor is goingto be treated by these same people.”

Mr. MacGregor grinned and held upEl Patrón’s arm as a referee would holdup a victorious boxer’s arm. What wasthere about the man that was sorepulsive? Matt felt his stomach knot,and yet he had no reason to dislike him.

“Come forth, you miracle workers,”said El Patrón. Two men and twowomen separated themselves from thecrowd. They approached thewheelchairs and bowed. “I’m sure you’dbe satisfied with only my heartfeltthanks”—El Patrón chuckled as the

doctors tried to hide theirdisappointment—“but you’ll be evenmore satisfied with these one-million-dollar checks.” The doctors immediatelycheered up, although one of the womenhad the grace to blush. Everyoneapplauded, and the doctors thanked ElPatrón.

Tam Lin caught Matt’s eye andnodded to him. Matt stepped forward.

“Mi Vida,” said El Patrón with realwarmth. He beckoned with his gnarledhand. “Come closer and let me look atyou. Was I ever that handsome? I musthave been.” The old man sighed and fellsilent. Tam Lin indicated that Matt wasto stand next to the wheelchairs.

“I was a poor boy from a poor

village,” El Patrón began, addressing theassembled presidents, dictators,generals, and other famous people. “Oneyear during Cinco de Mayo, the rancherowho owned our land had a parade. I andmy five brothers went to watch. Mamábrought my little sisters. She carriedone, and the other held on to her skirtand followed behind.”

Matt saw the dusty cornfields andpurple mountains of Durango. He sawthe streams that roared with water twomonths of the year and were dry as abone the rest of the time. He had heardthe story from El Patrón so often, heknew it by heart.

“During the parade the mayor rode ona fine white horse and threw money into

the crowd. How we scrambled for thecoins! How we rolled in the dirt likepigs! But we needed the money. Wewere so poor, we didn’t have two pesosto rub together. Afterward the rancherogave a great feast. We could eat all wewanted, and it was a wonderfulopportunity for people who hadstomachs so shrunken that chili beanshad to wait in line to get inside.

“My little sisters caught typhoid atthat feast. They died in the same hour.They were so small, they couldn’t lookover the windowsill—no, not even ifthey stood on tiptoe.”

The salon was deathly still. In thedistance Matt heard a dove calling fromthe garden. No hope, it said. No hope.

No hope.“During the following years each of

my five brothers died; two drowned, onehad a burst appendix, and we had nomoney for the doctor. The last twobrothers were beaten to death by thepolice. There were eight of us,” said ElPatrón, “and only I lived to grow up.”

Matt thought the audience lookedbored, although they tried to conceal it.They had heard the same speech foryears.

“I outlived them all as I outlived allmy enemies. Of course, I can alwaysmake more enemies.” El Patrón lookedaround the audience, and several peopletried to smile. They met El Patrón’ssteely eyes and immediately sobered up.

“You could say I’m a cat with nine lives.As long as there’s mice to catch, I intendto keep hunting. And thanks to thedoctors, I can still enjoy it. You can startclapping now.” He glared at theaudience, and they began—firsthesitantly and then loudly—to applaud.“They’re just like robots,” El Patrónmuttered under his breath. More loudlyhe said, “I’m going to take a brief rest,and then we shall all have dinner.”

11

THE GIVING ANDTAKING OF GIFTS

Matt wandered around the garden,admiring the ice sculptures and afountain of wine with orange slicesbobbing in a red pool. He dipped hisfinger in to taste. It wasn’t as good as itlooked.

He checked the place cards on thetables and saw that he was, as usual,seated next to El Patrón. Mr. MacGregorwas on El Patrón’s other side. The other

favored guests were Mr. Alacrán andFelicia, Benito, back from college—orr a the r, expelled from college—andSteven and Tom. Mr. Alacrán’s fatherrounded out the guests at the head table.Everyone called him El Viejo these daysbecause he seemed even older than ElPatrón.

Humming to himself, Matt removedTom’s card and put it at the baby table.A nanny sat at each end to keep order,and high chairs were lined up on eitherside. Matt located María’s card andplaced it next to his.

Next Matt explored the edge of thegarden, where the bodyguards formed asullen, dark perimeter. Each of thepresidents, dictators, and generals had

brought his own protectors, and ofcourse the Alacráns had hired a smallarmy for the party. Matt counted morethan two hundred men.

Who were they guarding against? hewondered. Who was likely to comecharging across the poppy fields? ButMatt was used to bodyguards at allfamily affairs, and it seemed natural forthem to be there.

The sun was setting, and the gardenwas full of a cool, green light. The AjoMountains still glowed purple-brown inthe distance, and the poppy fields weretipped with a gold that faded even asMatt watched. Lamps went on in thetrees.

“You pig!” cried María, who had

Furball ensconced in a bag slung overher shoulder. “Just once you could benice to Tom. I’ve moved his card rightback.”

“I’m punishing him for trying todrown Furball,” said Matt.

“What on earth are you talkingabout?”

“Furball couldn’t have fallen into thetoilet and pulled the top down. It isn’tpossible. Tom did it.”

“He couldn’t be that evil,” saidMaría.

“Since when? Anyhow, it’s my party,and I get to say who sits where.” Mattwas beginning to lose patience withMaría. He was trying to be nice to her,and she was taking it all wrong.

“They eat mush at the baby table.”“Good,” Matt said. He fetched Tom’s

card and replaced it. María reached forit again, and he grabbed her wrist quitehard.

“Ow! That hurts! I’m going to stayhere.”

“No, you aren’t,” said Matt.“I’ll do whatever I like!”Matt ran back to his table with María

trying to push past him and grab herplace card. El Patrón had arrived, alongwith MacGregor and the others.

“What’s this? What’s this?” said ElPatrón. Matt and María skidded to a halt.

“I want her to sit next to me,” saidMatt.

The old man laughed: a dry, dusty

sound. “Is she your little girlfriend, yournovia ?”

“That’s disgusting,” said Mr. Alacrán.“Is it?” El Patrón chuckled. “Matt’s

no different than I was at that age.”“Matt’s a clone!”“He’s my clone. Sit here, girl. Make

room for her, Tam Lin.” Tam Lin found aplace setting for María. He frowned atMatt.

“Where’s Tom?” Felicia said.Everyone turned to look at her. Feliciawas so quiet and so seldom seen, mostpeople seemed to forget she existed.

“Where is Tom?” El Patrón turned toMatt.

“I put him at the baby table,” saidMatt.

“You pig!” shouted María.El Patrón laughed. “That’s the stuff,

Mi Vida. Get rid of your enemies whenyou can. I don’t like Tom either, anddinner will be better without him.”

Felicia balled up her napkin in herfist, but she didn’t say anything.

“I don’t want to stay here! I want to bewith Tom!” cried María.

“Well, you can’t,” Matt said flatly.Why did she always have to stick up forhim? She didn’t even stop to think. Therewas no way Furball could have pulledthe lid down on top of himself. But shedidn’t believe Matt because he was onlya “disgusting clone.” A dull rage at theunfairness of it swept over him.

“Do as you’re told, girl.” El Patrón

suddenly lost interest in the drama andturned to Mr. MacGregor on his otherside.

María, choking back tears, waspushed up to the table by Tam Lin. “I’llsee he gets the same food as the rest ofus,” he whispered.

“No, you won’t,” said Matt.Tam Lin raised his eyebrows. “Is that

a direct order, Master Matt?”“Yes.” Matt tried to ignore María’s

soft whimpers as she strove not to drawattention to herself. If she couldn’t bringherself to punish Tom, he would do it forher. Food was brought and served.María selected bits to feed Furball andcontinued to stare down at her lap.

“Fetal brain implants—I must try that

sometime,” said MacGregor. “It’s donewonders for you.”

“Don’t put it off too long,” El Patrónadvised. “You have to give the doctorsat least five months’ lead time. Eight isbetter.”

“I won’t be able to use—?”“Oh, no. He’s much too old.”Felicia was staring down at her plate

with almost as much dejection as María.She wasn’t even pretending to eat. Shedrank from a tall glass that was regularlyfilled by a servant. She lookedpleadingly at MacGregor, although Mattcouldn’t guess what she could want fromhim. In any case, he ignored her—and sodid her husband and everyone else forthat matter.

El Viejo, Mr. Alacrán’s father,spilled his food and made a mess on thetablecloth. No one paid attention to him,either.

“See, there’s an example of someonewho didn’t get his implants when heshould have,” said El Patrón, pointing atEl Viejo.

“Father decided against it,” said Mr.Alacrán.

“He’s a fool, then. Look at him, Matt.Would you believe that’s my grandson?”

Matt hadn’t worked out the exactrelationship between El Viejo and ElPatrón before. It hadn’t seemedimportant. El Patrón looked ancient, nodoubt about it, but his mind was sharp.At least now it was. After those

whatever-they-were implants. El Viejocould hardly string a sentence together,and some of the time he sat in his roomand screamed. Celia said that happenedto some old people and that Matt mustn’tworry about it.

“I could believe he’s yourgrandfather,” said Matt.

El Patrón laughed, spraying foodparticles over his plate. “That’s whatcomes of not taking care of yourself.”

“Father decided implants wereimmoral,” said Mr. Alacrán, “and Ihonored his decision.” A sudden intakeof breath around the table told Matt thatMr. Alacrán had said somethingdangerous. “He’s deeply religious. Hethinks God put him on earth for a certain

number of years and that he mustn’t askfor more.”

El Patrón stared at Mr. Alacrán for along moment. “I’ll overlook yourrudeness,” he said at last. “It’s mybirthday and I’m in a good mood. Butsomeday you’ll be old too. Your bodywill start to fall apart and your brainwill deteriorate. See if you’re so high-minded then.” He went back to eating,and everyone relaxed.

“May I check up on Tom?” Feliciasaid in her uncertain way.

“Stay out of this,” growled Mr.Alacrán.

“I—I only wanted to see if he hadfood.”

“For God’s sake! He’s capable of

standing on his own hind legs andfinding something to eat!”

Those were Matt’s sentiments too, buthe was surprised at the anger Mr.Alacrán showed toward Felicia. Howcould anyone get mad at her? She was sohelpless. Felicia hung her head andwithdrew into silence.

After dinner Tam Lin rolled El Patrónto the bougainvillea arbor for the giftgiving. Mr. MacGregor excused himselfbecause he had to rest up for anoperation. Matt was glad to see him go.

El Patrón set great importance ongifts. “You can tell how much someoneloves you by the size of the present,” heoften told Matt. He preferred to receivegifts, rather than give them. “The flow of

wealth should be from outside”—ElPatrón opened his arms wide, as thoughhe were about to hug someone—“in.” ElPatrón gave himself a big bear huginstead. Matt thought this was veryfunny.

Daft Donald and Tam Lin brought theboxes to El Patrón. Matt read the cardsand tore off the wrappers. A secretaryrecorded who had given what and thevalue of the gift. Watches, jewelry,paintings, statues, and moon rocks piledup on the lawn. Matt thought the moonrocks looked like something you couldfind anywhere in the Ajo Mountains, butthey came with a certificate and werevery expensive.

The faded princess gave El Patrón a

statue of a naked baby with wings—oneof the few gifts he seemed to like. Mattgave him a wallet that had looked goodin the catalog and now seemed shabbynext to the other presents. “You’d need awallet as big as the Grand Canyon tohold El Patrón’s paper money,” Celiahad said, “and you’d have to drain theGulf of California for the small change.”

The Farmers, one and all, gaveweapons: guns that responded to one’svoice, lasers that could burn an intruderto a crisp from the other side of a wall,flying minibombs that clampedthemselves on to an enemy’s skin. Thelatter were programmed to recognizespecific people. Tam Lin took theweapons away the minute Matt

unwrapped them.“Open your presents, Mi Vida,” El

Patrón said after a long while. His eyeswere half closed, and he looked almostbloated with all the gifts he’d received.A mountain of new possessionssurrounded his wheelchair.

Matt eagerly tore open a small boxfrom Celia. It was a hand-knittedsweater. Where she’d found the time toknit, Matt didn’t know. Tam Lin gavehim a book identifying edible plants inthe desert. El Patrón gave him a battery-driven car big enough to sit in. It hadflashing lights and a siren. Matt was tooold for such things, but he knew the carhad been very expensive and thereforethat El Patrón loved him very much.

María snatched away the presentshe’d brought him. “I don’t want to giveyou anything!” she cried.

“Give that back,” Matt said, angry thatshe’d made a scene in front of everyone.

“You don’t deserve it!” María startedto run away, but she was halted by herfather, Senator Mendoza.

“Hand him the box,” said SenatorMendoza.

“He was mean to Tom!”“Do it.”María wavered for a moment and then

flung the box as far away as she could.“Pick it up and bring it to me,” Matt

said. He was in a cold rage.“Let her go,” said Tam Lin in a low

voice, but Matt wasn’t in any mood to

listen. María had insulted him in front ofeveryone, and he intended to make herpay.

“That’s the stuff,” El Patrón saidgleefully. “Make your women toe theline.”

“Get it now,” said Matt in the samecold, deadly voice he’d heard El Patrónuse on terrified servants.

“Please, María,” Senator Mendozacoaxed gently.

Sobbing, she retrieved the present andthrust it at Matt. “I hope you choke onit!”

Matt was trembling and afraid he’dlose control and start crying too.Suddenly he remembered what El Patrónhad said earlier: Is she your little

girlfriend? Why shouldn’t María be hisgirlfriend? Why should he be differentfrom everyone because he was a clone?When he looked into the mirror, he sawno difference between himself and theothers. It was unfair that he was treatedlike Furball when he had good gradesand could name the planets, the brighteststars, and all the constellations. “Onemore thing,” Matt said. “I demand abirthday kiss.”

Gasps ricocheted around the crowd.Senator Mendoza turned ashen, and heput his hands protectively on María’sshoulders. “Don’t do this,” murmuredTam Lin. El Patrón beamed with delight.

“It’s my party too,” said Matt, “and Ican have anything I want. Isn’t that so,

mi patrón?”“It’s so, my little fighting cock. Give

him the kiss, girl.”“He’s a clone!” Senator Mendoza

cried.“He’s my clone.” Suddenly El Patrón

wasn’t the jovial birthday host anymore.He seemed dark and dangerous, like acreature you might stumble on in themiddle of the night. Matt rememberedTam Lin’s words about his master: Hegrew large and green until heshadowed over the whole forest, butmost of his branches are twisted. Mattwas sorry he’d started this whole affair,but it was too late now.

“Do it, María,” said SenatorMendoza. “I won’t let it happen again. I

promise.”The senator didn’t know that Maráa

had kissed Matt on several occasions,just as she kissed Furball and anythingelse that pleased her. Matt knew thiswas different, though. He washumiliating her. If it had been Tomasking for the kiss, no one would havecared. People would have thought it cutefor a boy to flirt with his novia .

Matt wasn’t a boy. He was a beast.María came up to him, no longer

angry or rebellious. She reminded him ofFelicia bent sadly over her plate. For aninstant he wanted to say, Stop. It was ajoke. I didn’t mean it . But it was toolate. El Patrón was watching them withobvious glee, and Matt realized it might

be dangerous to draw back now. Whoknew how the old man might punishMaría if he had his fun spoiled now?

María leaned forward, and Matt feltthe cold brush of her lips on his skin.Then she ran to her father and collapsedin tears. He gathered her up andshouldered his way through the crowd.The paralysis that had seized everyonebroke. Everyone started talking at once—not about what had just happened, butabout anything else. But Matt felt theireyes on him—accusing, disgusted,repelled.

El Patrón had wearied of theexcitement. He signaled Tam Lin andDaft Donald to take him away and wasalready being carried up the steps before

Matt noticed.The party went on with renewed spirit

now that El Patrón was gone, but no onetalked to Matt. No one seemed to noticehe was even there. After a while hegathered up his smaller presents, leavingthe battery-driven car for the servants toattend to.

Matt made his way to Celia’sapartment and laid out Celia’s sweaterand Tam Lin’s book. Then he openedMarías gift. It was a box of taffy she’dmade with her own hands. He knewbecause she’d told him about it ahead oftime. She was no good at keepingsecrets.

Matt knew María hoarded things—worn-out shirts, broken toys, and gift-

wrapping paper—and she got hystericalif anything went missing. Celia said itwas because she’d lost her mother whenshe was only five.

One day María’s mother had walkedout of the house and never returned. Noone knew where she’d gone, or if theydid, they weren’t talking about it. WhenMaría was small, she imagined hermother had gotten lost in the desert. Shewoke up at night crying that she couldhear her mother’s voice, but of courseshe couldn’t. Ever since then, Celia said,María had hung on to things. It was whyshe rarely let Furball out of her sight andwhy the dog was such a wimp.

María had cut squares from hertreasured gift-wrapping paper and used

them to wrap Matt’s taffy. He feltterrible looking at them. Why hadn’t helistened when Tam Lin told him to lether go? He closed the box and put itaway.

Celia had drawn the curtains in hisroom. As always, she had lit the candlein front of the Virgin. The Virgin lookedshabby with Her chipped robe and cheapplastic flowers, but Matt wouldn’t havewanted Her to look any other way. Hecrawled under the covers. Feelingaround, he found the lump that was hisstuffed bear. He would have died ratherthan admit to María that he still sleptwith it.

12

THE THING ON THEBED

Matt woke up feeling gritty and hot.The candle in front of the Virgin hadburned out, leaving a waxy smell that thecurtains held in. He opened the window,wincing at the sudden invasion ofsunlight. It was late morning. Celia hadalready gone to work.

Rubbing his eyes, Matt saw María’spresent on a shelf, and the birthday partycame back with hideous clearness. He

knew he had to make things up to her, buthe also knew she needed time to cooldown. If he approached her now, she’donly slam the door in his face.

Matt dressed in cool clothes andfound leftover pizza for breakfast. Theapartment was empty, the walled gardendeserted except for birds. He went outand watered the vegetables.

The day after a birthday party wasalways a letdown. The power Mattenjoyed as El Patrón’s clone vanished.The servants went back to ignoring him.The Alacráns treated him like somethingFurball had coughed up on the carpet.

The hours dragged on. Matt practicedon his guitar, a skill he was developingwithout Mr. Ortega’s help. The music

master was unable to keep his hands onthe instrument and thus was unable todetect mistakes. After a while Mattswitched to reading Tam Lin’s present.The bodyguard was fond of naturebooks, although he read them at apainfully slow rate. Matt already hadbooks on wildlife, camping, mapreading, and survival that Tam Lin fullyexpected him to study. Tam Lin drilledhim when they went on expeditions inthe Ajo Mountains.

All Matt’s activities were supposedto be risk free. Thus, he was allowed toride only Safe Horses, and he couldswim only if two lifeguards werepresent. He could climb ropes only ifthere was a mountain of mattresses

underneath. Any bruise or cut wastreated with extreme alarm.

But once a week Tam Lin took Matton educational field trips. The tripswere disguised as visits to the Alacráns’nuclear power plant or the opiumprocessing plant—a stinking, clankinghorror even an eejit would findunbearable. Halfway there Tam Linwould turn the horses toward the hills.

Matt lived for these expeditions. ElPatrón would have had a heart attack ifhe’d known how many cliffs Mattclimbed and how many rattlesnakes heteased out of the rocks. But they madeMatt feel strong and free.

“May I come in?” said a faint,uncertain voice. Matt jumped. He’d been

daydreaming. He heard the person enterthe living room. “It’s … Felicia,” saidFelicia hesitantly, as though she weren’tquite sure of her identity.

This is completely weird, Mattthought. Felicia had never shown theslightest interest in him. “What do youwant?” he asked.

“I … thought I might … visit.”Felicia’s eyes looked heavy, like shemight fall asleep at any moment. A vagueodor of cinnamon hung around her.

“Why?” Matt knew he was beingrude, but when had the Alacráns beenanything else to him? Besides, there wassomething creepy about the way Feliciaswayed back and forth.

“May I … sit?”

Matt pulled a chair over to her, sinceit didn’t look like she’d make it byherself. He tried to help her, but shepushed him away.

Of course. He was a clone. He wasn’tsupposed to touch humans. Felicia halffell into the chair, and they stared at eachother for a moment. “You’re a guh-guh-good musician,” Felicia stammered, asthough it hurt her to admit it.

“How do you know?” Matt couldn’tremember ever playing when she wasaround.

“Everyone … says so. It’s such asurprise. El Patrón doesn’t have a—have a … musical bone in his body.”

“He enjoys listening,” Matt said. Hedidn’t like to hear El Patrón criticized.

“I know. He used to listen to me.”Matt felt uneasy. He’d probably taken

away what little attention Felicia gotfrom other people.

“I was a great concert pianist once,”she said.

“I’ve heard you play.”“You have?” Felicia’s eyes widened.

“Oh. The music room. I was much better… before I had my—my …”

“Nervous breakdown,” said Matt. Herhesitant speech was getting on hisnerves.

“But that isn’t why … I came. I wantto—to …”

Matt waited impatiently.“Help you,” finished Felicia. There

was another long pause as Matt

wondered what kind of help she thoughthe needed. “You upset María. She criedall night.”

Matt felt uncomfortable. What didFelicia have to do with this?

“She wants to … see you.”“Okay,” said Matt.“But she … Don’t you see? Her father

won’t let her come here. It’s up to you.”“What should I do?”“Go to her,” cried Felicia with more

energy than Matt had expected. “Gonow.” The outburst seemed to exhausther. Her head drooped and she closedher eyes. “You wouldn’t have something… to drink?” she whispered.

“Celia doesn’t keep alcohol,” saidMatt. “Should I call one of the maids?”

he said.“Never mind.” Felicia sighed, rousing

herself enough to stand. “María’swaiting at the hospital. It’s …important.” With that, Felicia made herway to the door and drifted into thehallway like a cinnamon-scented ghost.The hospital wasn’t a place Matt wentwillingly. Set apart from the rest of thebuildings, it was surrounded by awasteland of sand and low, flat bullheadvines. The vines protected their turf withthe meanest, nastiest thorns ever andcould even stab through shoes.

Matt picked his way carefully throughthe wasteland. Heat radiated off theground, making the gray, windowlessbuilding shimmer. The hospital was like

a prison with a strange, alarming smellinside that permeated everything. Mattwas dragged there twice a year toundergo painful and humiliating tests.

He sat on the front steps and inspectedhis sandals for bullheads. María wasprobably in the waiting room. It wasn’ttoo bad there, with chairs and magazinesand a cold-drink machine. Sweat randown Matt’s face and stuck his shirt tohis chest. He opened the door.

“I don’t see why I should talk to youat all,” said María. She was sitting inone of the chairs with a magazine openon her lap. Her eyes looked puffy.

“It was your idea.” Matt bit histongue. He wanted to make up with her,not pick a fight. “I mean, it was a good

idea.”“You’re the one who invited me,”

said María. “Why couldn’t you findsomewhere nice? This place is creepy.”

Matt’s alarm system went on at once.“I didn’t invite you. Wait!” he cried asMaría started to get up. “I do want to seeyou. I guess—I guess—I was a pig at thebirthday party.”

“You guess?” María said scornfully.“Okay, I was. But you didn’t have to

take back the present.”“Of course I did. A present’s no good

if it’s given in anger.”Matt stopped his first reply before it

could get out. “It’s the nicest gift I evergot.”

“Oh, sure! Nicer than that weenie

sports car El Patrón gave you!”Matt sat down next to her. She moved

away as far as she could. “I really likehow you wrapped the candy.”

“It took me a long time to decidewhich papers to use.” María’s voicetrembled. “You’ll only wad them up andthrow them away.”

“No, I won’t,” promised Matt. “I’llspread them out carefully and keep themfor always.”

María said nothing. She stared downat her hands. Matt edged closer. Thetruth was, he liked it when she kissedhim, even if she kissed Furball sixtytimes as often. He’d never kissed herback, but he might try it now, to make up.

“Good. You’re both here.”

Matt recoiled. Tom stood in thedoorway. “How did you find us?” Mattsnarled.

“Of course he knew where we were.You told him to bring me here,” Maríasaid.

“No kidding,” said Matt. The pieceswere falling into place now. Tom hadpretended to carry a message to María,and Felicia had done the same withMatt. They had to be working together.Matt had never thought of Felicia asdangerous, but he didn’t really know her.

“I thought you might like to seesomething,” Tom said. His face wasopen and friendly, and his blue eyesshone with innocence. Matt wanted toroll him in the bullheads.

“Here?” said María doubtfully.“It’s like Halloween, only better. It’s

the ugliest, gooshiest thing you ever saw,and I bet both of you wet your pants,”Tom said.

“I’ve done things that would makeyour eyes drop out,” María sneered.“Tam Lin showed me how to pick upscorpions, and he let a tarantula walk upmy arm.”

Matt was surprised at María’s daring.Tam Lin had shown him the same things,and Matt had almost done what Tomdescribed.

“This is worse,” Tom said.“Remember that Halloween when youthought the chupacabras was outsideand Matt put chicken guts in your bed?”

“I did not! It was you!” cried Matt.“You put your hand right in it,” said

Tom, ignoring Matt, “and screamed yourhead off.”

“That was so evil,” María said.“I didn’t do it!” protested Matt.“Well, this is worse,” gloated Tom. “I

don’t know if you have the—pardon theexpression—guts for it.”

“She doesn’t,” said Matt.“Don’t tell me what to do!” María got

a mulish look in her eyes and Matt’sheart sank. He knew Tom was up tosomething foul, but he hadn’t figured outwhat it was yet.

“Come on. He’s only trying to starttrouble.” Matt tried to grab Maíia’shand, but she yanked her arm away.

“Listen.” Tom opened the doorleading from the waiting room to the restof the hospital. Matt’s stomach hit rockbottom. He had bad memories of someof those rooms.

Tom’s face glowed with joy. It wasthen, Matt had discovered, he was mostdangerous. As Tam Lin said, if youdidn’t know Tom well, you’d think hewas an angel bringing you the keys to thepearly gates.

In the distance they heard a mewlingsound. It went on for a moment, stopped,and began again.

“Is that a cat?” said María.If it is, it isn’t yowling for milk , Matt

thought. There was a level of terror anddespair in that sound that made the hair

stand up on his neck. This time he didgrab Marías hand.

“They’re doing experiments on cats!”María cried suddenly. “Oh, please!You’ve got to help me rescue them!”

“We’d better ask permission first,”said Matt. He was deeply unwilling togo beyond that door.

“No one’s going to give uspermission,” María stormed. “Don’t yousee? Adults don’t see anything wrongwith those experiments. We have to takethe cats away—Dada will help me—andthe doctors won’t even know wherethey’ve gone.”

“They’ll only get more.” Matt feltcold as he listened to the sound going onand on.

“That’s the dodge people always use!Don’t help anyone. They’ll only findmore illegals to enslave or poor peopleto starve or—or cats to torture.” Maríawas working herself into a state. Mattdespaired of getting her to listen toreason.

“Look, we should ask your dada first—” he began.

“I won’t listen to that cat suffer onemore instant! Are you with me or not? Ifnot, I’m going by myself!”

“I’ll go with you,” said Tom.That decided Matt. There was no way

he was letting Tom take María by herselfto see whatever horror he had stashedaway.

María strode down the hall, but she

slowed the closer they got to the cries.Matt still held her hand. It was cold andsweaty, or maybe his hand was. Thesound wasn’t exactly like a cat. It wasn’tlike anything Matt had heard before, butthere was no mistaking the anguish in it.Sometimes it rose almost to a shriek andthen faded, as though whatever wasmaking the noise was exhausted.

They arrived at the door. It wasclosed, and cravenly, Matt hoped it waslocked.

It wasn’t.Tom threw it open. Matt could hardly

register what lay on the bed before them.It rolled its eyes and thrashed helplesslyin the straps that restrained it. Its mouthopened in a horrible O when it saw the

children, and it screamed louder thanMatt thought possible. It screamed untilit ran out of air, then it wheezed until itdidn’t have the strength to do thatanymore, and then it lay there pantingand gasping.

“It’s a boy,” whispered María.It was. Only at first Matt thought it

was some kind of beast, so alien andterrible was its face. It had doughy,unhealthy skin and red hair that stuck upin bristles. It seemed never to have beenin the sun, and its hands were twistedlike claws above the straps that held itdown. It was dressed in green hospitalpajamas, but these had been befouled byits terror. Worst of all was the terribleenergy that rolled through the trapped

body. The creature never stoppedmoving. It was as though invisiblesnakes were rippling beneath the skinand forcing its arms and legs to move ina ceaseless bid for freedom.

“It’s not a boy,” Tom said scornfully.“Its a clone.”

Matt felt as though he’d been punchedin the stomach. He’d never seen anotherclone. He’d only felt the weight ofhatred humans had for such things. Hehadn’t understood it because, after all,clones were like dogs and cats, andhumans loved them. If he’d thought aboutit at all, he had assumed he was a pet,only a very intelligent one.

Matt became aware that María nolonger held his hand. She’d shrunk

against Tom, and he had his arm aroundher. The creature—clone—had regainedits energy and was screaming again.Something about the children terrified it,or perhaps it was terrified all the time.Its tongue protruded from its mouth anddrooled saliva down its chin.

“Whose—?” whispered María.“MacGregor’s. He’s a real wreck—

his liver’s all eaten up with alcohol,”said Tom in a casual, chatty way. “Momsays he looks like something the GrimReaper forgot to pick up.”

Mom, thought Matt. Felicia.“Are they going to—?” said María.“Tonight,” Tom said.“I can’t bear to look at him!” wailed

María. “I don’t want to think about it!”

Tom pulled her away, and Matt knew hewas enjoying every minute of this.

“Shall I leave you two alonetogether?” Tom inquired from thedoorway.

Matt had trouble tearing his eyesaway from the thing on the bed. Therewas no way he could be the same sort ofbeing as that creature. It wasn’tpossible! The creature opened its mouthto make another horrible scream, andMatt suddenly knew who it looked like.

It resembled MacGregor, of course,because it was his clone, but MacGregorwas an adult with differences that madeit hard to see the connection. It was a lotcloser to—close enough to show akinship with—“It looks like you,” Matt

said to Tom.“You wish! You wish!” yelled Tom,

dropping his cheerful grin.“Look, María. It has the same red hair

and ears.”But she refused to look up. “Take me

out of here,” she moaned with her faceburied in Tom’s shirt.

“I’m not like that thing!” shouted Matt.“Use your eyes!”

He tried to pull her from Tom, and sheshrieked, “Don’t touch me! I don’t wantto think about it!”

Matt was beside himself withfrustration. “You wanted to come downhere to rescue a cat. Well, look at this! Itneeds rescuing!”

“No, no, no,” whimpered María. She

was in a state of utter panic. “Take meaway!” she wailed.

Tom hurried her down the hall. Heglanced back with a look of savagetriumph, and Matt had to clench his teethvery hard to keep from running afterthem and pounding Tom to within aninch of his life. It wouldn’t do María anygood. It wouldn’t do Matt any goodeither, except to convince her he reallywas a beast.

Their footsteps died away. Matt stoodfor a moment in the hallway, listening tothe mewling of the thing on the bed. Thenhe closed the door and followed them.

13

THE LOTUS POND

Matt had to talk to someone. He had todo something to keep from howling likea dog at the horror of it all. He wasn’t aclone! He couldn’t be! Somehow,somewhere a mistake had been made.Words he’d overheard from the doctorcame back to him: Clones go to pieceswhen they get older. Was that going tohappen to him? Was he going to end upstrapped to a bed, screaming until he ranout of air?

Tam Lin was with El Patrón, and not

even Matt was allowed into that heavilyguarded part of the house withoutpermission. He ran to the kitcheninstead. Celia took one look at his faceand hung up her apron. “Finish the soupfor me, would you?” she told a juniorcook. She took Matt’s hand and said,“Let’s take the afternoon off, chico. TheAlacráns can eat their shoes for dinnerfor all I care.”

Alone of all the servants, Celia couldand did insult the Alacráns whenevershe felt like it. Not to their faces, ofcourse, but she was less servile in theirpresence than the others. She, like Matt,was protected by El Patrón.

Celia said nothing more until theywere inside her apartment with the door

closed. “Okay. Something badhappened,” she said. “Is María stillmad?”

Matt didn’t know where to begin.“If you say you’re sorry, she’ll

forgive you,” Celia said. “She’s a goodkid.”

“I did apologize,” Matt managed tosay.

“And she wouldn’t accept it. Well,that happens sometimes. Sometimes wehave to grovel to show we really meanit.”

“That isn’t it.”Celia pulled him onto her lap,

something she rarely did now that hewas older, and held him tightly. Matt’sreserve snapped. He sobbed

uncontrollably, clinging to her, terrifiedshe would push him away.

“Hey, María won’t hold a grudge.You have to make her a list of who she’smad at, ’cause she doesn’t remembermore than half an hour.” Celia rockedMatt back and forth, all the whilemurmuring comforting words he couldhardly take in. All he sensed was themusic of her voice, the warmth of herarms, the fact that she was there.

Finally, he calmed enough to tell hereverything that had happened in thehospital.

For a moment Celia sat perfectly still.She didn’t even breathe. “That…little…creep” she said at last.

Matt looked up anxiously. Her face

had turned pale and her eyes stared intothe far distance. “Tom is MacGregor’sson, you know,” said Celia. “I shouldn’ttell you these things at your age, butnobody gets a decent childhood in theAlacrán household. They’re allscorpions. Boy, did El Patrón have itright when he picked the name.”

“How can Tom be MacGregor’s son?Felicia’s married to Mr. Alacrán.”

Celia laughed bitterly. “Marriagedoesn’t mean much to this crowd.Felicia ran off with MacGregor, oh,years ago. I guess she got bored hangingaround here. Only it didn’t work out. ElPatrón had her brought back—he doesn’tlike people taking his possessions—andMacGregor let him do it. Felicia was

beginning to bore him.“Mr. Alacrán was very, very angry

because he didn’t want her back, but ElPatrón didn’t care. Mr. Alacrán doesn’ttalk to her anymore. He won’t even lookat her. She’s a prisoner in this house,and the servants supply her with all thebooze she can handle. Which is a lot, letme tell you.”

“What about Tom?” Matt urged.“Tom showed up about six months

after she returned.”Matt felt slightly better after learning

this information. It pleased him thatFelicia was in disgrace, but he still hadquestions. He steeled himself to ask themost important one. “What’s wrong withMacGregor’s clone?”

Celia looked around nervously. “I’mnot supposed to talk to you about this.You weren’t supposed to know abouthim.”

“But I do know,” Matt said.“Yes. Yes. That’s Tom’s doing. You

don’t understand, mi vida . All of ushave been warned not to talk aboutclones. We don’t always know whomight be listening.” Again Celia lookedaround, and Matt remembered what TamLin had told him about hidden camerasin the house.

“If you tell me, it’ll be Tom’s fault,”Matt said.

“That’s true. I really don’t see how Ican avoid explaining after what you’veseen.”

“So what’s wrong with MacGregor’sclone?”

“His … brain has been destroyed.”Matt sat up straight when he heard

that.“When clones are born, they’re

injected with a kind of drug. It turns theminto idiots,” said Celia. She wiped hereyes with her apron.

“Why?”“It’s the law. Don’t ask me why. I

can’t tell you.”“But I wasn’t injected,” Matt said.“El Patrón didn’t want it to happen to

you. He’s powerful enough to break thelaw.”

Matt was filed with gratitude for theold man who had spared him such a

terrible fate. Matt could read and write,climb hills, play music, and do anythinga real human might do—all because ElPatrón loved him. “Are there any otherslike me?” he asked.

“No. You’re the only one,” Celiasaid.

The only one! He was unique. He wasspecial. Matt’s heart swelled with pride.If he wasn’t human, he might becomesomething even better. Better than Tom,who was an embarrassment to thefamily. Then a horrible thought occurredto him. “They won’t—the doctors won’t—inject me later?”

Celia hugged him again. “No, darling.You’re safe from that. You’re safe for aslong as you live.” She was crying,

although Matt couldn’t understand why.Perhaps she was afraid because she hadsaid something in front of the hiddencameras.

Matt felt limp with relief. He wasexhausted by all that had happened andhe yawned broadly.

“Take a nap, mi vida ,” said Celia.“I’ll bring you something nice from thekitchen later.” She led him to hisbedroom, turned on the air conditioner,and closed the curtains.

Matt stretched out under the sheet andlet a delicious sense of ease sweep overhim. So much had happened: thedisastrous party, the sinister hospital,MacGregor’s clone. Matt felt hurt thatMaría had run from him after seeing the

thing on the bed. He would seek her outlater and show her that he wascompletely different.

As Matt drifted to sleep, he ponderedwhy MacGregor would want a clonewhen he had a son. It was probablybecause Tom had been taken away fromhim by El Patrón. And because Tom wasan unnatural Httle weevil no fatherwould like to have around.

But then, Matt thought hazily, whyreplace him with a horribly damagedclone?María refused to talk to Matt. She hid inher father’s apartment or managed to bewith a group of people every time hesaw her. But Matt had faith in María’sintelligence. If he could get her alone

and explain how he was different fromall other clones, she would understand.

MacGregor was back from hisoperation. He still looked—as Feliciaput it—like something the Grim Reaperforgot to coUect, but he was gettingbetter all the time. He and El Patrón satin adjoining wheelchairs and cackledover old memories—rivals they haddestroyed and governments they hadoverthrown.

“Got me a new liver,” MacGregorsaid, patting his stomach, “and went infor a set of kidneys while I was at it.”He gazed at Matt with those bright blueeyes that were so much like Tom’s. Mattthought he was disgusting. He couldn’twait for the man to go home.

María would be leaving forboardingschool soon. Matt realized hehad to act now. As he watched heracross the garden, playing tag at a slowpace because she had Furball in her sidebag, the solution came to him. Maríadidn’t have the dog with her all the time.Now and then Senator Mendozabanished him to the bathroom in theirapartment. What if Matt stole the animaland sent her a ransom note?

There was a pump house by the lotuspond. It was concealed by a giantwisteria vine and reasonably coolinside. Matt could hide Furball there.But how could he keep the dog fromyapping? Even a spider swinging downon its web sent the animal into hysterics.

He won’t bark if he’s asleep , Mattthought.Matt had spent a lot of time in the secretpassage behind the music room. He likedto pretend he was a superhero creepingup on his enemies. He’d replaced ElLátigo Negro as his hero with DonSegundo Sombra—Sir Second Shadow—an international spy. The Black Whipwas for kids, but the Don did adultthings like drive race cars and parachuteout of jet planes. An even better herowas El Sacerdote Volante, the FlyingPriest. The Flying Priest bombardeddemons with holy water that ate holes intheir scaly hides.

One of the closets reachable from thesecret passage belonged to Felicia. It

was full, top to bottom, with liquor.More interesting—and useful now—wasa shelf of small bottles witheyedroppers. They contained laudanum.Matt knew all about laudanum, havingstudied the opium business as part of hisregular homework. Laudanum wasopium dissolved in alcohol, and it wasvery strong. Three drops in a glass offruit juice would knock you out for eighthours. Felicia had enough stored in hercloset to knock out an entire city. Itexplained why she was so dopey all thetime.

Matt waited until he saw her dozingon a lawn chair, and then he hurriedthrough the secret passage and stole oneof the small bottles.

• • •The lotus pond was one of a dozen poolsof water in the vast gardens of the house.It was deserted in summer because it hadlittle shade. Ibises, with wings clippedto keep them from flying away, stalkedthrough papyrus grass and hunted frogsunder the lily pads. It was El Patrón’sidea of an ancient Egyptian garden. Thewalls enclosing the place were paintedwith stiff figures of ancient gods.

Matt pushed aside the wisteria andwent into the pump house. It was darkand damp. He made a bed for Furballout of empty sacks and filled a bowlwith water.

He stepped outside and froze. Tomwas on his hands and knees at the other

end of the garden. His back was turned,and he was absorbed in watchingsomething on the lawn. Matt easedcarefully out of the wisteria. He movedquietly through the papyrus to sneak backinto the house.

An ibis rose from the grass. It flappedits mutilated wings and blundered acrossthe pond.

Tom jumped up. “You! What are youdoing here?”

“Watching you,” Matt said coolly.“Well, it’s none of your business! Get

back to your part of the house!”“All parts of the house are mine,” said

Matt. He looked past Tom and saw afrog on the lawn. Its hind legs had beennailed to the ground, and it flopped

frantically, trying to escape. “You’redisgusting!” Matt said. He went over andfreed the frog’s feet. The creature threwitself into the water.

“I was only doing a science project,”said Tom.

“Oh, sure. Even María wouldn’tbelieve that.”

Tom’s face flushed with rage, andMatt braced himself for a fight; but justas suddenly the anger drained away, asthough it had never been there. Mattshivered. It bothered him when Tommade a lightning shift like that. It waslike watching a crocodile submerge in anature movie. You knew the crocodilewas planning an attack, but you didn’tknow when.

“You can learn a lot from studying aplace like this,” Tom said in a casualvoice. “The ibises live on frogs, thefrogs eat bugs, and the bugs eat oneanother. It teaches you about the meaningof life.” Tom had on his professionalCute Kid smile. It didn’t fool Matt forone second.

“Let me guess. You’re on the side ofthe ibises,” Matt said.

“Of course. Who wants to be at thebottom of the food chain?” Tom said.“That’s the difference between humansand animals, see. The humans are at thetop, and the animals—well, they’re justwalking T-bone steaks and drumsticks.”He strolled off—an easy, good-naturedstroll to show he wasn’t concerned that

Matt had disturbed his evil game. Mattwatched him disappear into the house.

What rotten luck, Matt thought. Hedidn’t want Tom poking around while hewas talking to María. If only he couldslip Tom the laudanum. For a momentMatt savored the idea, but he knew thatwould be going too far.

María had the dog glued to her allmorning and all through lunch the nextday. Finally, Senator Mendoza said,“For God’s sake, María. It stinks.”

“Did you roll in something icky,” shesaid fondly, holding the creature up toher nose. “Did you, sweet-ums?”

“Get it out of here,” her fathersnapped.

Matt was observing this from behind a

wall hanging. He slithered along thecurtains and followed María. If he couldtalk to her now, he wouldn’t have tokidnap the stupid dog. She thrust Furballinto her apartment and closed the door.Agonized yips broke out from the otherside.

“María—” began Matt.“Oh, hi. Listen, I’ve got to run. Dada

will get mad if I don’t come back rightaway.”

“I just want to talk.”“Not now!” cried María, dodging past

him. She ran down the hall, her sandalsslapping against the floor.

Matt felt like crying. Why was shemaking things so difficult? Would it killher to listen?

He hurried to Celia’s apartment to geta bowl of raw hamburger he’d noticed inthe refrigerator. When he returned, helooked around carefully for servantscoming down the hall. The minute heopened María’s door, Furball yelpedand scurried under a sofa. Great.

Matt picked up the side bag Maríaused to cart the animal around. Heopened it temptingly and placed a chunkof hamburger inside. The dog whinedand drooled as he watched. María fedhim a special diet recommended by avet, but it didn’t include raw meat. Shedidn’t like the idea of raw meat.

“You want that. You know you do,”said Matt.

Furball licked his chops.

Matt held up a glob of the stuff andblew the smell toward the animal.

Furball trembled all over andswallowed several times. Finally, hecouldn’t stand it anymore and darted out.In an instant Matt had him trapped insidethe bag. Furball snarled and tried toclaw his way out. Matt poked a crumb ofhamburger into the bag and got a bite thatdrew blood. Furball howled piteously.

“Here! Eat yourself silly,” Matt cried,shoving fistfuls of meat inside. Mattheard slurping, gulping, and franticlicking. Then—miraculously—theanimal stretched out in the bag and fellasleep. Matt peeked inside to be sure.This was even better than he’d hoped.

He slung the bag over his shoulder,

expecting outraged yips when the dogfelt himself being moved. There wasnothing. Furball was used to beinghauled around. He slept in the bag all thetime and probably felt safe wrapped upin his dark little cave. Matt couldunderstand that. He was fond of darkhide-aways himself.

He left a note under María’s pillow:Meet me by the lotus pond at midnightand I’ll tell you where your dog is. Hesigned it Matt. Then, P.S. Don’t tellanyone or you’ll never see him again!!!Matt supposed the last line was mean,but he was fighting against impossibleodds.

He slipped out of the apartment,leaving the door ajar so it would seem

the dog had worked it open. The hallswere empty and the lotus gardendeserted, except for ibises meditating onthe existence of frogs. Everything wasworking out perfectly. Furball stirredslightly when Matt laid the bag down inthe pump house, but he didn’t bark.

Matt decided to leave him in the bag.He could come out when he felt like itand find water and the rest of thehamburger. Matt put the laudanum on ashelf. He was frankly relieved he didn’thave to use it. As much as he dislikedFurball, it seemed wrong to feed him thesame stuff that turned Felicia into azombie.

María discovered Furball missingright after lunch. She enlisted everyone

—except Matt—to hunt for him. Mattcould hear voices calling, but anyonefamiliar with the beast knew he wouldn’tanswer. He would cower in whateverhiding place he’d found until draggedout, snapping and snarling.Celia was asleep when Matt left. Mostof the hall lights had been turned off, andblack areas yawned between them. Notlong ago Matt would have been afraid togo out so late. He no longer believed inthe chupacabras or vampires, but thedark, dead stillness of night brought themback. What if María was too frightenedto leave her apartment? Matt hadn’tthought of that. If she didn’t come, thewhole plan would be ruined.

His footsteps echoed on the floor. He

stopped many times to be sure no onewas following him. He checked hiswatch. It was fifteen minutes to midnight,when the dead—according to Celia—threw off their coffin lids like so manyblankets. Stop that, Matt told himself.

The lotus garden was lit only bystarlight, and the air was warm andsmelled of stagnant water. Not a frond ofthe palm trees stirred. Not a mosquitowhined. Somewhere in the papyrus theibises were sleeping, or perhaps theywere awake and listening to him. Whatwould they do when they realized hewas there?

Don’t be a wuss , Matt told himself.They’re only birds. They’re long-legged chickens.

A frog grunted, making Matt almostdrop the flashlight he carried. He shoneit on the pond. He heard a splash and arustle of feathers.

Matt walked as silently as he couldtoward the pump house. It would be trulyawful to hear Furball whine right now.Maybe María wouldn’t come. After all,if he was this jumpy, she must beterrified. But she’d come for her dog.Matt didn’t underestimate her couragewhen she thought something wasimportant.

He reached the wisteria. Would it bebetter to wait here or to check onFurball? He didn’t much like going intothe dark little house. Anyhow, if he wentinside, María wouldn’t know where to

find him. He heard a noise—floodlightslit up every corner of the garden. It wasEl Patrón’s security system! Matt wasblinded. He backed into the wisteria andwas grabbed by powerful hands. “Letme go!” Matt shouted.’“I’m not anenemy! I’m El Patrón’s clone!”

Daft Donald and Tam Lin frog-marched him to the middle of the lawn.“It’s me! Its me!” Matt cried. But TamLin remained silent and grim.

Senator Mendoza came out of the BigHouse. He stood in front of Matt, flexinghis hands as though he had to keep themunder control. For a long, long momenthe said nothing. Then: “You are worsethan an animal.” He spoke with suchconcentrated venom that Matt flinched

back against the hands restraining him.“Oh, I won’t hurt you. I’m not that

kind of man. Besides, your fate lies withEl Patrón.” Another long pause. Justwhen Matt began to think the man wasn’tgoing to say anything else, SenatorMendoza hissed, “You can count on onething: You will never … ever … see mydaughter again.”

“But—why?” said Matt, startled outof his fear.

“You know why.”Matt didn’t. This was all a horrible

nightmare, and he couldn’t wake up. “Ionly wanted to talk to her. I meant togive Furball back. I didn’t mean to upsether and I’m sorry now. Please let me seeher. To say I’m sorry.”

“How can you possibly apologize forkilling her dog?”

For an instant Matt wasn’t sure he’dheard right. Then the full enormity of thesituation sank in on him. “But I didn’t! Iwouldn’t! I couldn’t do such a thing toMaría! I love her!” The minute Matt saidit, he knew he’d made a terrible mistake.Senator Mendoza looked as though hewanted to strangle Matt right there andthrow his body into the lotus pond.Nothing could have been moreinfuriating than a reminder of how closeMatt and María had become—so closethat Matt had demanded a kiss from herin front of everyone at El Patrón’sbirthday party.

It was unthinkable. It was as though a

chimpanzee had demanded to wearhuman clothes and to eat at the sametable as people. Worse. Because Mattwasn’t even a normal, forest-livingbeast. He was the thing on the bed.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Matt’s mindhad frozen. All he could think of was tokeep apologizing until Senator Mendozaheard him and forgave him.

“You’re lucky you’re under ElPatrón’s protection.” Senator Mendozaturned and strode into the house.

“Move along,” said Tam Lin as heand Daft Donald propelled Matt from thegarden.

“I didn’t do it!” cried Matt.“They found your fingerprints on the

laudanum bottle,” said Tam Lin. Matt

had never heard him like this before—socold, so bitter, and so disgusted.

“I did take the laudanum, but I didn’tuse it.” They were moving rapidlythrough the halls with Matt’s feet onlybrushing the floor. They arrived atCelia’s apartment. Tam Lin pausedbefore opening the door.

“I always say,” Tam Lin said,breathing as hard as if he’d run a longway, “I always say the truth is best evenwhen we find it unpleasant. Any rat in asewer can lie. It’s how rats are. It’swhat makes them rats. But a humandoesn’t run and hide in dark places,because he’s something more. Lying isthe most personal act of cowardice thereis.”

“I’m not lying.” Matt couldn’t helpcrying, even though he knew it was ababyish thing to do.

“I can believe you made a mistake,”Tam Lin went on. “The bottle said threedrops—that’s the dose for a full-grownman. But Furball was a dog. A dose likethat would kill him. Did kill him.”

“Someone else gave it to him!” Mattcried.

“I’d feel sorry for you if I hadn’t seenMaría first. And I’d feel more kindly ifyou stepped up and took the blame youdeserve.”

“I’m not lying!”“Ah, well. Perhaps I’m expecting too

much of you. You’re confined to quartersuntil María leaves. And now is as good

a time as any to tell you El Patrón isleaving at the same time. And taking mewith him.”

Matt was so stupefied, he couldn’tspeak. He stared at Tam Lin.

“It had to happen sometime, lad,” TamLin said more kindly. “You’re able tolook after yourself now. If anything goeswrong, Celia can send a message.” Heopened the door, and Matt was swept upby Celia, who obviously had beenwaiting on the other side.

He couldn’t talk to her. As hadhappened when he was deeply upsetbefore, the power of speech left him. Hewas six years old again, master of akingdom of gristle and bone and rottingfruit hidden beneath the sawdust in a

little room.

14

CELIA’S STORY

Matt was inside his room when Maríaleft. He heard the hovercraft whine as itprepared to lift off. He heard the whooshof air and felt an eerie stir on his skin asthe antigravity vessel passed overhead.He had never traveled in one. El Patróndiscouraged such things, preferring tokeep his Farm close to the memory of hisyouth.

As a boy, El Patrón had observed thegrand estate of the wealthy rancher whoowned his village. He remembered a

statue of a winged baby and a fountaintiled in blue and green. He rememberedthe peacocks that haunted the garden. Inevery respect—he told Matt—he tried toduplicate that memory, only of coursebeing vastly more wealthy, he couldhave dozens of statues, fountains, andgardens.

The Alacrán estancia was laid outover a large area. No part of the housewas taller than one story. The wallswere a brilliant white, the roofs of finered tile. Modern conveniences were keptto a minimum, except in special areaslike the hospital. Thus, Celia cookedover a wood-burning stove when ElPatrón was visiting because he liked thesmell of burning mesquite. At other

times she was allowed to usemicrowaves.

The gardens were cooled with finesprays of water, and the rooms, for themost part, depended on shaded verandasto tame the hot desert air. But during theannual birthday party modernconveniences came out. The famouscelebrities would have been miserablewithout their air-conditioning andentertainment centers.

Not that El Patrón cared whether theywere miserable. He merely wanted toimpress people.

Matt listened for the purr of ElPatrón’s limousine. The old manpreferred to travel by road. If it had beenpossible, he would have gone by horse,

but his bones were far too brittle toattempt such a thing. He would sit in theback with Tam Lin for company. DaftDonald would drive. They would whiskalong the long, shimmering highway toEl Patrón’s other house in the ChiricahuaMountains.

Matt stared up at the ceiling. He wastoo depressed to eat or watch TV. All hecould do was play out the events of thepast few days in his mind. He went overthem again and again. If only he hadn’tput Tom at the baby table. If only hehadn’t made María kiss him in front ofthe others. If only he hadn’t gone to thehospital.

The regrets piled thickly on oneanother until Matt’s thoughts were

running around in his head like a hamsteron a wheel.

Everyone thought he’d poisonedFurball. His fingerprints were on thebottle, and he’d left a note, a signednote!—how dumb can you get?—inMaría’s room. Matt had to admit theevidence against him was pretty good.

Tom must have seen him come out ofthe pump house and decided to finish thejob he’d started when he dumpedFurball into the toilet. But how did Tomuse the laudanum without leaving hisfingerprints on the bottle?

Round and round went Matt’sthoughts. Squeak went the wheel in hismind. He heard the limousine start up,the distant slam of a door, the fading

roar of the engine.So El Patrón was gone now. And Tam

Lin. Matt grieved for him. Any rat in asewer can lie, Tam Lin had said. It’show rats are…. But a human doesn’trun and hide in dark places, becausehe’s something more . Matt thought hecould make María understand if he evergot to see her. She’d forgive himbecause he was a dumb animal anddidn’t know any better. But Tam Lin hadcalled Matt a human and expected muchmore from him. Humans, Matt realized,were a lot harder to forgive.

For the first time he saw a hugedifference between the way thebodyguard treated him and howeveryone else did. Tam Lin talked about

courage and loyalty. He let Matt dodangerous things on their expeditionsand go off by himself to explore. Hetreated Matt as an equal.

Tam Lin often talked to him about hischildhood in Scotland as though Mattwere another adult. It wasn’t like ElPatrón’s memories, which tended to fallinto a rut. Matt had those storiesmemorized right down to the last word.Tam Lin’s stories were about thedifficult decisions you made to become aman. I was a proper fool, the bodyguardhad said. Turned my back on my family,ran with a rough crowd, and did thething that brought me here . What thatthing was Tam Lin never revealed.

At the memory of those picnics, tears

came to Matt’s eyes and rolled down hischeeks. He made no sound. He hadlearned that safety lay in silence. But hecouldn’t stop the tears.

Yet in the midst of his sorrow, Mattfound a glimmer of hope. Someone, outof all the people who thought he was nobetter than a dog, believed he could besomething more.

And I will be, Matt promised as hestared up at the blurry ceiling.Not everything was depressing. Tomwas banished from the house. María,when she was hunting for her dog, hadinnocently asked her father to look in thehospital. Senator Mendoza wanted toknow how she knew about the place.The whole story came out about

MacGregor’s clone and Tom’s part inluring María to see it. El Patrónbanished Tom to a year-roundboardingschool with no holidays.

“Why doesn’t Mr. MacGregor takehim, if Tom’s his son?” Matt asked.

“You don’t understand,” Celia said asshe cut cheesecake with freshraspberries for dessert. Ordinarily, Mattwould have demanded two slices. Nowhe didn’t think he could choke down one.“Once El Patrón decides somethingbelongs to him, he never lets it go.”

“Never?” said Matt.“Never.”“What about the presents he gets for

his birthday?” Matt thought of all thegold watches, jewels, statues, and moon

rocks people had given El Patrón forover one hundred years.

“He keeps it all.”“Where?”Celia dished up the cheesecake and

licked her fingers. “There’s a secretstoreroom under the ground. El Patrónwants to be buried in it—may the Virginkeep that day away forever.” Celiacrossed herself.

“Like”—Matt had to think—“Like anEgyptian pharaoh.”

“Exactly. Eat your cheesecake, mivida . You need to keep your strengthup.”

Matt ate mechanically as he imaginedthe storeroom. He’d seen pictures ofKing Tutankhamun’s tomb. El Patrón

would lie in a golden box with all thewatches, jewels, statues, and moonrocks around him. Then, because Mattdidn’t want to think of El Patrón dying,he said, “What does that have to do withTom?”

Celia settled back in her easy chair.She was much more relaxed now thateveryone had left. “El Patrón thinks aperson belongs to him the same way ahouse or car or statue does,” she said.“He wouldn’t let that person go anymore than he’d throw away money. It’swhy he wouldn’t allow Felicia toescape. It’s why he keeps everyoneunder his control so he can call themback in an instant. He’ll never letMacGregor have Tom, even though he

can’t stand the boy.”“Do you and Tam Lin belong to El

Patrón?” Matt asked.Celia flinched. “¡Caramba! The

questions you ask!”Matt waited.“Maybe you wouldn’t get into so

much trouble if people explained thingsto you,” she said with a sigh.

“I didn’t poison Furball.”“You didn’t mean to, darling. I know

your heart is good.”Matt badly wanted to argue his case,

but he knew Celia wouldn’t believe him.His fingerprints were on the laudanumbottle.

“I grew up in Aztlán,” she began, “inthe same village where El Patrón was

born. It was poor then and it’s worsenow. Nothing grew there except weeds,and they were so bitter that they madethe donkeys throw up. Even roacheshitchhiked to the next town. That’s howbad it was.

“As a girl, I went to work in amaquiladora — a factory—on theborder. All day I sat on an assembly lineand put tiny squares into tiny holes witha pair of tweezers. I thought I’d go blind!We lived in a big gray building withwindows so small, you couldn’t put yourhead outside. That was to keep the girlsfrom running away. At night we climbedto the roof and looked north across theborder.”

“Our border?” asked Matt.

“Yes. The Farms lie between Aztlánand the United States. You couldn’t seemuch because the Farms are dark atnight. But beyond, where the UnitedStates lay, was a great glow in the sky.We knew that under that glow was themost wonderful place. Everyone had hisown house and garden. Everyone worebeautiful clothes and ate only the bestfood. And no one worked more than fourhours a day. The rest of the time peopleflew around in hovercrafts and went toparties.”

“Is that true?” asked Matt, who knewalmost nothing about the countriesbordering the Farms.

“I don’t know.” Celia sighed. “I guessit’s too good to be true.”

Matt helped Celia clear the dishes,and together they washed and dried. Itreminded him of those days, long ago,when they lived in the little house in thepoppy fields.

Matt waited patiently for Celia to pickup the story again. He knew if he pushedher too hard, she’d stop talking about herpast.

“I lived in that gray building forever,getting older and older. No parties, noboyfriends, no nothing,” she said at lastafter the dishes were put away. “I hadn’theard from my family in years. Maybethey were all dead. I didn’t know. Theonly change in my life happened after Ilearned to cook. I was taught by an oldcurandera , a healing woman who took

care of the girls. She taught me all kindsof things.

“I was the best student she ever had,and soon I got off the assembly line andstarted cooking for the whole building. Ihad more freedom; I went to the marketsto buy herbs and food. And one day I meta coyote.”

“An animal?” Matt was confused.“No, darling. A man who takes people

over the border. You pay him and hehelps you go to the United States. Onlyfirst you have to cross the Farms.” Celiashivered. “What an idiot I was! Thosepeople don’t help you go anywhere.They lead you straight to the FarmPatrol.

“I packed everything I owned,

including the Virgin I had brought frommy village. About twenty of us crossedinto the Ajo Mountains, and that’s wherethe coyote abandoned us. We panickedlike a bunch of scared rabbits. We triedto climb down a cliff, and a woman fellinto a gorge and died. We abandonedmost of our belongings so we couldmove faster, but it didn’t do us any good.The Farm Patrol was waiting at the footof the mountains.

“I was taken to a room, and mybackpack was dumped out. ’Be careful!’I cried.’Don’t hurt the Virgin!’That’show She got the chip on Her robe—when the Patrol dumped Her on thefloor.

“They laughed, and one of them was

going to crush Her with his foot whensomeone shouted ‘Stop!’ from thedoorway. Everyone snapped to attentionthen, you better believe it. It was ElPatrÓn in his wheelchair. He wasstronger in those days, and he liked tocheck up on things personally.

“’Your accent is familiar. Where areyou from?’ he asked. I told him the nameof my village, and he was verysurprised. ‘That’s my hometown,’ hesaid.’Don’t tell me the old rat’s nest isstill there.’

“‘It is,’ I said, ‘Only the rats havemoved on to a better slum.’

“He laughed and asked if I had anyskills. From that moment on, I belongedto El PatrÓn. I’ll always belong to him.

He’ll never let me go.”Matt felt cold. It was good that Celia

had crossed over the border. Otherwise,she wouldn’t have been around to carefor him. But there was something sobleak about her last words: He’ll neverlet me go. “I love you, Celia,” Matt saidimpulsively, putting his arms around her.

“And I love you,” she said softly,hugging him back.

It felt so safe then. Matt wished hecould hide in her apartment forever andforget about the Alacrÿns, the scornfulservants, and MacGregor’s clone.

“What happened to the other peoplewho crossed the border?” he asked.

“Them?” Celia’s voice was flat andexpressionless. “They were all turned

into eejits.” And she refused to say anymore about it.

15

A STARVED BIRD

The days passed with unvaryingsameness. Now Matt could no longerlook forward to María’s visits. Both sheand Emilia had been sent to a convent toturn them into proper young ladies.“María’s the one they’re trying to tame,”Celia said. “Emilia’s about as wild as abowl of oatmeal.” Matt asked Celia tosend María a letter, but she refused.“The nuns would only hand it over toSenator Mendoza,” she said.

Matt tried to imagine what she was

doing, but he knew nothing aboutconvents. Did she miss him? Had sheforgiven him? Was she visiting Tominstead?

With María and Emilia gone, Benitoand Steven went elsewhere for theirvacations. Mr. Alacrán was away onfrequent business trips, and Felicia andEl Viejo stayed in their rooms. The hallsand gardens were deserted. The servantsstill went about their duties, but theirvoices were muted. The house was likea stage with all the actors missing.

One day Matt ordered a Safe Horsefrom the stables and waited tensely tosee whether the request would bedenied. It wasn’t. An eejit brought outthe animal. Matt, uncomfortable, cast his

eyes down. Few eejits worked in thehouse, and he preferred not to thinkabout them. He reached for the reins andglanced up.

It was Rosa.Matt felt that old thrill of terror, as

though he were still a small boy and shehis jailer, but this woman posed nothreat at all. The hard, bitter lines of herface seemed unconnected with anythinggoing on inside. Rosa gazed straightahead with her hand outstretched. It wasunclear whether she even saw him.

“Rosa?” Matt said.She looked at him. “Do you wish

another horse, Master?” The voice wasthe same, but the old anger was gone.

“No. This one is fine,” Matt said.Rosa turned and shuffled back into the

stables. Her movements were jerkycompared to what he remembered.

Matt rode away from the house. Thehorse walked steadily. It would move ina straight line until Matt told it to goright or left, and it wouldn’t pass theboundary implanted in its brain. LikeRosa, Matt thought. For the first time herealized what a terrible thing it was tobe an eejit. He hadn’t known any of theothers before their operation. They weresimply there to do boring jobs. But Rosahad been a real, though cruel andviolent, person. Now she was merely ashadow with the life sucked out of her.

On an impulse he turned the animalwest rather than east and skirted thepoppy fields to where he thought Celia’s

little house lay. He shaded his eyes tomake out its shape. This part of the Farmwas at an early stage in the growingcycle. The plants were hardly more thana gray-green shadow, and a gentle mistwafted up from sprinklers in the ground.The air was sharp with the smell of wetdust.

A few eejits bent over the earth,tweezing up weeds and squashing bugs.This was their country, the country of theeejits. Matt wondered what wouldhappen if they suddenly woke up. Wouldthey turn on him like the villagers in thatmovie about Frankenstein? But theywouldn’t wake up. They couldn’t.They’d go on weeding until the foremantold them to stop.

Matt couldn’t find the little house. Itmust have been torn down when he andCelia moved. Sighing, he turned easttoward the oasis in the mountains.

When he got to the water trough, Mattalit and filled it from the pump as TamLin had always done. “Drink,” he toldthe horse. Obediently, it slurped untilMatt decided it had had enough. “Stop,”he said. He led it into the shade and toldit to wait.

He felt a whisper of fear as he walkedinto the mountains. This time he wasalone. This time no one would come tohis aid if he fell off a rock or was bittenby a rattlesnake. He got to the hole in therock and climbed through. The pool waslow since it was the end of the dry

season and the thunderstorms of Augustand September were yet to come. Thebranches of a creosote bush trembled onthe other side as some animal slunk intohiding. Wind whistled through the barerocks with a lonely, keening sound.

Matt sat down and took out asandwich. He didn’t know what he wasdoing here.

At the upper end of the little valleywas the grapevine sprawled over itsman-made arbor. Someone had livedhere long ago, and the vine had grown soheavy, part of the arbor had collapsed.Matt walked carefully into its shade,keeping his eyes peeled for snakes thatalso liked the cool dark.

He saw a large metal chest on the

ground. On one side was a roll ofblankets and a cache of water bottles.Matt halted. His heart started to gallop.He glanced around to see where theintruder was hiding.

There was nothing except the keeningwind and the rasping call of a cactuswren somewhere in the rocks.

Matt retreated into the cover of acreosote bush. The oily leaves brokeagainst his skin and released a pungentsmell. Who had dared to invade hisspecial place? Was it an Illegal trying tothe reach the United States? Or had oneof the eejits woken up?

As Matt considered the possibilities,he realized that no Illegal could havehauled a metal chest through the dry hills

and canyons Celia had described. Andno eejit ever woke up.

Heart thumping, Matt ventured fromhis hiding place and examined the chest.It was secured by two metal clasps.Carefully, he undid the clasps and liftedthe lid.

On top of neatly packed parcels was anote. Deer Matt, it began. Matt sat backin the dirt and breathed deeply to containhis shock. This stuff was for him. Whenhe’d calmed down, he took up the noteagain.Deer Matt, it said. Im a lousy writer sothis wont be long. El Patron says I haveto go with him. I cant do anythingabout it. I put supplise in this chestplus books. Yu never know when yu

mite need things. Yor frend Tam Lin.It was written in a large, childish

scrawl. It surprised Matt to see howpoor the man’s writing was, when hisspeech was so intelligent. Tam Lin hadsaid he’d never been educated, and herewas the proof of it.

Matt eagerly unpacked the chest. Hefound beef jerky, rice, beans, driedonions, coffee, and candy. He found abottle of water purification pills, a first-aid kit, a pocketknife, matches, andlighter fluid. Pots in blanckets saidanother note halfway down. Mattimmediately unwrapped the blankets andfound a nest of cooking utensils and ametal mug.

At the bottom of the chest were books.

One had foldout maps and another wastitled A History of Opium. Two morewere manuals on camping and survival.A note at the very bottom read, Keepchest clossed. Koyotes eat food. Bookstu.

Matt sat back and admired thetreasures. Tam Lin hadn’t deserted himafter all. He read and reread the lastwords of the note and it was likedrinking many cups of fresh, cool water:Yor frend Tam Lin . Then Matt packedeverything up, stowed the chest in theshadows, and made his way back home.The house was in turmoil when he gotthere. Hovercrafts landed, servants ranto and fro. Matt found Celia waitinganxiously inside the apartment. “Where

have you been, mi vida?” she cried. “Iwas about to send out a search party.I’ve laid your suit on the bed.”

“What happened? Why is everyonerunning around?” he asked.

“No one told you?” She distractedlypulled off his shirt and thrust a towel athim. “Take a quick shower before youget dressed. El Viejo is dead.” Celiahastily crossed herself and left.

Matt stared at the towel as hecollected his thoughts. The old man’sdeath wasn’t a surprise—he hadn’temerged from his room in months, andhe’d clearly been very sick. Matt tried tofeel sorry, but he hardly knew the man.

Matt showered and dressed as rapidlyas possible. “I didn’t tell you to wash

your hair,” wailed Celia when she sawhim. She combed it down frantically.She was wearing a fine black dress withjetbeads sewn on the front, and Mattthought she looked strange without herapron.

“El PatrÓn insisted on us beingpresent,” Celia said as they hurriedthrough the halls.

They came out to the salon. Thestatues had been replaced by pots offlowers. Black crepe hung in swagsaround the walls, and hundreds of holycandles glittered in a rack at one end ofthe room. The smoke and pall of incensemade Matt break into a coughing fit.Everyone—and there were at least fiftypeople in the salon—turned to frown at

him. Celia handed him the inhaler shealways carried.

Presently Matt’s wheezing subsidedand he was able to look around theroom. In the center was an elegantlycarved coffin with brass handles. Inside,looking more like a starved bird thananything else, was El Viejo. He wasdressed in a black suit, and his sharpnose stuck up like a beak against theivory silk lining.

Celia wept softly, dabbing her eyeswith a handkerchief, and Matt felt badabout that. He hated to see her cry. Themourners kept their distance from thecoffin. They clustered against the wallsand made low conversation. Matt sawBenito, Steven, and Emilia. Steven and

Emilia were holding hands.The crowd thickened. MacGregor

entered, looking thirty years youngerthan the last time Matt had seen him.Now he really did look like Tom, andMatt felt an unreasoning surge of dislike.The hot, close smell of burning candlesmade his head swim. He wished hecould go outside. On the far side of thehouse was a huge swimming pool thatwas hardly used by anyone exceptFelicia, when she was sober. Mattthought about the swimming pool now,with its cool blue depths. He imaginedhimself skimming along the bottom.

“Don’t say anything,” whisperedCelia in his ear. If she hadn’t wakedhim, he would have missed María’s

entrance on the far side of the salon. Shewas taller and thinner, and she lookedvery adult in her slim, black dress. Herhair fell in a shiny veil over hershoulders. She wore diamond earringsand a small, black hat trimmed withmore diamonds. Matt thought she wasthe most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

She was holding hands with Tom.Matt felt Celia grip his arm. He stared

at María, willing her to look at him,willing her to drop Tom’s hand or (evenbetter) push Tom away. María meltedinto the crowd without once glancingMatt’s way.

El PatrÓn was rolled into the salon byTam Lin. Mr. Alacrán was with them,and for the first time Matt saw signs of

real grief on someone’s face. Mr.Alacrán went up to El Viejo’s casketand kissed the old man on the forehead.El Patrón looked annoyed and signaledTam Lin to wheel him along the crowdso he could be greeted by people.

Matt waited tensely. He wanteddesperately to thank Tam Lin, but nowwas obviously a bad time. SomehowMatt knew the contents of the metal chestwere forbidden. He didn’t want to getTam Lin into trouble. But everythingstopped when a door opened and theofficiating priest entered. He wasfollowed by boys swinging balls offuming incense and a children’s choir.

Their sweet voices stilled theconversation in the salon. They were

dressed in white robes like a troop ofangels. Their hair was neatly combedand their faces scrubbed and shining.They were all about seven years old andthey were all eejits.

Matt could tell by the empty look intheir eyes. They sang beautifully—noone was more able to appreciate goodmu s i c than Matt—but they didn’tunderstand what they were singing.

The children took up their station atthe head of the casket. “Stay,” said thepriest in a low voice. Matt had neverseen a priest except on TV. Celia wentto a small church a mile away throughthe poppy fields. She walked there earlyon Sunday mornings, along with a fewother servants. She wasn’t allowed to

eat or even drink coffee before settingout, which was a great hardship for her.But she never missed a service. Shenever took Matt along, either.

“Be still,” said the priest to thechildren’s choir. They fell silent at once.He intoned a prayer and ended bysprinkling holy water over El Viejo. Itdidn’t eat holes in El Viejo’s suit, theway the Flying Priest’s holy water atethrough demons on TV. Matt had thevague idea it was something like acid.

“Let us remember the life of ourcompanion,” the priest said in a deep,impressive voice. He beckoned to theaudience, but no one responded. Finally,Mr. Alacrán said a few words, and thenthe priest told everyone to file past to

say their final goodbyes. Matt looked upat Celia, hoping they could go now. Sheseemed grimly determined. She pushedhim ahead as they joined the long line ofmourners shuffling past the casket.

What am I supposed to do now? Mattthought. He tried to see what otherpeople were doing when they reachedthe casket. Most merely nodded andhurried out of the salon. When Matt andCelia arrived, Celia crossed herself andmurmured, “May God be merciful toyou.” Matt felt a hand clamp down onhis shoulder and pull him out of the line.

“What … is this?” growled thepriest. He was a lot bigger close up thanhe was at a distance.

“El Patrón wanted him to come,”

Celia said.“This does not belong here!” the

priest thundered. “This unbaptized limbof Satan has no right to make a mockeryof this rite! Would you bring a dog tochurch?” The people in line had halted.Their eyes glittered with malice.

“Please. Ask El Patrón,” beggedCelia. Matt couldn’t see why she wantedto argue. They weren’t going to win, andhe couldn’t bear all those eyes watchinghim be humiliated. He looked arounddesperately, but El Patrón had alreadygone.

“Saint Francis would take a dog tochurch,” María said in a clear, highvoice. Where had she come from? Mattturned to find her right behind him. She

was even more beautiful close up.“Saint Francis took a wolf to church,”

she said. “He loved all animals.”“María,” groaned Emilia, who wasn’t

far behind. “Dada will have a fit whenhe finds out what you’re doing.”

“Saint Francis preached to a wolf andtold him not to eat lambs,” María wenton, ignoring Emilia.

“Miss Mendoza,” said the priest,speaking much more respectfully than hehad to Celia, “I’m sure your father likesyou to express your opinions, butbelieve me, I’m an expert in thesematters. Saint Francis spoke to the wolfoutside the church.”

“Then I shall too,” María saidhaughtily. She took Matt’s hand and led

him back along the line of mourners.“You’re going to be in big trouble

when Dada finds out,” called Emilia.“Be sure and tell him!” retorted

María.Matt was in a kind of daze. Celia

hadn’t come with them. He was all alonewith María, being pulled through thehalls to some place she’d decided wassafe. He was aware only of the softwarmth of her hand and the spicyperfume she was wearing. It wasn’t untilthey were inside with the door closedthat Matt realized they were in the musicroom.

María pulled off her hat and ran herfingers through her hair, and suddenlyshe looked like a little girl again. “It’s

so hot!” she complained. “I don’t knowwhy El Patrón doesn’t allowairconditioning.”

“He wants everything to be like hisold village,” Matt said. He could hardlybelieve his good luck. María was here!And with him!

“Then why doesn’t he import rats andcockroaches too? From what I hear, hisvillage was covered with them.”

“He only wanted the good things fromit,” said Matt, trying to pull himself outof his daze.

“Oh, let’s not waste our time withthat!” cried María, throwing her armsaround him and giving him a big kiss.“There! That shows I’ve forgiven you.Gosh, I’ve missed you!”

“You have?” Matt tried to kiss herback, but she slid out of his arms. “Thenwhy did you avoid me after—after …the hospital?” Now he’d done it. He’dreminded her of MacGregor’s clone.

“It was a shock,” María said, growingsolemn. “I knew—I didn’t want to tellyou—”

“Knew what?”“Hey, is that people in the hall?”Matt heard the noise outside as well.

He pulled María to the closet, pressedthe hidden switch and heard her gasp asthe secret passageway opened.

“It’s like a spy novel,” she whisperedas he drew her inside. Matt closed thedoor and found the flashlight he kept bythe entrance. They tiptoed along the

passage with Matt in the lead. Finally,he allowed her to stop and catch herbreath.

16

BROTHER WOLF

It’s even hotter in here than outside,”María said, wiping her face.

“I’ll find an empty room we can hidein,” said Matt. He showed her the hiddenpeepholes, and María was both repelledand fascinated.

“Don’t tell me you sit in here andwatch people,” she said.

“No!” Matt was offended. He wasn’tabove eavesdropping at a dinner wherehe wasn’t invited. That was simplygetting back at people who’d snubbed

him. But what she’d suggested wasnasty, like peeking through a keyhole.“You must think I’m a creep!”

“Hey, I’m not the one with the secretpassage. Who do you think made it?”María’s whisper sounded explosive nextto Matt's ear. It tickled and sent shiversdown his neck.

“El Patrón, I guess,” said Matt.“That figures. He’s so paranoid, he’s

always spying on people.”“Maybe he needs to.”“He can’t be using the peepholes

anymore,” said María. “Can you imaginetrying to squeeze a wheelchair in here?”

“Don’t make fun of him.”“I’m not. Really. Listen, can we find a

room before I melt into a puddle?”

Matt rejected several rooms becausehe’d seen people in them, but at a bendin the passage he remembered awarehouse with computers and otherequipment. Everything had been coveredwith plastic sheets. It seemed to be aplace for things El Patron needed butdidn’t want in full view to spoil theeffect of his old-fashioned house.

Matt helped María over a tangle ofwires into the darkened room. “Wow!It’s cool in here,” she said.

It was more than cool, Matt realized.It was icy. It smelled faintly ofchemicals. A slight breeze stirred thehair on his arms, and a hum vibratedalmost out of the range of his hearing. “Iguess computers need air-conditioning,”

he said.“Isn’t that just typical,” María said.

“We can shrivel up in the heat, but themachines get a first-class hotel room.”

They tiptoed around the equipmentand spoke in whispers. Matt saw thingsglowing under the plastic covers, so themachines were on. What were theydoing and what were they for?

“Let’s sit somewhere and talk,”whispered María. Matt found a nookbetween two shrouded hulks where hethought they might be warmer. Thecoolness, at first so welcome, wasbeginning to get uncomfortable.

They sat close together, as they hadoften done before María was sent away.“I decided to forgive you after reading

The Little Flowers of Saint Francis,”María began. “You remember the wolf Italked about? Well, he was a monsterwho terrorized everybody until SaintFrancis gave him a talking-to. He wassweet as a lamb and never ate anythingbut vegetables after that.”

“I didn’t know wolves could digestvegetables,” said Matt, who had studiedbiology.

“That’s not the point. Saint Francisdidn’t say, I’m going to punish you forall the wickedness you’ve done.’ Hesaid, ‘Brother Wolf, today is a new dayand you’re going to turn over a newleaf.’”

Matt held his tongue. He wanted tosay that he hadn’t poisoned Furball and

didn’t need forgiveness, but he didn’twant to spoil María’s mood.

“So I realized I was being unfair andshould forgive you. After all, wolvesdon’t know they aren’t supposed to eatpeasants.” María leaned against him inthe blue shadows of the equipment room.Matt’s heart turned over. She was sobeautiful, and he had missed her somuch.

“Thank you,” he said.“So you have to promise to be good.”“Okay,” said Matt, who would have

promised her anything at that point.“You have to mean it, Brother Wolf.

No running off to the henhouse forsnacks.”

“I promise. What do I call you? Saint

María?”“Oh, no!” María said. “I’m not a saint.

I have all kinds of faults.”“I don’t believe it,” said Matt.María told him about how she

struggled not to lose her temper atEmilia, how she copied someone’spaper when she forgot to do herhomework, and how she ate ice creamwhen she was supposed to be fasting.Matt, who didn’t bother about beinggood, thought it a waste of time to worryabout faults. “Have you been baptized?”he asked.

“Yes. They did it when I was a baby.”“Is it a good thing?”“Well, of course. Without it, you can’t

go to heaven.”

Matt didn’t know much about heaven.Hell was mentioned a lot more often inthe shows he watched on TV. “What didthe priest mean—that I’m an unbaptizedlimb of Satan?”

María leaned against him and sighed.“Oh, Matt. I’m sure Saint Franciswouldn’t have agreed with him. Youaren’t evil, only …”

“Only what?”“You don’t have a soul, so you can’t

be baptized. All animals are like that. Ithink it’s unfair and sometimes I don’tbelieve it. After all, what would heavenbe without birds or dogs or horses? Andwhat about trees and flowers? Theydon’t have souls either. Does that meanheaven looks like a cement parking lot? I

suppose this is what the nuns call atheological problem.”

“Do animals go to hell when theydie?” said Matt.

“No! Of course not! You can’t getthere without a soul either. I guess—Ithought about it a lot when Furball died—you simply go out. Like a candle. I’msure it doesn’t hurt. You’re there oneminute and then you’re not. Oh, let’s nottalk about this!”

Matt was astonished to find hercrying. She did cry a lot, heremembered. He hugged her and kissedher tear-streaked face. “I don’t mind,” hewhispered. “If I had a soul, I’d probablywind up in hell anyway.”

They sat together for a long time

saying nothing. The room was so cold,they both were shivering. “I do likebeing with you,” María said at last.“There’s nobody at my school so easy totalk to.”

“Can’t you visit me again?” said Matt.“Dada says I have to stay away. He

thinks—Oh no! I hear voices again.”Matt and María jumped up and ran for

the door at the same time. She tripped onthe wires, and he caught her and boostedher into the passageway. He slid thedoor shut just as a door on the oppositeside of the room opened. They stood fora moment to catch their breaths.

“Warm at last.” María contentedlysighed, rubbing her arms. Matt listenedattentively to the voices outside.

“That’s Tom,” he said quietly.“Really? Where’s the peephole? Let

me see.”“I thought you didn’t like spying on

people.”“I only want a peek.” María put her

eye to the hole. “It is Tom. And Felicia.”Matt put his ear to the wall so he couldhear better.

“… find them here … if they’reanywhere in the … house,” saidFelicia’s slow, hesitant voice. For aninstant Matt thought she meant thepassage, but then he heard the sound ofchairs being moved and the whir of amachine.

“Hey, that’s the salon,” said Tom.“It’s completely empty. El Viejo is all

alone.”“No one cares,” Felicia murmured.

“He was … unusable.”“What do you mean?” said Tom.Felicia laughed, a shrill, alarming

sound. “His liver was … gone. His heart… dried up. You can’t get transplantsfrom a cancer patient.”

“I guess he’s just compost now.” Tomlaughed. Felicia laughed too.

Matt was deeply shocked. He couldn’tproduce tears for El Viejo, but he didfeel sorry for him, lying there like astarved bird in his silk-lined coffin. Mattgently moved María aside. She didn’tprotest as he’d expected. She seemed asstunned by what she’d just heard as hewas.

Matt saw that one of the largecomputer screens was brilliantly lit.Then he realized it wasn’t a computer atall, but some kind of camera. He saw animage of El Viejo with his beaklike nosepoking out of the casket. The pictureblurred and shifted. Tom was workingthe controls.

“That’s the music room,” said Felicia.Matt saw the grand piano, stacks of

music, and María’s black hat sitting on atable.

“They were there!” cried Tom. Hemoved the camera lens to show allangles of the room.

Felicia took over now, and sheseemed to have a lot of experience usingthe viewing screen. She moved rapidly

through the house, even showing theservants’ quarters and storage closets.She paused over Celia’s apartment.Celia had collapsed in a big easy chairwith Tam Lin not far away.

“Where could they have gone?” saidTam Lin, pacing up and down with therestless energy Matt remembered sowell. The bodyguard’s voice was tinnyand faint until Felicia increased thevolume.

“Maybe they aren’t even in thehouse,” said Celia.

“He wouldn’t take her there,” TamLin said.

“How do you know? If he wasdesperate enough—”

“Careful,” said Tam Lin, looking

straight into the view screen. Celiachanged the subject and begandiscussing the funeral.

“Blast! They know about thecameras,” said Tom.

“Tam Lin knows … everything,” saidFelicia. “El Patrón dotes on him.”

“Take her where?” shouted Tom,smashing his fist onto a table coveredwith shrouded machines. Something fellover and broke. Felicia grabbed hishand.

Matt knew what Celia was talkingabout. Tam Lin must have told her aboutthe hidden oasis. Matt hadn’t consideredtaking María there, and he certainlycouldn’t do it now with everyone huntingfor him.

“They could be … outside,”murmured Felicia. She manipulated theimage to show the stables, the swimmingpool, the gardens. Matt was startled tosee the lotus pond and a pair of ibiseslazily stretching their wings.

“Let me see,” whispered María. Mattmoved to one side and pressed his ear tothe wall again so he wouldn’t missanything.

“Remember this?” said Felicia’sslow, insinuating voice.

“That’s where Furball got snuffed,isn’t it?” said Tom.

María gasped. Matt realized they mustbe looking at the pump house.

“You know, I saw … the little beastthat day,” said Felicia.

“Furball?” Tom said.Felicia giggled. “I meant the clone. I

saw … wonderful, talented Matt …sneaking out of the Mendoza apartment… with a dog in a bag. What’s goingon? I thought, so I followed him.”

There was a pause. Then Tom said,“Amazing! You can see inside!”

“The cameras are everywhere. ElPatrón used to watch … everything. Butnow he’s too old. He turned the job overto his security team. They don’t bother… unless there’s visitors. I spend a lotof time here.”

“It’s so cold!”“The machines are more … efficient

near freezing. I wear a coat and hardlynotice,” said Felicia. Matt could believe

that. She was so drugged, she probablywasn’t much warmer than poor El Viejoin his casket.

“Did you see Matt kill the dog?” Tomasked eagerly. Matt was startled. Whywas Tom asking that question when hehimself had done the crime? María’sbody wriggled with indignation. Matthoped she wouldn’t forget herself andyell at them.

“Matt didn’t … do it.”María flinched as though she’d been

stung.“Oh, he had the laudanum,” Felicia

went on, “but he … didn’t use it.”“Don’t tell me the dog found the bottle

and offed himself!”“Oh … no …” Felicia fell silent.

Sometimes it took her several minutes tomarshal her thoughts and continue aconversation. Matt wished he could seewhat was happening, but he had nochance of prying María away from thepeephole now. “I went to the lotuspond,” Felicia said finally. “I was … soangry … at how they treated you at thebirthday party. I wanted to kill thatabomination El Patron keeps at hisheels.”

Matt felt cold. He’d had no idea howmuch Felicia hated him.

“But I had to be satisfied with … thatfilthy, slavering rat María called a dog. Ikeep a small amount of laudanum for mynerves.”

She keeps about enough to wipe out

a city, Matt thought.“So I poured one of … my bottles on

the hamburger that idiot clone leftbehind. ‘Come here, Furball,’ I called.He didn’t want to leave his bag, but I …dumped him out … on the meat. He atethe whole thing.”

“How long did it take him to die?”Tom asked, but Matt didn’t hear theanswer. María slid to the floor, and heimmediately went to her side. She didn’tmake a sound, but her body trembled andshe turned her head from side to side inan agony of grief.

“He didn’t suffer,” Matt whispered ashe held her. “He didn’t even know whatwas happening.” María clung to him, herface streaked by a bar of light from the

flashlight Matt had propped against thewall. Finally, she calmed down enoughfor Matt to check up on what Tom andFelicia were doing. But they had gone,and the viewing screen was shrouded inplastic.

He led her back along the passage.María said nothing, and Matt didn’tknow what to do. They hadn’t gone farbefore he saw a large shape holding aflashlight coming toward them. Therewas hardly room for the shape to fitbetween the walls.

“You utter fools,” said Tam Lin in alow voice. “The whole house is buzzinglike a ruddy beehive.”

“How did you find us?” asked Matt.“El Patron told me about this passage.

He guessed you’d somehow found it.Damn it, Matt, María’s had enough griefout of you.”

“Felicia poisoned Furball,” Maríasaid.

“What are you talking about?” TamLin was clearly startled.

“I heard her talking to Tom. She wasso—so happy about it. I didn’t knowpeople could be that evil.” María lookedlike a wraith in her black dress. Her facewas ashen.

“You need to lie down,” said TamLin. “I’ll take you out through ElPatron’s study. He’ll say you were thereall the time. He thinks this is prettyamusing, but Senator Mendoza doesn’tthink it’s funny at all.”

“Oh. Dada,” María said, as thoughshe’d just remembered she had a father.

“Matt, you wait here a few minutes.When the coast is clear, come outwherever you went in,” said thebodyguard.

“The music room,” said Matt.“I should have guessed it. María’s hat

was there.”“Matt,” said María, pulling away

from Tam Lin for a moment, “you let meforgive you for something you hadn’tdone.”

“A little extra forgiveness neverhurts,” said Matt, quoting one of Celia’sfavorite sayings.

“You probably liked letting me makea perfect idiot of myself,” she said with

a flash of her old spirit.“I’d never think you were an idiot,”

said Matt.“Anyhow, I’m sorry I was unfair to

you.”“We can’t stay here,” said Tam Lin.“I expect you to keep your promise to

be good,” she went on, looking at Matt.“Okay,” he replied.“And, Brother Wolf, I’ll miss you.”

This time María let Tam Lin hurry herdown the passage. Matt listened to herfootsteps die away in the distance.

17

THE EEJIT PENS

The Mendozas left immediately afterMaría, pale and miserable, emergedfrom El Patron’s apartment. El Patrondecamped not long afterward with hisbodyguards.

Matt was alone again. He couldn’ttalk to María or Tam Lin, but knowingthey still liked him made all thedifference. He studied things he thoughtthey would approve of. He read survivalmanuals for Tam Lin and a long,confusing book about Saint Francis to

please María.Saint Francis loved everyone from

murderous bandits to beggars coveredwith running sores (there was a pictureof one of these in the book). He called acicada to his finger and said, “Welcome,Sister Cicada. Praise God with yourjoyful music.” Saint Francis spoke toeverything—Brother Sun and SisterMoon, Brother Falcon and Sister Lark. Itgave Matt the warm feeling that theworld was one loving family—veryunlike the Alacráns.

But would Saint Francis have said,Brother Clone?

Matt’s warm feelings evaporated. Hewasn’t part of the natural order. He wasan abomination.

No matter where he was, Mattcouldn’t rid himself of the sensation hewas being watched. It was bad enough toknow the security guards spied on him,but far worse to think of Felicia. Shewas as awful as Tom, only no onesuspected it because she seemed someek. She reminded Matt of one of thosejellyfish he’d seen on TV. They floatedaround the ocean like fluffy pillows,trailing enough venom to paralyze aswimmer. Why hadn’t he realizedFelicia hated him?

Well, to be honest, because mostpeople hated him. It was no big thing.But her malevolence was in a class byitself.

Once a week Matt went to the stables

and asked for a Safe Horse. Beforegoing out, though, he tried to have aconversation with Rosa. He didn’t likeher. He wasn’t sure why he wanted towake her up, only that it seemed horribleto see her so changed. If there wasanything left of Rosa, it was locked in aniron box. He imagined her banging onthe walls with her fists, but no one cameto open the door. He’d read that comavictims hear everything people say andneed voices to keep their brains alive.And so Matt talked to her abouteverything he’d seen and done that week.But all Rosa ever replied was, “Do youwish another horse, Master?”

After an hour or so of this, Matt rodeoff to the oasis. “Hello, Brother Sun,” he

called. “Would you mind cooling downa bit?” Brother Sun ignored him. “Goodmorning, Sister Poppies,” Matt called tothe sea of blinding white flowers.“Hello, Brother and Sister Eejits,” hegreeted a row of brown-clad workersbending over the fields.

One of the most amazing things aboutSaint Francis and his followers was howthey gave away their possessions. SaintFrancis couldn’t wait to strip off hisshirt and sandals whenever he saw apoor person without them. BrotherJuniper, one of Saint Francis’s friends,even went home naked a lot of the time.Matt thought El Patrón would have aheart attack if anyone told him to giveaway his belongings.

Once Matt passed through the hole inthe rock, it was as though he’d arrived inanother world. The hawks circled lazilyin a bright, blue sky, the jackrabbitscrouched in the shade of the creosotes.Fish nibbled bread from Matt’s fingers,and coyotes darted forward to gobbledown chunks of his sandwiches. None ofthem cared whether he was a human or aclone.

Matt laid out a sleeping bag under thegrape arbor and used a rolled-up blanketfor a pillow. He placed a thermos oforange juice within reach and selected abook. This was living! The air smelledfaintly of creosote and the yellowsweetness of locust flowers. A largeblack wasp with scarlet wings ran over

the sand, searching for the spiders thatwere its prey.

“Hello, Brother Wasp,” Matt saidlazily. The insect dug furiously in thesand, found nothing, and scurried on.

Matt opened A History of Opium, oneof the books Tam Lin had left him in thechest. He expected it to be a manualabout farming, but it was something quitedifferent and exciting. Opium, Matt read,was a whole country. It was a long, thinstrip of land lying between the UnitedStates and Aztlán.

One hundred years ago there had beentrouble between the United States andAztlán, which was called Mexico inthose days. Matt vaguely rememberedCelia saying something about it. Many

thousands of Mexicans had floodedacross the border in search of work. Adrug dealer named Matteo Alacrán—

Matt sat up straight. That was ElPatrón’s name! One hundred years agohe would have been a strong and activeman.

This person, the book went on to say,was one of the richest and mostpowerful men in the world, even thoughhis business was illegal.

Drugs illegal? thought Matt. What astrange idea.

Matteo Alacrán formed an alliancewith the other dealers and approachedthe leaders of the United States andMexico. “You have two problems” hesaid. “First, you cannot control your

borders, and second, you cannotcontrol us.”

He advised them to combine theproblems. If both countries set asideland along their common border, thedealers would establish Farms and stopthe flow of Illegals. In return, the dealerswould promise not to sell drugs to thecitizens of the United States and Mexico.They would peddle their wares inEurope, Asia, and Africa instead.

It was a pact made in hell, said thebook.

Matt put it down. He couldn’t seeanything wrong with the plan. It seemedto have done everything it promised. Helooked at the title page. The author wasEsperanza Mendoza, and the Anti-

Slavery Society of California was thepublisher. Now that he looked moreclosely, he saw the book was printed oncheap, yellow paper. It didn’t look likesomething you could take seriously. Mattread on.

At first, the book explained, Opiumwas simply a no-man’s-land, but throughthe years it had prospered. Differentareas were ruled by different families,much like the kingdoms of medievalEurope. A council of Farmers wasestablished, which dealt withinternational problems and kept peacebetween the various Farms. Mostfamilies controlled small areas, but twowere large enough to dictate policy. TheMacGregors ruled the land near San

Diego, and the Alacráns had a vastempire stretching from central Californiaall across Arizona and into NewMexico.

Gradually, Opium changed from a no-man’s-land to a real country. And itssupreme leader, dictator, and führer wasMatteo Alacrán.

Matt stopped reading so he couldsavor the words. His heart swelled withpride. He didn’t know what a führerwas, but it was obviously somethingvery good.

A more evil, vicious, and self-servingman could hardly be imagined, wroteEsperanza on the next line.

Matt threw the book away as hard ashe could. It landed in the water with its

pages open. How dare she insult ElPatrón! He was a genius. How manypeople could build a country out ofnothing, especially someone as poor asEl Patrón had been? Esperanza wassimply jealous.

But Matt sprang up to rescue the bookbefore it was entirely ruined. Tam Linhad given it to him, and that made itvaluable. He dried it out carefully andpacked it away in the metal chest.On the way back Matt stopped at thewater purification plant and talked to theforeman. Since Tam Lin’s departure,Matt had thought long and hard about theexcellent education he’d been given. Itdidn’t make sense for him to spend therest of his life as an exotic pet. El Patrón

didn’t waste money like that.No, Matt realized, the old man meant

him to have a higher destiny. He couldnever reach the status of Benito orSteven, not being human, but he couldhelp them. And so Matt had begun tostudy how the enterprise of running anopium empire worked. He saw howopium was planted, processed, andmarketed. He watched how the eejitswere moved from field to field, howoften they were watered, and how manyfood pellets they were allowed.

When I’m in charge— Matt quicklyadjusted his thought: When I’m helpingthe person in charge, I’ll free theeejits. Surely opium could be grown bynormal people. They might not be as

efficient, but anything was better than amindless army of slaves. Now that Matthad observed Rosa, he understood that.

He asked the plant foreman about theunderground river that flowed from theGulf of California hundreds of milesaway. It was used to supply water to theAlacrán estate, but it smelled—before itwas purified—terrifyingly bad.

The plant foreman refused to meetMatts eyes. Like most humans, he didn’tlike talking to clones, but he also didn’twant to anger El Patrón. “Why does thewater smell like that?” Matt asked.

“Dead fish. Chemicals,” the foremanreplied, not looking up.

“But you take those out.”“Yes.”

“Where do you put them?”“Wastelands,” the man said, pointing

north. He kept his answers as brief aspossible.

Matt shaded his eyes as he looked tothe north. A heat haze shimmered overthe desert, and he saw a series of ridgesthat might be buildings. “There?” heasked doubtfully.

“Yes,” the foreman replied.Matt turned the horse and started

heading northward to get a clearer view.The smell was so vile, he feared hemight have an asthma attack. He felt forhis inhaler.

They were buildings. They stretchedin long rows with doors and dark littlewindows every so often. The roofs were

so low, Matt wondered whether aperson could stand up inside. Thewindows were covered with iron bars.Could this be where the eejits lived?The idea was appalling.

The closer Matt got, the stronger thestench became. It was a compound ofrotten fish, excrement, and vomit, with asweet chemical odor that was worsethan the other smells put together.

Matt grasped the inhaler. He knew heshould leave at once, but the buildingswere too intriguing. He could seeskeletons of fish and seashellsembedded in the dirt around them. Itseemed the whole place was built onwaste from the Gulf of California.

Matt circled around the end of one of

the buildings and rode down into adepression that must have been used forwaste. The evil smell made Matt’s eyeswater, and he could barely focus on thedense yellow sludge on the bottom. Thehorse stumbled. Its legs collapsedbeneath it, and Matt had to throw hisarms around its neck to keep from beingcatapulted into the sludge.

“Get up! Get up!” he ordered, but thehorse was incapable of obeying. It sat onthe ground with its legs folded up underit. Then Matt felt himself getting dizzy.He threw himself off the horse andsucked desperately at the inhaler. Hislungs filled with liquid. A terror ofdrowning swept over him, and he triedto crawl away from the trough. His

fingers dug into the rotting, fish-slimedsoil.

A pair of hands yanked him up. Hewas dragged a short way and throwninto the back of a vehicle. Matt felt themotor start. The vehicle moved away ina plume of dust that made him cough. Hetried to get up and was instantlyslammed down by a boot on his chest.

Shocked, Matt stared up at the coldestpair of eyes he’d ever seen. At first hethought he was looking at Tam Lin, butthis person was younger and leaner. Hehad the same wavy, brown hair and blueeyes, the same physical alertness, butnone of the good humor Matt was used toseeing in the bodyguard’s face.

“Where’d you get a horse?” the man

demanded. “Where’d you get the brainsto make a run for it?”

“He’s not an eejit, Hugh,” saidanother voice. Matt looked up to seeanother man, similar to the first one.

“Then you’re an Illegal,” snarledHugh. “I reckon we’ll run you to thehospital and let ‘em put a clamp in yourbrain.”

“You do that,” Matt said with hisheart beating very fast. He was afraid,but Tam Lin had taught him it wasfoolhardy to show weakness. Act likeyou’re in control, the bodyguard hadsaid, and nine times out of ten, you’llget away with it. Most people arecowards underneath. Matt realizedthese men belonged to the Farm Patrol

and thus, judging by Celia’s stories,were very dangerous.

“You do that,” Matt repeated, “andI’ll tell the doctor how you treated ElPatrón’s clone.”

“Say what?” said Hugh, lifting hisboot from Matt’s chest.

“I’m El Patrón’s clone. I was visitingthe water purification plant and got lost.Better yet, you can take me to the BigHouse and I’ll send a message to him.”Matt was very far from feelingconfident, but he’d observed El Patróngive orders many times. He knewexactly how to reproduce the cold,deadly voice that got results.

“Crikey! He even sounds like the oldvampire,” said the second man.

“Shut your cake hole!” snarled Hugh.“Look, we weren’t expecting you outthere, Master, uh, Master—what do wecall you?”

“Matteo Alacrán,” Matt said, and wasgratified to see the men flinch.

“Well, Master Alacrán, we weren’texpecting you, and you were by the eejitpens, so it was a natural mistake—”

“Did it occur to you to ask what I wasdoing out there?” Matt said, narrowinghis eyes as El Patrón did when hewanted to be particularly menacing.

“I know we should’ve, sir. We’rereally very, very sorry. We’re taking youstraight to the Big House, and we’remost humbly begging your pardon, aren’twe, Ralf?”

“Oh, yes, indeed,” said the secondman.

“What about my horse?”“We’ll fix that up.” Ralf banged on

the cab of the truck. A window opened,and he shouted instructions inside.“We’ll radio for a Patrol to collect thenag. It was in a bad way from the deadair, sir. It might not survive.”

“Dead air?” said Matt, startledenough to drop out of his El Patrón act.

“It sometimes happens around thattrough,” said Ralf. “The air doesn’tmove, and the carbon dioxide builds up.It’s like being in a mine.”

“I lost a brother like that,” remarkedHugh.

“You can’t tell until it’s too late,”

said Ralf. “The nearby pens are usuallyokay, but on still nights we make theeejits sleep in the fields.”

Matt was amazed. “Why don’t youclean up the trough?”

Ralf seemed honestly puzzled by theidea. “It’s how we’ve always donethings, Master Alacrán. The eejits don’tcare.”

Well, that’s true , thought Matt. Evenif the eejits knew about the danger, theycouldn’t flee unless they were ordered todo so.

Now that Matt appeared to accept themen’s apology, they became almostfriendly. They didn’t act like mostpeople did when told Matt was a clone.They were wary but not hostile. In fact,

they behaved a lot like Tam Lin.“Are you Scottish?” Matt asked.“Oh, no,” said Hugh. “Ralf here is

from England, and I’m from Wales. WeeWullie in the cab is Scottish, though. Butwe all like to play soccer and thumpheads.”

Matt remembered something El Patrónhad said long ago about Tam Lin andDaft Donald: I picked up this lot inScotland, breaking heads outside asoccer field. Always choose yourbodyguards from another country. Theyfind it harder to make alliances andbetray you.

“Soccer sounds a lot like war,” Mattsaid.

Both Ralf and Hugh laughed. “It is,

lad. It is,” said Hugh.“The fine thing about soccer,” said

Ralf, with a distant look in his eyes, “isthat you enjoy both the game and thetrimmings.”

“Trimmings?” Matt said.“Ah, yes. That which surrounds the

game—the buildup, the crush of fans inthe trains …”

“The parties,” said Hugh, with adreamy look on his face.

“The parties,” agreed Ralf. “Youcrowd into a pub with your mates anddrink until the owner throws you out.”

“If he can throw you out,” Hughamended.

“And then, either before or after, yourun into the fans on the other side. So of

course you have to set them straight.”“That’s when the head thumping

occurs,” Matt guessed.“Yes. Nothing finer, especially if you

win,” said Ralf.The truck followed a zigzag course

through the poppy fields. Matt saw thesame eejits he’d observed that morning.They were still bending over the ripeseedpods, but he felt no impulse to callthem brothers. They weren’t brothersand never would be until they lost theclamps in their brains.

“If you liked it so much, why did youcome here?” Matt asked Hugh and Ralf.

The men lost their dreamyexpressions. Their eyes became coldand distant. “Sometimes …,” Hugh

began, and then fell silent.“Sometimes the head thumping goes

too far,” Ralf finished for him. “It’s okayto kill people in a war; then you’re ahero. But in soccer—which is every bitas glorious—you’re supposed to shakehands with the enemy afterward.”

“Kiss his ruddy backside, more like,”said Hugh in disgust.

“And we didn’t like that, see.”Matt thought he understood. Hugh,

Ralf, and Wee Wullie in the cab weremurderers. They were the idealcandidates for the Farm Patrol. Theywould have to be loyal to El Patrón, orhe would dump them into the arms ofwhatever police were looking for them.

The lush gardens and red tile roofs of

the Big House were visible now.Nothing could have been further from thelong, low dwellings where the eejitslived—that is, when they weren’tsleeping in the fields to keep from beinggassed.

“Did Tam Lin kill anyone?” Mattsaid. He didn’t much want to ask, butthis might be his only opportunity to findout.

Hugh and Ralf exchanged looks.“He’s in a class by himself,” said Ralf.“He’s a bloody terrorist.”

“Can’t think why El Patrón trusts himso much,” said Hugh.

“They’re like father and son—”“Put a cork in it! Can’t you see who

we’re talking to?” Hugh said.

The house was near, and Matt wasafraid they’d let him out before helearned what he wanted to know. “Whatdid Tam Lin do?” he urged.

“Only set a bomb outside the primeminister’s house in London,” repliedHugh. “He was a Scottish nationalist,see. Wanted to bring back Bonnie PrinceCharlie or some other fat slug. Hewasn’t motivated by beer like the rest ofus.”

“No, he’s a cut above,” Ralf said,“with his fancy ethics and socialconscience.”

“It’s a shame a school bus pulled upat the wrong moment,” said Hugh. “Theblast killed twenty kiddies.”

“That’s what social conscience gets

you,” Ralf said as he helped Matt climbdown. The truck drove off at once—themen seemed eager to get away, orperhaps they were forbidden to showthemselves around the civilized halls ofEl Patrón’s mansion.

18

THE DRAGON HOARD

Wake up!” said Celia, so close to hisear that Matt fell out of bed with hisarms flailing.

“What’s wrong?” he cried, trying tountangle himself from the sheets.

She yanked the sheets away andpulled him to his feet. Even though Mattwas as tall as Celia now, she wasstronger. It must have been all thoseyears of lugging pots of stew around thekitchen. She pushed him into thebathroom.

“Should I get dressed?” Matt asked.“There’s no time. Just wash your

face.”Matt splashed water on his face in an

effort to wake up. He’d gone straight tobed after the Farm Patrol had broughthim home. He’d felt sick from the badair at the eejit pens.

He was disturbed by the conflictingimages he had of the Farm Patrol. Beforehe had met them, Celia had filled Matt’shead with enough stories to make hisblood run cold. They were creatures ofthe night, she said, like the chupacabras.They infested the trails that wound out ofthe Ajo Mountains, and they hunted theirprey with heat-sensitive goggles.

Matt remembered Hugh’s cold eyes as

the man slammed him onto the bed of thetruck. To Hugh—at that point, at least—Matt was only a rat to be crushedunderfoot.

But once he’d revealed himself asMatteo Alacrán, the Farm Patrol hadtransformed themselves into good-natured boys, out for a drink at the pubwith a little head thumping for dessert.

Yeah, right , Matt reminded himself.And Tom’s the angel Gabriel.

“Hurry up! It’s important!” shoutedCelia from the other side of thebathroom door.

Matt dried his hands and emerged.“Have a quesadilla before you go.”

Was it Matt’s imagination, or wasCelia’s hand shaking as she handed him

the plate.“I’m not hungry,” he protested.“Eat! It’s going to be a long night.”

Celia planted herself at the table andwatched as he mechanically chewed.She made him finish every bit of it. Thesalsa tasted funny, or perhaps it was theaftereffects of the bad air. Matt still feltsick. He’d gone to bed with a metallictaste in his mouth.

The minute Celia and Matt emergedfrom the apartment, they were met by apair of bodyguards and hustled throughthe halls. It must have been very late,because all the corridors were deserted.

They rushed down the front steps andalong a winding path, going throughdarkened gardens until they reached the

edge of the desert. Behind them Mattsaw the great mansion with its whitepillars and orange trees decorated withlights. His bare foot crunched down on abullhead thorn.

“Ow!” Matt crouched down toremove the thorn.

The bodyguards whisked him off theground before he could reach his foot.Then Matt realized where they wereheading.

“The hospital!” he gasped.“It’s all right, mi vida,” said Celia,

but it didn’t sound all right. Her voicewas choked.

“I’m not sick!” Matt cried. He hadn’tbeen to the hospital since he’d seen thething on the bed.

“You’re not sick. El Patrón is,” saidone of the guards.

Matt stopped struggling then. It wasperfectly natural for them to bring him toEl Patrón. He loved El Patrón, and theold man would want to see him if he wasvery sick.

“What happened?” Matt said.“Heart attack,” grunted the guard.“He’s not … dead?”“Not yet.”Matt suddenly felt faint with shock.

His vision blurred and his heartpounded. He twisted his head away fromthe bodyguard’s arm and vomited.

“What the—?” The man gave astartled shout followed by a string ofcurses. “Crikey! Look at what he did to

my suit!”Matt no longer bothered about the

thorn in his foot. Far worse problemsoverwhelmed him. His stomach felt likehe’d swallowed a barrel cactus.Something was wrong with his eyes, too.The hospital walls swarmed with weirdcolors.

Orderlies lifted him onto a stretcher,quickly wheeled him down a hall, andtransferred him to a bed. Someoneshouted, “His heartbeat’s all over theplace!” and someone else ran a needleinto his arm. Matt was no longer sure ofwhat was real and what was anightmare. He seemed to be in the troughat the eejit pens, floating in yellowsludge. He vomited again and again until

only a thin, bile-flavored liquid dribbledout. He saw Furball sitting at the foot ofhis bed, looking reproachful. Was thishow Furball suffered after he’d ingestedthe laudanum?

Then it was Saint Francis who sat atthe foot of the bed. Brother Wolf youhave done much evil so that all folk areyour enemy. Yet I would be your friend,he said.

Sure. Okay, thought Matt.The figure of Saint Francis shifted to

that of Tarn Lin. The bodyguard lookedgray and haggard. He bowed his head asthough in prayer, although praying wasvery far from the activities Mattassociated with the man.

A faint, blue light illuminated the

window. Dawn was approaching, andthe horrors of the night were ebbingaway. Matt swallowed. His throat wasso raw, he wasn’t sure he could speak.

“Tam Lin,” he croaked. Thebodyguard’s head snapped up. Helooked—Matt couldn’t quite put a nameto it—both relieved and miserable.

“Don’t talk unless you have to,laddie.”

“El Patrón,” whispered Matt.“He’s stable,” said Tam Lin. “They

had to do a piggyback transplant onhim.” Matt raised his eyebrows. “That’swhere they put a donor heart next to his,to regulate the beat. The donor was—theheart was—too small to do the job byitself.”

Matt understood something of theprocess from his science classes. Whensomeone died in an accident, his organswere used to save the lives of sickpeople. If the heart El Patrón got wassmall, it must have come from a child.Maybe that was what had depressedTam Lin.

“I was at… eejit pens,” Matt said, andpaused to let the pain in his throatsubside. “Got sick. Farm Patrol … foundme.”

“You were in the wastelands?” TamLin exploded. “Good God! No wonderyour heart went wonky! There’s awitch’s brew of chemicals in that soil. Iwant you to promise me never, never togo there again.”

Matt was overwhelmed by thebodyguard’s anger. How was he to knowwhere the dangers were when no onetold him? His eyes began to leak tears inspite of his efforts not to appearcowardly.

“Heck, I’m sorry,” said Tam Lin. “Ishouldn’t yell at you when you’re down.Look, you did a daft thing, nosing aroundthe eejit pens, but maybe it wasn’t such abad mistake. They do say guardianangels guide the steps of idiots.” Theman looked speculatively at Matt, asthough he wanted to say more.

“Sorry,” whispered Matt.“And so you should be. Celia’s been

wearing a groove in the floor outside forhours. Do you feel up to a little weeping

and wailing?”“If you take … thorn out of foot,”

croaked Matt.The bodyguard yanked back the

covers and found the problem at once.“Bloody idiots,” he growled under hisbreath. “Can’t find anything unless it hasa bull’s-eye painted around it.” Hepulled out the thorn and swabbed Matt’sfoot with rubbing alcohol.

Matt wanted badly to ask himquestions. Do you feel sorry aboutkilling twenty children? for instance,and Why were you angry about Furballwhen you did something far worse? Butit took more confidence than Matt had toconfront Tam Lin.

Weeping and wailing was exactly

what Celia had in mind. She lamentedover Matt until he felt hysterical. Still, itwas nice to be loved. Even better, shestood up to the hospital orderlies like atigress. “He’s not needed hereanymore!” she cried in both Englishand Spanish.

Matt was loaded onto a stretcher andcarried back through the fresh, cooldawn air to Celia’s apartment. Shetucked him into bed and stood guardover him for the rest of the day.El Patrón’s piggyback heart performedvaliantly, but it was clear the old manhad passed a kind of milestone. He nolonger purred around restlessly in hismotor-driven wheelchair. Physicaltherapists worked his arms and legs to

keep the muscles from wasting away, butsomething vital had gone.

Once El Patrón would have roaredwith laughter when Tam Lin describedhow his enemies in the U.S. and Aztlángovernments had been disgraced or metwith strange accidents. Now he merelynodded. Such pleasures were beyond ElPatrón now, and he had few enough leftat the age of 148.

Tam Lin had treasures brought fromthe vast hoard of gifts the old man hadamassed. El Patron ran his gnarledfingers through a box of diamonds andsighed. “In the end they’re only rocks.”

Matt, who spent much time by ElPatrón’s bed these days, said, “They’revery beautiful.”

“I no longer see the life in them. Thefire that made men go to war for them isgone.”

And Matt understood that what ElPatrón missed was not the beauty of thestones, but the joy he once took inowning fine things. He felt very sorry forthe old man and didn’t know how tocomfort him.

“Saint Francis says it’s good to givestuff away to the poor,” Matt suggested.

The change that came over El Patronthen was extraordinary. He drew himselfup in the bed. His eyes flashed, andenergy bubbled up from some unknownreservoir. “Give … things … away?”he cried in the voice of a man onehundred years younger. “Give things

away? I can’t believe I heard that! Whathave they been teaching you!”

“It was only a suggestion,” Matt said,aghast at the reaction he’d provoked.“Saint Francis lived a long time ago.”

“Give things away?” mused the oldman. “Was that why I fought my way outof Durango? Was that why I built anempire greater than El Dorado’s? ElDorado bathed in gold dust every day.Did you know that?”

Matt did. El Patrón had told him atleast a dozen times.

“He stood on the porch of his goldenhouse,” said El Patrón, his black eyesshining, “and his servants dusted himwith metal until he shone like the sun.His people worshipped him like a god.”

The old man was lost in the fantasynow, and his eyes looked far away to thejungles where the fabled king had lived.

Later Tam Lin complimented Matt onhis cleverness. “Brought the roses backto his cheeks, suggesting he give awayhis dragon hoard. I’ve been too soft onhim. What he really needed was a bootup the rear end.”

“What’s a dragon hoard?” asked Matt.He and Tam Lin were sitting in Celia’sgarden sharing a pitcher of lemonade.The bodyguard rarely had time to visitsince El Patron’s heart operation. Now,though, because of Matt’s incautiousremark, the old man was roaming aroundthe house by himself. Tam Lin said hewas counting the spoons.

“Ah, now,” said Tam Lin. “That’swhat a dragon amasses from pillagingcastles. He keeps his wealth in a deep,dark cave in the mountains, and at nighthe sleeps on it. It’s probablyuncomfortable with all those jewel-encrusted daggers and so forth. But thedragon is so covered with scales, hecan’t feel it.”

Matt loved it when Tam Lin spoke ofthings he must have heard as a child. Asoft, musical lilt came into his voice.Matt could imagine him as a boy, longbefore the events that had blunted hisnose and reamed him with scars fromhead to toe.

“Does it make the dragon happy?”Matt asked.

“Does it make the dragon happy?”echoed Tam Lin. “Why, I never thoughtof that. I suppose it does. What otherpleasure can a creature have whose lifeconsists of making everyone elsemiserable? To go on, though: The mostamazing thing about dragons is that theyknow when anything, no matter howsmall, has been taken from their hoard.They can be in a deep slumber. But ifsome foolish lad creeps up in the middleof the night and takes only one coin, thedragon wakes up. You wouldn’t want tobe that lad then. The dragon burns himright down to a lump of coal. And tosseshim onto a heap with the other lumps ofcoal who made the mistake of trying tosteal from a dragon hoard.”

Bees hovered over banks of flowersin the warm afternoon sun. Normally,Celia preferred growing vegetables, butshe’d recently taken an interest inflowers. Black-eyed Susans climbed oneof the walls, and a passionflower vinedecorated another. Foxgloves andlarkspurs formed a tidy bed framed byother plants Matt didn’t recognize. Somewere sensitive to sunlight, so Tam Linhad constructed a latticework arbor.Matt thought it made the garden muchnicer.

“Does El Patron know how much stuffhe has in his storeroom?” Matt knew, ofcourse, who was being referred to withthe dragon story.

“Probably not. But you don’t want to

take a chance on it,” said Tam Lin.

19

COMING-OF-AGE

El Patrón’s burst of energy didn’t lastlong. Soon he was as pale and weak asever. He rambled on about his childhoodand his seven brothers and sisters whohad all died young. He listened to Mattplay the guitar, although the boy’sfingers weren’t long enough yet to playreally complicated pieces.

Matt’s voice was high and sweet—anangel’s voice, Celia said. El Patrónwent into a quiet daze when he listenedto it. Matt loved to see the old man then,

with his eyes half closed and his mouthcurved up in a gentle smile. It was betterthan any compliment.

One day, as Matt was singing aSpanish ballad, his voice cracked. Itdropped more than an octave to producea sound more like a braying donkey thana boy. Embarrassed, he cleared histhroat and tried again. At first the songwent smoothly, but after a few momentsthe same thing happened again. Mattstood up in confusion.

“So it has happened,” murmured ElPatórn from his bed.

“I’m sorry. I’ll ask Celia for coughdrops,” said Matt.

“You don’t know what’s wrong, doyou? You’re so cut off from the rest of

the world, you don’t know.”“I’ll be okay tomorrow.”The old man laughed: a dry, dusty

sound. “Ask Celia or Tam Lin toexplain. Just play for me without singing.That’s good enough.”

But when Matt asked Celia later, shethrew her apron over her face and burstinto tears. “What is it? What’s wrong?”cried Matt, thoroughly alarmed.

“You’ve grown up!” wailed Celiafrom behind the apron.

“Isn’t that okay?” Matt’s voice, to hishorror, boomed out like a bass drum.

“Of course it is, mi vida,” said Celia,wiping her eyes with the cloth andputting on an unconvincing smile. “It’salways a shock when a little lamb

sprouts horns and turns into a big,handsome ram. But it’s a good thing,darling, really it is. We must have aparty to celebrate.”

Matt sat in his room with the guitar ashe listened to Celia bang pots in thekitchen. He didn’t believe it was a goodthing to grow up. He could read Celia’smoods no matter how many smiles sheproduced. He knew that underneath shewas upset, and he wanted to know why.

He’d become a man. No, that waswrong. Since he wasn’t a boy to beginwith, he couldn’t turn into a man. Hewas an adult clone. An old memorysurfaced of the doctor telling Rosa thatclones went to pieces when they gotolder. Matt no longer feared he would

actually fall apart. But what did happen?Matt felt his face for the first hint of

whiskers. There was nothing except acouple of bumps left over from his lastbout of acne. Maybe it’s a mistake , hethought. He attempted the ballad againand made it through only the first linebefore his throat betrayed him. It wasextremely disappointing. His new voicewasn’t nearly as good as the old one.

I wonder if María’s voice willchange too, he thought.

The party that night was subdued.Celia and Tam Lin sat in the courtyardwith glasses of champagne to celebrateMatt’s new status. As a special treatMatt was allowed one too, althoughCelia insisted on watering it down with

lemonade. Fireflies Matt had orderedfrom a catalog pulsed across the warm,humid garden. A heavy odor filled thewalled-in space from Celia’s new andsomewhat creepy plants. She said shehad ordered them from a curandera inAztlán.

A sudden thought struck Matt. “Howold am I?” he asked, holding out hisglass for a refill. Celia, ignoring a frownfrom Tam Lin, poured him lemonadeinstead of champagne. “I know I don’thave a birthday like humans,” Matt said,“but I was born. Or something like it.”

“You were harvested,” said Tam Lin.His speech was slurred. He hadpolished off a bottle by himself, andMatt realized he’d never seen the

bodyguard drink alcohol before.“I grew inside a cow. Did she give

birth to me like a calf?” Matt sawnothing wrong with being born in astable. Jesus had found it perfectlyacceptable.

“You were harvested,” repeated TamLin.

“He doesn’t need the details,” Celiasaid.

“And I say he does!” roared the man,slamming his fist on the picnic table.Both Celia and Matt flinched. “There’sbeen enough damn secrecy around thisplace! There’s been enough damn lies!”

“Please,” Celia said urgently, placingher hand on Tam Lin’s arm. “Thecameras—”

“The cameras can go to blazes for allI care! Take a look, you lying, spyingwretches! Here’s what I think of you!”The man made an extremely rude handgesture at the black-eyed Susan vinescovering one wall. Matt had copied thatgesture once and had been yelled at byCelia.

“Please. If you won’t think ofyourself, think of us.” Celia had gone onher knees by the bodyguard’s bench. Sheclasped her hands the way she did inprayer.

Tam Lin shook himself like a dog.“Ach! It’s the drink talking!” He grabbedthe remaining champagne bottle andhurled it against the wall. Matt heard thefragments shower over the black-eyed

Susans. “I’ll tell you this much, lad.” Hehauled Matt up by the front of his shirt.Celia watched with a pale, frightenedface. “You were grown in that poor cowfor nine months, and then you were cutout of her. You were harvested. She wassacrificed. That’s the term they usewhen they kill a poor lab animal. Yourstepmother was turned into ruddy T-bone steaks.”

He dropped Matt, and Matt backedaway out of reach.

“It’s all right, Tam Lin,” Celia saidgently. She eased onto the seat besidehim.

“It’s not all right.” The man buried hishead in his arms on the table. “We’rebloody lab animals to this lot. We’re

only well treated until we outlive ourusefulness.”

“They won’t get their way forever,”Celia whispered, putting her armsaround him.

Tam Lin twisted his head until hecould peer at her from the shelter of hisarms. “I know what you’ve got in mind,and it’s too dangerous,” he said.

Celia leaned against him and rubbedhis back with her large, gentle hands.“This Farm has been here for a hundredyears. How many eejits do you think areburied under the poppies?”

“Thousands. Hundreds of thousands.”Tam Lin’s voice was almost a groan.

“Don’t you think that’s enough?”Celia smiled at Matt as she rubbed the

bodyguard’s back. It was a real smilethis time, and it made her beautiful in theshadowy garden light. “Go to bed, mivida.” she said. “I’ll look in on youlater.”

Matt was annoyed that the two seemedto have forgotten it was his party, hiscoming-of-age. He sulked in hisbedroom. He twanged the guitar, hopingthe noise would disturb the pair huddledin the garden. But after a while his angerfaded away.

It was replaced by a feeling that hehad overlooked something important.Hints had been as thick as fireflies in thecourtyard garden. They brightened withpromise. They stayed alight almost longenough to show Matt what they were.

But then, like the fireflies, they vanished.Tam Lin and Celia were far too careful.

It had been like that for years. Mattknew there was vital information he wasmissing. It had to do with clones. Hewasn’t supposed to know how they weremade. He wasn’t supposed to know thatall of them—except for him—were braindead.

Now, for the hundredth time, Mattthought about why anyone would createa monster. It couldn’t be to replace abeloved child. Children were loved andclones were hated. It couldn’t be to havea pet. No pet resembled the horrible,terrified thing Matt had seen in thehospital.

Matt remembered Mr. MacGregor and

El Patrón sitting in adjoiningwheelchairs after their operations. Gotme a new liver, MacGregor had said,patting his stomach, and went in for aset of kidneys while I was at it. He’dlooked at Matt with those bright blueeyes that were so much like Tom’s, andMatt had been revolted.

No! It couldn’t be!Matt remembered the birthday party

where El Patrón had so suddenlyrecovered his mental abilities. Fetalbrain implants—I must try thatsometime, MacGregor had said. It’sdone wonders for you.

Don’t put it off too long , El Patrónhad replied. You have to give thedoctors at least five months’ lead time.

Eight is better.It couldn’t be! Matt pressed his hands

against his temples to keep the ideainside. If he didn’t think it, it wouldn’tbe real.

But it slipped through his fingersanyway. MacGregor had created a cloneso he could have transplants when heneeded them. The thing in the hospitalhad every reason to howl! And what wasthe source of El Patrón’s fetal implants?Or the piggyback heart that kept his old,leaky one going?

The evidence was all there. OnlyMatt’s blindness had kept him fromseeing the truth—and his unwillingnessto think about it. He wasn’t stupid. Theclues had been there all along. The truth

had been too overwhelming to bear.El Patrón, too, had created clones to

provide himself with transplants. Hewas exactly the same as MacGregor.

No, not the same. Because I’mdifferent, Matt thought desperately,staring up at the ceiling of his bedroom.Celia had pasted glow-in-the-dark starsall over the surface. From the time Matthad moved into her apartment, he’d goneto sleep under a faintly shining canopy ofstars. Their presence soothed andcomforted him now.

I’m different. I wasn’t created toprovide spare parts.

El Patrón had refused to let thedoctors destroy Matt’s brain. He’dprotected him and given him Celia and

Tam Lin for company. He’d hired Mr.Ortega to teach Matt music. The old mantook great pride in the boy’saccomplishments. That was not thebehavior of someone who planned tomurder you later.

Matt consciously slowed hisbreathing. He’d been panting like a birdtrapped inside a room. Matt had seenbirds die of panic when they couldn’tbeat their way through a closed window.He had to think the situation through,reason it out. It was clear, whatever hadhappened to the other poor clones, thatMatt wasn’t meant to be one of them.

El Patrón was moved by a motivevery different from MacGregor’s. It was,the boy realized, simple vanity. When

the old man looked at Matt, he sawhimself: young, strong, and sound ofmind. It was like looking into a mirror.The effect wouldn’t be the same if Mattwere a drooling, blubbering thing on ahospital bed.

Matt clutched the pillow the way he’dhugged stuffed animals before he wastoo old for such things. He felt like he’dbeen yanked back from a high cliff.There was still the terrible fate of theother clones to consider.

My brothers, thought Matt.He trembled as he tried to recall his

devotion to the man who had createdhim. El Patron loved him, but he wasevil . A more evil, vicious, and self-serving man could hardly be imagined,

Esperanza had written in her book on theland of Opium. Matt had hurled the bookaway violently when he read that. ButMatt had been a boy then. He was a mannow—or something like it. Men, TamLin often told him, had the courage tolook things in the eye.

“You have a fever!” cried Celia whenshe and Tam Lin came to say good night.She hurried off to make herbal tea. TamLin stood and watched from thedoorway. The silhouette of thebodyguard looked menacing, and Mattremembered he’d killed twenty childrenwith a bomb intended for the Englishprime minister. The man seemed to soakup the faint starlight from the ceiling.

When Celia returned with the tea,

Tam Lin shrugged and said, “In answerto your question, lad, you’re fourteenyears old.” Then he was off to his roomin El Patrón’s heavily guarded wing ofthe house.

20

ESPERANZA

Matt woke up sick and feverish. Hefelt as if a boulder was resting on hischest. The only way he could roll it offwould be to learn that his fears wereunfounded. He could ask Celia, butshe’d be afraid to answer.

Matt felt the pressure of unseen eyeson him. Someone could be watchingthrough the cameras, or the spy roommight be empty. He had no way ofknowing. Felicia could be in there,wrapped in a fur coat, eagerly searching

for a way to destroy him.As for asking Tam Lin, Matt didn’t

know how to bring up the subject. By theway, is anyone planning to cut me upinto T-bone steaks? Even moreterrifying was the bodyguards possibleanswer: You hit the nail on the headthere, laddie. I always said you werebright as a button.

How much truth could he endure?Matt’s mood lightened, though, after

getting up. A hot shower and a breakfastof French toast helped drive away thefear. It made no sense for El Patrón tolavish education on someone who wasvalued only for his spare parts.Transplants didn’t need straight A’s.Matt went to the stables and ordered a

Safe Horse.A ground fog hung over the poppy

fields as he rode through. It was commonin the early morning, when the watersprinklers misted the cool air next to thesoil. The sun would burn it off later, butnow it formed a milky sea that reachedhalfway up Matt’s legs as he sat astridethe horse. It was a wonderful feeling tomove through this fog with only thehorse’s back and head showing. It waslike swimming through an enchantedlake.

I’m fourteen years old, Matt thought.I’m an adult.

It made him feel strong andadventurous. Medieval princes went towar when they were fourteen or even

younger.The oasis was shadowy and cool.

Recent rains had filled the pool until itlapped at the edge of the grape arbor.Matt dragged the metal chest to higherground. He took off his clothes andstepped into the water. Tam Lin, who letMatt do quite a few dangerous things,had discouraged swimming here becausethe bottom was murky with unexpecteddepths. To Matt, the danger was part ofthe attraction.

He dog-paddled across the pool.Shoals of tiny fish darted away from hishands. He reached the shore and pulledhimself onto a rock by a creosote bush.He shivered slightly. The day wouldsoon heat up, but for now the desert air

was chill with night.Matt looked up at the sky. It was such

an intense blue, it almost hurt his eyes.The rain had washed out the dust,leaving the air so clean and pure that itwas like breathing in light. The sense ofenchantment grew stronger.

What was to keep him from climbingthese mountains and going south toAztlán? It was a poor country, accordingto Celia, and yet her face lit up when shespoke of it. It was full of people and life,too. It was a new world where he mightescape the cameras and the malice ofFelicia. He wouldn’t have to meetMacGregor with his patchwork of bodyparts.

But would he want to live without

Celia and Tam Lin? Or María?Matt’s spirits rose still higher as he

thought about traveling through thosegray-brown mountains. He didn’t have tomake the decision yet. El Patrón couldlive for years—would live for years, theboy assured himself. After all, the oldman had the finest doctors in the world.Matt could plan his move carefully,perhaps even take María with him. Thesick fears of the previous night hadvanished, and he felt like a king: Mattthe Conqueror.

He swam back across the water. Thesun was beginning to flood the littlevalley as he unpacked Tam Lin’s booksand maps. Now he saw the use of them,and he intended to study them carefully

for his future escape.The history of Opium, he read in

Esperanza’s book, is soaked in terrorand blood. Matt settled against a roll ofblankets with a slice of cold Frenchtoast. He still found the author’s preachymanner annoying, but he couldn’t arguewith her facts.

Matteo Alacrán, or El Patrón as hesoon came to be known, planted opiumfrom the Pecos River to the Salton Sea,Matt read. He needed a vast workforceto tend it. This was no problem, asthousands of Mexicans flooded acrossthe border every day. All he needed wasto trap them.

To this end, he established the firstFarm Patrol. He recruited his army

from the foulest criminals ever vomitedup by corrupt prison systems anywherein the world.

Matt slammed the book shut. Thereshe went again with a tirade against ElPatrón. Esperanza had to be a completewitch. He drank a bottle of juice he’dbrought from the house and tried again.

Even so, El Patrón found it hard tocontrol the Illegals. They slippedthrough his fingers. They helped oneanother escape. They flooded acrossOpium to the border of the UnitedStates until that government threatenedto put El Patrón out of business.

It was then the Despot of Dope ,fearful of losing his slave empire, cameup with eejits.

On the surface, Matt read, nothingcould have seemed more humane. Afterall, what is suffering but an awarenessof suffering? The eejits felt neither coldnor heat nor thirst nor loneliness. Acomputer chip in their brains removedthose sensations. They toiled with thesteady devotion of worker bees. As faras anyone could tell, they were notunhappy. So could anyone say theywere being mistreated?

I could! thundered Esperanza. ElPatrón sold those people’s souls to theDevil! When they died, he plowed theirbodies into the dirt for fertilizer. Theroots of Opium are watered with blood,and anyone who buys its foul weed isno better than a flesh-eating cannibal.

That was definitely enough readingfor one day. Matt rested the book on hischest and tried to picture Esperanza’sface. She was probably covered withwarts like an old witch. She’d haveyellow fangs and cheeks that collapsedin like a rotten pumpkin. He flippedthrough the book, looking for her photo.

On page 247 he found it. She wasdressed in a black suit with a pearlnecklace. Her black hair hung in a shinyveil on either side of her pale andbeautiful face.

She looked a lot like María.Matt read the blurb under the picture:

Esperanza Mendoza, the ex-wife ofSenator Mendoza, is a charter memberof the Anti-Slavery Society of

California. She has written numerous,bestselling books. She was a recipientof the Nobel Peace Prize in—

Matt dropped the book. Maríacouldn’t possibly know about this. Shethought her mother was dead. Esperanzahad walked out of the house when Maríawas five years old and never returned.The little girl imagined her mother hadgotten lost in the desert, and she woke upnight after night, crying that she couldhear her mother’s voice. That was whyMaría clung so desperately tokeepsakes. She was terrified of losingthe things she loved.

And all this time her mother had beenliving it up in California. Matt felt adeep, burning rage against the woman

and against Senator Mendoza too. Hecertainly knew what had happened, buthe’d preferred to let María suffer. Well,Matt wasn’t going to let the situation goon any longer. The next time Maríavisited—and she’d have to come toSteven and Emilia’s wedding in twomonths—Matt would hit her between theeyes with this evidence.Matt discovered the reason Tam Lin hadforbidden him to swim at the oasis. Thatnight he came down with the worststomach flu he could ever remember. Hespent hours retching into a bucket untilhis throat burned like fire. Celia insistedon treating him herself. She forced glassafter glass of milk down him, and shedidn’t leave him alone for a second. In

the periods between attacks, he noticedthat her hands were as cold and clammyas his own.

Finally, he recovered enough to liedown. Celia pulled a chair up by his bedand sat there all night while Matt driftedin and out of sleep. At one point he woketo find Tam Lin’s face only an inch fromhis own. The bodyguard straightened upand said, “His breath smells of garlic.”

Why wouldn’t it smell of garlic? Mattthought drowsily. Practically everythingCelia cooked was loaded with it.

“I warned you not to try this. We haveto talk,” said Tam Lin to Celia.

“I’ll get the dosage right next time,”she said.

“Do you want to ruin everything?”

“Maybe your plan won’t work out.We need a backup,” Celia said.

“You’ll kill him.”She looked up at the secret camera.

“I’d die rather than let that happen.”The voices stopped. Matt tried to stay

awake, to see whether they would revealmore, but he was too weak.

The illness left Matt nervous andheadachy for days. Just when he thoughthe was getting better, another bout ofnausea occurred. The second attackwasn’t as bad as the first, so it seemedhe was fighting off the disease. He didwonder why Celia didn’t call for thedoctor, but he was grateful at the sametime. It would have meant a trip to thehospital, and Matt wanted to avoid that

at all costs.When he had recovered sufficiently,

he resumed spending his days at ElPatrón’s side, listening to the old manramble. It seemed that a fog wasgradually enveloping El Patrón’smemories. He sometimes called Matt byanother name, and he was confusedabout other things, too. “I built this shackwith my own hands,” he told Matt. Mattlooked around. The last thing you’d callthe mansion with its gardens andfountains was a shack.

“I put in the grapevine, too,” El Patrónsaid. “It’s doing very well. It coveredthe arbor in only two years. I think it’sthe water. There’s nothing finer than oneof these desert pools.”

He’s talking about the oasis , Mattthought with a chill. El Patrón must havebeen the person who had lived therelong ago. The shack had fallen down, butthe grapevine was still doing very well.“Is that the place behind the hole in therock?” Matt asked, to be sure he wascorrect.

“Of course, Felipe!” El Patrónsnapped. “You climb through that holeevery single day.” He fell into anotherreverie, his eyes seeing things no oneelse could. “This is the most beautifulplace in the world,” he said with a sigh.“If there’s a heaven and I’m allowedinside, I’m sure this pool and grapevinewill be there.”

Then he wandered off into an even

older memory. El Patrón’s voice filledwith wonder as he described thehacienda where he had attended fiestasso long ago. “They had a fountain,” ElPatrón marveled. “The water soundedlike music, and there was a statue of alittle angel in the middle. He looked socool and clean. And you can’t imaginethe food, Felipe. Tamales—as many asyou wanted—and barbecued ribs! Therewere chiles rellenos and moro crabsflown in from Yucatán and a whole tableof caramel puddings, each with its ownlittle dish.”

Matt felt sure that if there was aheaven, it contained moro crabs flown infrom Yucatán and a table covered withcaramel puddings. But then El Patrón’s

voice became sad. “Mamá brought mylittle sisters to the fiesta. She carriedone, and the other held on to her skirtand followed behind. My little sisterscaught typhoid and died in the samehour. They were so small, they couldn’tlook over the windowsill—no, not evenif they stood on tiptoe.”

It struck Matt that El Patrón was a lotnicer when he remembered the past. Heseemed kinder and more vulnerable.Matt still loved the old man, but therewas no question he was evil.

“Who’s Felipe?” Matt asked Celia inthe large, wood-burning kitchen of themansion.

“You mean the sauce cook orgardener?” she said.

“It must be someone else. El Patrón’salways calling me that.”

“Oh, no,” murmured Celia, pausingfrom the pie dough she was rolling out.“Felipe was his son. He died almosteighty years ago.”

“Then why? …”“Some people are like that, mi vida.

First they get older and older, and thenthey stop and get younger and younger.El Patrón believes he’s about thirty-fiveyears old now, so he thinks you’re hisson, Felipe. He can’t possibly knowwho you really are.”

“Because I won’t exist for anotherhundred years.”

“That’s right,” replied Celia.“So what should I do?”

“Be Felipe for him,” Celia saidsimply.

Matt went to the music room andplayed the piano to calm his nerves. If ElPatrón’s mind was slipping, it meant hewas ready for another dose of fetal brainimplants. That meant an embryo—Matt’s brother— was growing insidea cow. Could embryos understanddeath? Could they be afraid? Mattcrashed into a rendition of the “TurkishMarch” by Mozart, playing loud enoughto make a servant drop a tray in thehallway outside. When Matt finished, heplayed it again. And again. Theorderliness of Mozart made him feel asthough he had control of his own life. Ittransported him beyond the stifling

world of the mansion.More and more he wanted to escape.

Once the possibility had occurred to himat the oasis, the longing returned until itbecame a constant ache. He felt trappedlike a worm in a nut. Esperanza’s bookhad opened his eyes to the horrors of theempire El Patrón had built, and he hadseen for himself the low, dark dwellingsof the eejits that were no better thancoffins.

He could run away through the gray-tinged mountains that ringed the oasis.He could go to Aztlán. Tam Lin hadgiven him a chest full of maps and foodfor that very reason. Matt was sure of it.

But he couldn’t leave before Stevenand Emilia’s wedding. María would be

there, and he couldn’t go without seeingher.

21

BLOOD WEDDING

The mansion seethed with activity.Potted orange trees were dragged in andplaced around the perimeter of the salon.The scent of their flowers filled thehouse. The gardens were planted withjasmine, honeysuckle, and baby’s breath.So many powerful perfumes made Mattqueasy. His stomach hadn’t felt rightsince his swim at the oasis.

The freezers adjoining the kitchenfilled up with ice sculptures. Mermaids,lions, castles, and palm trees swirled

with mist when Matt looked inside. Theywould be placed in bowls of punch forthe wedding reception.

The old curtains and rugs werepacked away, and new ones in white,pink, and gold took their place. Thewalls were repainted, the red tile roofscleaned and polished. The house beganto look like a giant birthday cakecovered with frosting.

Matt skirted around the edge of thesefestivities. He knew he’d be confined toCelia’s apartment during the party. Bigdeal, thought Matt, scuffing his shoesalong a newly laid stretch of whitecarpet. He didn’t want to go to the stupidwedding anyway. Everyone had knownfor years that Steven and Emilia were

going to get married. El Patrón haddecreed it. He wanted to bind theAlacráns to the powerful politicalmachine Senator Mendoza ruled in theUnited States. It was simply good luckthat Steven and Emilia liked each other.If they hadn’t, it wouldn’t have mattered.

Benito, Steven’s older brother, hadmarried the daughter of the Nigerianpresident because Nigeria was one ofthe richest countries in the world. Benitoand Fani, his bride, had loathed eachother on sight; but El Patrón likedNigerian money, so their opinions didn’tcount.

As the day drew near, Matt felt moreand more isolated. Celia was toodistracted to talk. Tam Lin was shut

away with El Patrón, whose health wastoo poor to allow visits. Matt could havegone to the oasis, but a strange tirednesshad come over him. He fell asleep early,only to find his nights disturbed by evildreams. By day his mouth tasted of metaland his head ached. He made only onebrief trip to fetch Esperanza’s book onOpium.

The house filled up with guests.MacGregor arrived with a new wife—number seven, Matt thought; this one wasas young as Emilia. And Feliciaconsumed so much alcohol that a cloudof whiskey followed her wherever shewent. She drifted from one garden partyto another, staring at people with bright,feverish eyes until they became

uncomfortable and moved away.As for MacGregor, he was in fine

spirits. He’d had hair transplants. Hisscalp was a riot of springy red hair justlike Tom’s, and he kept patting it asthough it might fall out if he didn’t pushthe roots back in.

Matt observed everything from behindpillars or wall hangings. He didn’t wantanyone to point at him and say, What’sthis? Who brought this creature into aplace for people?

On the day of the wedding, a Nigerianhovercraft landed, carrying Benito, Fani,and Steven. Mr. Alacrán greeted themand kissed Fani, who grimaced as thoughshe’d touched something nasty. She hada hard, bitter face, and Benito was

beginning to get a potbelly. Steven, onthe other hand, was as handsome as astorybook prince.

Matt disliked him less than the otherAlacráns. It was Steven who had carriedhim away from the little house in thepoppies. And if he and Emilia hadignored Matt since, neither had they beencruel.

Matt watched the milling crowd ofguests and recalled their names, businessconnections, and scandals. He thought heunderstood the Alacrán empire every bitas well as Steven. For the hundredthtime Matt felt the gulf that separated himfrom humanity. All these people werehere to honor Steven. No one wouldever honor Matt, nor would he ever

marry.A familiar hovercraft landed, and

Matt’s heart leapt to his throat. Theguests turned toward the landing pad andcraned their necks to see the bride.Emilia didn’t disappoint them. She wasdressed in a shimmering blue gown,surrounded by a cluster of little girls asattendants. Each carried a basket of rosepetals, which she tossed in handfuls atthe crowd. Matt thought they made apretty picture until he realized the littlegirls were eejits.

Everyone applauded as the bride wasled up the stairs to the salon by SenatorMendoza. But Matt had no eyes for them.The only person he cared about steppedout of the hovercraft without any fanfare

at all. No one noticed María slip throughthe crowd, or that she wasn’t going inthe same direction as her sister. Mattunderstood, though, and he worked hisstealthy way around the edge of thecrowd to the music room.Most people shunned the music room.The servants entered only when theycleaned, and Felicia had stopped playingaltogether. The room was Matt’sterritory and thus tainted.

He closed the door behind him andwent straight to the closet. María waswaiting in the secret passage. “At last!”she cried, flinging her arms around him.“Have you missed me?”

“All the time,” he said, hugging herback. “I thought about you every day. I

wanted to write, but I didn’t know how.”“I’m in an awful convent,” she said,

disengaging herself and flopping downon the floor. “Oh, it’s not too bad. I justdon’t fit in. I wanted to do charity workin the town, but the Sisters wouldn’t letme. Imagine! They think they follow theteachings of Saint Francis, but they’dcurl up and die rather than wash abeggar’s sores.”

“I wouldn’t like to wash a beggar’ssores either,” said Matt.

“That’s because you’re a wolf. You’dgobble him up instead.”

“I’d find a healthy beggar first,” Mattsaid.

“You’re not supposed to eat any ofthem. Tell me what you’ve been up to.

Gosh, the other girls are boring! Theydon’t do anything but read love comicsand eat chocolates.” María snuggledagainst Matt, and he felt amazingly good.He realized he was happy and that hehadn’t been for a long time.

“Love comics?” he inquired.“Wolves wouldn’t find them

interesting. Tell me what you’ve beenwatching on TV. We aren’t allowed TVunless a show improves our souls.”

“I don’t have a soul,” Matt said.“I think you do,” said María. “I’ve

been reading modern church doctrineabout ecology. According to recentstudies, people think Saint Francis wasthe first ecologist. They say he preachedto animals because they had little souls

that could grow into big ones. Withwork, even a sparrow or cicada couldmake it into heaven.”

“Or hell,” said Matt.“Don’t be negative.” And then María

was off with her new ideas and thearguments she’d had with the moralsinstructor at the convent. She moved onto how she liked gardening, but hatedharvesting the poor little plants, and howshe was top in math, but had her gradeslowered when she sunbathed naked onthe roof.

She seemed to have stored up monthsof conversation and couldn’t wait to letit all out. Matt didn’t care. He wascontent to sit there in the dark with herhead leaning against his chest.

“Oh! But I’ve done all the talking andhaven’t let you say a word!” María criedat last. “That’s one of the things I dopenance for all the time. Except that noone at the convent listens to me like youdo.”

“I like listening to you,” Matt said.“I’m going to shut up now, and you’re

going to tell me what you’ve beendoing.” She put her arms around him,and he smelled her perfume, a warm andsomehow exciting scent of carnations.Matt never wanted to move again.

He told her about the eejit pens andmeeting the Farm Patrol and how he hadto go to the hospital. María trembledwhen he told her about El Patrón’s heartattack. “He’s so old,” she murmured.

“Not that there’s anything wrong withthat, but he’s too old.”

“I don’t think his piggyback heart isgoing to last,” Matt said.

“He shouldn’t have one at all,” Maríasaid.

“Do you know where he got it?”“I—I—” María seemed confused.

“I’m not supposed to talk about it, butyes, I do know where he got it! And it’sevil!” She hugged Matt more tightly. Hedidn’t know what to say The fears he’dthrust away came back. He wanted toask María what she meant, but he wasafraid of the answer.

“I’m not like the other clones,” hesaid, more to reassure himself thananything. “El Patrón gave me the best

education anyone can have. He boughtme musical instruments, computers,anything I wanted. And he’s reallypleased when I get an A or play a newpiano piece. He says I have genius.”

María said nothing. She snuggled herface into his chest, and from thedampness, Matt guessed she was crying.Great. What is she crying about? “Hewouldn’t bother”—Matt stepped verycarefully over this point—“if I wasn’tgoing to live very long.”

“That’s true,” she said in a wateryvoice.

“ O f course it’s true,” said Mattfirmly. “I’ve had better schooling thanSteven. Someday I can help him run theestate—from behind the scenes, of

course. Opium is a big country, and ittakes a lot of work to control it. Benito’stoo dumb, and Tom is—well, a lot ofthings. For starters, El Patrón can’t standthe sight of him.”

María stiffened. “He likes him betterthan you think.”

“Tom doesn’t even belong in thefamily. He’s here only because El Patrónrefuses to give things up once he’s laidclaim to them.”

“That’s a lie!” María said hotly.“Tom’s one of the heirs, and he’s notstupid!”

“I never said he was stupid. Onlycorrupt.”

“He’s considered good enough tomarry me!” María said.

“What?” Matt couldn’t believe whathe was hearing. María was only a kid.She wouldn’t get married for years andyears.

“Oh, let’s not fight,” María saidmiserably. “None of us has a choice inthe matter. I mean, look at Benito andFani. Fani said she’d rather drinkcyanide than marry Benito, and see howmuch good it did her. El Patrón gave theorder, and her father drugged her untilshe didn’t know what was happening.”

Matt was incapable of speech. Howcould anyone want María to marry Tom?He was such a—such a rotten littlepustule! It was unthinkable! He turnedon the flashlight he always left in thepassage and leaned it against the wall.

He could see her pale face in theshadows.

“Steven and Emilia like each other,and I don’t mind Tom—much. He’sgetting more like MacGregor, but I canchange him.”

“You can’t change Tom,” Matt said.“Patience and love can do anything,”

María said. “Anyhow, the weddingwon’t take place for years. Maybe ElPatrón will change his mind.” She didn’tsound hopeful.

Matt’s mind was almost numb withdespair. He’d refused to think about thefuture. He knew on some level thatMaría would have to marry someday.Then he’d never see her again. But it hadnever in his darkest moments occurred to

him that she’d be handed over to thatmonster.

“Wait,” he said as an idea came tohim. “I have something for you.”

“A present?” María looked surprised.Matt fished A History of Opium from

its hiding place. He turned to page 247and shone the flashlight directly onEsperanza Mendoza’s portrait.

María gasped. “M-Mother?”“You remember what she looked

like?”“Dada has pictures.” She took the

book and stared at the portrait and itsaccompanying biography as though she’dbeen turned to stone. “Mother got theNobel Peace Prize,” she whispered atlast.

“And a lot more,” said Matt.“But she n-never came back.” María’s

face looked so forlorn, Matt’s heartturned over.

“She couldn’t, dearest,” said Matt,unconsciously using one of Celia’swords. “She’s utterly and completelyopposed to Opium and everything yourfather stands for. Do you think he’d lether come home? Or that El Patrónwould?” In fact, Matt silently realized,El Patrón was capable of ordering herdeath. It wouldn’t have been the firsttime he’d gotten rid of an enemy.

“She never even wrote me a letter,”murmured María.

“Don’t you see? Your father wouldhave destroyed any message she sent.

But you can contact her now. Yourconvent—where is it?”

“In Aztlán, at the mouth of theColorado River. It’s in a town calledSan Luis.”

“I’ve read your mother’s book,” saidMatt, taking A History of Opium fromMaría’s cold hands and laying it on thefloor. He held her hands to warm themup. “She says the Aztlános don’t likeOpium and would do anything to destroyit. Someone at the convent could send amessage to your mother. I’m sure shewants to find you. I’m sure she’ll keepyou from marrying Tom.”

And take you where I’ll never seeyou again, thought Matt with a lump inhis throat. But it didn’t matter. He was

going to lose her in any case. Theimportant thing now was to save her.

“I have to go,” María said suddenly.“Emilia will be asking for me.”

“When will I see you again?”“The wedding’s tomorrow and I

won’t have a second to myself. I’m maidof honor. Will you be able to come?”

Matt laughed bitterly. “Maybe if Idisguised myself as an eejit flower girl.”

“I know. It’s horrible. I asked Emiliawhy she couldn’t have real children, andshe said they couldn’t be depended on todo the job right.”

“You know I won’t be invited,” saidMatt.

“Everything’s so unfair.” Maríasighed. “If I could, I’d skip the wedding

and stay with you.”Matt was touched by her offer,

although he knew there wasn’t a chanceof it happening. “I’ll wait for you here,”he said. “Do you want to take the book?”

“No. I can’t guess what Dada woulddo if he found it.” She gently kissed himon the cheek, and Matt kissed her back.The feel of her skin stayed on his lips fora long time after she was gone.It wasn’t a front-row seat, but it was thebest he could do. Matt was positionedbehind the peephole with a pockettelescope.

He had hoped to find the machineroom deserted, but the place waspacked. Every view screen had at leasttwo gorillalike bodyguards watching it.

They flicked restlessly from scene toscene and spent a lot of time studyingboring places, like the spaces behindpillars or curtains. Matt wonderedwhether they’d seen him hiding there onother occasions.

But as the wedding ceremony drewcloser, the men’s attention wasconcentrated on the salon. An altar hadbeen erected, and the priest wasprowling back and forth to one side. Theeejit choir was lined up like mechanicaltoys, and someone was sitting at Matt’spiano. Matt adjusted the eyepiece of thetelescope. It was awkward to use at apeephole, and his neck was beginning toache.

He saw Mr. Ortega. He felt sorry for

the dusty little man. He’d gone beyondMr. Ortega’s skill level long ago, butMatt had covered for him. He feared themusic teacher would suffer the same fateas Rosa if El Patrón found out.

On another screen Matt saw El Patrónsitting in the front row, attended by TamLin and Daft Donald looking bunchy insuits.

Emilia waited in a dressing room. Shewore a white gown with a long trainembroidered with pearls and carried bythe girl eejits. Celia had said the gownhad been owned by a Spanish queenthree hundred years before. The eejits’faces reminded Matt of the wingedbabies perched on pillars throughout thehouse. Their eyes were as lifeless as

marbles.María bounced around the room,

talking animatedly. Matt couldn’t hearwhat she said, but there was no questionshe was giddy with excitement. That wasthe difference between her and everyoneelse, he thought. She was overflowingwith life. Everything delighted ordevastated or fascinated her. There wasno middle ground. Next to her Emilialooked faded, and Fani, who wasdrinking out of a brandy bottle in thecorner, was positively drab.

The bodyguards turned up the sound.Matt heard the wedding march, andSenator Mendoza took Emilia by thearm. The eejits lifted the train, andMaría and Fani took their places behind

the bride. They left the room with astately, impressive walk. A whisperpassed over the crowd, and the priestsignaled everyone to stand.

Steven waited at the altar with Benitoand Tom.

Tom. For a moment all Matt could seewas his lying face. What you saw wasnot what you got with him. Underneaththat angelic exterior was the boy who’dshot a helpless child with a peashooter,who had pulled chairs out from under ElViejo, who’d nailed frogs to the lawn sothey could be devoured by herons. Youdidn’t want to leave anything vulnerablearound Tom.

A bodyguard blocked Matt’s view fora moment. He cursed under his breath.

The next thing he saw was Emiliaapproaching the altar on her father’sarm. María had a tight grip on Fani tokeep her from swaying. Benito’s wifewas almost as loaded as Felicia, whowas being held upright by Mr. Alacrán.What a family, thought Matt. The womenwere alcoholics, Benito was as dumb asa guppy, and Tom was a moral blackhole. Steven was okay, though. Even theAlacráns couldn’t strike out 100 percentof the time.

Now Emilia was given away by herfather. Steven placed a ring on her fingerand lifted her veil for a kiss. They weremarried for better or for worse, insickness and in health, till death shouldthem part.

But maybe they wouldn’t have to part,Matt thought. Maybe they’d all waft upto heaven together, to a special wingreserved for the Alacráns. They’d havemoro crabs and caramel pudding and avat full of whiskey for Felicia.

“Bloody hell! It’s the old vampire!”swore one of the bodyguards.

Matt pressed his eye to the peephole.He was so startled, he dropped thetelescope.

He saw, far away but hideously clear,El Patrón jerk upward in his wheelchair.The old man clutched his heart andtipped forward. Tam Lin scrambled tocatch him. Mr. Alacrán yelled for help.Willum and several other doctors whohad recently taken up residence in the

house shoved their way through thecrowd. They knelt around El Patrón,completely hiding the old man. Theyreminded Matt of vultures huddling overan antelope.

Bodyguards streamed out of themachine room, and a moment later Mattsaw them on the screens. They rushedinto the salon and herded the weddingguests out.

Tam Lin suddenly rose from thehuddle with El Patrón in his arms. Mattsaw with horror how small and witheredthe old man was. He looked like a dryleaf clutched to the bodyguard’s chest asTam Lin hurried out with the doctors inhis wake.

The salon was deserted, except for

Steven and Emilia, who were standingalone and forgotten at the altar.

22

BETRAYAL

What should I do? What should I do?”whispered Matt, hugging himself androcking back and forth in the darkpassageway. He loved El Patrón. Hewanted to be with him at the hospital, towatch over him and urge him back tohealth. But at the same time Mattremembered María saying that she didknow the source of El Patrón’stransplants: And it’s evil!

Celia would be looking for him.Unbidden, another memory surfaced.

Celia was fussing with the suit Matt hadworn to the birthday party long ago. Ifanything bad happens, she had said, Iwant you to come straight to me. Cometo the pantry behind the kitchen.

What do you mean, bad? Matt hadasked.

I can’t say. Just promise me you’llremember.

And even longer ago Mattremembered Tam Lin speaking to himsoon after his rescue from Rosa: I’ll tellyou this: El Patrón has his good sideand his bad side. Very dark indeed ishis majesty when he wants to be. Whenhe was young, he made a choice, like atree does when it decides to grow oneway or the other. He grew large and

green until he shadowed over the wholeforest, but most of his branches aretwisted.

So many hints! So many clues! Like apebble that starts an avalanche, Matt’sfear shook loose more and morememories. Why had Tam Lin given him achest full of supplies and maps? Whyhad María run from him when they foundMacGregor’s clone in the hospital?Because she knew! They all knew!Matt’s education and accomplishmentswere a sham. It didn’t matter howintelligent he was. In the end the onlything that mattered was how strong hisheart was.

And yet Matt wasn’t—quite—sure.What if he was wrong? What if El

Patrón really loved him? Matt thoughtabout the old man lying on a hospitalbed, waiting for the one person whocould bring him a glimpse of his youth. Itwas too cruel! Matt curled up on thefloor of the passage. He lay in a welterof fine dust that had drifted into thisdark, secret space over the years. He feltlike the inhabitant of an ancient tomb, anEgyptian pharaoh or Chaldean king. ElPatrón loved to talk about such things.

The old man enthusiasticallydescribed the wealth that filled thepyramids, for the use of the old kings intheir afterlife. He liked the tombs of theancient Chaldeans even more. Not onlydid they have clothes and food, but theirhorses were slaughtered to provide

transport in the shadowy world of thedead. In one tomb archaeologists haddiscovered soldiers, servants, and evendancing girls laid out as though theywere sleeping. One girl had been in sucha hurry, the blue ribbon she was meant towear in her hair was still rolled up inher pocket.

What a fine thing that was, El Patrónhad told Matt: that a king got to rule inthis life but also had his entire court toserve him in the next. That was evenbetter than El Dorado powdered withgold on the balcony of his great house.

Matt choked on the dust and sat up toclear his throat. He didn’t want to makeany noise. He didn’t want anyone to findhim until he’d decided what to do. He

leaned against the wall, and the darknessoutside was equaled by the darknessinside his mind. What was he to do?What could he do?

Footsteps running up the passagemade him jump to his feet. He saw aflashlight bobbing in front of a slightfigure. “María,” he whispered.

“Oh, thank heavens! I was afraidyou’d gone somewhere else to hide,” shewhispered back.

“Hide?” he said.“They’re looking for you everywhere.

They tore up Celia’s apartment, andthey’ve been through every room in thehouse. They’ve sent bodyguards to combthe stables and fields.”

Matt held her by the shoulders and

looked closely at her face. In the dimlight he saw her face was wet. “Why arethey looking for me?”

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

Matt felt turned to stone. Thebodyguard evidently gave him morecredit than he deserved. Matt hadn’tfigured it out—not really—until a fewminutes ago.

“I’m supposed to be throwing ahysterical fit in my room. Emilia saysI’m always getting hysterical. She saysyou’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 beenthrilled 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 thatyou’ve taken a Safe Horse north to theUnited States. He says that should keepthe Farm Patrol busy.”

Matt felt dazed by all that washappening. He couldn’t seem to get hismind working. “How’s El Patrón?” heasked.

“Why do you care?” María saidpassionately. “You should pray that hedies.”

“I can’t,” murmured Matt. And it wastrue. No matter how treacherous ElPatrón had been, Matt loved the old man.No one was closer to him in the wholeworld. No one understood him better.

“You’re exactly like Tam Lin,” saidMaría. “He says El Patrón is like a forceof nature—a tornado or volcano orsomething. He says you can’t help beingawestruck even when you might getkilled. I think it’s all rubbish!”

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

“Stay here. I’ll go throw the hystericalfit everyone’s expecting. When it getsdark, I’ll come back for you.”

“Where can we go?” said Matt. Hecould think of only the oasis, but it was along way without a Safe Horse to carrythem.

“To Dada’s hovercraft,” said María.Matt’s eyes widened. “You know how

to fly?”

“No, but the pilot was going to takeme back to the convent after thewedding. 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 wasjealous and demanded one of my own.”María had to cover her mouth to keep thegiggles from spilling out into the darkpassage. “Nobody ever asks questionsabout eejits. They’re just part of thefurniture.”

• • •

Matt slept most of the time he waswaiting. He was tired from the illnessthat had come over him recently andexhausted by all that had happened. He

woke, parched and thirsty, and realizedhe had no water.

The passageway was dry and dusty.Matt swallowed, trying to soothe hisburning throat. His throat hurt all thetime these days, with or without water.

He found the machine room stuffedwith bodyguards. Every view screenwas being watched, and Matt realizedthere wasn’t a single safe place in thehouse. He couldn’t go out for water. Hebegan to worry about María. How hadshe gotten past them before, and howwould she get back in? He leanedagainst the wall, sunk in the deepestdespair.

Time passed slowly. Matt thoughtabout the lemonade Celia always left in

the fridge. He imagined the juice slidingdown his throat. Then, because the airhad grown cooler, he thought about hotchocolate instead. Celia made it withcinnamon. One of his earliest memorieswas of her hands holding a cup to hislips and of a wonderful, spicy aromaswirling around his head.

Matt swallowed painfully. It didn’thelp to think about drinking when youcouldn’t do it. Long ago he’d seen adead eejit in the poppy fields. Tam Linsaid the man had died of thirst. Mattwondered how long it had taken.

He heard footsteps. He sprang up andwas immediately swept with dizziness.He must be more dehydrated than hethought.

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

“How’s El Patrón?” he asked after hedrained 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 onlyone place to get it.”

Matt put his hand out, to keep fromswaying. It was one thing to understandhis fate and very different to hear Maríasay it out loud. “El Patrón loves me,” he

said.María made a small, impatient noise.

“He loves what you can do for him. Wedon’t have time to waste. Here’s an eejituniform to wear—Tam Lin got it for me.Remember, you can’t say a word if wemeet anyone.”

Matt quickly changed clothes. Theuniform reeked of sweat and a chemicalodor that awoke evil memories in Matt.The wastelands, he thought. The personwho wore this had lain in the fields onstill nights, when the air near the eejitpens had gone bad.

“Here’s your hat,” said María.She led him through the passage. They

were moving away from the music roomand past El Viejo’s old apartment. Matt

wondered who was living there now orif perhaps it had been sealed up. A lot ofthe mansion was, but you couldn’t counton a place being empty.

They came to a stretch where Matthad been unable to find a peephole.María shone the flashlight along thewall.

“There’s nothing here,” Matt said.“Wait.” She slid a piece of red plastic

over the flashlight. The walls turned thecolor of dried blood. It made the placelook darker and more sinister. The airsuddenly seemed stale, like a tomb thathadn’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 patchappeared again.

It reminded him a little of the starsCelia had pasted on his bedroom ceiling.It was a different color, though, and itwasn’t a star. “It’s a scorpion!” hecried.

“The mark of the Alacráns,” saidMaría. “Tam Lin told me about it. Itshows 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 passagefrom El Patrón’s bedroom. The viewscreens can’t see in there, according toTam Lin, but they can watch everythingaround it. You couldn’t escape fromthere.”

Matt was hypnotized by the redscorpion. It seemed to shimmer with alife all its own.

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

“I know,” said Matt.

“The problem is, I don’t knowwhether 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 hepresses his hand against the redscorpion, the wall opens, and he can getin and out of the house without beingseen. The escape route goes to thehovercraft landing field. But, if thewrong person touches the scorpion, itsends a lethal jolt of electricity throughhis arm and the whole passage fills witha poisonous gas. At least that’s whatTam Lin says. He hasn’t tried it.”

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

“Well, it might work,” she said. “Tam

Lin says the scorpion recognizes thefingerprints and DNA of El Patrón. Andyou’re his clone.”

Matt suddenly felt light-headed. Shewas right. He was El Patrón’s clone. Hisfingerprints would be the same, his DNAidentical. “If you’re wrong,” he toldMaría, “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 goalone. I have a secret hiding place.”

“The oasis?” said María. “You’llnever make it there ahead of the FarmPatrol.”

So she even knows about that, Mattthought. Tam Lin must have told hereverything. “I can try.”

“And so can I,” she said, getting thatmulish look in her eyes Matt knew sowell. “Either you press that scorpion andwe escape together, or we stay here andstarve together. I’m not leaving you! Notnow 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 hellfor it.”

“If I have a soul, I’ll go with you,”promised Matt. He thrust his handagainst the glowing scorpion before hecould change his mind. He felt a strangesensation, like hundreds of tiny antscrawling up his arm. The hairs on theback of his hand stirred. “Run! It’s notworking!” he yelled. Instead, María

grabbed him.A door slid back before them, and a

long, dark tunnel was revealed.“If we had time to waste, I’d faint,”

María sighed, shining the flashlight intothe new opening.The tunnel smelled even older than thepassageway, and it was clear it hadn’tbeen used for a very long time. The floorwas packed dirt with a forlorn littleheap of soil here and there where someburrowing animal had got in. But therewas nothing alive in the tunnel now, nota mouse or a spider or even a toadstool.It gave Matt the creeps.

Their footsteps were muffled. Thesound of their breathing seemed to die inthe cold, lifeless air. It struck Matt that

there might not be much oxygen in thetunnel, and he hurried María along.

After a while they came to anotherwall blocking the way. María put the redplastic over the flashlight again andrevealed another shimmering scorpion.This time Matt didn’t hesitate. Hepressed his hand against the wall andfelt the same sensation of crawling ants.A second door slid open.

This entrance was concealed by thickbushes. Matt carefully pushed them asidefor María, and they found themselves onthe edge of the hovercraft landing field.

“That’s our ship,” whispered María,pointing out a small craft with its landinglights on. She walked ahead and Mattfollowed, pulling the broad-brimmed

sombrero down to hide his face. Theydidn’t hurry. They looked, Matt hoped,like they had all the time in the world. Ifbodyguards were watching this part ofthe house, all they’d see was an honoredguest attended by an eejit. Eejits didn’trate any more attention than dogs.

Matt was sweating with nerves. It washarder acting brainless than he’dimagined. He wanted to look around, buteejits didn’t do such things. He trippedon a rock and caught himself before heactually fell. Mistake, he thought. A realeejit would land flat on his face. Wouldhe yell if he got hurt? Matt didn’t know.

“Stay,” said María. Matt halted. Sheclimbed into the hover-craft and thenordered him to come inside. He heard

her talking to the pilot.“Sit,” said María, pointing at a chair.

She buckled him in and continuedchatting to the pilot, telling him about theconvent and how glad she’d be to getback.

“I’m sorry to bother you, MissMendoza,” the pilot said with greatrespect, “but do you have a permit forthis eejit? They’re not exactly welcomein Aztlán.”

“The mother superior will have one,”María said airily.

“I hope so,” said the man.“Otherwise, he’ll have to be put tosleep. I know a sensitive girl like youwouldn’t like that.”

María turned pale, and Matt realized

she hadn’t known about this law.“We’ll take off as soon as your sister

leaves.”“My sister?” María almost shrieked.Stay calm, stay calm, Matt thought

desperately.“You didn’t think I’d let you go

without saying good-bye,” said Emilia,coming out of the cockpit. Steven waswith her and so were a pair ofbodyguards. Matt sat perfectly still, hishead bowed, as the bodyguards took uppositions in front of the door. Hecouldn’t think of another thing to do.

“Emilia. How nice,” said Maríawithout any enthusiasm.

“I really don’t think the mothersuperior wants an eejit at the convent,”

Emilia said.“Stay out of this.”“Why should I help you indulge in

another do-good project? Honestly,you’re the laughingstock of the convent—like when you wanted to care forlepers. The nuns laughed themselvessilly over that. There aren’t any lepersin Aztlán. They’d have to import them.And now you want to rescue a clone—”

“Eejit,” María said quickly.“Clone,” said Steven, coming forward

and pulling off Matt’s hat. He dropped itas though he’d touched something foul.

Matt looked up. There was no pointpretending now. “I forced María to doit,” he said.

“You’ve gotten her into trouble for

years,” said Emilia. “From that first dayshe brought you food, you’ve exploitedher.”

“He has not!” cried María.“You’re too soft,” Emilia said.

“You’re always getting gooey about sickanimals or homeless people. If you’renot careful, you’ll turn out like Mother.”

“Mother,” gasped María. “I haven’ttold you—I didn’t have time—she’salive!”

“So?” Emilia said. “I’ve known thatfor years.”

María stared at her sister as thoughshe’d just seen a tarantula. “You …knew?”

“Of course. I’m older than you,remember? I saw her go, and Dada

shouted that she was dead to us now. Itseemed the easiest way to explain thingsto you.”

“You let me think she was lost in thedesert.”

Emilia shrugged. “What differencedoes it make? She didn’t care about us.She thought taking care of losers wasmore important.”

“The important thing is to get thisclone to the hospital, where it can dosome good,” said Steven.

“Steven,” whispered Matt. In all thistime he’d thought Steven and Emiliawere—if not his friends—not hisenemies, either. He admired Steven. Inmany ways they were alike.

“Take him.” Steven signaled the

bodyguards.“Wait!” shrieked María. “You can’t

do this! Matt’s not an animal!”“He’s livestock,” Steven said with a

cold smile. “The law is very clear. Allclones are classified as livestockbecause they’re grown inside cows.Cows can’t give birth to humans.”

“I won’t let you do this! I won’t letyou!” María threw herself at the guards,and they rather sheepishly ducked theirheads to avoid her blows. The pilotgrabbed her from behind and pulled heraway.

“I’ll call Willum,” Steven said,heading for the cockpit. “I can see we’llneed sedatives before we can send herback to the convent.”

“Emilia! Help me! Help him!”screamed María, but no one paid her theslightest attention.

Matt walked between the bodyguards.He hadn’t a hope of fighting them off,and he didn’t want María’s last image ofhim to be of a terrified farm animalbeing dragged off to slaughter. He turnedto look at her, but she was too busystruggling with the pilot to notice.

The bodyguards held Matt’s arms, butthey didn’t insist on carrying him. Hesmelled the night air, the scent ofjasmine and gardenias that had beenplanted everywhere for the wedding. Hesmelled the distant odor of the desert,perhaps even of the mesquitesurrounding the oasis. Things traveled so

much farther at night.He saw the fantastic gardens of the

Big House, the statues of babies withwings, the orange trees festooned withlights. This was his last night on earth,and he wanted to remember everything.

Most of all, he wanted to rememberCelia and Tam Lin. And María. Wouldhe ever see them again? Or, if he wasdenied heaven, would he wander throughthe night like La Llorona, searching forsomething that was forever lost?

23

DEATH

Matt was strapped to a bed in a roomfull of alarming machinery. Two guardssat outside the door, and another twowaited by the window, which wascovered by iron bars.

He was utterly terrified. This waswhere they had kept MacGregor’s clone.This was where the bad thingshappened.

If only I’d escaped when I had thechance, he thought. Everything wasready for me. Tam Lin gave me maps

and food and showed me how to climbmountains. I didn’t understand. I didn’twant to understand.

He was sick with dread. Every noisein the hall made him try to free himself.At one point Willum and two strangedoctors appeared and proceeded to pokeMatt’s stomach and take his blood. Theyuntied him so he could pee into a bottle,and Matt took the opportunity to run. Hegot only about six feet before beingtackled by one of the guards.

Fool, fool, fool, Matt told himself.Why didn’t I escape when I had thechance?

After a while Willum and the otherdoctors returned to discuss Matt’shealth. “It has mild anemia,” said one of

the doctors. “Its liver functions are alittle off.”

“Is it cleared for transplant?” inquiredWillum.

“I see nothing against it,” said thestrange doctor, peering at a chart.

They left Matt alone with his fear andhis imagination.

What was María doing now? Theywould have drugged her, as Fani hadbeen drugged before she was forced tomarry Benito. Perhaps Felicia had beengiven laudanum in the beginning, to keepher obedient. One day there would beanother grand wedding for María andTom. María would have to be proppedup as she walked toward the altar.

I can’t save her , thought Matt. But

perhaps he’d done the one thing thatcould rescue her. María knew about hermother now. She could call for help.And Esperanza, if Matt knew anythingabout the woman who wrote A Historyof Opium, would descend on the conventlike a fire-breathing dragon.

The door opened, and a pair ofbodyguards entered and proceeded tountie Matt. Now what? he thought. Itcouldn’t be a good sign. Nothing wasgood anymore, not for him.

The bodyguards, keeping a tight holdon Matt’s arms, led him down the hall toa room unlike any he’d seen in thehospital. It was decorated with finepaintings, elegant furniture, and carpets.At the far end, next to a tall window,

was a small table with a teapot, cups,and a silver plate of cookies.

And next to it lay El Patrón in ahospital bed. He looked extremely frail,but life still sparkled in his jet-blackeyes. In spite of himself, Matt felt awave of affection.

“Come closer, Mi Vida,” said thewhispery old voice.

Matt approached. He saw moreguards standing in the shadows andCelia in a beam of light from a gap in thecurtains. Matt braced himself for astormy scene, but she was dry-eyed andgrim.

“Sit down, Mi Vida,” said El Patrón,indicating a chair by the table. “As Iremember, you like cookies.”

I did when I was six years old,thought Matt. What was going on here?

“Cat got your tongue?” the old mansaid. “It’s like the first time we met,when Celia rescued you from thechicken litter.” He smiled. Matt didn’t.He had nothing to be happy about. “Ah,well,” sighed El Patrón. “It alwayscomes to this in the end. My clonesforget about the wonderful years I givethem, the presents, the entertainment, thegood food. I don’t have to do it, youknow.”

Matt stared ahead. He wanted tospeak, but his throat had closed up.

“If I were like MacGregor—a goodFarmer, but a foul human being—Iwould have had your brain destroyed at

birth. Instead, it pleased me to give youthe childhood I never had. I had togrovel at the feet of the ranchero whoowned my parents’ land for every damnsack of cornmeal.”

Celia said nothing. She might havebeen carved out of stone.

“But once a year that changed,” saidEl Patrón. “During Cinco de Mayo theranchero had a celebration. I and my fivebrothers went to watch. Mamá broughtmy little sisters. She carried one, and theother held on to her skirt and followedbehind.”

Matt knew this story so well, hewanted to scream. El Patrón slipped intoit effortlessly, like a donkey walkingalong a well-worn trail. Once he got

going, nothing could stop him until hereached the end.

The old man spoke of the dustycornfields and purple mountains ofDurango. His bright black eyes sawbeyond the hospital room to the streamsthat roared with water two months of theyear and were dry as a bone the rest ofthe time.

“The mayor of our village—dressedin a fine black-and-silver suit—rode ona white horse and threw money to thecrowd. How we scrambled for thecoins! How we rolled in the dirt likepigs! But we needed the money. Wewere so poor, we didn’t have two pesosto rub together. On this day the rancherogave a great feast. We could eat all we

wanted, and it was a wonderfulopportunity for people who hadstomachs so shrunken that chili beanshad to wait in line to get inside.

“One year, during that feast, my littlesisters caught typhoid. They died in thesame hour. They were so small, theycouldn’t look over the windowsill—no,not even if they stood on tiptoe.”

The room was deathly still. Mattheard a dove calling from the roof of thehospital. No hope, it said. No hope. Nohope.

“During the following years each ofmy five brothers died; two drowned, onehad a burst appendix, and we had nomoney for the doctor. The last twobrothers were beaten to death by the

police. There were eight of us,” said ElPatrón, “and only I lived to grow up.Don’t you think I’m owed those lives?”El Patrón spoke so sharply, Matt joltedup in his chair. The story wasn’t endingthe way he’d expected.

“There were eight of us,” the old mancried. “We should all have grown up,but I was the only survivor. I am meantto have those lives! I am meant to havejustice!”

Matt tried to stand. He was shovedback down by the body-guards.

“Justice?” said Celia. It was the firstword she had spoken.

“You know what it was like,” ElPatrón whispered, his strength desertinghim now after his outburst. “You came

from the same village.”“You’ve had many lives,” Celia said.

“Thousands of them are buried under thepoppy fields.”

“Oh, them!” El Patrón wasdismissive. “They’re like cattle runningafter greener grass. They scuttle northand south across my fields. Oh, yes,” hesaid when Matt raised his eyebrows. “Inthe beginning the tide was all one way.The Aztlános ran north to find the bigHollywood lifestyle. But the UnitedStates isn’t the rich paradise it oncewas. Now the Americanos look atmovies about Aztlán and think life ispretty sweet down there. I catch about asmany going one way as the other.”

“El Viejo was the only good man in

this family,” said Celia. “He acceptedwhat God gave him, and when God toldhim it was time to go, he did it.” Mattwas amazed by her courage. Peopledidn’t argue with El Patrón if theywanted to stay healthy.

“El Viejo was a fool,” whispered ElPatrón. For a few moments he stoppedspeaking. A doctor came in and listenedto his heart. He gave him an injection.

“The operating room is ready,” thedoctor said in a low voice. Matt wasswept by an icy wave of terror.

“Not yet,” murmured the old man.“Ten more minutes,” said the doctor.El Patrón seemed to gather his

strength for a last effort. “I created you,Mi Vida, as God created Adam.”

Celia sniffed indignantly.“Without me, you would never have

seen a beautiful sunset or smelled therain approaching on the wind. Youwould never have tasted cool water on ahot summer day. Or heard music orknown the wonderful pleasure ofcreating it. I gave you these things, MiVida. You … owe … me.”

“He owes you nothing,” Celia said.Matt was afraid for her. El Patrón

was capable of destroying a person whoangered him. But the old man merelysmiled. “We make a fine pair ofscorpions, don’t we?”

“Speak for yourself,” said Celia.“Matt owes you nothing, and he’s goingto pay you nothing. You can’t use him for

transplants.”The guards stirred when they heard

this. The doctor looked up from themonitor he was watching.

“When you had your first heart attack,I poisoned Matt with foxglove from mygarden,” said Celia. “I’m a curandera,you know, as well as a cook. I madeMatt’s heart too unstable to transplant.”

El Patron’s eyes bulged. He openedhis mouth, but nothing came out. Thedoctor rushed to his side.

“I couldn’t keep on giving Mattfoxglove, though. It’s much toodangerous. I needed something thatwould make him sick, but not too sick.Then someone told me about monarchbutterflies.”

Matt sat up, only to have abodyguard’s hands tighten on hisshoulders. He knew about the monarchs.Tam Lin had talked about them in thegarden, the night of Matt’s coming-of-age celebration. The air had been heavywith perfumes, some pleasant, some not,from the flowers Celia had becomeinterested in. She’d pointed out theblack-eyed Susans, larkspur, foxgloves,and milkweed, and Tam Lin was stirredwhen she’d mentioned milk-weed. It’sfed upon by monarch butterflies, he’dsaid. They’re clever little buggers. Fillthemselves up with poison so nothingwill eat them.

Matt had paid no attention to thisremark at the time. Tam Lin was always

coming up with facts he got out of thenature books he read so slowly andcarefully.

“I needed something like the poison inmonarch butterflies,” said Celia,breaking into Matt’s thoughts. “So Ibegan feeding him arsenic.”

“Arsenic!” the doctor cried.“Arsenic creeps into the whole body,”

Celia went on, her eyes as cold as theeyes of a snake. “It grows into the hair, itmakes little white lines on thefingernails, it settles into the heart. Ididn’t give Matt enough to kill him—Iwouldn’t do that!—but enough to killanyone already weak who tried to stealhis heart. You’ve had your eight lives,El Patrón. It’s time to make your peace

with God.”“¡Bruja! Witch!” shrieked El Patrón.

His eyes flamed with murderous rage.His skin flushed an angry red. Hestruggled to claw his way up from thebed.

“Emergency!” yelled the doctor.“Take him to the operating room! Move!Move! Move!”

The guards rolled the bed away. Thedoctor ran beside it, pushing on ElPatrón’s chest. Suddenly the wholebuilding seethed like a wasp nest. Moreguards appeared—an army of them. Twoof them hurried Celia off in spite ofMatt’s attempts to stop them. Atechnician snipped off a strand of Matt’shair and retreated.

He was alone. Alone, that is, exceptfor four burly men who sat outside thewindow and an unknown number lurkingoutside the door. It was a beautifulroom, with a carpet patterned in thecolors of the oasis. Matt saw the red ofcanyon walls, the heavy green ofcreosote, and a blue that was the colorof the sky trapped between high cliffs. Ifhe half closed his eyes, he could almostimagine himself there, in the quietshadows of the Ajo Mountains.He waited. It had been morning when ElPatrón was wheeled out. Now it wasafternoon. The panic had died downoutside, and the halls were nearly silent.The hospital went about its businesswithout involving the prisoner in the

elegant drawing room.Matt finished the tea and ate all the

cookies. He felt utterly exhausted.Everything had been turned upsidedown, and he didn’t know whether ElPatrón’s death would mean safety orexactly the opposite.

Matt studied his arm and wondered atthe arsenic that lurked inside. Wouldmosquitoes die if they bit him? Could hekill things by spitting on them? It was aninteresting thought. Matt discovered thatno matter how terrified he’d been atfirst, it wasn’t possible to stay terrified.It was as though his brain said, Okay.That’s enough. Let’s find somethingelse to do.

Matt thought about María instead. She

was probably back at the convent. Hedidn’t know what she did there, asidefrom eating chocolates and sunbathingnaked on the roof. What a crazy thing todo. What an interesting thing to do.Matt’s face turned warm as he thoughtabout it. He’d seen paintings of fat,naked goddesses from Rome in his artclasses. He thought they were nice, butno one ran around like that in real life.Or did they? He didn’t know howpeople behaved in the outside world.

Anyhow, María had gotten intotrouble for it. Matt felt feverish, but itwasn’t surprising, being full of arsenicas he was. He wondered what other stuffCelia had tried on him from her garden.

The door swung open. Mr. Alacrán

strode in with Tam Lin.For an instant time froze. Matt was six

years old again, lying in a pool of bloodwith Rosa plucking fragments of glassfrom his foot. A fierce man had burstinto the room and shouted, How dareyou defile this house? Take thecreature outside now!

It was the first time Matt had realizedhe wasn’t human. The fierce man hadbeen Mr. Alacrán, and he had the sameexpression of loathing on his face nowas he looked at Matt.

“I’m here to inform you we no longerneed your services,” Mr. Alacrán said.

Matt gasped. That meant El Patrónwas dead. No matter how often he’dthought about it, the reality came as a

blow.“I—I’m sorry.” Silent tears began to

roll down Matt’s face. He could keephimself from blubbering, but there wasnothing he could do about the grief thatwelled up inside.

“I imagine you are,” said Mr.Alacrán. “It means we no longer have ause for you.”

Of course you have a use for me,Matt thought. He knew as much aboutrunning Opium as Steven. He’d studiedthe farming techniques, the day-to-dayproblems of water purification and fooddistribution. He probably knew morethan anyone about the network of spiesand corrupt officials in other countries.Years of listening to El Patrón had given

Matt a feel for the Alacrán empire noone else could possibly have.

“Have it put to sleep,” Mr. Alacránsaid to Tam Lin.

“Yes, sir,” said Tam Lin.“What do you mean?” cried Matt. “El

Patrón wouldn’t want that! He had meeducated. He wanted me to help run thecountry.”

Tam Lin looked at him in pity. “Youpoor fool. El Patrón had seven otherclones exactly like you, each oneeducated and believing he was going torun the country.”

“I don’t believe it!”“I have to admit, you were the first

one with musical genius. But we canalways turn on the radio if we want

that.”“You can’t do this! We’re friends!

You said so! You left me a note—” Mattwas knocked down by a blow that madehim see stars. No one had ever struckhim. No one was allowed to. Hecrawled to his knees, holding his jaw.He was even more shocked by theperson who’d done it.

Tam Lin.Tam Lin was an ex-terrorist. He’d

been responsible for the deaths of twentychildren, and maybe it didn’t evenbother him. Matt had never consideredthat possibility.

“You see, lad, I’m what you call amercenary,” said Tam Lin in the liltingvoice Matt had come to love. “I worked

for El Patrón for donkey’s years—thought he’d go on forever. But now I’mout of a job, and Mr. Alacrán has beenkind enough to offer me another.”

“What about Celia?” whispered Matt.“You don’t think she’d get away with

the game she played? By now she’llhave been turned into an eejit.”

But you told her about the monarchbutterflies, thought Matt. You let herwalk into the trap.

“Can you finish up here? I’ve gotwork to do,” said Mr. Alacrán.

“I’ll dispose of the clone, sir,” saidTam Lin. “I might need Daft Donald tohelp me tie it up.”

He called me a clone, Matt thought.He called me an “it.”

“Remember, I want you back for thewake tonight,” said Mr. Alacrán.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” saidTam Lin with a twinkle in his lying,treacherous eyes.

24

A FINAL GOOD-BYE

Daft Donald held Matt firmly, and TamLin wrapped him in duct tape. Thebodyguard slung him over a horse as heexchanged greetings with other membersof El Patrón’s private army, lounging bythe stables. “Where are you taking it?” aman called.

“Thought I’d dump it next to the eejitpens,” Tam Lin replied. The man’slaughter was lost in the drum of horse’shooves striking the earth.

This animal was different from the

Safe Horses. It was faster and lesspredictable. It even smelled different.Matt, with his nose pressed into its hide,was in a good position to know. SafeHorses had a faint chemical odor, butthis one reeked of sun and sweat.

Matt suddenly realized what Tam Linmeant by dumping him next to the eejitpens. He was going to be thrown into theyellow ooze at the bottom of a pit. Thehorror of it, the unfairness and treacheryof almost everyone he’d ever known,made Matts blood pound in his ears. Butthis time, instead of fear, he felt a surgeof pure animal rage. He deserved tolive! He was owed this life that had socasually been given him, and if he had todie, he would struggle until the very last

minute.Matt tested the tape holding his arms

and legs. He couldn’t move an inch.Well then , Matt thought, I’ll have towriggle and squirm my way out of thesludge pit. He saw the earth fly underthe horse’s hooves. His stomachbounced painfully against its body. Thiscreature didn’t run as smoothly as a SafeHorse.

Finally, it slowed and Tam Lin liftedMatt down. The boy managed tojackknife his body and drive his headinto the man’s stomach. “Ach! Ye pee-brained ninny!” swore Tam Lin. “Lookabout you before you do a stupid tricklike that!”

Matt rolled onto his back, his feet up

to deliver a kick. He saw blue sky and ashoulder of rock. He smelled not slimeand corruption, but good, clean airscented by creosote. They weren’t by theeejit pens. They were on the path to theAjo Mountains.

“There! I hope to have a lavishapology,” grunted Tam Lin, peeling thetape, none too gently, off Matt’s skin.

“Are you going to drown me in theoasis instead?” Matt snarled.

“Get a grip on yourself, lad. All right,I can see you’ve got grounds forsuspicion, but credit me with a littledecency.”

“How can I trust someone who killedtwenty children?” Matt said.

“So they told you that.” Tam Lin

looked so sad, Matt felt slightly—butonly slightly—sorry for him.

“Is it true?” he demanded.“Oh, aye. It’s true.” Tam Lin wadded

the tape into a ball and stuffed it into oneof the horse’s saddlebags. He took out abackpack and heaved it over hisshoulder. “Come on. I don’t have muchtime.”

He started up the trail, not lookingback. Matt paused. He could steal thehorse and ride north. The Farm Patrolmight not know yet that he was markedfor disposal. Disposal, Matt thoughtwith a glow of anger. But the animaldidn’t look easy to ride. Unlike a SafeHorse, it had to be tied to a tree. Itrolled its eyes and flared its nostrils

when Matt tried to get near it.On the other hand, he could follow

Tam Lin into the mountains and hope theman’s friendship held. Tam Lin haddisappeared among the rocks. He wasn’teven bothering to see whether Mattfollowed.

I’m probably the world’s biggestidiot, thought Matt as he trudged alongthe trail.

The oasis was brimming. Fall rainshad brought life to the paloverde trees,making them bright with delicate yellowand orange flowers. The grape arborwas leafier than Matt ever remembered,and a small duck paddled away acrossthe water as he approached.

Tam Lin was perched on a rock.

“That’s a cinnamon teal,” he said. “Theymigrate from the United States to Aztlánthis time of year. You wonder how theyfind a speck of water like this in all thedry desert.”

Matt settled on another rock, not toonear. The sun was sliding behind thehills and shadows crept into the littlevalley.

“If it hadn’t been for this place, I’dhave run barking mad years ago,” thebodyguard said. Matt watched the littleduck work its way along the far shore. “Iwas half mad when I went to work for ElPatrón. It’s a place to hide , I thoughtthen. I’ll leave when the police get tiredof hunting for me. But of course thingsdidn’t work out that way. Once

something belongs to El Patrón, it’s hisforever.”

“So you did kill the children,” Mattsaid.

“I could say it was an accident—andit was—but that doesn’t take away thehorror. I was intending to blow up theprime minister, a fat toad who deservedit. I simply never considered the otherpeople who might get in the way.Frankly, I was such a self-important ass,I didn’t care. I got most of these scarsfrom that explosion, and Daft Donaldhad his throat cut. That’s why he can’ttalk.”

In all these years Matt hadn’t thoughtabout why Daft Donald never spoke.He’d assumed the large, silent man was

antisocial.“El Patrón had an instinct for people

he could enslave,” said Tam Lin. “Hewas such a powerful presence. Power’sa strange thing, lad. It’s a drug andpeople like me crave it. It wasn’t till Imet Celia that I saw what a monster I’dbecome. I was too happy swaggeringaround in El Patrón’s shadow.”

“But you let the doctors turn Celiainto an eejit,” said Matt.

“I did not! I marked her forehead so itappeared like she was operated on. I puther in the stables with Rosa.”

Matt looked at Tam Lin directly forthe first time since they arrived at theoasis. A great weight shifted off hischest.

“She’ll be safe as long as sheremembers to act like a zombie. So nowI think I’ve earned that lavish apology,”the bodyguard said.

And Matt gave it at great length andwholeheartedly.

“I would’ve brought her here, butCelia isn’t much for climbing rocks.”Tam Lin sighed.

They looked out over the pool withthe afternoon sky silvering its surface.The cinnamon teal waddled onto theb a n k and preened its feathers. Aswallow scooped up a dragonflyhovering over the water.

“Am I supposed to live here?” Mattasked.

Tam Lin started. “Ah! My mind was

wandering. I love the way swallows turnjust before they’re about to crash into theground. No, lad. You wouldn’t be ableto survive. It’s better if you go toAztlán.”

Aztlán! Matt’s heart gave a bound.“Are you coming with me?”

“I can’t.” Tam Lin’s voice was sad.“You see, I’ve done terrible things in mylife, and I can’t escape theconsequences.”

“That’s not true,” Matt said. “Thepolice probably stopped looking for youlong ago. You could give people a falsename. You could grow a beard andshave your head.”

“Of course I could—and may I say,you’re showing quite a lawless streak.

Quite a chip off the old block you are.No, I’m talking about moralconsequences. I’ve spent yearsbenefiting from the horrors of Opium,and now I have the chance to put thingsright. I mustn’t pass it up. Celia hasmade me see that. She’s a very strictwoman, you know. Won’t put up withevil.”

“I know,” said Matt, thinking of howCelia had stood up to El Patrón.

“I’ve already packed your bag,” TamLin said, unslinging the backpack.“There’s maps in the chest. Take asmany water bottles as you can manage,and when you reach the Aztlán border,say you’re a refugee. Your parents havebeen taken by the Farm Patrol. Act

stupid—that shouldn’t be a problem—and don’t tell anyone you’re a clone.”

“Won’t they be able to tell?” Mattimagined the Aztlános’ rage when theyrealized they’d been duped.

“Here’s the dirty little secret.” TamLin bent down and whispered, as thoughhe had to hide the information from theswallows, the duck, and the dragonflies.“No one can tell the difference betweena clone and a human. That’s becausethere isn’t any difference. The idea ofclones being inferior is a filthy lie.”

Tam Lin strode off to the metal chest,leaving Matt openmouthed. He watchedthe man remove water bottles and maps.How could a clone be the same as ahuman? Everything in Matt’s experience

argued against it.Tam Lin unzipped a pocket in the

backpack and took out a clump of paper.“This is money, see. I should have taughtyou about it before. Here’s a hundred-peso note and here’s a fifty. Always askthe price of something first and offerhalf. Oh, crikey! You’re not going tolearn it now. Just remember to take outone piece of paper at a time and don’t letanyone see how many pieces of paperyou have.”

The sun had set and dusk was fallingrapidly. Tam Lin built a fire and stackeddry wood nearby. “You should go firstthing in the morning. That gives youtwelve hours to reach the border. It’s theideal time because the Farm Patrol is at

the house for the wake. Another thing: ElPatrón has kept Opium frozen onehundred years in the past.”

“I don’t understand,” said Matt.“Opium, as much as possible, is the

way things were in El Patrón’s youth.Celia cooks on a wood fire, the roomsaren’t airconditioned, the fields areharvested by people, not machines. Evenrockets aren’t allowed to fly over. Theonly places where the rules are relaxedare the hospital and the security system.It was El Patróns way of outwittingDeath. One of his ways.”

“But everything’s the same on TV,”Matt protested.

Tam Lin laughed. “El Patroncontrolled that, too. El Látigo Negro

snapped his last whip a century ago.Talk about reruns. In many ways you’llfind Aztlán confusing, but they’ve had amovement back to simpler timesrecently. They’re trying to turn awayfrom a machine-based economy to theold Mexican culture. You’ll find somethings familiar.”

“Wait!” cried Matt as the bodyguardmade ready to leave. “Can’t you stay?”The thought of losing his friend andperhaps never seeing him again wasdevastating.

“I’ve got to attend the wake,” saidTam Lin.

“Then bring Celia here. I could helpher climb the rocks.”

“Wait’11 you see the rocks. No, lad.

Celia’s too old to make the trip. I’ll keepher as safe as I can. You have my wordon it.”

“What should I do in Aztlán? Wherecan I stay?” Matt was beginning to feelpanicky.

“Where’s my head?” Tam Lin said,stopping at the edge of the firelight. “Ileft the most important thing out. Thefirst thing you do in Aztlán is catch ahovercraft to San Luis and ask directionsto the Convent of Santa Clara. UnlessI’m very much mistaken, María willdance rings around you when you walkin the front door.”

There was no stopping him this time.Tam Lin strode ahead with Matt trottingbehind. When they reached the hole in

the rock, the bodyguard turned and puthis hand on Matt’s shoulder. “I don’tbelieve in long good-byes,” he said.

“Will I ever see you again?”Tam Lin waited a moment before

saying, “No.” Matt drew in his breathsharply. “I’ve never lied to you, and Idon’t intend to start now. The importantthing is, you’ve escaped. You’re the onepossession El Patrón let slip through hisfingers.”

“What’s going to happen to me?” Mattsaid.

“You’re going to find María and, ifthings work out, her mother.”

“You know Esperanza?”‘Oh, aye. She used to come to the

house. Did you ever see that movie

about dinosaurs? The one with thevelociraptor?”

Matt remembered a particularly nastydinosaur with long claws and teeth and awillingness to burrow through rock toget at its prey.

“Well, that’s Esperanza when she’sgot a cause. She’s a good person to haveon your side.” Tam Lin climbed throughthe rock and went off into the gatheringdark. He didn’t look back. Matt kepthimself from shining the flashlight onhim.

25

THE FARM PATROL

Matt felt almost light-headed as hewalked back to the oasis. So much hadhappened so quickly. So much hadchanged. The little campfire seemedunbearably lonely. He built up the fireand then worried about whether theFarm Patrol could see it. He kickedsome of the branches away. Then Mattthought about the animals that mightcome to the water at night. Coyotes forsure, a bobcat maybe. A jaguar was along shot, but Tam Lin had seen them.

Matt built up the fire again.He found beef jerky and dried apples

in the metal chest. He was ravenous,having eaten nothing but cookies sincethe morning of the wedding. The foodlifted his spirits, and soon he was poringover the map in the flickering light. Itwas like an exciting novel full ofpossible adventures. Tam Lin hadmarked the route with a red pen andadded comments using his own creativespelling, such as Ratlesnakes heer andSaw bare under tree . Matt finisheddinner with a handful of peanuts and achocolate bar.

He shut the backpack into the metalchest and unrolled the sleeping bag on anexposed slab of rock. He felt safer away

from places where he might meet bareunder tree. Then he lay down andlooked at the stars.

It was oddly frightening to lie on theground without a shelter. The sky was soblack and the stars so many and brilliant.He might lose his hold on the earth. He’dfloat away, and if he didn’t grab a treebranch, he’d go on forever into thosebright, inhuman lights.

Matt ran a rope from the sleeping bagto a tree. Okay, it was a dumb thing toworry about, but it didn’t hurt to becareful. Celia once told him the Indiansin her village carried charms to keepfrom being carried off by the sky. Theymight know something people withhouses didn’t understand.

Exhausted by all that had happened,Matt fell into a deep and dreamlesssleep. Just before dawn the air vibratedwith something that was almost—but notquite—a sound. Matt sat up and grabbedthe rope. The ground shivered brieflyand was still. A pair of ravens explodedoff a tree branch and flew around theoasis cawing wildly. A coyote frozewith its muzzle dripping from the poolwhere it had been drinking.

Matt listened. The sound—if it was asound—had come from all around. Itwasn’t like anything he’d experienced.The ravens settled, grumbling betweenthemselves, and the coyote bolted intothe rocks.

Matt started a fire with a lighter he

found in the backpack. He saw that themetal chest was ringed with coyoteprints and something had tried to gnawthe latch.

After a quick breakfast he filled asmany water bottles as he could carry,placing an iodine tablet in each one. Thelast time he drank oasis water, he’d beendeathly sick. But that was the arsenic, herealized. How was Celia? he wondered.Would she get enough to eat in thestables? And wasn’t acting like a zombieas bad as being one if you had to do itfor years?

I’ll ask Esperanza to help herescape, he thought.

Now that the moment for departurehad come, Matt found himself dawdling.

He double-checked the supplies. Headded a book, tested the weight of hispack, and took it out again. The sun wasalready high, although the valley wasstill in shadow. I could spend anothernight here, he thought. But the oasismight not be safe now that El Patrón wasgone.

Matt shouldered the backpack, tiedextra water bottles to his belt, and set offthrough the grape arbor. He would goon, as Tam Lin had, without lookingback.

The first part of the trail was easy.Matt had been over it many times. Soon,however, he came to a canyon chokedwith bushes. He had to break his waythrough. The dust of the leaves covered

him from head to toe and found its wayinto his lungs. He had to rest in a drygully to regain his breath. Only an hourhad passed. If the rest of the journeywent like this, he wouldn’t reach Aztlánfor a month.

Matt went through the backpack. In aninside pocket he found an inhaler. Therelief it brought his tortured lungs waspure heaven. He also found a wicked-looking machete in a leather sheath. Icould have saved myself a lot of troubleif I’d looked earlier, he thought.

After a rest Matt hacked his waythrough the bushes. It gave him a savagepleasure to get even with the plants thathad scratched his arms and face allmorning.

When he reached the end of thevalley, he was confronted by a highgranite cliff. Matt checked the map.There it was, with a red line goingstraight to the top. It was higher thananything he’d ever attempted to climb.Matt looked for another way to proceed,but the map was firm on this point:Onlee way out. Yu can do it , said TamLin’s note. Matt stared up at theimpossibly distant bushes peeking overthe top of the cliff until he was dizzy.The only good thing was that he didn’thave to boost Celia ahead of him.

Matt inched from crevice to creviceuntil his legs began to tremble withfatigue. Halfway up he thought hecouldn’t move another inch. He hugged

the granite face and wondered how longhe could stay there before exhaustionforced him to let go. He’d fall ontojagged rocks. He’d die there. He mightas well have let his heart be harvestedby doctors. A shadow passed brieflyover him, and after a moment it cameback.

Only one thing cast a shadow on acliff in such a deserted place. Matt wassuddenly filled with rage. It was asthough it came from some deep place,like lava in a volcano. He no longer feltexhausted or discouraged or anythingelse except a towering fury to survive.He pulled himself up, foothold byfoothold, crag by crag, until he wriggledover the top and lay panting and

surprised by his feat.Matt looked up into the blinding, blue

sky and heard the leathery flap of wingsas the bird turned in the air. I win, youugly, good-for-nothing buzzard , thoughtMatt. He smiled. He sounded just like ElPatrón.

Matt celebrated with a bottle of waterand a package of cookies. He threw arock at the turkey buzzard. The mapshowed he’d come about five miles andthere were five more to go. The sun wasbending to the west, so he might notmake it to the border before dark. Mattwasn’t particularly worried. He hadplenty of food, and he felt enormouslygood after his battle with the cliff.

He traveled on to the top of a ridge.

The going was much easier and the viewwas spectacular. Tam Lin had includedsmall binoculars among the supplies, soMatt stopped frequently to look back atOpium. The land toward Aztlán was stillblocked by the mountains.

He could see the long, flat poppyfields and even a brown smudge thatmight have been a group of eejits. Hesaw the water purification plant andstorehouses for food and fertilizer. Thered tile roofs of the mansion spread outin a patch of intense green. Matt felt astrange sensation in the pit of hisstomach. It was, he realized, sorrow.

There, on the high ridge of the AjoMountains, Matt gave himself over togrief. He wept for Celia trapped in the

stables and for Tam Lin, who wastrapped in a different way. He wasted notears on the Alacráns or their slavesFelicia, Fani, and Emilia. But he weptfor El Patrón, who deserved pity lessthan anyone but who was closer to Mattthan anyone in the world.

In an odd way it felt as though ElPatrón were still alive, and in one sensehe was. For Matt still existed. As longas he survived, El Patrón had notvanished from the world.Matt camped at the top of the ridge. Therecent rains had filled hollows in therocks, and the little folds of the mountainwere green with bear grass. Desertmallow spread out peach-coloredblooms in pockets of soil, and

everywhere lateblooming cliff rosesswarmed with bees. Matt wasn’t afraid,although he saw more animals than hehad ever observed on his travels withTam Lin.

White-tailed deer fed on bushes in thelate-afternoon sun. He saw a buck rubhis antlers on a tree, perhaps to sharpenthem or perhaps simply because theyitched. Matt didn’t know. He saw agroup of coatis running with their tails inthe air and their long noses pointedalong the ground.

Everything seemed alive. Everythingscurried, flew, dug, nibbled, orchattered. Frogs cheeped from an unseenwater hole, a rock squirrel whistledwhen a red-tailed hawk drifted by, a

mockingbird sat on the topmost branchof a mesquite and performed every songMatt had ever heard, plus a few extra thebird must have composed himself.

Most of all, it was the wild music thatimpressed Matt. It did the same thing thatplaying the piano had done when he wasfrightened and lonely. It took him intoanother world where only beauty existedand where he was safe from hatred anddisappointment and death.

He stayed up a long time, watching thedistant lights of Opium. There weren’tmany. The mansion sat by itself in a seaof dark. The factories, storehouses, andeejit pens were all hidden. The air wasso still, the eejits had probably beendriven into the fields to sleep. Matt

heard no sound from the far plain. Itmight have been a painting instead of areal place. Nearby he heard the hoot of agreat horned owl and the incessant chirpof crickets. The mountain was darkerthan the plain, but it was alive and it wasreal.

Matt slept well, and he felt strong andconfident in the morning. Opium wascovered by a ground fog, as it often wasin the fall. He couldn’t see anything but awhite haze stretching from horizon tohorizon.

With a last look at the map, Mattstarted along the trail. It dipped up anddown, gradually leading up to a passbetween two hills. He heard a noisefrom one of the high meadows, like

someone hitting a baseball. It happenedagain and again. It couldn’t really bepeople playing baseball up there, heknew, with only the hawks and turkeybuzzards to watch.

As he got closer, the sound becamemore like someone smacking a pair ofripe watermelons together. Mattcautiously peered around a bush and sawtwo bighorn sheep thunder at each otherlike a pair of farm trucks. They crashedhead-on, reeled away, and trotted off.After a few moments they repeated theperformance. A group of ewes grazedamong the rocks as though they couldn’tbe bothered to watch. Matt was sodelighted, he laughed out loud. Then, ofcourse, the sheep skittered to safety,

making huge leaps as they bounded fromrock to rock.

As Matt approached the cleft at thetop of the mountains, he began to hearanother puzzling noise. It was like theroar of fire in Celia’s stove. It got louderand louder, and now Matt could pick outindividual sounds: the grinding ofmachinery, the blast of horns, even—incredibly—music.

He stepped through the pass intoanother world. The same quiet hills laybelow him, with hawks patrollingwooded valleys between shoulders ofrock. But beyond them lay a seethingmass of factories and skyscrapers. Hesaw roadways not only on the ground,but also going up in wide spirals among

the buildings. A sea of hovercraftsrestlessly prowled the air. The buildingsstretched on as far as Matt could see,which wasn’t far because a smudgybrown haze covered everything. It wasfrom here that the booming, clanking,thundering noises came, and it surprisedMatt so much, he sat down on the trail tothink.

The sun was directly overhead. Mattfished out the hat Tam Lin had provided.So this was Aztlán. In all Matt’simaginings it had been nothing like this.He had taken Celia’s tales about themaquiladoras and El Patrón’s storiesabout Durango and mixed them withepisodes of El Látigo Negro. What cameout was a hodgepodge of factories,

primitive huts, and fabulous ranchesowned by evil tycoons who had prettydaughters.

How could people live in all thatnoise? he thought. How could theybreathe the air? There wasn’t a fencefor as far as he could see, but there wasa line of poles that could have supporteda fence. The land on the Opium side ofthe border was deserted. It was asthough someone had put up a big signsaying DANGER! RADIOACTIVE!

Matt went back over the mountainpass to the meadow where the bighornsheep had tried to brain each other. Heate a small lunch of beef jerky and drycheese. He couldn’t stay here. The rainyseason in the Ajo Mountains was brief,

and Matt had a very clear idea of howsoon the little frog ponds and hiddengrottoes would dry out.

Equally, he couldn’t return to themansion. The only way out was theborder of Aztlán. You can do it , heimagined Tam Lin saying. I guess I haveto, thought Matt, turning to look one lasttime at the quiet meadow, the whiteplumes of bear grass, and the black-throated sparrows flitting through thetrees.He slid down parts of the hill where theground was steep and sandy. He arrivedat the bottom, hot and dusty and itchingfrom dozens of spines he had collectedfrom a cholla cactus on the way down.He crouched in the shade of a rock to

drink the last of his water.Matt found the spines impossible to

remove. They seemed to burrow deeperinto his skin when he tried to pinch themout. And somewhere along the way he’dtorn his pants and one of the straps onthe backpack.

Matt observed the border throughbinoculars. What he saw was every bitas ugly as it sounded. A row of factorieschugged smoke into the air. Behind them,on the border itself, was a tangle of cast-off machinery and tanks that seeped ablack liquid onto the ground. Pools ofthe stuff dotted the narrow spacebetween the buildings and the line ofpoles. Then something much closermoved across Matt’s field of view.

He adjusted the lenses. It was a manon a horse. It was a member of theFarm Patrol! Moving the glassesaround, he saw more of them.

Matt shrank back into the rocks. TheFarm Patrol must have gone back towork after the wake. Had they seen himcome slipping and sliding down themountain? He was afraid to move. Hewas afraid not to. Fortunately, thehollow where Matt was hiding wasdeep. After a tense half hour or so heguessed the Farm Patrol had seennothing. Or perhaps they were merelywaiting for him to get thirsty and comeout. Matt did get thirsty, horribly so, asthe hours went by.

He counted six men. They rode slowly

back and forth. At no time was theborder deserted, and at no time was itpossible for Matt to run the remainingfew hundred yards to freedom. The sundipped to the west. Shadows lengthened.Matt sucked on a stone to keep fromfeeling thirsty.

The sun set. The shadow of night rose,dividing the eastern sky into pale blueabove and gray below, with a rosyborder where the sunlight still shone ona haze of dust in the air. Suddenly acommotion broke out. A group of menburst from one of the junkyards and ranacross the border. The instant theypassed the line of poles, sirens went off.The Farm Patrol galloped to interceptthem.

At once Matt was off in the otherdirection. It hadn’t taken him a second toreact. This was his chance. He racedacross the ground. To his left he heardshouts and a loud crack accompanied bya flash of light. Matt had seen thisweapon at El Patrón’s birthday party. Itwas a super stun gun that fried the hairon an Illegal’s head and stopped hisheart cold. Most of the time the Illegal’sheart started again, so he could be turnedinto an eejit.

Matt heard horse’s hooves pounding.He didn’t try to see how many men hadturned to follow him. His only chancewas to reach the border, and he boundedwith an agility that would haveimpressed a bighorn sheep. He saw the

body of a horse approaching. Mattswung the binoculars at the animal’shead and sent it veering to one side. Therider pulled it up and forced it to turn.

The poles were close. Matt saw theground ahead change from dirt tocement. He put on an extra burst ofspeed, but the Farm Patroller grabbedMatt’s backpack and reined in his horse.Matt undid the snap holding thewaistband and slid out of the straps. Thechange in speed sent him stumblingacross the border into one of the oilyblack pools, where he fell on hisstomach and skidded out the other sidein a plume of goo.

Matt sat up, frantically wiping hiseyes. He saw the Farm Patroller ride

away and looked down to see he wouldhave no trouble convincing the Aztlánoshe was a refugee. He had no backpack,no money, and he was covered fromhead to toe in black slime.

26

THE LOST BOYS

¡Qué coraje! What spirit that kid has!”a man said. Matt wiped away the goodripping off his hair. He saw a pair ofuniformed men approaching from amidruined machinery and tanks.

“Hey, kid! ¿Como te llamas? What’syour name?” asked one of them.

Matt was stumped for a moment. Hecertainly couldn’t tell the truth. “M-MattOrtega,” he said, swiping the musicteacher’s name.

“You’re a real fighter!” said the

border guard. “I thought he had youwhen he grabbed the backpack. Did yourfamily go over tonight?”

“N-No. My f-family—” Now that theexcitement was over, Matt felt thereaction set in. He hugged himself andhis teeth chattered.

“Hey,” the guard said kindly. “Youdon’t need to explain now. You just hadthe beans scared out of you. ¡Caray! Igot scared watching you. Come insidewhere you can have a bath andsomething to eat.”

Matt followed carefully so hewouldn’t slip on the cement. His bodywas covered in sludge, and his stomachwas in knots over the narrow escape.

The guards led him to a large cement

bathroom with showers along the walls.They gave him a brush and a chunk ofgreen soap. “Take one of the cleanbodysuits from the bin,” one of theminstructed him.

This is like a dream, Matt thought ashe scrubbed and rescrubbed himself inthe steamy shower. He’d been afraid ofhis welcome in Aztlán, but these mentreated him like a guest. They didn’tseem a bit surprised to see him.

Matt found an olive drab jumpsuit thatdidn’t look too bad. The cloth was asrough as a floor brush, but it would helphim fit in with the others. He could passas human.

When he emerged, he was seated at atable and given a plate of tortillas and

beans by a man in a black uniform withthe emblem of a beehive on one sleeve.“Thank you. This is very nice,” Mattsaid.

“Oho! We have an aristocrat here,”said one of the border guards. “Whenwas the last time someone said thank youto a Keeper, Raúl?”

“About the time America discoveredColumbus,” said Raúl. He pulled up achair. “Okay, kid. What were you doingon the frontera?”

Matt, between mouthfuls of beans,gave him the story Tam Lin hadprepared. His parents had been taken bythe Farm Patrol. He got scared and ranback across the border. He wanted to goto San Luis.

“That’s really tough, losing yourparents like that. Do you come from SanLuis?” said Raúl.

“I have—a friend there,” said Matt,stumbling over how exactly to describeMaría.

The man shrugged. “What kind ofwork can you do?”

Work? Matt was confused. He knewhow to run an opium empire, but hedidn’t think that was what the manwanted to hear. “I can play the piano,”he said at last. Raúl laughed out loud.

“Now I know he’s an aristocrat,” saidthe other border guard.

“Don’t get us wrong,” said Raúl,noticing Matt’s unhappy expression.“We like art and music, but in the new

Aztlán we don’t have time for hobbies.We have to contribute to the generalgood of the people.”

“It’s hard but it’s fair,” the other mansaid.

“So if you have a special skill, likebalancing magnetic coils or running apositronic purifier, please tell us.”

Positronic purifier, thought Matt. Idon’t even know what it is . He rackedhis brain. “I studied water purification,”he said at last. It wasn’t quite true. Matthad toured the water purification plant,but he thought he remembered enough tobe useful.

“Those plants are automated,” saidthe border guard.

“Wait. I’m getting an idea,” said Raúl.

“Stomp on it before it gets away,” theguard said.

“No, really. The plankton factory inSan Luis can always use new workers.That’s something like water purification.And it’s where the kid wants to go.”

The men seemed to think this was abrilliant plan, and Matt, who had no ideawhat they were talking about, said theplankton factory sounded fine. It was inSan Luis, after all. He could leave rightaway and find his way to the Convent ofSanta Clara.Matt spent the night in the guardhouse,and in the morning Raúl took him to alarge, gray building with high windowscovered with iron bars. “You’re in luck,chico,” he said. “We’ve got a hovercraft

going to San Luis tomorrow.” Heunlocked a metal door that led into adimly lit hallway. A pair of borderguards lounged at a table in front ofanother door made of reinforced glass.They were playing a game Matt hadnever seen.

Tiny men seemed to hang in midairover the table, along with trees,buildings, and a pot bubbling on a fire. Itwas the pot and fire that enchanted Matt.They were so realistic, he could evenhear water splattering onto the flames.About half of the tiny men were dressedin animal skins and carried spears. Theother half were clad in monk’s robes.The border guards wore silver glovesand moved the game pieces by waving

their fingers.“Another one for San Luis,” said

Raúl. The men grudgingly turned off thegame.

“Where did the picture go?” saidMatt.

“Haven’t you ever seen a holo-game,kid?”

“Of course I have,” Matt lied. Hedidn’t want to arouse suspicion.

“Oh, I get it,” a border guard said.“You haven’t seen this game before.That’s because it’s so old. It’s all thecrotting government sends us.”

“Don’t use language like that in frontof a kid,” said Raúl.

“Sorry,” said the guard. He turned onthe game, and the tiny men appeared

again. “See, those are the cannibals andthese are the missionaries. The aim isfor the cannibals to push themissionaries into the cooking pot.”

“And the missionaries?” Matt asked.“They have to push the cannibals into

the church, but first they have to baptizethem.”

Matt watched, fascinated, as a tinymissionary held down a yelling cannibaland sprinkled water on his head. Sothat’s what baptism was. “It looks likefun,” he said.

“Sure, if you haven’t played it acouple thousand times.” The man turnedthe game off and unlocked the glass doorfor Raúl and Matt to pass through.

“Why are all the doors locked?” Matt

asked.“The orderly production of resources

is vital to the general good of thepeople,” said Raúl.

That’s a very weird thing to say ,Matt thought. However, his attention wasriveted on a room full of boys workingat tables. They all stopped what theywere doing and turned to look at Matt.

He had never played with children.He’d never been to school or playedsports, and he’d never had a friend hisown age, except María. The reaction ofmost people to him had been hatred.Thus, the experience of suddenly beingthrust into a crowd of boys was likebeing dumped into a pool of piranhas.Matt assumed they were going to hurt

him. He froze into a karate stance TamLin had shown him.

The boys surged forward, all talkingat once. “What’s your name? Where arethey sending you? Got any money?”Raúl, perhaps noticing Matt’s oddposition, crowded them back.

“Orale, morros. Okay, kids. Hisname’s Matt, and he needs to be leftalone for a while. He just lost hisparents in Dreamland.” The boys wentback to the tables, but they eyed Mattcuriously, and one or two of them smiledand tried to entice him over.

Matt stood next to the door whileRaúl walked around the room,commenting on the boys’ work. Somewere fitting small bits of machinery

together, others wove strips of plasticinto sandals. Still others measuredpowder into capsules and counted thefinished pills into bottles.

Raúl stopped by a large boy who wassanding a curved piece of wood. “Wedon’t have time for hobbies, Chacho.The orderly production of resources isvital to the general good of the people.”

“Crot the good of the people,”muttered Chacho, still sanding the wood.

If Raúl was angered by this curse—and Matt had no doubt it was a curse,although he didn’t know what it meant—the man didn’t show it. He took thewood from Chacho’s hands. “Attentionto the welfare of the nation is the highestvirtue to which a citizen can aspire.”

“Yeah, right,” said Chacho.“Work is freedom. Freedom is work.

It’s hard but it’s fair.”“It’s hard but it’s fair,” chanted the

rest of the boys. “It’s hard but it’s fair.”They banged out the rhythm on thetables, getting louder and rowdier untilRaúl stilled them by raising his hands.

“I’m glad to see you in high spirits,”he said, smiling. “You may think I’m aboring old Keeper, but someday you’llunderstand the importance of theselessons.” He led Matt to the middle ofthe room. “This boy is going to San Luis.I want you to make him welcome, butdon’t push him if he wants to be alone.He’s just been through a terrible loss.”

Rauúl’s exit was done smoothly, with

the door closed and locked almostbefore Matt was aware of it. Why didthey have to be locked in? And what wasa Keeper? It was the second time Matthad heard the word.

He glared at the boys, whose workslowed now that they weren’t beingwatched. El Patrón always said it wasimportant to establish your authoritybefore anyone had a chance to questionit. Matt walked toward the tables asthough he owned the place.

“Want to join us?” said a skinny littlekid who was making up pills. Mattlooked grandly around the room. Henodded curtly. “You can help if youwant,” the kid offered.

“My advice is to sit on your butt

while you have the chance,” said Chachofrom across the room. The big boy wastwisting plastic strips into sandals. Mattwalked slowly to the sandal-makingtable. El Patrón said you should neverlook anxious or needy. People alwaystook advantage of those who wereanxious or needy.

“Why is that?” inquired Matt, lookingdown at the tangle of plastic strips.

“ ’Cause the Keepers are gonna workyour butt off tomorrow,” said Chacho.He was a large, rough-looking boy withbig hands and black hair slicked backlike the feathers on a duck.

“I thought I was going to San Luis.”“Oh, you are. So am I and Fidelito.”

Chacho pointed at the skinny kid, who

looked only about eight years old. “Butyou can bet we’re going to work beforewe get on the hovercraft, while we’re onthe hovercraft, and after we get off thecrotting hovercraft. You’ll see.”

So Matt wandered around andwatched the various chores the boyswere doing. He settled by Fidelito, whowas ecstatic to gain the approval of thenewcomer. After a while Matt could seewhy. Fidelito was the neediest kid in theroom, and so of course everyone pushedhim around.

“What kind of pills are those?” Mattasked.

“Vitamin B,” said Fidelito. “They’resupposed to be good for you, but if youeat ten or twelve of them, you get sick.”

“What a dope!” Chacho said. “Whywould anybody eat a dozen vitaminpills?”

“I was hungry,” Fidelito said.Matt was startled. “You mean, they

don’t feed you here?”“Sure they do, if you produce enough

work. I’m just not very fast.”“You’re not very big,” Matt said,

feeling sorry for the earnest little boy.“That doesn’t matter,” Fidelito

explained. “Everyone’s supposed tohave the same output. As long as we’rehere, we’re equal.”

“ It’s hard but it’s fair,” intonedChacho from across the room.

The other boys picked up the chant,banging the tables until the whole room

rocked. One of the border guards toldthem to shut up through a loudspeaker.

“Did you see your parents taken?”asked Fidelito when the hubbub dieddown.

“¡Callate! Shut up! Let him get usedto it,” several voices cried, but Mattraised his hand for silence, as he’d seenRaúl do. To his great pleasure, the boysobeyed. There really was something toEl Patronós methods of gaining power.

“It happened yesterday morning,” hesaid, improvising. Matt remembered thecrowd of Illegals who had distracted theFarm Patrol. “I saw a flash of light. Papáshouted for me to go back to the border.I saw Mamá fall down, and then a mangrabbed my backpack. I slipped out of

the straps and ran.”“I know what that flash of light was,”

said a sad-faced boy. “It’s a kind of gun,and it kills you dead. Mi mamá—” Hisvoice choked and he didn’t say anymore. Fidelito put his head down on thetable.

“Have—have other people lost theirparents?” stammered Matt. He’d beenabout to create a dramatic story abouthis escape. Now it seemed a heartlessthing to do.

“We all have,” said Chacho. “I guessyou haven’t figured it out. This is anorfanatorio, an orphanage. The state isour family now. That’s why the borderguards wait along the frontera. Theycatch the kids of rockheads who make a

run for it and turn them over to theKeepers.”

“Mi abuelita wasn’t a rockhead,”said Fidelito from the cradle of his arms.

“Your grandma—Oh, heck, Fidelito,”said Chacho. “She was too old to run tothe United States. You know that. ButI’m sure she loved you,” he added as thelittle boy sniffled. “So you see how itis,” Chacho told Matt. “We’re all part ofthe crotting production of resources forthe crotting good of the people.”

“Don’t let Raúl hear you,” someonesaid.

“I’d like to tattoo it on my butt for himto read,” said Chacho, going back to thetangle of plastic strips on his table.

27

A FIVE-LEGGED HORSE

The rest of the day, from Matt’s pointof view, went very well. He drifted fromgroup to group, listening toconversations and storing upinformation. In case someone were towonder why he was so ignorant, hedidn’t ask many questions. He learnedthat the Keepers were in charge ofpeople who couldn’t take care ofthemselves. They took in the orphans, thehomeless, the insane and molded theminto good citizens. The orphans were

known as Lost Boys and Lost Girls, andthey lived in different buildings. Mattcouldn’t figure out why everyoneseemed to hate the Keepers, although noone, except Chacho, said so directly.Raúl seemed nice enough.

Matt also learned that the country ofOpium was called Dreamland here. Noone really knew what lay beyond itsborders. There were many stories ofzombie slaves and a vampire king wholived in a castle. The chupacabrashaunted its mountains and occasionallycrossed over into Aztlán to drink theblood of goats.

Boys who had not seen their parentstaken believed they had made it to theUnited States. Several boys assured Matt

they were only waiting for their parentsto send for them. Then they would all berich and happy in the golden paradisethat lay beyond Dreamland.

Matt doubted it. The Farm Patrol wasvery efficient, and besides, El Patrónhad told him just as many people ranaway from the United States as towardit. If a golden paradise had ever lain tothe north, it wasn’t there anymore.

Matt helped Fidelito make pills. Itseemed monstrously unfair that the littleboy was deprived of food simplybecause he was slower than the largerboys. Fidelito responded with suchadoration that Matt began to regret hisgood deed. The kid reminded him a littleof Furball.

They had a half-hour break for lunch.First the guards checked everyone’swork output for the morning. Then theybrought in a steaming cauldron of beansand handed out tortillas. Before anyonewas allowed to eat, the boys had torecite the Five Principles of GoodCitizenship and the Four AttitudesLeading to Right-Mindfulness. The foodwas doled out according to whether aboy had reached his quota or not.Fidelito looked at Matt with shining eyesas his bowl was filled to the brim.

After lunch the work started again.Matt helped Fidelito for a while thenswitched to Chacho’s table for variety.He very quickly figured out the patternhe was supposed to weave. “Enjoy it

while you can,” grunted Chacho.“Enjoy what?” said Matt, holding up a

finished sandal.“The thrill of moving from one job to

another. Once you settle in, the Keeperswill let you do only one thing. It’ssupposed to be efficient.”

Matt considered this information as hecontinued to weave plastic. “Can’t youask for something else?”

Chacho laughed. “Sure, you can ask.You won’t get it, though. Raúl saysworker bees do the best they can withwhatever job they’re given. That’s hisway of saying,’Tough toenails, sucker.’”

Matt thought a while longer. “Whatwas that piece of wood you wereworking on when I arrived?”

For a moment Matt thought the boywasn’t going to answer. Chacho twistedhis strip of plastic so viciously it broke.He had to start over with a new one. “Ittook me weeks to find that wood,” hesaid at last. “I think it was from an oldpacking crate. I polished it and sandedit. I was going to find more pieces andglue them together.” Chacho fell silentagain.

“And make what?” Matt urged.“Promise you won’t tell?”“Of course.”“A guitar.”That was the last answer Matt

expected. Chacho had such clumsy-looking hands, he didn’t seem capable ofplaying a musical instrument. “Do you

know how to play?”“Not as well as my father. He taught

me to make guitars, though, and I’mpretty good at that.”

“Was he—was he taken inDreamland?” said Matt.

“¡Caramba! Do you think I belongwith the rest of these losers? Meencarcelaron por feo . I was locked upfor being ugly. I’m no orphan! My dad’sliving in the United States. He’s got somuch money, he can’t even fit it into hispockets; and he’s going to send for me assoon as he buys a house.” Chachol ooke d absolutely furious, but Mattcould tell from his voice that tearsweren’t far below the surface.

Matt worked on his sandal, not

looking at Chacho. He noticed the otherboys were absorbed in their work too.They knew—they had to know—thatChacho’s father wasn’t going to send foranyone anytime soon. But only Mattunderstood what had really happened tohim. Chacho’s father was bending andcutting, bending and cutting poppies allday in the hot sun. And on still,breathless nights he was sleeping in thefields to keep from being suffocated bythe bad air from the pits.In the evening the lunchtime ritual wasrepeated. The food was exactly thesame. Afterward the boys washeddishes, tidied up the workroom, andmoved the tables to one side. From astorage room they dragged out beds and

fitted them on top of one another to formbunks three levels high. “Put Fidelito’sbed on the bottom,” someone told Matt.

“Which one is it?” asked Matt.“Smell the mattress,” said Chacho.“I can’t help it,” the little boy

protested.They were marched into a communal

shower by the border guards. Matt hadnever seen anyone naked outside the artclasses on TV. He found itembarrassing. He kept his right footplanted on the floor so no one could seethe writing that proclaimed him a clone.He was very glad to shrug on a coarsenightshirt and retreat to the workroom,now bedroom.

“Do we go to sleep now?” he asked.

“Now we get the bedtime story,” saidChacho. The boys seemed energized bysomething. They clustered around a bunkbed under a window, and Chacho put hisear to the wall. After a moment hepointed at the window and nodded.

Fidelito climbed the bunk bed like alittle monkey and lifted his nightshirt.This was his moment of glory. “Voy aenseñarle la mapa mundi,” heannounced.

I’m going to show him the map of theworld? thought Matt. Show who? Andwhat did he mean by the map of theworld? Fidelito stuck his skinnybackside between the bars of the highwindow and waggled it. A minute laterMatt heard Raúl’s voice say, “One of

these days I’m going to bring aslingshot.”

Fidelito scrambled off the bed to thecheers of the rest of the boys. “I’m theonly one small enough to fit,” he said,swaggering around like a bantamrooster.

When Raúl entered, he said nothing atall about being mooned. He pulled up achair, and the boys settled on the bunkbeds to listen. The title of his talk was“Why Individualism Is Like a Five-Legged Horse.” Raúl explained thatthings went smoothly only when peopleworked together. They decided on a goaland then helped one another achieve it.“What would happen,” the Keeper askedall the boys, “if you were rowing a boat

and half of you wanted to go one wayand the other half another?”

He waited expectantly, and after awhile someone put up his hand and said,“We’d go in circles.”

“Very good!” said Raúl, beaming athis audience. “We all have to paddletogether to reach the shore.”

“What if we don’t want to reach theshore?” Chacho said.

“A very good question,” said theKeeper. “Can anyone tell us what wouldhappen if we stayed out in the boat fordays and days?” He waited.

“We’d starve to death,” a boy said.“There’s your answer, Chacho,” said

Raúl. “We’d all starve to death. Thatbrings me to the problem of the five-

legged horse. A horse runs very well onfour legs. It’s what he’s made for. Butsuppose he grew a fifth leg that onlywanted to please itself. The other fourlegs would be running and running, butthe fifth leg—which we’ll callindividualism—would want to walkslowly to enjoy a beautiful meadow, orit might want to take a nap. Then thepoor animal would fall over! That’s whywe take that unhappy horse to a vet andhave the fifth leg cut off. It may seemharsh, but we’ve all got to pull togetherin the new Aztlán, or we’ll all wind uplying in the dirt. Does anyone have aquestion?”

Raúl waited a long time. Finally, Mattput up his hand and said, “Why don’t you

put a computer chip in the horse’s brain?Then it wouldn’t matter how many legs ithad.” A gasp went around the room.

“Are you saying—?” the Keeperstopped, as though he couldn’t believewhat he was hearing. “Are yousuggesting we turn the horse into azombie?”

“I don’t see much difference betweenthat and sawing off the extra leg,” saidMatt. “What you’re after is a horse thatworks hard and doesn’t waste timelooking at flowers.”

“This is great!” Chacho said.“But you—don’t you see the

difference?” Raúl was so outraged, hecould hardly speak.

“We recite the Five Principles of

Good Citizenship and the Four AttitudesLeading to Right-Mindfulness every timewe want to eat,” explained Matt. “Youkeep telling us the orderly production ofresources is vital to the general good ofthe people. It’s obvious we’re supposedto follow the rules and not walk slowlythrough meadows. But horses aren’t assmart as people. It makes sense toprogram them with computer chips.”Matt thought this was a brilliantargument, and he couldn’t see why theKeeper was so upset. El Patrón wouldhave seen the logic of it in an instant.

“I can see we have our work cut outwith you,” Raúl said in a tight voice. “Ican see we have a nasty little aristocratwho needs to be educated about the will

of the people!” Matt was amazed at theman’s reaction. The Keeper had askedfor questions. In fact, he’d almostdemanded them.

“Well!” said Raúl, brushing off hisuniform as though he’d touchedsomething dirty. “The sooner this nastylittle aristocrat goes to the planktonfactory the better. That’s all I can say.”And he flounced out of the room.

Instantly, all the boys crowded aroundMatt. “Wow! You showed him!” theycried.

“You mooned him even better than Idid,” said Fidelito, bouncing up anddown on a bed.

“He didn’t even make us recite theFive Principles of Good Citizenship and

the Four Attitudes Leading to Right-Mindfulness,” exulted a boy.

“Heck, I had you down as a wuss,”said Chacho “You’ve got more nervethan a herd of bulls.”

“What? What did I do?” said Matt,completely bewildered.

“You only told him the Keepers weretrying to turn us into a bunch of crots!”

Late that night Matt lay on a top bunkand went over the events of the day. Hedidn’t know how much trouble he was inor what kind of revenge to expect. Hedidn’t dislike Raúl. He only thought theman was an idiot. Matt realized he’dbetter walk carefully around people whotook offense at mere words. What harmcould words do? Tam Lin loved a good

argument, the more spirited the better.He said it was like doing push-ups inyour brain.

Matt felt his right foot under thescratchy wool blanket. This was his oneweakness, and he despaired of keeping ithidden. Tam Lin might have said therewas no difference between humans andclones, but everything in Matt’sexperience argued against it. Humanshated clones. It was the natural order ofthings, and Raúl could use it to destroyhim. No one must ever see the tattoo thattied Matt to Dreamland and to thevampire who lived in its castle.Vampire! thought Matt. El Patrón wouldhave enjoyed that description. He lovedto inspire fear.

Matt had added a few more crumbs tothe stash of information he wasaccumulating about this new world inwhich he found himself. An aristocratwas the lowest form of life, a parasitewho expected honest peasants to be hisslaves. A crot—the deadliest insultanyone could utter—was a simple,harmless eejit, like the thousands whohad cut grass, washed floors, and tendedpoppies as far back as Matt couldremember. The clean word for them waszombies. Whatever they were called,Matt thought they deserved pity, nothatred.

He couldn’t bring himself to thinkabout Celia and Tam Lin. Sorrowthreatened to overwhelm him, and he

didn’t want to be caught sobbing like ababy. Instead, he thought about going toSan Luis. He’d look for the Convent ofSanta Clara right away and find María.The thought of María cheered him upimmensely.

Matt basked in the approval of hisnewfound friends. It was the mostwonderful thing that had ever happenedto him. The boys accepted him as thoughhe were a real human. He felt like he’dbeen walking across a desert all his lifeand now he’d arrived at the biggest andbest oasis in the world.

28

THE PLANKTONFACTORY

Raúl gave the boys an inspirational talkin the morning. It was all aboutaristocrats and how attractive they mightseem on the surface but how vile theyreally were inside. No mention wasmade of Matt. A few of the younger boysseemed uneasy, but Chacho and Fidelitoproclaimed Matt a national hero after theKeeper left.

Matt was put to work the instant the

talk was over. He was told to measurepills with the younger children, and hisquota was twice theirs, “to teach him thevalue of labor.” Matt wasn’t worried.When they reached San Luis, he’d be offto the convent faster than Fidelito couldsay, It’s hard but it’s fair.

For breakfast he was given only half abowl of beans and three tortillas insteadof six. Chacho told each of the biggerboys to give him a spoonful of theirs, sohe wound up with a full bowl anyway.

At mid-morning Raúl called out thenames of the three who were to go toSan Luis and marched them to thehovercraft. “You’ve had it easy here,”he told them. “This is a holiday campcompared to where you’re going; but if

you work hard and keep your recordclean, you can move up to fullcitizenship when you reach eighteen.”

“Crot that,” muttered Chacho.“That’s not a good beginning. That’s

not a good beginning at all,” said Raúl.Matt had been inside a hovercraft only

once—the disastrous night when he’dbeen betrayed by Steven and Emilia.This ship wasn’t nearly as nice. It wasfull of hard plastic seats, and it smelledof sweat and mold. Raúl sat them in themiddle, as far from the windows aspossible. He gave them a bag of plasticstrips to weave into sandals.

“Told you we’d have to work,” saidChacho under his breath.

The Keeper strapped them in and left

without a word. The rest of thehovercraft was filled with bales ofplastic sandals piled so high, the boyscouldn’t see out the windows. Theycouldn’t move around, either, becausethe straps were locked into place. Whati s it with these people? thought Matt.They couldn’t seem to relax unless theyhad total control.

The hovercraft lifted, and Fidelitoannounced that he always got sick onairships. “You barf on me, you’ve hadit,” snarled Chacho.

Matt solved the problem bytransferring the bag of plastic strips tothe little boy’s lap.

“You’re a genius,” said Chacho. “Goahead, Fidelito. Knock yourself out.”

What were Steven and Emilia doingnow? Matt wondered as they flew on.Steven was the crown prince of Opiumnow. He’d be celebrating. His friendsfrom school would come over, andtables would be set in the garden whereEl Patrón used to have his birthdayparties. Emilia would have her eejitflower girls to wait on her, or perhapsshe’d sent them away to the fields. Theyweren’t capable of much else.

Those girls must have tried to runwith their parents, Matt thought with athrill of horror. They weren’t any olderthan Fidelito, who had lost his battlewith airsickness and was coating theplastic strips in secondhand beans andtortillas.

“They should have starved you atbreakfast time,” said Chacho.

“I can’t help it,” said Fidelito in amuffled voice.

The rest of the trip—mercifully short—was spent in a cloud of sour vomit.Matt leaned one way and Chacho leanedthe other in a vain attempt to escape thesmell. Fortunately, the hovercraft landedsoon. When the pilot saw what hadhappened, he unlocked the seat belts andshoved the boys out the door.

Matt tumbled to his knees on hot sand.He sucked in air and immediatelyregretted it. The smell outside was evenworse. It was like thousands of fishrotting and oozing in the hot sun. Mattgave in to the inevitable and emptied his

stomach. Not far away Chacho wasdoing the same. “I was in purgatory.Now I’m in hell,” he groaned.

“Make it stop,” sobbed Fidelito.Matt pulled himself to his feet and

dragged the little boy toward a buildingshimmering in the heat. All around, Mattsaw blinding white hills and crustedpools stained with crimson. Chachostumbled after them.

Matt pulled Fidelito through adoorway and slumped against a wall torecover. The air inside was cooler andslightly fresher. The room was full ofbubbling tanks tended by boys whomorosely fished the water with nets andwho paid no attention to the newcomers.

After a few moments Matt felt strong

enough to get up. His legs were rubberyand his stomach was in knots. “Who’s incharge?” he asked. A boy pointed at adoor.

Matt knocked and went in. He saw agroup of men dressed in the same blackuniform as Raúl, with the emblem of abee-hive on their sleeves. “There’s oneo f los bichos— the vermin—who stankup my hovercraft,” said the pilot.

“What’s your name?” said a Keeper.“Matt Ortega,” Matt replied.“Ah. The aristocrat.”Uh oh, thought Matt. Raúl must have

spread the word.“Well, you won’t get away with your

swanky ways here,” the man said.“We’ve got something called the

boneyard, and any troublemaker whogoes through it comes out as harmless asa little lamb.”

“The first thing he’s going to do isclean my ship,” said the pilot. And soMatt, along with Chacho, soon foundhimself scrubbing the floors and walls ofthe aircraft. Lastly—and most horribly—they had to wash each slimy strip ofplastic in a bucket of hot, soapy water.

The air didn’t smell as evil as before.“It’s just as bad,” the pilot assured themfrom his seat under a plastic shade. “Thelonger you’re here, the less you notice it.There’s something in it that paralyzesyour sense of smell.”

“We should make Fidelito drink this,”said Chacho, idly sloshing the contents

of the bucket.“He can’t help it,” Matt said. Poor

Fidelito had curled up on the ground in afit of misery. Neither boy had the heartto make him work.

After they finished, the head Keeper,who was called Carlos, gave them a tourof the factory. “These are the brinetanks,” he said. “You take the stink bugsout of the tanks with this”—he held up anet—“and when the plankton’s ripe, youharvest it.”

“What’s plankton?” Matt ventured toask.

“Plankton!” exclaimed Carlos, asthough he’d been waiting eagerly for thatquestion. “It’s what a whale filters out ofthe sea to make a meal. It’s the

microscopic plants and animals that driftin the top layer of the water. Youwouldn’t think an enormous creaturecould live on something so tiny, butthat’s the astonishing truth. Plankton isthe eighth wonder of the world. It’s fullof protein, vitamins, and roughage. It’sgot everything a whale needs to behappy and everything people need too.The plankton we manufacture here ismade into hamburgers, hotdogs, andburritos. Ground up fine, it takes theplace of mother’s milk.”

Carlos went on and on. It appearedhis life’s work was to make people loveand appreciate plankton. He seemedblind to the bleak desert that surroundedthem, now that they had gone outside.

Matt saw high security fences in thedistance, and his heart sank. The air wasfoul, the temperature broiling, and thehumidity so high that his jumpsuit clungto his body like a second skin. This wasthe place he was supposed to inhabituntil he turned eighteen.

“Where’s San Luis?” he asked.“That’s on a need-to-know basis,”

said Carlos. “When we feel you need theinformation, that’s when you get to knowit. Don’t get any ideas about going overthe fence, either. The top wire hasenough power to spit you back like amelon seed. Here are the saltmountains.” He indicated the whitedunes Matt had noticed before. “Afterwe harvest the plankton, the brine is

evaporated and the salt is processed forsale. These are the highest saltmountains in the world. People comefrom all over to admire them.”

What people? thought Matt, looking atthe depressing landscape.

A siren wailed. “Time for the firstlunch setting!” Carlos said. He led themup a dune. It was more solid than itlooked. At the top was a picnic areawith tables. Plastic flowers wereplanted around the edge, and a weathervane topped by a spouting whale stoodin the center. A slight breeze blew a finedusting of salt over Matt’s skin. “Thelunch area was my idea,” Carlos said,plopping himself onto a bench. “I thinkit’s raised everyone’s morale.”

The boys, trudging up the slope withpots and dishes, didn’t look especiallyhappy. They set down their burdens andlined up between the tables like rows ofsoldiers. Carlos told Matt, Chacho, andFidelito to stand at the end of a line.Everyone recited the Five Principles ofGood Citizenship and the Four AttitudesLeading to Right-Mindfulness, and then asullen, acne-scarred boy began dishingup.

“What is this stuff?” said Chacho,sniffing his bowl.

“Delicious, nutritious plankton,” theboy growled.

“Everything a whale needs to behappy,” said another, pretending to gag.They straightened up when Carlos gave

them a sour look.“I will not have you insulting food,”

the Keeper said. “Food is a wonderfulthing. Millions of people have diedbecause they didn’t have enough, andyou lucky boys get to eat your fill threetimes a day. In the old days aristocratsfeasted on roast pheasant and sucklingpig, while the peasants had to eat grassand tree bark. In the new Aztláneverything is shared equally. If only oneperson is deprived of roast pheasant andsuckling pig, the rest of us should refuseto eat them. Plankton is the mostdelicious dish in the world when it isshared by all.”

No one said anything after that. Mattguessed he was the only one there who’d

actually feasted on roast pheasant andsuckling pig. For the life of him, hecouldn’t see why plankton was supposedto taste better if everyone was stuck withit. It was sticky and crunchy at the sametime, and it coated his mouth like rancidglue.

From the high plateau the guard fencewas visible. Matt squinted his eyes intothe blinding light, but he couldn’t seemuch beyond it. He thought he saw aglint of water far to the west.

“That’s the Gulf of California,” saidCarlos, shading his eyes as he followedMatt’s gaze.

“Are there whales in it?” Matt asked.“They’d have to bring their own

bathtubs,” a boy said.

Carlos looked sorrowful. “There usedto be whales. Once this whole area wascovered by water.” He pointed at a ridgeof hills to the east. “That was thecoastline. Through the years the waterflowing from the Colorado River got sopolluted, the whales died.”

“What happened to the gulf?” askedChacho.

“That’s one of the great engineeringtriumphs of Aztlán,” Carlos saidproudly. “We diverted the ColoradoRiver to an underground canal that runsinto Dreamland. Once the pollutantswere removed, we started harvesting thegulf for plankton. Fresh seawater comesin from the south, but what withharvesting and the loss of river water,

the gulf has shrunk to a narrow channel.”So that was where Opium’s water

came from, Matt realized—a river sopolluted that it could kill a whale. Hewondered whether El Patrón had knownabout it. Yes, probably, Matt decided.The water was free, and El Patrón loveda bargain.

After lunch Matt, Chacho, andFidelito were put to work tending thebrine shrimp tanks. These stretched in along line to the west of the centralfactory, with a pipeline for waterrunning to one side. The shrimp filled upthe tanks in a pulsing, squirming mass.They gobbled red algae until theirbodies turned the color of blood. It wasthis that had stained the pools Matt had

noticed when he first arrived.He found the job interesting. He liked

the busy little creatures and thought theirtiny bodies, rippling with feathery gills,were every bit as nice as flowers. Heand the others sieved out insects andadded water as needed. There were,unfortunately, miles of tanks andthousands of suicidal bugs. After a fewhours Matt’s arms ached, his back wasstiff, and his eyes burned from salt.Fidelito whimpered to himself as theytrudged along.

The desert stretched ahead of themwithout so much as a dead tree forshade. The tanks seemed to be headingfor the distant channel Matt had seenduring lunch. It was definitely blue now,

not merely a flash of light on the horizon.The water looked cool and deep.

“Can you swim?” he asked Chacho.“Where would I learn a swanky thing

like that?” Chacho got mean when hewas tired. Matt knew that swanky meantsomething only an evil, rotten, spoiledaristocrat would do.

“I know how to swim,” announcedFidelito.

“Where’d a puny loser like you pick itup? In a shrimp tank?” snarled Chacho.

Instead of getting angry, Fidelitotreated the suggestion seriously. Matthad noticed that the little boy wasamazingly good-natured. He might wetthe bed and barf at the drop of a hat, buthis goodwill more than made up for it. “I

am puny, aren’t I? I could probablyswim in these tanks.”

“Yeah, and the shrimp’d eat yourweenie off.”

Fidelito cast a startled look atChacho. “Ooh,” he said. “I didn’t thinkof that.”

“Where did you learn to swim?” Mattasked, to change the subject.

“Mi abuelita taught me in Yucatán.We lived on the seashore.”

“Was it nice?”“ Was it?” cried Fidelito. “It was

heaven! We had a little white house witha grass roof. My grandma sold fish at themarket, and she took me out in a canoeon holidays. That’s why she taught me toswim, so I wouldn’t drown if I fell

overboard.”“If it was so great, why did she run

for the border?” Chacho said.“There was a storm,” the little boy

said. “It was a hurry—a hurry—”“A hurricane?” Matt guessed.“Yes! And the sea came in and took

everything away. We had to live in arefugee camp.”

“Oh,” said Chacho as though heinstantly understood.

“We had to live in a big room with alot of other people, and we had to doeverything at the same time in the sameway. There weren’t any trees, and it wasso ugly that mi abuelita got sick. Shewouldn’t eat, so they force-fed her.”

“It is the duty of every citizen to

survive and contribute to the generalgood,” said Chacho. “I’ve had thatyelled at me a couple million times.”

“Why wouldn’t they let your grandmago back to the seashore?” asked Matt.

“You don’t understand,” Chacho said.“They kept her locked up so they couldhelp her. If they turned all the poorsuckers loose, there’d be no one left tohelp, and then there wouldn’t be anypoint to a crotting Keeper’s life.”

Matt was astounded. It was thecraziest thing he’d ever heard, and yet itmade sense. Why else were the boyslocked up? They’d run away if someoneleft the door open. “Is all of Aztlán likethis?”

“Of course not,” said Chacho. “Most

of it’s fine; but once you fall into thehands of the Keepers, you’re lost. See,we’re certified losers. We don’t havehouses or jobs or money, so we have tobe taken care of.”

“Did you grow up in a camp?”Fidelito asked Matt. It was an innocentquestion, but it opened the door to thingsMatt didn’t want to talk about.Fortunately, he was saved by the arrivalof Carlos in a little electric cart. Itpurred up so silently, the boys didn’tnotice it until it was almost upon them.

“I’ve been watching you for fifteenminutes,” said Carlos. “You’ve beenloafing.”

“The heat was getting to Fidelito,”Chacho said quickly. “We thought he

was going to faint.”“Eat salt,” Carlos told the little boy.

“Salt is good for everything. You shouldturn back now, or you won’t make ithome before dark.” He started to go off.

“Wait! Can you take Fidelito?”Chacho said. “He’s really tired.”

Carlos stopped and backed up. “Boys,boys, boys! Hasn’t anyone told you laboris shared equally among equals? If oneperson has to walk, everyone has to.”

“You’re not walking,” Matt pointedout.

Carlos’s grin vanished instantly. “Sothe aristocrat presumes to lecture usabout equality,” he said. “The aristocratis only a snot-faced boy who thinks he’stoo good for the rest of us. I am a true

citizen. I’ve earned my privilegesthrough hard work and obedience. Nofood for you tonight.”

“Crot that” said Chacho.“No food for any of you! You’ll learn

to obey the will of the people if it takesthe next fifty years.” Carlos rode off in aplume of dust and salt.

“I’m sorry, Fidelito,” said Chacho.“You didn’t deserve to be lumped inwith the two of us.”

“I’m proud to be with you,” the littleboy cried. “You’re my compadres! CrotCarlos! Crot the Keepers!” Fidelitolooked so fierce with his scrawny chestthrust out and revolution blazing fromevery pore that both Matt and Chachobroke down with hysterical laughter.

29

WASHING A DUSTYMIND

Why does everyone keep calling me‘the aristocrat’?” asked Matt as theytrudged back along the line of shrimptanks.

Chacho wiped the sweat from his facewith the sleeve of his jumpsuit. “I don’tknow. It’s how you talk, partly. Andyou’re always thinking.”

Matt thought about the education he’dreceived. He’d read a mountain of

books. He’d listened to conversationsbetween El Patrón and the mostpowerful people in the world.

“You’re like—I don’t know how toput it … my grandfather. Your manners, Imean. You don’t gobble your food orspit on the floor. I’ve never heard youswear. It’s okay, but it’s different.”

Matt felt cold. He’d always copied ElPatrón, who was, of course, one hundredyears behind the times.

“Él me cae bien. I think he’s cool,”said Fidelito.

“Of course he’s cool. It’s only …”Chacho turned to Matt. “Well, you seemused to better things. The rest of us wereborn in the dirt, and we know we’llnever get out of it.”

“We’re in this place together.” Mattpointed at the hot desert.

“Yeah. Welcome to hell’s babybrother,” Chacho said, scuffing puffs ofsalt with his feet.

Dinner that night was plankton pattiesand boiled seaweed. Matt didn’t mindfasting, but he felt sorry for Fidelito. Thelittle boy was so skinny, it didn’t seemlike he could survive a missed meal.Chacho solved the problem by staring ata nervous-looking kid until he managedto get half his food. Chacho could comeon like a werewolf when he wanted to.

“Eat,” he told Fidelito.“I don’t want food if you can’t have

any,” the little boy protested.“Test it for me. I want to know if it’s

poison.”So Fidelito choked the patty down.As in the first camp, a Keeper arrived

to give them an inspirational bedtimestory. This one’s name was Jorge. Theyall melted together in Matt’s mind: Raúl,Carlos, and Jorge. They all wore blackuniforms with beehives on the sleeves,and they were all idiots.

Jorge’s story was called “Why MindsGather Dust Like Old Rooms.” “If wework all day in the hot sun,” said Jorge,“what happens to our bodies?” Hewaited expectantly, just like Raúl had.

“We get dirty,” a boy said.“That’s right!” the Keeper said,

beaming. “Our faces get dirty, our handsget dirty, our whole bodies get dirty.

Then what do we do?”“Take a bath,” the boy said. He

seemed used to the drill.“Yes! We clean off that old muck, and

then we feel good again. It’s good to beclean.”

“It’s good to be clean,” said all theboys except for Matt, Chacho, andFidelito. They’d been taken by surprise.

“Let’s back up so our new brotherscan learn with the rest of us,” said Jorge.“It’s good to be clean.”

“ I t ’ s good to be clean,” saideveryone, including Matt, Chacho, andFidelito.

“Our minds and our work may alsocollect dust and need washing,” theKeeper went on. “For example, a door

that’s always being opened and closeddoesn’t stick because the hinges neverget rusty. Work is the same way. If youdon’t loaf”—and Jorge looked straight atMatt, Chacho, and Fidelito—“you formgood habits. Your work never getsrusty.”

Wait a minute , thought Matt. Celia’skitchen door was in constant use, but itswelled up on damp days and then youhad to force it open with your shoulder.Tam Lin got so irritated by it, he put hisfist right through the wood. Then it hadto be replaced, and the door worked alot better afterward. Matt thought thesethings, but he didn’t say them. He didn’twant to miss another meal.

“So if we work steadily and don’t

loaf,” said Jorge, “our work doesn’thave time to get dirty. But our minds canfill up with dust and germs too. Cananyone tell me how to keep our mindsclean?”

Chacho snickered, and Matt pokedhim with his elbow. The last thing theyneeded now was a wisecrack.

Several boys raised their hands, butthe Keeper ignored them. “I think one ofour new brothers can answer thatquestion. What about you, Matt?”

Instantly, everyone’s eyes turned toMatt. He felt like he’d been caught in thecross beams of El Patrón’s securitylights. “M-Me?” he stammered. “I justgot here.”

“But you have so many ideas,” Jorge

purred. “Surely you wouldn’t mindsharing them with us.”

Matts thoughts raced through thearguments the Keeper had alreadypresented. “Isn’t keeping your mind …clean … like keeping the rust off doorhinges? If you use your brain all thetime, it won’t have time to collectgerms.” Matt thought it was a brilliantanswer, considering the question hadbeen thrown at him out of the blue.

But it was the wrong answer. He sawthe other boys tense and Jorge’s mouthquiver on the edge of a smile. He’d beenset up.

“Diseased opinions not suited to thegood of the people have to be cleanedout with self-criticism,” Jorge said

triumphantly. “Would anyone like toshow Matt how this is done?”

“Me! Me!” shouted several boys,waving their arms in the air. The Keeperpicked one with really spectacular acnecovering his neck and ears. All of theboys had bad skin, but this one took theprize. He even had zits nestling in hishair.

“Okay, Ton-Ton. You go first,” saidJorge.

Ton-Ton had a face that looked like ithad been slammed into a wall. Youcould see right up his nostrils andmaybe, Matt thought, get a peek at hisbrain.

“I, uh, I thought about stealing foodthis morning,” said Ton-Ton eagerly.

“The cook left it unguarded for a minute,and I—I, uh, wanted to take a pancake,but I, uh, didn’t.”

“So you harbored thoughtscontradictory to the general good of thepeople?” said Jorge.

“I, uh, yes.”“What punishment should a person

have who harbors contradictorythoughts?”

What language were they talking?wondered Matt. Each word seemedclear enough, but the meaning of thewhole slipped away.

“I—I ought to, uh, have to recite theFive Principles of Good Citizenship andthe Four Attitudes Leading to Right-Mindfulness twice before, uh, getting

food next time,” said Ton-Ton.“Very good!” cried Jorge. The Keeper

selected several more hands after that,and each boy confessed to weird things,like not folding his blanket correctly orusing too much soap. The punishmentsall had to do with chanting the FivePrinciples of Good Citizenship and theFour Attitudes Leading to Right-Mindfulness, except for the case of oneboy who admitted to taking a three-hoursiesta.

Jorge frowned. “That’s serious. Nobreakfast for you,” he said. The boylooked crestfallen.

No more hands shot up. The Keeperturned to Matt. “Now that our newbrother has been educated as to the

meaning of self-criticism, perhaps he’dlike to share his personal shortcomings.”He waited. Ton-Ton and the other boysleaned forward. “Well?” said Jorgeafter a moment.

“I haven’t done anything wrong,” saidMatt. A gasp of horror went around theroom.

“Nothing wrong?” said the Keeper,his voice rising. “Nothing wrong? Whatabout wanting to put computer chips intothe heads of innocent horses? Whatabout fouling the bag of plastic stripsused for making sandals? What aboutinciting your brothers to loaf when youwere supposed to be cleaning the shrimptanks?”

“I fouled the plastic strips,” squeaked

Fidelito.He looked scared out of his wits, and

Matt quickly said, “It’s not his fault. Igave him the bag.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere,”Jorge said.

“But I puked!” insisted the little boy.“It’s not your fault, brother,” the

Keeper said. “You were led astray bythis aristocrat. Be quiet!” he said with ahint of anger when Fidelito looked readyto take the blame again. “The rest of youmust help this aristocrat see the error ofhis ways. We do this because we lovehim and want to welcome him into thehive.”

Then they all attacked him. Everysingle boy in the room—except Chacho

and Fidelito—hurled an accusation atMatt. He talked like an aristocrat. Hefolded his blanket in a swanky way. Hecleaned under his fingernails. He usedwords people couldn’t understand.Everything Chacho had mentioned—andmore—was thrown at Matt like balls ofsticky mud. It wasn’t the unfairness ofthe accusations that so hurt him as muchas the venom that lay behind them. Mattthought he’d been accepted. He thoughthe’d at last come to an oasis—ugly anduncomfortable, but still an oasis—wherehe could feel welcome.

But it was all a sham. They knewwhat he was. They might not understandhow appallingly different he was, butthey knew he didn’t belong. They would

keep hurling mud at him until hesuffocated under its weight.

He heard the boys go away. He heardChacho swear as he was forced to climbinto a bunk bed. Matt was left alone,curled up in the middle of the floor, likethe unnatural creature he was. And yet—

Inside, from a place Matt didn’t knowexisted, a host of voices rose:

Here’s the dirty little secret, Tam Linwhispered in his ear. No one can tellthe difference between a clone and ahuman. That’s because there isn’t anydifference. The idea of clones beinginferior is a filthy lie.

Then Celia’s arms were around him,and Matt could smell the cilantro leavesshe chopped up when she was cooking. I

love you, mi hijo, she said, hugging him.Never forget that.

Next El Patrón put his gnarled oldhand on Matt’s head and said, How Iscrambled for the coins the mayorthrew me! How I rolled in the dirt likea pig! But I needed the money. I was sopoor, I didn’t have two pesos to rubtogether. You’re just like I was at thatage.

Matt shivered. El Patrón hadn’t lovedhim, but the emotion the old man hadgiven him was just as strong: the will tolive, to put out branches until heovershadowed the whole forest. Mattturned away from El Patrón and saw—inhis mind—María.

Gosh, I’ve missed you! said María,

giving him a kiss.I love you, Matt said.I love you, too, María replied. I know

that’s a sin, and I’ll probably go to hellfor it.

If I have a soul, I’ll go with you,promised Matt.

Matt rose from the floor and saw thatthe room had been darkened. Chacho andFidelito were watching him from the topbunks near the ceiling. Someone wasgoing to be sincerely sorry he putFidelito on a top bunk. Chacho pointedat the door and made an extremely rudehand gesture. Fidelito lifted hisnightshirt and mooned the missing Jorge.

Matt had to swallow hard to keep thetears from rolling down his face. He

wasn’t alone after all. With friends likethese, he would triumph, as El Patrónhad triumphed over poverty and death solong ago.

30

WHEN THE WHALESLOST THEIR LEGS

One thing was certainly true:Something did paralyze your sense ofsmell in this place, because Matt nolonger noticed the foul air. The foodtasted better, too. Not good, but nottotally disgusting, either. Day after dayhe, Chacho, and Fidelito walked the longrow of shrimp tanks and cleaned outbugs. Every evening they trudged back toa meal of plankton burgers or plankton

pasta or plankton burritos. Carlos neverseemed to run out of ideas for things todo with plankton.

When the growing cycle was over,Ton-Ton came out with a huge, slow-moving harvester. It groaned along likean arthritic dinosaur and dumped thecontents of the tanks into its cavernousbelly. Matt filled them again from a piperunning out of the Gulf of California.

At the far western end of the shrimpfarm, the boys could look through thefence at the channel that had once beenas wide as the sea. It was a deep blue,with hordes of seagulls. Chachobalanced on the rim of a tank to get abetter view.

The lower part of the fence was safe

to touch, although the top wire buzzedand popped with electricity. Fidelitostretched his arms through the mesh, asthough he could touch the enticing blue ifonly he tried a little harder. Mattsearched for weak places in the mesh.Escape was never far from his mind.

“What’s that?” asked Chacho,pointing north.

Matt shaded his eyes. He sawsomething white peeping over a fold inthe ground.

“Doesn’t look like trees,” saidChacho. “Want to take a look?” The sunwas beginning to lower in the west, butthe lure of something new was too greatto resist.

“This is going to take a while. You

wait here,” Matt told Fidelito. He knewthe little boy didn’t have the strength foran extra walk.

“You can’t leave me. We’recompadres,” said Fidelito.

“We need you to guard our stuff,” saidChacho. “If anyone tries to steal it, kickthem where I showed you.”

Fidelito grinned and saluted like amidget commando.

Matt and Chacho walked over alandscape even more desolate than thearea near the saltworks. There, if itrained, a few stunted weeds struggled tothe surface. Here there was nothingexcept white patches of salt. Seashellsdotted the surface, evidence of the livingsea that had once stretched from horizon

to horizon.“Maybe it’s only a salt bed,” said

Chacho.As they got closer, Matt saw odd

shapes thrusting up. Some werepaddlelike, others were thin and curved.It was the strangest thing he’d ever seen.They came up a slight rise and lookedout over a deep chasm. It was filledfrom side to side with bones.

For a few moments Chacho and Mattstood on the edge of the chasm and saidnothing. Finally, Chacho murmured,“Somebody lost a heck of a lot of cattledown there.”

“Those aren’t cattle,” Matt said. Theskulls were huge, the jaws shaped likemonster bird beaks. One rib alone was

longer than a cow. Mixed in with themwere the paddlelike bones, massiveenough to make tables or even beds. Somany skeletons were jumbled together,Matt couldn’t begin to count them. Heguessed there were hundreds.Thousands.

“Isn’t that a human skull?” saidChacho.

Matt squinted at the shadows partwaydown and saw what Chacho waspointing at.

“Think about it,” the big boy said. “Ifsomeone fell in there, he’d never getout.”

Matt thought about it. He’d been aboutto explore the pit, stepping from bone tobone like climbing down a large tree.

Now he saw that the whole pit wasdelicately balanced. Put one foot in thewrong place, and the whole structurewould collapse. He clenched his teeth,sickened by what he’d almost done.

“We’d better go back,” said Chacho.“We don’t want Fidelito poking aroundhere.”

Fidelito had been entertaining himselfby splashing his feet in a shrimp tank.He’d draped a net over his head for asun-shade. “What was it?” he called toMatt and Chacho.

Matt described the bones, and to hissurprise, the little boy recognized them.“They’re whales,” said Fidelito. “Eightof them beached themselves where Ilived in Yucatán. They swam right up on

shore and then couldn’t get back. Miabuelita said that was because they usedto walk on land and had forgotten theydidn’t have legs anymore. ¡Fuchi! Yuck!They smelled like Jorge’s sneakers! Thevillagers had to bury them in sand.”

Fidelito chirped and warbled aboutrotting whales all the way back to thefactory. Anything to do with hisgrandmother got him going.

What could have lured all thosewhales to their death? thought Matt asthey trudged along the line of shrimptanks. Maybe the chasm was still full ofwater when the Gulf of California driedup. Maybe the whales decided to waitthere until the rains came and the gulffilled up again. Only it didn’t fill up and

the whales had lost their legs, so theycouldn’t walk home anymore.Every night Jorge told a bedtime storyand afterward invited the boys toconfess sins. And every night the boys,led by Ton-Ton, hurled accusations atMatt. It was meant to humiliate him, butthe odd thing was that the attacks hurtless the longer they went on. Mattthought it was like listening to abarnyard full of turkeys. El Patrónsometimes ordered dozens of theridiculous birds when he was planning aparty, and Matt liked to lean over thefence to watch them. Tam Lin saidturkeys were the stupidest birds in theworld. If they were looking up when itwas raining, they’d drown.

At any rate, turkeys went into a wild-eyed, head-banging panic when a red-tailed hawk went over. Gobble-obble-obble-obble, they shrieked, even thoughthey weighed five times as much as ahawk and could have stomped it into theground. That was what Matt heard whenthe boys trotted out his crimes: Gobble-obble-obble-obble.

Jorge’s eyes narrowed and his mouthtightened into a thin line when Mattrefused to confess, but he said nothing.Chacho and Fidelito quickly learned thatthe easiest way to avoid trouble was togive the Keeper what he wanted. Theyconfessed to all sorts of creative sins,and Jorge was so pleased that he hardlyever punished them.

Matt was especially tired this nightafter the walk to the whale pit. Hemumbled his way through the FivePrinciples of Good Citizenship and theFour Attitudes Leading to Right-Mindfulness. He barely heard Jorge’sstory. It was something about how youneeded all ten fingers to play a piano.The fingers had to support one anotherand not try to show off by beingindividualists.

Fidelito admitted to gagging overplankton milk shakes, and Chacho saidhe used bad words when the wake-upbell went off. The Keeper smiled andturned to Matt. But Matt remained silent.He knew he was being stupid. All he hadto do was confess to something small,

but he couldn’t force himself to grovel infront of Jorge.

“I see our aristocrat needs furthereducation,” said the Keeper. His gazepassed over the assembled boys, and allat once the atmosphere changed in theroom. Everyone stared down at thefloor, and no one put up his hand. Mattroused himself out of his stupor longenough to notice. “You!” barked Jorgeso suddenly that several boys flinched.He pointed at Ton-Ton.

“M-Me?” squeaked Ton-Ton asthough he couldn’t believe it.

“You stole a holo-game from theKeepers’ rooms! We found it under apile of rags in the kitchen.”

“I, uh, I, uh—”

“Cleaning the Keepers’ rooms is aprivilege!” yelled Jorge. “It is earnedthrough obedience and good behavior,but you’ve failed in your duties. Whatshould be done with a boy who sneaksaround and takes things the others don’thave?”

The Keepers have things the othersdon’t have , thought Matt. He didn’t sayit aloud.

“He should work extra hard,” a boyguessed.

“No!” shouted Jorge.“Maybe he can—he can apologize,”

someone else faltered.“Haven’t you learned anything?” the

Keeper bellowed. “Worker bees mustthink of the whole hive. If they gather

nectar for themselves and don’t bringanything home, the hive will starve whenthe cold weather comes. That’s not whatworkers do. It’s how drones behave.They steal from others. But when wintercomes, what happens to the drones?”

“The good bees kill them,” said a boyalmost as small as Fidelito.

Wait a minute, thought Matt.“That’s right! The good bees sting the

evil drones to death. But we don’t wantto go quite that far,” said Jorge.

Matt let out the breath he’d beenholding. In Opium murder was a casualthing. He didn’t know what the ruleswere here.

By now Ton-Ton was reduced toabsolute terror. Tears and snot ran down

the boy’s unlovely face. Matt wassurprised to feel sorry for him. Ton-Tonwas a slimy suck-up who deservedwhatever was coming.

“Assume the position,” said Jorge.Ton-Ton stumbled to a wall. He

leaned against it with his arms stretchedout before him and his hands flat againstthe wall. He spread his legs.

“Remember, if you move it will beworse for you.”

Ton-Ton nodded.The Keeper unlocked a small storage

closet and selected a cane. Matt couldsee they were of all sizes. Jorge took histime making the decision. Ton-Tonwhimpered softly.

Finally, the Keeper brought out a cane

about the thickness of his thumb. Hethwacked it against a bed to test itsstrength. Otherwise, the room wasperfectly silent, except for Ton-Ton’ssnuffles.

Jorge paced back and forth. Heseemed to be deciding what part of Ton-Ton to hit. The boy’s arms and legs weretrembling so hard, it seemed likely he’dfall over before Jorge laid a hand onhim. Matt could hardly believe what washappening. It was so cruel, so pointless.Ton-Ton had shown himself eager toobey. He humbled himself whenever theKeepers asked. But maybe that was thepoint. El Patrón said easy targets wereopportunities to frighten enemies youweren’t ready to tackle just yet.

That’s me , thought Matt. I’m theenemy forge wants to frighten.

The Keeper suddenly broke off hispacing and hurled himself across theroom. At the very last instant Ton-Tonpanicked and ran. Jorge was on him atonce, flailing away, hitting anything hecould reach. He struck again and againuntil blood flew off the cane. Fidelitoscrambled over to bury his face inMatt’s chest.

Finally, the Keeper stepped back,panting, and pointed at the boyscowering near the door. “Take him to theinfirmary,” he ordered. The boysscurried to obey. They dragged Ton-Ton, limp as a rag, from the room.

Jorge propped the cane against a bed

and wiped his face with a towel. No onemoved or spoke. Everyone looked tooterrified to even breathe. After a momentJorge looked up with the kindlyexpression of a beloved teacher. Thefury had drained from his face ascompletely as it had once drained fromTom’s face, and the change was evenmore frightening than rage. “I think ouryoung aristocrat has understood thelesson,” he said gently. “Well, Matt. Doyou have any personal shortcomingsyou’d like to share?”

“No,” said Matt, pushing Fidelito outof harm’s way. Everyone gasped.

“I beg your pardon?”“I haven’t done anything wrong.” Matt

understood the lesson all right. It was

this: Even slavish obedience didn’tprotect you from punishment.

“I see,” sighed the Keeper. “Thenthere’s no help for it. Assume theposition.”

“I don’t see how it makes anydifference,” Matt said. “You beat upTon-Ton when he was lying on thefloor.”

“Do it. It makes things easier,”someone dared to whisper. Jorgewhirled around but didn’t catch whospoke.

Matt stood with his arms crossed.Inside he was quaking with fear, butoutside he gave the Keeper as cold andimperious a look as El Patrón had evermustered to terrify an underling.

“Some boys,” Jorge said in a thin,almost wheedling voice that sent chillsdown Matt’s back, “some boys have tolearn the hard way. They have to bebroken and mended and broken againuntil they learn to do what they’re told. Itmay be simple, like sweeping a floor,but they do it eagerly to keep from beingbroken again. And they do it forever, foras long as they live.”

“In other words, you want to turn meinto a zombie,” said Matt.

“No!” several voices cried out.“How dare you accuse me of that!”

Jorge reached for the cane.“I’ll confess for him! I’ll do it!”

shrieked Fidelito, running to the centerof the room. “He dropped the soap in the

shower and didn’t pick it up again. Hethrew away porridge ‘cause there was astinkbug in it.”

“Fidelito, you idiot!” groanedChacho.

“He did those things. Honest!” criedthe little boy.

Jorge looked from Fidelito to Mattwith an interested look in his eyes.

“Go sit down,” Matt said in a lowvoice.

“Stop!” shouted the Keeper. “I see wehave social contamination of the worstorder here. The aristocrat has turned thisboy into his lackey. And thus, it is thelackey who should be punished.”

“A beating would kill him,” saidMatt.

“No one is too little to learn the valueof education,” Jorge said. “Why, evenchild kings used to be thrashed until theylearned not to cry at public meetings—asyoung as six months of age.”

He’s got me , thought Matt. No matterhow much he wanted to resist Jorge’sauthority, he couldn’t do it at the littleboy’s expense. “Very well, I confess,”said Matt. “I dropped the soap in theshower and didn’t pick it up again. Ithrew away the porridge because therewas a stinkbug in it.”

“And?” the Keeper said pleasantly.“I peed in a shrimp tank—don’t ask

me which one. I don’t remember. And Ileft water running in the kitchen sink.”

“Assume the position.”

Matt did so, hating himself, but hatingthe Keeper even more. He kept a stonysilence as Jorge pranced around, tryingto work on Matt’s nerves. And he didn’tscream, although he wanted to very muchwhen the man hurled himself across theroom and struck him with a force thatmade him almost pass out with pain.

He straightened up and enduredanother blow, and another. After sixblows Jorge decided he’d done enough.Or—more likely—the Keeper hadexhausted his strength beating up Ton-Ton. Matt figured he’d been lucky, buthe didn’t doubt that more agony wasdown the road. Jorge wasn’t going togive up that easily.

Matt staggered to a bunk and

collapsed. He was barely aware ofJorge’s departure, but the instant thedoor closed the boys scrambled off theirbeds and clustered around Matt. “Youwere great!” they cried.

“Jorge’s such a loser,” said a tall,skinny boy named Flaco.

“Loser?” said Matt weakly. “I’m theone who gave up.”

“¡Chale! No way!” said Flaco. “Jorgecrossed the line tonight. If news of thisgets back to the Keepers’ Headquarters,he’s history.”

“No one’s going to tell them,” Chachosaid scornfully. “This place might aswell be on the moon.”

“Soon I’ll be old enough to leave,”said Flaco. “I’ll go to Headquarters then

and tell them.”“I’m not holding my breath waiting,”

Chacho said.“Anyhow, you were muy bravo to

take the beating for Fidelito,” Flaco toldMatt. “We thought you were a wussyaristocrat, but you’re really one of us.”

“I kept telling you that,” Fidelitopiped up.

Then everyone started arguing aboutwhen they discovered Matt wasn’t awussy aristocrat and when they knew hewas muy gente, a great guy. Matt let thewarm tide of their approval flow aroundhim. He was dizzy with pain, but it wasworth it if the others liked him.

“Hey, we’ve got to get him fixed up,”Flaco said. The boys checked the

hallway to be sure it was clear. Thenthey carried Matt to the infirmary, whereTon-Ton was already sound asleep. Apockmarked boy in a green uniformdressed Matt’s wounds and measuredthree drops of liquid into a spoon.

That’s laudanum, Matt realized as hiseyes caught the label on the bottle. Hefought against taking the medicine. Hedidn’t want to turn into a zombie likeFelicia or die like poor Furball, but hewas too exhausted to resist for long. Ifhe died, Matt wondered as he drifted offinto a drug-induced haze, would he meetFurball in whatever afterlife nonhumansinhabited? And would the dog sink histeeth into Matt’s ankle, for taking himaway from María?

31

TON-TON

I feel awful,” groaned Ton-Ton,reaching blindly for the glass of waterby his bed.

“You look awful,” observed thepockmarked boy.

“You, uh, you take that back, Luna. Ican still beat the stuffing out of you.”

“Not now that I’m a Keeper,” Lunasaid, smugly.

“You’re only a trainee.” Ton-Tonmanaged to reach the water, but hespilled half of it on his chest when he

tried to drink.“Wait a minute,” Matt said. He was

unwilling to reach for his own glass,even though he was extremely thirsty. Hesuspected that serious pain was waitingfor him if he moved. “You’re training tobe a Keeper?”

“Well, duh,” said Luna. “Everyonedoes, eventually.”

Matt watched the light dancing on theglass of water just out of his reach. “Butthere’s only twenty Keepers here and—how many boys?”

“Two hundred and ten at the moment,”said Luna.

“They can’t all become Keepers.There aren’t enough places,” Matt said.

Ton-Ton and Luna looked at each

other. “Carlos says every boy who keepsthe Five Principles of Good Citizenshipand, uh, the Four Attitudes Leading toRight-Mindfulness until he reacheseighteen becomes a Keeper,” said Ton-Ton.

No matter how carefully Mattexplained to them the difference betweentwo hundred ten job seekers and onlytwenty jobs, it didn’t penetrate.

“You’re, uh, you’re just jealous,”Ton-Ton said.

But in one area Ton-Ton wasknowledgeable. He knew what went oninside the Keepers’ compound, whichwas surrounded by a high wall. TheKeepers had holo-games and atelevision and a swimming pool. They

had all-night parties with delicious food.And Ton-Ton knew all this, Matt nowdiscovered, because he cleaned theKeepers’ rooms and washed theirdishes. Matt figured they allowed Ton-Ton inside because they thought he wastoo slow-witted to understand what hesaw.

But as Celia often said, some peoplemay think slowly, but they’re verythorough about it. As Matt listened toTon-Ton, he realized the boy wasn’tstupid. His observations of the Keepers’activities and his understanding of thefactory’s machinery showed anintelligent mind. Ton-Ton was simplycareful about his opinions.

Matt could see the boy was deeply

disturbed about the punishment he’dreceived the night before. He kept goingback to it, picking at it like a scab.

“I don’t get it,” Ton-Ton said, shakinghis head. “I, uh, didn’t do anythingwrong.”

“You must’ve done something. Hesure whacked the heck out of you,” saidLuna.

“No, uh, I didn’t.”Matt could see the gears churning

slowly in the boy’s brain: WhateverJorge said was good. Ton-Ton did whatJorge said. Therefore, Ton-Ton wasgood. So why did Ton-Ton get the heckwhacked out of him?

“Jorge is un loco de remate, acomplete weirdo,” said Luna.

“No,” Ton-Ton insisted. “He’ssomething else.”

Matt couldn’t guess what conclusionthe boy was working toward. “What’s itlike inside the compound?”

Ton-Ton’s eyes lit up. “You, uh, youcan’t believe it! They’ve got roast beefand pork chops and pie à la mode.”

“What’s pie à la mode?” Luna asked.“It’s got ice cream on it! Not melted

or anything.”“I had ice cream once,” Luna said in a

dreamy voice. “My mother gave it tome.”

“The Keepers drink real milk, too, notground-up plankton, and they eatchocolates wrapped in gold paper.”Ton-Ton had stolen a chocolate once.

The memory hovered in his mind theway the Virgin of Guadalupe hadhovered over Matt’s bed when he waslittle.

“Doesn’t it bother you that theKeepers have these things and wedon’t?” said Matt.

Both Ton-Ton and Luna drewthemselves up like offended rattlesnakes.“They earned it!” Luna said. “They putin their time; and when we put in ourtime, we’ll have those things too!”

“Yeah,” said Ton-Ton, but somethingseemed to be working at the back of hismind.

“Okay, okay. I was just curious,” Mattsaid. He braced himself and reached forthe glass of water. The pain was worse

than he expected. He gasped and fellback.

“Pretty bad, huh?” Luna folded Matt’sfingers around the glass. “Want somelaudanum?”

“No!” Matt had spent years watchingFelicia turn into a zombie. He didn’twant to follow her example.

“Your choice. Personally, I love thestuff.”

“Why do you need it? Are you inpain?” asked Matt.

Luna sniggered as though Matt hadsaid something completely stupid. “It’s atrip, see. It’s a ticket out of this place.”

“You’re only a trainee,” Ton-Ton saidscornfully. “You’re not supposed to, uh,trip out until you move into the

compound.”“Says who?” Luna picked up the

laudanum bottle and sloshed it around.“How’re they going to count all thedrops in here? It’s my reward forrunning the infirmary.”

“Wait a minute,” said Matt. “Youmean the Keepers take this stuff?”

“Sure,” Ton-Ton said. “They earnedit.”

Matt’s mind was working very fast.“How many of them? How often?”

“All of them and, uh, every night.”Matt felt light-headed. This meant thatevery single night the Keepers turnedinto zombies. This meant the factory wasleft unguarded. The power plant thatelectrified the fence was left unguarded.

A big sign flashing FREEDOM lit up inMatt’s mind. “Do either of you knowwhere San Luis is?” he asked.

It turned out both boys did. Ton-Tonhad grown up there. He described, in hishalting way, a city of whitewashedhouses and tile roofs, of vines spillingover walls, of busy marketplaces andbeautiful gardens. It sounded sopleasant, Matt wondered why Ton-Tondidn’t want to return. Why was hel o o ki ng forward to life inside acompound with a bottle of laudanum forcompany? It was totally insane.

“San Luis sure sounds great,” Mattsaid.

“Uh, yes,” said Ton-Ton as though thethought had just occurred to him.

Matt was bursting to tell him to dumpthe Five Principles of Good Citizenshipand the Four Attitudes Leading to Right-Mindfulness and head over the fence toSan Luis. But that would have beenfoolish. Ton-Ton worked toward aconclusion with the same, slowdeliberation as the shrimp harvester hedrove along the tanks. Nothing couldhurry him. And nothing, Matt hoped,would turn him aside, either.

When Matt hobbled to the bathroomand looked into the mirror, he got ashock. All the boys had zits. Matt knewhe had them too, but this was the firsttime he’d had a good look at the damage.There was no mirror in the dormitory.He looked like a loaded pizza! He

scrubbed and scrubbed with the gray,seaweed soap, but it only made his skinturn a violent red.

Ton-Ton and Luna guffawed whenMatt returned. “They don’t wash off, youknow,” said Luna.

“I look like a planktonburger,”mourned Matt.

“Hunh! You, uh, look like aplanktonburger that’s been, uh, barfed upby a seagull and, uh, left out in the sun,”said Ton-Ton in an unusual flight ofpoetry.

“I get the picture!” Matt painfullycrawled into bed. He lay on his side tospare the welts on his back.

“We all have zits,” said Luna. “It’sthe mark of people who work with

plankton.”Great, thought Matt. Now that he

thought about it, he realized the Keeperswere only mildly scarred but notcovered in the same active little pusvolcanoes that dotted the boys’ faces.Maybe it had something to do with theirfood. A diet of pork chops, pie à lamode, and chocolate was obviouslybetter for your skin than healthy,nutritious plankton.Jorge forced Matt and Ton-Ton back towork the next day. Ton-Ton reallyneeded another day in the infirmary, buthe obeyed without a murmur. Matt waseager to get back. He couldn’t wait toget going on an escape plan. Before, ithad seemed pointless. Now he knew San

Luis lay a few miles to the north, beyonda low range of hills.

As Tam Lin once said, a jailer has ahundred things on his mind, but aprisoner has only one: escape. All thatconcentrated attention was like a lasercannon melting through a steel wall.Given his background, Matt figured TamLin knew a lot about escaping from jails.

All Matt had to do was shut down theelectricity to the fence and climb over. Itsounded simple, but it wasn’t. Thepowerhouse was locked after dark. TheKeepers counted the boys every night atten o’clock and every morning at five.That left seven hours in which to walkthe five miles to the fence (while hopingthe power hadn’t been turned on again)

and then twenty more miles to San Luisin the dark. If the ground was coveredwith cacti, the trip might take a lotlonger.

What would the Keepers do whenthey discovered three boys missing,because Matt intended to take Chachoand Fideito with him? Could Jorge use ahovercraft to hunt them down? Fidelitoshould probably be left behind. Hecouldn’t walk twenty-five miles. And yethow could Matt abandon him?

Friendship was a pain, Matt thought.All these years he’d wanted friends, andnow he discovered they came withstrings attached. Very well, he’d takeFidelito, but he’d need more time. If heoverloaded the boiler next to the

Keepers’ compound, it would explodeand—

Was it wrong to blow twenty men tosmithereens? El Patrón wouldn’t haveworried one second over it. Tam Lin hadtried to blow up the English primeminister, but he’d killed twenty childreninstead.

Murder is wrong, Brother Wolf , saida voice in Matt’s mind. He sighed. Thiswas probably what María called havinga conscience. It was even more of a painthan friendship.“Why do we have to wait for him?”asked Chacho as they watched theshrimp harvester chug and wheeze itsslow way toward their tank.

“Because he knows things we need to

find out,” Matt explained patiently. Theywere sitting by the farthest tank. Thefence loomed up behind them, its topwire humming and crackling in the dryair.

“He’s a suck-up. He dumps on usevery night.”

“Not since the beating,” Matt pointedout.

“Well, that’s because he’s taking avacation.” Chacho was unwilling tobelieve Ton-Ton had any good qualities.

“Be nice to him, okay?”“Mi abuelita says people’s souls are

like gardens,” Fidelito said brightly.“She says you can’t turn your back onsomeone because his garden’s full ofweeds. You have to give him water and

lots of sunlight.”“Oh brother,” said Chacho, but he

didn’t argue with the little boy.A plume of dust rose from the back of

Ton-Ton’s harvester. It settled slowlyacross the barren ground. The air was sostill, the plume barely drifted away fromthe road. “You, uh, you should beworking,” Ton-Ton called as hismachine jerked to a halt.

“And you should be head down in ashrimp tank,” muttered Chacho. Mattkicked him.

“If you’re, uh, waiting to beat me up,don’t bother,” said Ton-Ton. “I can, uh,beat the stuffing out of you.”

“Why would you assume that threepeople innocently sitting by the road are

planning to attack you?” said Chacho.“Although it could be true.”

“We only want to be friendly,” Mattsaid, frowning at Chacho.

“Why?” Ton-Ton’s eyes narrowedwith suspicion.

“Because mi abuelita says peoplehave to be tended like gardens,” Fidelitochirped. “They need sunlight and water,and their souls need to—need to—”

“Be weeded,” finished Chacho.Ton-Ton’s eyes rounded as he

processed this curious statement.“We just want to make friends, okay?”

Matt said.Ton-Ton took another minute to

consider that, and then he stepped off theharvester.

“When was the last time you went toSan Luis?” asked Matt.

If Ton-Ton was surprised by thequestion, he didn’t show it. “About, uh,about a year ago. I went with Jorge.”

“Do you have family there?”“My m-mother went across the, uh,

border years ago. My f-father tried, uh,tried, uh, to find her. He didn’t comeback.”

Matt noticed that Ton-Ton’s speechproblem got worse when he talked abouthis parents.

“No abuelita?” Fidelito asked.“I, uh, I did. M-Maybe she’s still

there.” Ton-Ton’s mouth turned down atthe sides.

“Well, why don’t you go look for

her!” said Chacho. “¡Hombre! If I had agrandma only twenty miles to the north,I’d rip up this fence to find her! What’swrong with you, man?”

“Chacho, no,” said Matt, putting hishand on the boy’s shoulder.

“You, uh, don’t understand,” Ton-Tonsaid. “Jorge saw me on the wrong sideof the border. There were Farm Patrolsand, uh, dogs, big mud-colored dogswith big teeth. They did everything theFarm Patrol said, and, uh, the FarmPatrol told them to eat me.” Ton-Tonshuddered at the memory. “Jorge cameover the border and shot them. He gotinto a lot of trouble for it, too. He, uh, hesaved my life, and I owe himeverything.”

“Did Jorge tell you not to look foryour grandmother?” Matt said.

“He said I was born to be a Keeper.He said that Keepers don’t havefamilies, only one another, but that it’s,uh, better because families only run offand abandon you.”

“But your abuelita must have criedwhen you didn’t come home,” Fidelitosaid.

“I wouldn’t have come home, youdork!” shouted Ton-Ton. “I would’vebeen inside a dog’s belly!”

“It’s okay, Fidelito,” Matt told thelittle boy. “That’s enough weed pullingfor one day.” He asked Ton-Ton aboutSan Luis, and Ton-Ton was eager to talkabout that. The longer he spoke, the less

he stumbled over his words. The scowlon his face smoothed out. He looked alot younger and happier.

Ton-Ton described the city sothoroughly, he seemed to have a mapspread out in his mind. He recalledevery detail—an oleander bush withpeach-colored flowers, an adobe wallwith paloverde trees draped over it, afountain tinkling into a copper basin. Itwas like following a camera down astreet. And gradually, he lowered hisguard enough to talk about his mamá andpapá. He had lived in a crowded housewith aunts and uncles and brothers andcousins and a tiny abuelita who ruledthe whole establishment. But it hadn’tbeen an unhappy place, even though

they’d been poor.At last Ton-Ton stretched and smiled

as though he’d had a fine meal. “I, uh, Iwon’t tell anyone why we’re late,” hesaid. “I’ll say the harvester brokedown.” He let Fidelito ride most of theway back with him, putting the little boydown only when they came within sightof the Keepers’ compound.

“I don’t get it,” whispered Chacho asthe harvester shuddered its way back.He and Matt walked to one side, awayfrom the plume of dust. “It’s like youturned a light on inside his head. I didn’tknow Ton-Ton was that bright.”

Matt smiled, pleased to be provenright about the big boy “Celia used tosay slow people are just paying close

attention.”“Who’s Celia?”Matt almost dropped in his tracks.

He’d carefully hidden any reference tohis life before he’d arrived in Aztlán.Listening to Ton-Ton’s memories hadmade him careless. “Why, Celia …she’s my … my m-mother.” And heknew that it was true. All those yearsshe’d told him not to think of her as hismother fell away. No one else cared forhim the way she did. No one protectedhim or loved him so much, except,perhaps, Tam Lin. And Tam Lin waslike his father.

Suddenly all the memories, socarefully suppressed in his new life,came flooding back. Matt had trained

himself to stop thinking about Celia andTam Lin. It was too painful. Now hefound himself helpless. He crouched onthe ground, tears pouring down his face.He held himself tight to keep from cryingout loud and totally ruining his image infront of Chacho.

But Chacho understood. “I should’vekept my fat mouth closed,” he said,kneeling in the dust next to Matt. “It’s theone thing none of us are supposed tobring up until someone’s ready. Heck, Ibawled my eyes out the first fewweeks.”

“Are you sick?” called Fidelito’svoice from a distance as he rode on theharvester.

“He sure is,” said Chacho. “You

would be too if you ate a handful of rawshrimp.” And he shielded Matt fromview until he was able to gain control ofhimself and go on.

32

FOUND OUT

That night Jorge, with his instinct forweakness, pounced on Matt again. Heinsisted that more and more crimes beconfessed, and Matt soon found himselfrepeating the same sins. He hardly caredwhat he said.

Matt felt bruised inside. In a strangeway he wasn’t even in the same roomwith Jorge, because his mind was backin El Patrón’s mansion. He was inCelia’s apartment. At any moment she’dcall him to dinner and they’d sit down

with Tam Lin. The illusion was painful,but it was so much better than anything inMatt’s current life.

“If the aristocrat won’t listen,” cameJorge’s smooth voice, “I’ll have to talkto his lackey.”

Matt woke from his reverie to seeFidelito being pulled to the center of theroom. The little boy’s face was palewith fear.

“You’ve been bad, haven’t you?”purred Jorge.

“ N o t very bad,” said Fidelito,glancing at the cane closet.

“That’s for me to say, isn’t it?” theKeeper said.

“Okay,” said Fidelito.Matt knew the scene before him was

important. He tried to keep his mind onit, but he kept slipping back to Celia’sapartment.

“I think the aristocrat needs tounderstand why his behavior must becontrolled,” Jorge said. “Worker beesknow that everything they do affects thewhole hive. If a lazy worker sleeps allday and isn’t punished, he teaches othersto follow his example. If enoughworkers follow his example, the hivewill die.”

Fidelito’s face showed the argumenthad gone over his head.

“So we have to correct the weak littlelackeys who think it’s fun to follow abad example. Isn’t that so?”

“I—I don’t know.”

Matt forced himself to concentrate onthe present. “If you want to punish me,why don’t you just do it?” he said.

“Because that doesn’t work,” Jorgereplied. His face glowed with joy, asthough he’d discovered a wonderfultruth he couldn’t wait to share witheveryone. Once more Matt wasreminded of Tom.

“I confess. I obey. I take mypunishment,” Matt said.

“Yes, but you don’t mean it,” said theKeeper. “You go through the motions,but in your heart you’re still anaristocrat. I puzzled over it a long time.Then I realized the thing that makes anaristocrat is the presence of a lackey. If Iremove the lackey, poof!” He snapped

his fingers. “No more aristocrat. Assumethe position, Fidelito.”

Matt was frozen with shock. This timeit was clear his confessions weren’tgoing to save the little boy. He glancedat the others. They looked stunned. Thelast time Jorge had threatened Fidelito,Matt had come to his rescue. But thistime was different. It seemed the Keeperhad crossed an invisible line and theboys were appalled by what they wereabout to witness. It had been okay tobeat Ton-Ton for no reason. He was bigand able to take it. Fidelito was skinnyand frail in spite of his tough spirit. Andhe was only eight years old.

Fidelito did what he’d seen the othersdo: Lean his hands against the wall and

spread his legs. The other boysmurmured. Matt couldn’t hear what theywere saying.

Jorge went to the closet. Matt felt asthough he were floating over the scene.Like other times in his life when thingshad gone wrong, he wanted to retreatinto his own private kingdom. If heimagined being in Celia’s apartmenthard enough, it might actually happen.

Jorge paced back and forth, whiskingthe cane. Any second now he’d breakinto a run. He stopped. He gathered hisstrength for the initial blow. He lungedforward—

Matt hurled himself at the Keeper. Hedrove his head into Jorge’s stomach andtore the cane from the man’s hands.

Jorge reeled back, gasping for breath.Matt brought the cane down hard on hisshoulder and then used it to force theKeeper to the floor. Chacho came out ofnowhere and threw himself into thebattle, pummeling Jorge with his fists.

“You—hit—little—kids!” Chachoshouted between blows. “You—deserve—to—be—hit—back!” The other boyswere shouting and cheering. They surgedforward, forming a ring around theKeeper and his two attackers. Flacodragged Fidelito away from the fight.

Matt’s head spun. Jorge was curledinto a ball. Maybe he was seriously hurt.The boys were dancing aroundexcitedly, and Matt guessed they wereabout to join in. “Stop!” Matt cried,

dropping the cane. He grabbed Chachoand pulled him back. “We mustn’t killhim!”

“Why not?” demanded the boy. Butthe interruption was enough to bring himto his senses. He sat down hard on thefloor and clenched his fists. The otherboys groaned with disappointment, butthey moved aside when Jorge rolledonto his hands and knees and scuttled tothe door.

No one said a word. Chacho sat onthe floor, breathing heavily. Fidelitowhimpered in a corner, where he wasbeing held firmly in place by Flaco. Mattshivered as though he had a high fever.He couldn’t imagine what was going tohappen next.

But he didn’t have long to wait.Footsteps thundered down the hall, andthe door was slammed open by an armyof Keepers. All twenty of them stormedinto the room. They were armed withstun guns, and the boys retreated againstthe walls. First Matt, then Chacho wasseized. Their hands were bound behindtheir backs and their mouths were sealedwith tape.

“You’re going to be locked down,”Carlos roared at the remaining boys.“We’ll decide what to do with youtomorrow. But understand we won’t—repeat, won’t— tolerate this kind of mobbehavior.”

“Don’t you want to know what Jorgedid?” said Flaco.

“What you did was far worse!”shouted Carlos.

“He was going to kill Fidelito.”That did seem to startle Carlos. He

stopped and looked at the little boyhiding behind Flaco.

“He’s lying,” said Jorge, who washolding his injured shoulder with onehand.

“There are two hundred of us,” saidFlaco. “We all witnessed it.”

And in that statement, Matt realized,was an implied threat. There were twohundred boys in the dormitory No matterhow well armed the Keepers were, theycouldn’t hope to control a crowd thatsize.

The thought seemed to have occurred

to Carlos as well. He backed toward thedoor and signaled the other men tofollow. But like a swirl of dust on thedry salt flats outside, a stream of boysmoved to cut off the exit. Now theKeepers were surrounded on all sides.

“I think you should listen to us,” saidFlaco.

“We can talk about it tomorrow,”Carlos said.

No, thought Matt. Don’t let them putit off. The minute the men are outsidethe room, they’ll bolt the door. They’llnever listen to the facts. He could saynothing because his mouth was coveredwith tape.

“I think now is better,” said Flaco.Carlos swallowed. He fingered the

stun gun.“They’ve been corrupted by the

aristocrat,” said Jorge. “Things havegone wrong ever since that arrogantswine arrived. He’s the one who led theattack, and the rest followed. He’s theleader. The rest are his filth-eatinglackeys.”

“Don’t make things worse,” Carlossaid.

“Luna in the infirmary has aninteresting tale,” Jorge went on. “Whenthe aristocrat was brought in, Lunahelped load him into bed. He sawwriting on the boy’s right foot.”

Oh no, oh no, thought Matt.“There was an old scar across it, but

he managed to make out the writing:

‘Property of the Alacrán Estate.’”“Alacrán?” said Carlos. “That’s the

name of the old vampire who runsDreamland.”

“I know,” Jorge said pleasantly. “Iwondered how a person could belong toan estate, unless he worked there. Orunless he was an escaped crot!”

A gasp ran through the room.“Don’t use that filthy word,” Carlos

said.“I’m sorry.” Jorge smiled. “I was only

using language I thought the boys wouldunderstand. I was still thinking aboutwhat to do with the information whentonight’s problem cropped up. It isfunny, you have to admit, that all theselackeys have sworn their loyalty to a

stinking crot— excuse me, zombie—instead of a real aristocrat.”

No, no, no, thought Matt. Hisweakness had been found out. Eventhough the Keeper had drawn the wrongconclusion about the tattoo, it was just asdevastating.

“I don’t believe it,” said Flaco.“Why don’t we look?” invited Jorge.

Flaco came forward and knelt on thefloor next to where Matt was standing.He looked up, apologizing with his eyes.Matt didn’t resist. It wouldn’t have doneany good. He allowed the boy to turn hisfoot toward the light and waited for theinevitable reaction.

“Jorge is right. It does say ‘Propertyof the Alacrán Estate,’” said Flaco.

The rebellion went out of the boysthen. They were so used to obeying, Mattrealized, that very little was needed tomake them surrender. They moved awayfrom the door and slowly drifted towardthe bunks.

“W-Wait,” said a voice Matt neverexpected to hear. “Any, uh, anyone canget trapped in Dreamland. It, uh, doesn’tmake him a bad person.”

“Be quiet, Ton-Ton,” said Jorge.“Thinking isn’t your strong point.”

“I have, uh, I have been thinking,”said the big boy. “Our parents ran awayto, uh, Dreamland, and they w-wereturned into z-zombies.” It was clearlydifficult for him to say this.

“My father wasn’t,” protested Flaco.

“He’s living it up in the United States.He’s running a movie studio, and whenhe gets enough money, he’ll send forme.”

“We, uh, tell ourselves stuff like th-that,” stammered Ton-Ton, “but it isn’t t-true. All our parents are crots.” A flurryof voices rose telling Ton-Ton to shutup. “Our mamás and papás aren’t b-bad,just unlucky,” the boy went on in hisrelentless way, “and M-Matt isn’t badeither!”

“Oh, go to bed,” said Jorge. “Do youthink anyone wants to listen to yourravings? You’ve always been stupid andyou’ll always be stupid. You’re lucky Ipulled you out of Dreamland before Ifound out what an idiot you are.”

“I’m n-not stupid!” cried Ton-Ton, butno one listened to him. The boys drewaway from Matt as though he weresomething unclean. The Keepers hurriedhim and Chacho out, and Carlos boltedthe door behind them.

They were taken to a small closetwithout enough space to lie down. It wasdark and airless. The floor was cold. Allnight the boys huddled against the wall,and Matt was glad it was dark and thatthey had their mouths covered with tape.He couldn’t have borne hearing Chachocall him a crot or seeing him shrinkaway from the presence of such amonster.

33

THE BONEYARD

A faint light shone under the door whentwo of the younger Keepers arrived tofetch Matt and Chacho. Matt was so stiff,he fell over when they pulled him to hisfeet. “Mph!” came from behind the tapecovering Chacho’s mouth.

They were urged outside to one of thecarts the Keepers used to moveequipment around the factory. Jorge wasin the driver’s seat, smoking a cigarette.More tape was wound around the boys’ankles.

The cart rolled slowly at first becauseit was solar powered, but as the sun rosehigher and flooded the salt flats, itpicked up speed. Matt saw the shrimptanks move past. He realized they wereheading toward the western fence. Thecart’s wheels crunched along the grittypath, and sand hissed across the groundin an early-morning breeze.

Matt was thirsty. He was hungry too.He saw, with a kind of bitter pleasure,that Jorge’s shoulder was encased in aplaster cast. Matt hoped he was in a lotof pain.

After a while the cart turned andbumped along rougher ground. Matt sawthey were driving parallel to the fence.He saw a white swirl of seagulls as they

rose and sank along the Gulf ofCalifornia. Their cries floated to him onthe dusty wind.

On and on the cart struggled. When itfloundered in sand, the men had to jumpout and put creosote branches under thewheels to urge it on. At last it jerked to astop, and Matt was carried off by thetwo young Keepers.

They came over a rise. Before themstretched the wide basin that had oncebeen full of living water and was nowfilled with dead whales. The bones stuckup like a gigantic bowl of thorns.

“This is what we call the boneyard,”Jorge said pleasantly.

Matt remembered someone saying,when he first arrived, You won’t get

away with your swanky ways here.We’ve got something called theboneyard, and any troublemaker whogoes through it comes out as harmlessas a little lamb.

“Shall I take the tape off now?” one ofthe Keepers inquired.

“Only from his mouth,” said Jorge.“But that means he won’t be able to

climb out.”“He tried to kill me!” Jorge shouted.

“Do you want a murderer crawling backto stir up revolution?”

“Carlos won’t like it.”“You leave Carlos to me,” said Jorge.

Matt felt the tape rip off. He flexed hismouth, ran his tongue over his bruisedlips. “You think you’re thirsty now,”

Jorge said, smiling. “Wait tilltomorrow.”

“He’s the murderer,” cried Matt, buthe had no time to say anything else. Themen swung him up and out. He camedown with a crash, and the bones shiftedand let him fall through. Down hetumbled, rolling this way and that untilhe arrived at a plateau of skulls. He hungin the midst of a sea of bones, with theblue sky visible through a fretwork ofribs and vertebrae. He turned his headcautiously. Below was a pit whose darkdepths he could only guess at.

A few minutes later he heard Chacholand not far away. The mass shiftedagain, and Matt slipped down a fewmore feet. He felt a rib poke into his

back. A fine dust of salt and sandpattered over his face. He heard Chachocough. He heard the men’s feet crunchaway and then the purr of the cartgrowing fainter and fainter until it wasgone.

“Are you okay?” called Chacho.“Depends on what you mean by

okay.” Matt was amazed he could stilllaugh, although he did it weakly. “Areyou hurt?”

“Not much. Got any good escapeplans?”

“I’m working on it,” said Matt. Thesalt powdered his face and got into hismouth. “I wouldn’t mind a drink.”

“Don’t talk about it!” said Chacho. “Ithink I could cut this tape if I could find

a sharp bone.”“There’s one sticking into my back,”

said Matt. He spoke cheerfully, asthough they were working on a way tosnatch an extra ten minutes of sleep, nottrying to escape a long, painful death.

“Some people have all the luck.”Chacho spoke lightly too, but Mattsuspected he was just as frightened.

Matt wriggled until his wrists touchedthe jagged bone. He sawed back andforth, but before he could make anyprogress, the bones shifted and he sliddown into deeper darkness.

“Matt!” cried Chacho with an edge ofpanic.

“I’m here. Well, that didn’t work.Why don’t you give it a try?” In fact,

Matt’s heart was pounding and he wasafraid to move. The whole basinquivered, and he didn’t know whatwould happen if he fell all the way to thebottom.

“Heck! Oh, heck!” shouted Chacho.Matt heard him slither through thefretwork of bones.

“We’ve got all day. You don’t have tohurry,” said Matt.

“Shut up! I think there’s somethingelse in this pit.”

Matt thought he heard a high-pitchednoise. Was it possible something livedin the darkness below? And what kind ofcreature would choose such a home?

“They’re bats! Horrible, slimy bats!”yelled Chacho.

“Bats aren’t slimy,” Matt said,relieved. A real creature was muchbetter than the monsters he’d imagined.

“Stop making jokes! They’ll suck ourblood!”

“No, they won’t,” said Matt. “TamLin and I watched them dozens oftimes.”

“They’ll wait for dark. I saw it in amovie. They’ll wait for dark and thenthey’ll come up and suck our blood.”Chacho’s panic was shrill andinfectious. Matt began to get scared too.

“Tam Lin says they’re just mice withwings. They’re as afraid of us as we areof—”

“One’s coming at me!” screamedChacho.

“Keep still! Don’t move!” yelledMatt. A horrible idea had just occurredto him, and he had to warn Chachobefore anything else happened.

Chacho kept screaming, but he musthave heard Matt’s advice because hedidn’t struggle. After a moment his criesstopped and were replaced by sobbing.

“Chacho!” called Matt. The boydidn’t answer. He wept on and on,hiccuping to catch his breath. Mattturned carefully, searching for anothersharp bone. Below, in the ghostly nearblackness, tiny bats fluttered andsqueaked. They must have found the pitalmost as comfortable as a cave. Theyflitted here and there, navigatingbetween the bones like fish in a sea. A

sour smell, disturbed by their wings,filtered up.

“Chacho?” Matt called. “I’m here.The bats are settling down. I’m going totry to cut the tape again.”

“We’ll never get out,” groanedChacho.

“Sure we will,” Matt said. “But wehave to be very, very careful. Wemustn’t fall down any farther.”

“We’re going to die,” said Chacho.“If we try to climb out, the bones willshift. There’s tons of them here. We’llfall to the bottom, and they’ll comedown on top of us.”

Matt said nothing. That was exactlythe thought he’d had. For a few momentshe was swept with despair, unable to

think clearly. Was this the end to thechance at life he’d been given by TamLin and Celia? They’d never know whathad happened to him. They’d think hehad deserted them.

“Tam Lin says rabbits give up whenthey’re caught by coyotes,” Matt saidafter he’d calmed enough to trust hisvoice. “He says they consent to diebecause they’re animals and can’tunderstand hope. But humans aredifferent. They fight against death nomatter how bad things seem, andsometimes, even when everything’sagainst them, they win.”

“Yeah. About once in a millionyears,” said Chacho.

“Twice in a million,” said Matt.

“There’s two of us.”“You are one dumb bunny,” said

Chacho, but he stopped crying.As the sun slowly worked its way acrossthe sky, Matt became more and morethirsty He tried not to think about it, buthe couldn’t help it. His tongue was gluedto his mouth. His throat was gritty withsand.

“I’ve found a sharp bone,” saidChacho. “I think it’s a tooth.”

“Great,” said Matt, who was workinghis bonds against a rib. The tape had anamazing ability to stretch. He sawed andsawed, and the tape merely lengthenedand didn’t break. But after a while itbecame loose enough for Matt to slip hishands free. “I did it!” he called.

“Me too,” said Chacho. “I’m workingon my feet.”

For the first time Matt felt real hope.He drew his legs up carefully andpicked at the bonds with a fragment ofbone. It was horribly exhausting. He hadto move extremely slowly to keep fromsliding deeper, and he had to stop andrest every other minute. He realized hewas growing weak.

Chacho seemed to rest for longerperiods too. “Who’s Tam Lin?” he askedduring one of these breaks.

“My father,” said Matt. This time hedidn’t stumble over the words.

“That’s funny, calling your parents byname.”

“It’s what they wanted.”

There was a long pause. Chacho said,“Are you really a zombie?”

“No!” said Matt. “Do you think Icould talk like this if I were?”

“But you’ve seen them.”“Yes,” said Matt.The wind had died down, and the air

felt heavy and still. The silence waseerie, because it felt like the desert waswaiting for something to happen. Eventhe bats had stopped chittering.

“Tell me about zombies,” saidChacho.

So Matt described the brown-cladmen and women who toiled endlesslyover the fields and the gardeners whoclipped the vast lawns of El Patrón’sestate with scissors. “We called them

eejits,” he said.“It sounds like you were there a long

time,” said Chacho.“All my life,” said Matt, deciding, for

once, to be honest.“Were your parents … eejits?”“I guess you could call them slaves. A

lot of work has to be done by peoplewith normal intelligence.”

Chacho sighed. “So my father couldbe okay. He was a musician. Did youhave musicians there?”

“Yes,” said Matt, thinking of Mr.Ortega. But Mr. Ortega couldn’t havebeen Chacho’s father. He’d been aroundtoo long.

The sun was low in the west now. Itwas darker than Matt expected for this

time of day, even with the light cut downby the pit. The breeze picked up again. Itmoaned like a lost spirit in the bones andturned surprisingly cold.

“It sounds like La Llorona,” saidChacho.

“That’s just a story,” said Matt.“My mother used to tell me about her,

and my mother didn’t lie.” Chachoreacted instantly to any real or imaginedinsult to his mother. Matt knew she’ddied when Chacho was six.

“Okay. I’ll believe in La Llorona ifyou’ll believe the bats aren’tdangerous.”

“I wish you hadn’t brought them up,”said Chacho. The wind blew evenharder, sending a swirl of dust over the

basin. The topmost bones rattled, and allat once Matt saw a blinding flash of lightfollowed by a crack of thunder.

“It’s a storm,” he said in wonder. Thechill wind pushed the smell of rain athim, making his thirst even moreunbearable. Desert storms were rare,except in August and September, but theyweren’t unheard of. They blew upsuddenly, wreaked havoc, and vanishedalmost as quickly as they’d come. Thisone promised to be spectacular. The skyturned white and then peach-colored inthe sunset light as a giant cloud loomedoverhead. Lightning forked. Mattcounted from flash to thunder, to gaugehow far away it was: a mile, a half mile,a quarter, and then right on top of them.

The bottom of the cloud opened, pouringout hailstones as big as cherries.

“Catch them!” shouted Matt, but theroar of the storm was so loud, Chachoprobably couldn’t hear. Matt caught themas they skittered down through the bonesand crammed them into his mouth. Theywere followed by rain, buckets andbuckets of rain. Matt opened his mouthand let it pour in. In the flashes of lighthe saw bats clinging to the bones. Heheard water rushing over the side of thebasin.

And then it was gone. The thunderretreated across the desert. The lightninggrew fainter, but water still poured intothe pit. Matt bunched up his shirt andsucked out as much moisture as he could.

The rain had revived him, but he hadn’tgotten nearly as much water as hewanted.

The sky was almost dark now. “Aimyourself at the nearest edge while youcan still see,” Matt called to Chacho.“My legs are free. Are yours?”

The boy didn’t answer.“Are you okay?” Matt had the awful

thought that Chacho had slipped to thebottom during the violent storm.“Chacho! Answer me!”

“The bats,” said the boy in a hollowvoice. He was still nearby. Matt felt arush of relief.

“They won’t hurt you,” he said.“They’re all over me,” said Chacho in

that odd voice.

“Me too.” Matt suddenly becameaware of the little creatures creepingonto his body. “They—they’re trying toget away from the water,” he stammered,hoping it was true. “Their nesting placeis flooded. And I guess they want to getwarm.”

“They’re waiting for it to be dark,”Chacho said, “and then they’ll drink ourblood.”

“Don’t be a complete idiot!” shoutedMatt. “They’re frightened and they’recold!” All the same, he felt an instinctivehorror at their stealthy movements. Adistant flash of lightning showed him atiny creature huddled against his chest. Ithad a flat nose and leaflike ears, and itsmouth disclosed delicate, needle-sharp

teeth. But it also had a baby tucked underone leathery wing. It was a mother tryingto rescue her young from the flood.

“You wouldn’t bite me, would you?”he whispered to the mother bat. Heturned slowly, freezing in place whenthe bones threatened to shift, thenmoving again, aiming toward where hethought the nearest edge lay. The batclung briefly to his shirt before slidingoff into the darkness.

It was like being a swimmer in astrange and terrible sea. Every time Mattmoved forward, he sank down a little.At one point the bones weighed upon hisback and he feared they had trapped him.But they shifted slightly and allowed himto move on. Yet every stroke toward

shore increased their weight. Soon hewould be unable to move, and then hewould have to wait, like a bugimprisoned in amber, for death to findhim.

The pit was completely black whenhis hands struck against rock instead ofbone. Matt grasped the wall and inchedhimself upward until he was able toplant his feet against the stone. Now thebones seemed even heavier, but that wasbecause he was trying to force his wayup through them. He leaned against therock, panting with exhaustion. He founda trickle of storm water still flowing andlapped it like a dog. It was cold andmineral. It tasted wonderful.

“Chacho?” he called. “If you come

toward my voice, you’ll reach the edge.There’s water.” But the boy didn’tanswer. “I’ll keep talking, so you’llknow where to go,” said Matt. He talkedabout his childhood, leaving out thingsthat would be hard to explain. Hedescribed Celia’s apartment and histrips into the mountains with Tam Lin.He described the eejit pens and theopium fields that surrounded them. Mattdidn’t know whether Chacho could hearhim. The boy might have fainted. Or thebats really might have drunk his blood.

It was the middle of the night whenMatt pulled himself over the edge andcollapsed onto wet earth. He was unableto move. All the willpower he’d used towork his way free deserted him. He lay

on his side with his face half in mud. Hecouldn’t have moved if Jorge had shownup with an army of Keepers.

As he drifted in and out ofconsciousness, he heard a strange soundcoming from the pit. Matt listened, tryingto decide what animal made such anoise, and then it came to him: Chachowas snoring. The boy had fallen asleepfrom sheer exhaustion. He might still betrapped in the pit, but he was alive. Andthe bats hadn’t drunk his blood after all.

34

THE SHRIMPHARVESTER

The sky was dark blue and the mudbore a powdering of frost when Mattpulled himself from the ground. Hecrouched to protect what little warmthhis body produced. A wind ruffled thelittle pools of water that dotted thedesert. The east was a blaze of pink andyellow.

Matt had never been so cold in hislife. His teeth chattered; his body felt

like one giant goose bump. In thegrowing light he saw that his clothes hadbeen torn in a dozen places during hisjourney through the pit. His arms andlegs were covered with scratches. Hehadn’t noticed the injuries during thedesperate fight to survive, but now hehurt all over.

“Chacho?” he called to the sea ofbones turning gray in the predawn light.“Chacho!” Matts voice was carried offby the breeze. “I’m outside.I’m safe.You can be too. Just come toward myvoice.”

No answer.“You’ll go down a little, but after a

while you’ll come to the edge of the pit.I can help you then,” called Matt.

No answer.Matt paced back and forth along the

edge of the basin. He had a fair ideawhere Chacho was, but he couldn’t seehim. “There’s water out here from thestorm. I can’t get it to you, but you cancome to it. It’ll make you feel a lotbetter. Please, Chacho! Don’t give up!”

But the boy made no reply. Matt founda rain-filled hollow in a rock and drankuntil his head stabbed with pain. Thewater was freezingly cold. He went backto the edge of the basin, calling, begging,and even insulting Chacho to get aresponse. There was nothing.

As the sun came over the rim of thedesert and light flooded the littlehillocks and bushes all around, Matt

curled up in the shelter of a rock andcried. He couldn’t think of a thing to do.Chacho was out there, but he couldn’tfind him. Even if he did find him, Mattcouldn’t go to him. And there weren’tany plants in the desert that would makea decent rope.

Matt wept until he was exhausted,which didn’t take long because he wastired already. The sunlight brought aslight warmth to the air, although thewind whipped it away the minute Mattstood up.

What could he do? Where could hego? He couldn’t stay here until Jorgecame back to check up on things. But hecouldn’t leave Chacho behind, either. Helimped back to the basin and sat on the

edge. He talked and talked, sometimesexhorting Chacho to come toward hisvoice, sometimes only rambling on abouthis childhood.

He talked about El Patrón and thefantastic birthday parties. He talkedabout María and Furball. He talked untilhis throat was raw, but he didn’t stopbecause he felt this was the only rope hecould throw Chacho. If Chacho couldhear him, he wouldn’t feel completelyalone and he might try to stay alive.

The sun rose high enough to shine intothe pit. Matt saw, not far down, a patchof brown. It was the uniform all the boyswore in the factory. “I can see you,Chacho,” said Matt. “You aren’t farfrom the edge. You can make it if you

try.”In the distance he heard a clanking,

mechanical noise. It wasn’t Jorge’s cart,but perhaps the Keeper had borrowedsomething sturdier. Matt shaded hiseyes. He wanted to hide, but he saw withdismay that he’d left muddy footprintsall over the ground. He couldn’tpossibly wipe them out before someonearrived.

He waited hopelessly for the Keeperto find him, but instead, to hisamazement, he saw Ton-Ton’s shrimpharvester shuddering and groaning overthe desert. Fidelito sat on the hood. Assoon as he saw Matt, he jumped off andstarted running.

“Matt! Matt!” shrieked the little boy.

“You got out! Where’s Chacho?” Heflung himself at Matt and almost knockedhim over. “I’m so happy! You’re alive! Iwas so worried!” Matt held on to him, tokeep him from dancing over the edge ofthe basin. The shrimp harvester jerked toa stop. “I, uh, I thought you might needhelp,” said Ton-Ton.

Matt began to laugh. Only it wasn’t alaugh, more like hysteria. “Need help?”he wheezed out. “I guess you could saythat.”

“I did say it,” said Ton-Ton, lookingpuzzled.

Matt began to shiver. His laughterturned into stormy weeping. “Don’t dothat!” wailed Fidelito.

“It’s Chacho,” sobbed Matt. “He’s in

the bones. He won’t talk. I think he’sdead.”

“Where?” said Ton-Ton. Matt pointedout the brown uniform, all the whileclutching Fidelito’s arm. He wasterrified the little boy would fall into thepit.

Ton-Ton positioned the harvester atthe edge. He reached into the bones withthe mechanical arm he used to tip shrimptanks into his collecting bin. At the endwas a large claw. Slowly, methodically,Ton-Ton cleared away the top layer untilthey could see Chacho’s face. The boy’seyes were closed. Ton-Ton moved awaymore bones until Chacho’s chestappeared. The cloth was torn and hisuniform was streaked with blood, but he

was breathing.“It’d work better if he could, uh,

help,” said Ton-Ton. He maneuvered themachine as delicately as a surgeonperforming an operation.

“Could I climb out on the arm and tiea rope around him?” Matt had stoppedcrying, but he couldn’t seem to stopshivering.

“Humph,” grunted Ton-Ton. “You’dbe, uh, as much help as a drunk buzzardtrying to, uh, carry off a dead cow.” Hecontinued working so slowly andcarefully that Matt wanted to scream.Yet it made sense. Any wrong movecould send the bones slithering backdown to cover Chacho.

Finally, Ton-Ton closed the jaws of

the shrimp harvester around Chacho’sbody. The jaws were strong enough tocrush rock, but Ton-Ton lifted the boy asgently as if he were an egg. He backedup the machine. The arm swung arounduntil it cleared the basin and depositedChacho on the ground. TonTon pulledthe arm up and over the top of the shrimpharvester, folding it into the storageposition. Careful in everything, hewasn’t about to leave this job half done.

Matt knelt by Chacho and felt hispulse. It was slow but strong. Fidelitopatted his face. “Why won’t he wakeup?”

“He’s, uh, in shock,” said Ton-Ton,alighting from the machine. “I’ve seen itbefore. People can take only so much

fear, and then they go into a kind of, uh,sleep. Hold him up. I’ve got to get fluidsinto him.”

Matt propped Chacho up while Ton-Ton dribbled red liquid from a plasticbottle into the boy’s mouth. “It’sstrawberry soda,” explained Ton-Ton.“The Keepers drink it all the time. It’sgot electrolytes in it. Good fordehydration.”

Matt was surprised by Ton-Ton’smedical knowledge. But of course hestored away everything he heard. Luna atthe infirmary must have talked aboutdehydration.

Chacho coughed, licked his lips, andswallowed. His eyes flew open. Hegrabbed the bottle and began gulping for

all he was worth. “Slow down!” saidTon-Ton, wrenching the bottle away. “Ifyou drink too fast, you’ll, uh, puke.”

“More! More!” croaked Chacho, butTon-Ton forced him to take sips. Chachosaid some bad words, but the older boyshrugged them off. He continued to doleout the strawberry soda until he wassatisfied Chacho had had enough.

He unpacked another bottle and gaveit to Matt. Heaven can’t possibly bebetter than this, thought Matt, swirlingthe sweet, cool liquid around his mouth.The taste of strawberry soda had to beright up there with El Patrón’s morocrabs flown in fromYucatán.

“We’d better get going,” said Ton-Ton, firing up the shrimp harvester.

Matt’s euphoria came down with athump. “Go back? Jorge wants to kill us.I heard him say so.”

“Keep your hair on,” said Ton-Ton.“We’re going to San Luis to find myabuelita.”

“It was my idea,” said Fidelito.“It was my idea,” Ton-Ton said

firmly. Matt held his hand overFidelito’s mouth to shush him. It didn’tmatter who thought of it as long as Ton-Ton didn’t get sidetracked.

“I don’t know how far I can walk,”murmured Chacho. He looked dazed.

“That’s why I brought the, uh, shrimpharvester,” said Ton-Ton. “You andMatt can ride in the tank. Fidelito can,uh, sit up front with me.”

That, as far as Ton-Ton wasconcerned, was the end of thediscussion. Matt didn’t argue. By someslow, careful process Ton-Ton haddecided to make a break for it. And if hewanted to make a break at five miles anhour, nothing Matt said was going to talkhim out of it. Matt wondered how hehoped to evade the Keepers.

Matt helped Chacho climb down ametal ladder into the tank. Even with theold water flushed out, it reeked of rottenshrimp. Matt thought he’d throw up,except he didn’t have anything to throwup. At least he wouldn’t get hungry onthe way.

Chacho fell asleep on the damp floor,but Matt climbed up the ladder and faced

into the breeze.Five miles an hour! Matt saw he’d

been wildly optimistic. Fidelito couldhave skipped faster than the shrimpharvester moved. Ton-Ton had tomaneuver around rocks and away fromholes. Several times the machinethreatened to tip over, but it ground onrelentlessly and righted itself.

They went north around the vast basinof bones, and then west. The soil waslittered with boulders, the spacesbetween with deep sand, where theharvester wallowed and complainedbefore struggling on. Finally, theyarrived at the fence and TonTon halted.“Everyone out,” he announced.

He had to help Matt pull Chacho from

the tank. Chacho was too weak to stand.With Fidelito dancing attendance, theycarried him to a soft patch of sand. “Stayhere,” Ton-Ton told Fidelito. “I mean it.If I, uh, catch you near the harvester, I’ll,uh, beat the stuffing out of you.”

“He wouldn’t really,” whisperedFidelito as the older boy strode away.

“What about the Keepers?” Matt said.“Isn’t he afraid they’U catch us?”

“Not a chance!” Fidelito wriggledwith excitement. “They’re locked up intheir compound. The doors and windowsare covered with bags of salt—mountains and mountains of salt! All theboys helped.”

“Didn’t the Keepers try to stop them?”“They were asleep,” Fidelito said.

“Ton-Ton said they wouldn’t wake upno matter how much noise we made.”

Matt had a bad feeling about this, buthe was too startled by what Ton-Tonwas doing now to ask more questions.The boy had clamped the jaws of theshrimp harvester on to a single wire inthe fence. He backed up slowly, pullingthe wire with a horrible, grinding,screeching noise until snap! The wireparted. Ton-Ton attacked another wire,and another. The more he broke, theeasier it was to unthread the fence, andsoon he’d created a hole big enough todrive through.

Matt watched the top of the fenceanxiously. The one wire they had toworry about was still up there, snapping

and humming in the breeze. As long asTon-Ton didn’t disturb its insulation,they would be safe.

“How do you feel?” Matt askedChacho.

“I don’t know,” said the boy in a faintvoice. “I’m not sure what’s wrong. Itried to reach you last night, but thebones came down so hard, I couldhardly breathe. It was like beingsqueezed under a rock.” He paused,seeming too weak to go on.

“Does your chest hurt?” said Matt.Now he understood why Chacho hadnever answered him.

“A bit. But I don’t think I brokeanything. Its just… I can’t seem to getenough air.”

“Don’t talk,” Matt said. “We’ll takeyou to a doctor as soon as we get to SanLuis.” He was deeply worried, but hedidn’t understand what was wrongeither.

Ton-Ton drove through the openinghe’d created and helped Matt carryChacho to the tank. The next part of thetrip was much better. A road paralleledthe fence, and the shrimp harvester wasable to move much faster. Now and thenTon-Ton stopped to stretch his legs andto let Fidelito run off some of his energy.“If you, uh, jump up and down on myseat one more time, I’m going to, uh,beat the stuffing out of you,” he growled.The little boy quieted down for a minuteor two.

All of them drank strawberry sodas.Ton-Ton had a crate of them in the cab.He took a break for lunch, producingwonderful food the likes of whichChacho and Fidelito had never seen.They ate pepperoni sausages and cheese,bottled olives, and cream crackers. Andif the food made them thirsty, it didn’tmatter because they had more strawberrysoda than they could drink. They finishedwith chocolates wrapped in gold paper.

“I’m so happy, I could fly,” Fidelitosaid with a contented sigh.

Matt worried about the slow,leisurely trip they were taking. “Aren’tyou afraid the Keepers will dig theirway out?” he asked Ton-Ton.

“I told him about the salt bags,” said

Fidelito.“They, uh, they’re asleep,” said the

older boy.“Not after all this time,” Matt said.

“Unless—Oh, Ton-Ton! You didn’t givethem laudanum?”

“They earned it,” he said, in the samedogged way he’d defended them in theinfirmary.

“How much?”“Enough,” said Ton-Ton. Matt could

see he wasn’t going to supply any moreinformation.

“It was wonderful!” Fidelito pipedup. “Ton-Ton told us we were going torescue you, only we had to wait forsunrise.”

“The harvester works on, uh, solar

energy,” said Ton-Ton.“So Flaco checked to be sure the

Keepers were really asleep. He and theothers carried off their food, and thenthey piled as many bags of salt aroundthe building as they could find. Flacosaid he’d wait for the supply hovercraftto fly him to the Keepers’ Head—Head—”

“Headquarters,” said Ton-Ton.“Yes! And tell them what Jorge did.”“Flaco trusts Headquarters. I don’t,”

said Ton-Ton.“Me neither,” murmured Chacho. He

was propped against the side of theharvester with a bottle of soda. Heseemed barely awake.

“Maybe we should hurry,” Matt said,

looking at Chacho.“Yes,” Ton-Ton agreed.And so the shrimp harvester ground

on until it reached the corner where thefence turned right. The road continuednorth toward a low range of hills. To theleft lay the remnants of the Gulf ofCalifornia, but presently it vanished andwas replaced with drifting sand. Whiffsof foul-smelling air drifted over theharvester. It was the same smell Matthad met in the wastelands near the eejitpens, only here it was sharper and morealarming.

The sun was low in the west.Shadows began to lengthen across thedesert. The shrimp harvester slowlyclimbed the road through the hills, but

when it came to a pass, where the roadwas entirely in shadow, it stopped.“That’s it,” said Ton-Ton, jumping fromthe cab. “That’s as far as it will go untildawn.”

Matt helped him lift Chacho from thetank. They laid him next to the road,wrapped in blankets Ton-Ton hadbrought. He and Matt walked to the endof the pass and hunkered down, watchingthe sun slide into a violet haze. “Howmuch farther is San Luis?” asked Matt.

“Three miles. Maybe four,” said Ton-Ton. “We have to cross the ColoradoRiver.”

“I don’t think Chacho can wait untilmorning.”

Ton-Ton continued to gaze at the

disappearing sun. It was hard to tellwhat was going through his mind. “I, uh,I followed my parents into Dreamlandover there.” He pointed at the haze.“Jorge saved me from the dogs. I thoughthe was—he was … wonderful. But heonly thought I was stupid.” Ton-Ton puthis head down.

Matt guessed he was crying, and hedidn’t want to embarrass him bynoticing. “Something like that happenedto me,” Matt said at last.

“It did?” said Ton-Ton.“Someone I cared about more than

anyone in the world tried to kill me.”“Wow!” said Ton-Ton. “That’s really

bad.”They said nothing for a while. Matt

could hear Fidelito telling Chacho howmuch fun it was to camp out under thestars and how he used to do it with hisabuelita after the hurricane blew awaytheir house.

“I guess you and, uh, Fidelito hadbetter walk to San Luis,” said Ton-Ton.“If you can find a doctor, bring him here.If you haven’t, uh, returned by dawn, I’llgo on.”

Ton-Ton gave Matt and Fidelitoflashlights. He supplied them withblankets to ward off the cold and lemonsto survive the smell. “The ColoradoRiver’s b-bad,” he said. “It goes into,uh, a pipe before it gets to the road, butit’s still dangerous. Stay away from it,Fidelito,” he warned. “Pay attention, or

I’ll, uh—”“Beat the stuffing out of me,” the little

boy said cheerfully.“I mean it this time,” said Ton-Ton.

35

EL DÍA DE LOSMUERTOS

The walk downhill was easy, but Mattfound he had to stop and rest frequently.He ached all over from his ordeal thenight before, and some of his scratcheswere infected. He looked back to seeTon-Ton watching gravely fromshadows at the top of the pass. The snoutof the shrimp harvester was just visible.

Fidelito bounced up and down,waving the flashlight. “Do you think he

can see me?”“I’m sure he can,” said Matt.

Sometimes Fidelito’s energy made himfeel tired.

They went on, with Fidelito askingquestions about who they were going tosee. Matt told him about María and theConvent of Santa Clara. He didn’t knowwhat the convent looked like, but hemade up a description to entertain thelittle boy. “It’s a castle on a hill,” hesaid. “It has a tower with a red roof oneach corner. Every morning the girlsraise a flag in the garden.”

“Like the Keepers,” said Fidelito.“Yes,” said Matt. Every morning the

Keepers lined up the boys and raised aflag with the emblem of a beehive over

the factory. The boys recited the FivePrinciples of Good Citizenship and theFour Attitudes Leading to Right-Mindfulness before trooping into thecafeteria for plankton gruel. “This flaghas a picture of the Virgin of Guadalupe.The girls sing‘Buenos Días, PalomaBlanca,’ her favorite song, and then theyhave toast and honey for breakfast.”

Fidelito sighed.Matt wondered whether the Keepers

had managed to wake up from theirdrugged sleep. Were they all lying deadlike poor Furball? And would Ton-Tonbe arrested for murder? “Can theKeepers get water in their compound?”he asked.

“Flaco said they could drink out of the

toilet,” said Fidelito.It’s hard but it’s fair , Matt thought

with a grim smile.“That smell is making me sick,” said

Fidelito.Matt lifted his head. The stench had

been growing so gradually, he hadn’tregistered it. “We must be close to theriver,” he said. He scratched the skin ofa lemon and held it to Fidelito’s nose.“This won’t kill the smell, but it shouldkeep you from throwing up.”

Matt heard a gurgling, thrashing noisesomewhere to the left and shone theflashlight at it. A wide, black ribbon ofwater disappeared into a giant drain. Itglistened with oil, and here and thereshapes struggled to the surface and were

pulled down again.“Is that a fish?” whispered Fidelito.“I don’t think so,” Matt said, shining

the light on a long, greasy-lookingtentacle that whipped out of the floodand struggled wildly to hang on to theshore. “I think that’s the reason Ton-Tontold you to stay away from the river.”The tentacle lost the battle anddisappeared down the drain with ahorrible sucking sound.

“Let’s run,” begged the little boy.The ground trembled as the vast river

plunged underneath the road. The smellalmost made Matt faint. Bad air. Badair, he thought wildly. If they passed outhere, no one would rescue them.“Faster!” Matt gasped, but in fact it was

he who was slow. Fidelito boundedahead like a monkey.

They went up a rise. A slight breezeblew the nauseous stench of the riveraway, and Matt collapsed with his chestheaving. He began to cough. He felt likehe was being strangled. Oh, no, hethought. I can’t have an asthma attacknow. He’d been free of the illness sincehe’d left Opium, but the smell of theriver had brought it back. He bent over,trying to fill his lungs.

Fidelito frantically scratched hislemon and held it to Mattson’s nose.“Smell! Smell!” he cried. But it didn’thelp. Matt was drenched in sweat fromhis efforts to get air. “I’ll go for help,”shouted Fidelito into his ear, as though

Matt were deaf as well. Stop, it’sdangerous, Matt wanted to say. Butmaybe it was just as well the little boywent on. There was nothing Matt coulddo to protect him.

How much time passed, Matt couldn’tsay. The world had shrunk to a tiny patchof road, where he struggled to stay alive.But all at once he felt hands lift him andan inhaler—an inhaler!— held to hisface. Matt grabbed it and breathed forall he was worth. The attack faded. Theworld began to expand again.

He saw a brown, weathered faceetched by deep wrinkles. “Look what theriver coughed up, Guapo,” said thewoman.

Guapo—a name meaning

“handsome”—hunkered by the side ofthe road and gave Matt a big, almosttoothless grin. He was at least eightyyears old. “The kid picked a lousy placeto swim,” he said.

“I was joking,” said the woman.“Nobody swims in that river andsurvives. Can you walk?” she askedMatt.

Matt got to his feet. He took a fewunsteady steps and nodded.

“Stay with us,” the woman said. “Idon’t suppose your mother’s expectingyou home tonight.”

“He’s a runaway orphan. Look at hisuniform,” said Guapo.

“You call those rags a uniform?” Thewoman laughed. “Don’t worry, niño. We

won’t tell anyone. We hate the Keepersas much as you do.”

“Chacho,” Matt gasped out.“The little one told us about him,”

said Guapo. “Look. The ambulance isalready on its way.” He pointed up, andMatt saw a hovercraft pass overhead.The antigravity stirred the hair on hisarms.

With Guapo on one side and thewoman, who identified herself as hissister Consuela, on the other, Matt madehis way along the road. He felt light-headed. Everything seemed unreal: thedark road, the starry sky, and the oldman and woman who guided his steps.

Presently they came to a high wall.Consuela pressed a button, and a door

slid open to show a scene sounexpected, Matt wondered whether hewas dreaming after all.

Inside, flanked by graceful paloverdetrees, were graves as far as Matt couldsee. Each one was decorated with palmfronds, flowers, photographs, statues,and hundreds of glittering candles. Thecandles sat in red, blue, green, yellow,and purple glasses and looked likefragments of rainbow dancing over theground.

Some of the graves had offerings offood as well: tortillas, bowls of chili,bottles of soda, fruit, and whole herds oftiny donkeys, horses, and pigs made outof pastry or sugar. On one grave was abeautiful little cat with a pink sugar nose

and a tail curled around its feet.Matt saw people sitting in the

shadows and speaking to one another inquiet voices. “Where are we?” hemurmured.

“A cemetery, chico” said Consuela.“Don’t tell me you’ve never seen one?”

Not like this, Matt thought. TheAlacráns were buried in a marblemausoleum not far from the hospital. Itwas the size of a house and decoratedwith so many angels, it looked like aconvention of them. You could seethrough the front door to what appearedto be chests of drawers on either side.The name of a departed Alacrán wasinscribed on each long drawer. Mattguessed you could slide them out like the

ones in his room, where Celia packedhis shirts and socks.

The eejits, of course, were buried inmass graves out in the desert. Tarn Linsaid their resting places wereimpossible to distinguish from landfill.

“This looks like a—a party,” Mattfaltered.

“ I t is” cried Fidelito, suddenlyappearing from amid a group of womenwho were unpacking picnic baskets.“We’re so lucky! Of all the days wecould’ve come, we picked El Día de losMuertos, the Day of the Dead. It’s myfavorite holiday in the whole year!” Hemunched on a sandwich.

Matt couldn’t understand it. Celia hadcelebrated every holiday on the

calendar, but never had she mentionedthis one. She put out shoes for the WiseMen to leave gifts at Christmas. Shecolored eggs for Easter. She servedroast turkey on Thanksgiv-ing and heart-shaped cakes on Saint Valentine’s Day.S h e had special ceremonies for SanMateo, Matt’s patron saint, and for herown Santa Cecilia. And of course therewas El Patrón’s birthday party. Butnever, never, never had anyone dreamedof throwing a party for Death!

Yet here Matt saw, on grave aftergrave, statues of skeletons playingguitars or dancing or driving around inlittle plastic hovercars. Skeleton motherstook skeleton children for walks.Skeleton brides married skeleton

grooms. Skeletons dogs sniffedlampposts, and skeleton horses gallopedwith Death riding on their backs.

And now Matt became aware of anodor. The foul stench of the river waskept away by the wall, but the air wasfull of another scent that made everynerve in Matts body tighten with alarm.It smelled like Felicia! It was as thoughher ghost hovered before him, breathingthe heavy fumes of whiskey into his face.He sat down, suddenly dizzy.

“Are you sick?” asked Fidelito.“Guapo, find another inhaler in my

bag,” said Consuela.“No … no … I’m all right,” said

Matt. “The smell here reminded me ofsomething.”

“It’s only the copal incense we burnfor the dead,” Consuela said. “Maybe itreminds you of your mamá or papá, butyou mustn’t be unhappy. Tonight is whenwe welcome them back, to let them seehow we’re doing and to offer them theirfavorite foods.”

“They … eat?” Matt looked at thetamales, bowls of chili, and loaves ofbread decorated with pink sugar.

“Not as we do, darling. They like tosmell things,” said Consuela. “That’swhy we serve so many foods with agood odor.”

“Mi abuelita said they come back asdoves or mice. She said I mustn’t chaseanything away if it wants to eat,” saidFidelito.

“That’s also true,” said Consuela,putting her arm around the little boy.

Matt thought about the Alacráns intheir marble mausoleum. Perhaps ElPatrón was there—in the top drawer, ofcourse. Then Matt remembered Celiasaying El Patrón wanted to be buried inan underground storeroom with all hisbirthday presents. Was anyone puttingout food for him tonight? Had Celiaprepared tamales and bowls of menudo?But Celia was hiding in the stables. AndMr. Alacrán wouldn’t put out so much asa single chili bean because he hated ElPatrón.

Matt blinked away tears. “How cananyone celebrate death?”

“Because it’s part of us,” Consuela

said softly.“Mi abuelita said I mustn’t be afraid

of skeletons because I carry my ownaround inside,” said Fidelito. “She toldme to feel my ribs and make friends withthem.”

“Your grandmother was very wise,”said Consuela.

“I’m off to town now for the fiesta,”said Guapo, who had put on a handsomeblack sombrero and slung a guitar overhis shoulder. “Do you kids want me todrop you off anywhere?”

Consuela laughed. “You old rogue!You only want to chase women.”

“I don’t have to chase anyone,” theold man replied haughtily.

“Come home in one piece, Guapito. I

worry about you.” She kissed him andstraightened the sombrero on his head.

“What about it, kids? Shall I take youto see Chacho? He’s in the hospital atthe Convent of Santa Clara.”

“That’s where we were going!”Fidelito cried.

“What about the Keepers?” Matt said.“They stay off the streets when there’s

a party. Too much fun,” said Consuela.“But just in case …” She fished aroundin her large bag and brought out a pair ofmasks. “I was saving these for mygrandchildren, but I’ll get themsomething else.” She fitted a mask overFidelito’s face.

Matt felt a strange tightening in hischest when he saw the skull staring back

at him from Fidelito’s skinny body. “Putyours on too,” urged the little boy. Mattcouldn’t move. He couldn’t take his eyesoff Fidelito’s face.

“I’ve got one of my own,” saidGuapo, slipping on his mask.

“That’s an improvement, believe me,”said Consuela. Guapo capered around,his black sombrero bobbing over hisskullface. Matt knew they were trying tocheer him up, but he felt only horror.

“Listen, mi vida,” said Consuela.Matt flinched at the sound of his oldname. “I don’t know what bad thingshappened to you, but it’s a matter ofsafety to wear the mask now. TheKeepers won’t bother you if you’rewearing a costume.”

Matt saw the wisdom of hersuggestion. Very reluctantly, he pulledthe mask over his head. It fitted him likea second skin, with holes for his eyes,nose, and mouth. It felt like being buriedalive, and he had to struggle againstpanic. He took a deep breath and willedthe horror away.

“Muchas gracias” he said.“De nada” Consuela replied.

36

THE CASTLE ON THEHILL

As he followed Guapo, Matt noticedthat all the graves were dotted withgolden flowers. When they reached theroad, he saw a trail of their bright petalsleading from the cemetery.

“What’s that?” he whispered toFidelito. “Cempasúchil flowers. For thedead to find their way back home.”

Matt couldn’t help feeling a chill asthey trod the delicate petals into the dust.

The old man had a small, personalhovercar, and it took a while for him tocoax it into the air. Even then, it hoveredonly a few feet off the ground. “Cheapantigrav,” muttered Guapo, fussing withdials and buttons. “I got it at a discount.I’m sure it’s mixed with electrons.”

The car left the graveyard behind andcame to the first houses. All had paths offlowers to their doors. What struck Mattwas how beautiful the houses were.They didn’t look at all like the hovelshe’d seen on TV. They were made of ashining material molded into fantasticshapes. Some were like small castles,while others looked like ships or spacestations, and still others grew like trees,with fanciful balconies and rooftop

gardens.As Guapo’s hovercar went by,

holographic displays were triggered inthe yards. Skeletons zoomed around onrockets. A skeleton wedding, completewith priest and flower girls, marchedacross a lawn. Fidelito leaned out thewindow and tried to touch them.

In the distance Matt heard music andthe sputter of fireworks. Fidelito pointedat a shower of red and green sparks inthe sky. Soon the road became crowdedwith bands of partygoers until Guapocould hardly move at all. In a goodhovercar he could have soared overpeople’s heads. The best he couldmanage was to blare his horn and pushhis way through the mob. There was so

much music and shouting, no one paidattention to the horn.

Matt watched the stream of people inwonder. In all his life he’d never seen somany. They sang and danced. Theyhoisted children onto their shoulders tosee the fireworks painting the skies.They playfully rocked the hovercar untilGuapo yelled at them. And the costumes!Gorillas, cowboys, and astronautsmobbed the food stalls. Zorro crackedhis whip at a trio of space aliens aheadof him in line. La Llorona and thechupacabras waltzed by with bottles ofbeer. But most of the people weredressed like skeletons.

Matt grabbed Guapos shoulder andcried, “Who’s that?”

The old man glanced at the figure in ablack-and-silver suit. “Him? That’s onlythe Vampire of Dreamland.” And Mattsaw a line of brown-clad, skull-facedeejits shuffling after a terrifyingly real ElPatrón. Matt shrank into his seat. He hadto breathe deeply to overcome his shock.He felt a wrenching sense of loss, whichdidn’t make any sense at all. If El Patrónhad lived, he—Matt—would be dead.

“Keepers,” whispered Fidelito. Mattsaw the group of men standing by theside of the road. They scowled at therevelers as if to say, All of you aredrones, and when winter comes, theworker bees will throw you into thesnow to die. “I’m going to show them themap of the world,” announced Fidelito,

but Matt grabbed him and held himdown.

“You kids stop wrestling back there,”said Guapo. “You’re making themagnetic coils overheat.”

At last they passed through theseething fiesta. The carnival booths fellbehind, the smell of fried meat and beerdied away, and they came to the base ofa hill. Above them wound a lovely andpeaceful lane lined with pomegranatetrees. At intervals globes of burning gascast a white-hot light over the ground.

“The hovercar can’t make it up there,”said Guapo, “but it isn’t far to the top.Give my best to the Sisters at thehospital. They stitched me up after thelast fiesta and threw in a free lecture to

boot.” The old man gave Matt a wolfishgrin.

Matt was sorry to see him go. Hehadn’t known Guapo and Consuela long,but he liked them very much. Heremoved his mask and helped Fidelitodo the same.

“Is that where María lives?” asked thelittle boy, craning his neck to see the topof the hill.

Matt’s heart sank. He desperatelywanted to find María. He’d beenthinking of little else for weeks. Butwould she want to see him? Hadn’t shemerely befriended him out of pity? Mattknew he’d been, quite literally, anunderdog, and María couldn’t resist acrusade.

At least he’d been an appealingunderdog then. Now his face wascovered with acne. His body wasscarred with welts from Jorge’s cane, aswell as sores from the scratches he’d gotin the boneyard. His clothes were filthy.He reeked of rotten shrimp. WouldMaría be so embarrassed by hisappearance that she’d slam the door inhis face?

“That’s where she lives,” he toldFidelito.

“I wonder if they’re having a party,”said Fidelito.

Me too, thought Matt as they startedup the steep hill. He imagined theconvent girls dressed in fine clothes,like the bridesmaids at Emilia’s

wedding. He combed his hair with hisfingers and felt the heavy coating of sandand salt. If Fidelito was anything to goby—and the little boy was at least cutein a basic sort of way—the two of themwere as attractive as a pair of mangycoyotes.

“It is a castle,” said Fidelito in awe.The white walls and towers of theConvent of Santa Clara rose out ofbougainvillea hedges dense with violetand crimson flowers. The same brightlights that bordered the winding pathhung in the air over the walls. Thebuilding was made of the same shiningsubstance as the houses in San Luis. Mattdidn’t know what it was, but itshimmered like silk.

“They have toast and honey forbreakfast,” murmured Fidelito. “Iwonder if they’ll give us some.”

“First we have to find the door,” saidMatt. They followed a flagstone patharound the building. It showed themwindows high in the walls, but no doors.“This has to go somewhere,” Matt said.At that instant lights came on and thewall opened, as though someone haddrawn aside a curtain. They saw anarchway leading to a lighted courtyard.Matt took a deep breath and put his handon Fidelito’s shoulder.

The little boy was trembling. “Is itmagic?” he whispered.

“A hologram,” said Matt. “It’s part ofthe security system. It makes the wall

look solid from a distance, but once youget beyond the projectors”—he pointedat the cameras in the trees—“thehologram goes away.”

“Is it okay? I mean, if it turns onagain, will we be trapped inside?”

Matt smiled. “It’s perfectly safe. I’veseen this before where I—where I usedto live.”

Fidelito looked up at him. “Was thatwhen you were a zombie?”

“Oh brother!” Matt said. “Don’t tellme you believed Jorge’s lies?”

“Of course not,” said the little boy,but Matt noticed he seemed relieved.

Matt led Fidelito through the archwayand past a white marble statue of SaintFrancis feeding the doves. On the far

side they came to a hallway. Nurses andorderlies ran here and there withbandages and medicines. The beds liningthe hallway were full of injured people,and because most of the people were incostume, it looked like the beds wereoccupied by skeletons.

“What are you doing here?” cried aflustered nurse, bumping into the twoboys.

“Please. We came to see Chacho,”said Matt.

“And María,” added Fidelito.“There’s a hundred Marías in here

tonight,” said the nurse. “It happensevery year with that cursed fiesta. Allthose people drinking and picking fights.They should outlaw it … But Chacho—”

He stopped and looked at the boysclosely. “I know of only one Chacho,and he’s in intensive care. You wouldn’tbe boys from the same orphanage?”

“We might be,” Matt said cautiously.The nurse lowered his voice. “You’d

better be careful. Keepers are nosingaround. It seems there was a mutiny atthe saltworks.”

“How’s Chacho?” asked Fidelito.“Not so good. Listen, I’ll take you

there a private way.” The nurse openeda door to a dimly lit passage that seemedto be used for storage. Matt saw piles ofbedding and boxes of equipment as theymade their way through. “I used to be anorphan myself,” the nurse said. “Evennow, I wake up in a cold sweat reciting

the Five Principles of Good Citizenshipand the Four Attitudes Leading to Right-Mindfulness.”

They came out to another, desertedhallway. “This is the recovery wing,”explained the nurse. “Here’s where theSisters watch over the long-termpatients. Chacho is in the last room onthe right. If he’s sleeping, don’t wakehim.” The nurse left them and went backto his duties.

Matt heard voices coming from theend of the hall. Fidelito ran ahead.“Chacho!” he yelled.

“Don’t wake him!” said Matt. But ithardly mattered how much noise thelittle boy made because the people in theroom were shouting even louder. Matt

saw a pair of Sisters guarding a bed.Facing them were two Keepers, and nextto them, trussed up like a lumpy packageon the floor, was Ton-Ton. Ton-Tonmouthed the word run.

“If you move him, he’ll die,” criedone of the Sisters.

“We’ll do what we like, Sister Inéz,”a Keeper snarled. Matt instantlyrecognized the voice. It was Carlos, andthe other man, to go by the cast on hisarm, was Jorge. “These boys have triedto commit murder—do you understand?”said Carlos.

“I understand that some of your mensuffered an injury to their pride,” SisterInéz said. “Last I heard, no one everdied of humiliation. But if Chacho’s

moved, it will be murder. I can’t allowit.”

“Then we’ll take him without yourpermission,” said Carlos. Matt sawSister Inéz go pale, but she didn’t backdown.

“You’ll have to go through us,” shesaid.

“And us,” said Matt. The Keeperswhirled around.

“It’s that damned aristocrat!” shoutedJorge. He made a grab for Matt, buthaving only one good arm, he stumbledand fell on top of Ton-Ton. Ton-Tonimmediately butted his head into Jorge’sside.

“Stop! Stop!” cried Sister Inéz. “Thisis a convent. You aren’t allowed to use

violence.”“Tell them that!” shouted Matt, who

was trying to kick Carlos’s feet out fromunder him. The Keeper had hurledhimself into the fight when Jorge wentdown. Matt hadn’t a hope of winning. Hewas badly weakened by his ordeal, andbesides, the man outweighed him by fiftypounds. But Matt had had enough ofrunning and hiding. He wasn’t going tolet the Keepers win easily. They werefat toads that Tarm Lin wouldn’t havethought twice about blowing up. Theblood sang in Matt’s ears.

“Stop this at once!” came a sharpvoice that cut through the red fog that hadenveloped Matt’s mind. He felt Carlos’shands let go. He felt himself falling to

his knees. He heard Fidelito sobbing.“This is a disgrace!” said the sharp

voice.Matt looked up. It would have been

funny if the situation hadn’t been so dire.Sister Inéz was frozen with her handsgrasping Carlos’s hair. The other Sisterhad the neck of Jorge’s shirt bunched upin her fists, and Jorge was in mid-kicktoward Ton-Ton’s stomach. Fidelito hadthrown himself across Chacho, as thoughhis skinny body could provideprotection. And poor Chacho merelystared, as though he’d seen a dragonappear in the doorway.

Matt saw a small, but extremelyfierce-looking woman with her hands onher hips. She wore a black dress, and

her black hair was braided and pinnedon top of her head in a kind of crown.She was little, but everything about herproclaimed that she was used to beingobeyed and anyone who didn’t wasgoing to regret it.

“D-Doña Esperanza,” stammeredSister Inéz. Matt’s mouth dropped open.It was María’s mother! He recognizedher from the portrait, although she wasolder than he’d expected.

“Stand up, all of you,” ordered DoñaEsperanza. Carlos, Jorge, the twoSisters, Fidelito, and Matt all struggledto their feet. Even Ton-Ton tried to situp straight. “I want an explanation forthis,” said Esperanza.

Then everyone tried to talk at once,

and she crisply told them to shut up untilshe called on them. She looked at eachperson in the room, her eyes softeningonly when she saw Chacho. “You!” shesaid, pointing at Ton-Ton. “You tell methe reason for this disgusting,unbelievable display of brutishness.”

And Ton-Ton, without a singlemisspoken word, told the whole story—from the time Fidelito was condemned tocaning, to when Matt and Chacho werethrown into the boneyard, to when theorphans rose as an avenging army, towhen TonTon drove the shrimpharvester, to when he and Chacho werefinally airlifted to the hospital.Esperanza had scared the stuttering rightout of him.

When Ton-Ton was finished, no onesaid a word. The silence stretched onand on. Matt wanted to back up Ton-Ton’s story, but one look at those fierceblack eyes told him it was better to stayquiet.

“Please forgive me for putting forthmy opinion, Doña Esperanza,” Jorgesaid at last. “I must explain that this boyis mentally retarded. I rescued him fromthe Farm Patrol years ago, but he’s nevershown any intelligence.”

“He sounds intelligent to me,” saidEsperanza.

“He parrots anything anyone tells him.Most of the time he can hardly string asentence together.”

“I c-can s-so,” muttered Ton-Ton.

Esperanza silenced him with a frown.She turned again to Jorge. “Are yousaying the canings never happened?”

“Of course they didn’t,” said theKeeper. “We may keep a boy on shortrations for a day if he misbehaves, butwe never use physical punishment. It’sagainst everything the Keepers believein.”

“I see,” said Esperanza. “And theboneyard is a myth, too.”

“You know how it is,” Jorge saidsmoothly. “Boys like to scare oneanother with stories after dark. They talkabout vampires and the chupacabras.It’s natural, but sometimes it gets out ofhand.”

Matt’s heart sank. Esperanza nodded

her head as if she agreed with Jorge:Boys did tell one another scary stories.They did make things up. But then shesaid, “The warehouse full of laudanumis also a myth, I suppose?”

Jorge flinched. “Laudanum?”“The Aztlán police have wondered

for a long time how drugs were beingdistributed in this country. They wereextremely interested in what they foundat the saltworks.”

“That’s a vicious lie! Someone’strying to undermine the reputation of theKeepers!” cried Carlos. “Rumors likethat are spread by idiots who wantorphans to lie around like pamperedhouse cats. We know they’re squalidlittle parasites until they’re reeducated

into good citizens. If any laudanum wasfound, it was planted there by thepolice!”

“Fine. Then you won’t mind taking adrug test,” said Esperanza. She steppedaside, and suddenly the doorwayswarmed with men in blue uniforms.They must have been waiting just out ofsight. Jorge and Carlos looked stunnedas they were led away.

“I’ve been waiting for this a longtime,” said Esperanza, dusting off herhands as though she’d just finished achore. “We knew the Keepers weretrafficking drugs, but we had no legalway to get a search warrant until Ton-Ton told us what he saw at the Keepers’compound.” She borrowed scissors from

Sister Inéz and began snipping off theduct tape binding the boy.

“Nobody, uh, ever listened to mebefore,” said Ton-Ton.

“You had no one you could tell aboutthe dreadful way you were treated,” saidSister Inéz. “Imagine living on planktonall those years! We use it only foranimal feed.”

Matt was dazed by the rapid change inhis fortunes. Things had been goingwrong for so long, it was hard to believethey might go right at last.

“Can we stay with Chacho?” Fidelitoasked shyly.

“We’ll work something out,” saidSister Inéz. “To begin with, I’m sureyou’d like a bath.” The women laughed,

and Esperanza looked almost friendly.They were interrupted by a shriek. A

girl in a white party dress streakedthrough the door and threw herself intoMatt’s arms. “Oh, Mother! Oh, Mother!It’s Matt! He’s alive! He’s here!”

“Good heavens, María,” saidEsperanza. “We’ll never get the smell ofshrimp out of that dress if you don’tshow a little restraint.”

37

HOMECOMING

Matt reveled in the clean white sheets,the soft pillows, the flower-scented airdrifting in from the garden. Sister Inézhad ordered him to bed after looking atthe sores on his body. Fidelito and Ton-Ton were housed at a boarding schoolrun by the convent, but they visited Mattand Chacho every day.

Poor Chacho, thought Matt. He barelynoticed when anyone visited him. Hedrifted in and out of dreams, sometimescalling for his father and sometimes

raving about bats. Sister Inéz said hismind needed time to recover from histerrible ordeal. He had breathed far lessthan was good for him under the heavywhale bones. His body had been starvedof oxygen, and the pressure had crackedseveral of his ribs.

The best part of the day for Matt waswhen María visited. He was content tolisten, while she never ran out of thingsto say. She talked about stray cats shehad rescued or how she had made amistake and put salt into a cake batterinstead of sugar. María’s life was full ofdrama. A flower opening in the gardenand a butterfly lighting on a windowwere causes for excitement. Through hereyes, Matt saw the world as an infinitely

hopeful place.Now Matt watched the door eagerly

because he heard María’s voice in thehall, but he was disappointed to see bothher and her mother. Esperanza wasdressed in steel gray. She reminded Mattof one of the guided missiles El Patrónused to get for his birthday.

“I brought you some guavas,” saidMaría, placing a basket on the bedsidetable. “Sister Inéz says they’re full ofvitamin C. She says you need them toclear up your skin condition.”

Matt winced. He knew his acne washorrible. Sister Inéz said it was causedby pollution in the water the Keepersused to grow plankton.

“You look healthy,” said Esperanza.

“Thank you,” Matt said. He didn’ttrust her.

“Healthy enough to get up.”“Oh, Mother! He needs at least

another week in bed,” said María.“You will not turn this young man into

one of your invalids,” Esperanza toldher daughter. “I’ve had quite enough ofthree-legged cats and fish that floatupside down. Matt is young andresilient. And he has a very importantjob to do.”

Uh oh, Matt thought. What wasEsperanza up to now?

“ We are terribly worried,” Maríaadmitted.

“We’re more than worried,”Esperanza said in her relentless way.

“Something has gone wrong in Opium—not that anything was ever right in thatgodforsaken wasteland. But El Patrón atleast had ties with the outside world. Noone has heard a word from there sincethe day he died.”

“Emilia is still in Opium,” Maríaexplained, “and so is Dada. I’m stillangry at them for how they treated you,but I don’t want anything—anything badto happen to them.” Her eyes filled withtears.

Esperanza made an exasperatedsound. “It wouldn’t bother me a bit ifsomething happened to your dada. Oh,do stop brimming over like a fountain,María. It’s a silly habit and it cloudsyour wits. Your father is an evil man.”

“I can’t help it.” María sniffled. Matthanded her one of his tissues. Heprivately agreed with Esperanza, but hisheart was on María’s side.

“Opium is in a state of lockdown,”said Esperanza. “I can think of only threetimes that’s happened in the past onehundred years. It means that nothing isallowed to enter or leave the country.”

“Can’t we just wait until they decideto contact us?” said Matt.

“The other lockdowns lasted a fewhours. This one’s gone on for threemonths.”

Matt realized what this meant.Shipments of opium had to go out everyday to keep money moving around theempire. Dealers in Africa, Asia, and

Europe must be clamoring for theirsupplies. MacGregor and the otherFarmers couldn’t cover the shortfall.They had put most of their land to cropsthat produced cocaine and hashish.

“What am I supposed to do about it?”Matt said. Esperanza smiled and heknew he’d walked into a trap.

“All incoming hovercrafts have to becleared by the security system,” shesaid. “The pilot places his hand on anidentity plate in the cockpit. Hisfingerprints and DNA signature arebeamed to the ground. If these arecleared, the ship is allowed to land. Ifnot—”

“It’s blown out of the sky,” saidMaría. “Mother, this plan is awful.”

“During a lockdown,” Esperanza wenton, ignoring her daughter, “no ships arecleared—with one exception: ElPatrón’s signature overrideseverything.”

Matt understood at once: Hisfingerprints and DNA were the same asEl Patrón’s. “How do you know thesystem hasn’t been changed?”

“I don’t,” said Esperanza. “I’mcounting on the Alacráns to haveforgotten about the override. They mustbe in some kind of trouble, or theywouldn’t have sealed themselves off.”

What kind of trouble? Matt thought.Could the eejits have revolted, or couldthe Farm Patrol have taken over?Perhaps Mr. Alacrán was locked in a

power struggle with Steven and Benito.“The way I see it,” he said, “I’ll getblown out of the sky. If I do manage tosurvive, the Alacráns will have me putto sleep like an old dog. I’m a clone, incase you’ve forgotten. I’m livestock.”

María flinched. Matt didn’t care. Lether understand what they were asking ofhim. He didn’t care whether Emilia andher dada were safe. But then he heardMaría choke back a sob.

“Oh, very well!” he said angrily. “I’mno good for spare parts anymore. Youmight as well throw me away on this.”

“I don’t want to throw you away,”María said, weeping.

“Let’s all take a deep breath and startover,” said Esperanza. “First of all,

Matt, you aren’t a clone.”Matt was so startled, he sat straight up

in bed.“Oh, you were a clone. There’s no

mistake about that. But we’re talkingabout international law now.” Esperanzastarted pacing around the room as thoughshe were lecturing a class. “Internationallaw is my specialty. In the first place,clones shouldn’t exist.”

“Fat lot of good that does me,” saidMatt.

“But if they do exist, they’relivestock, as you say. That makes itpossible for them to be slaughtered likechickens or cattle.”

María moaned and put her head downon the bed.

“You can’t have two versions of thesame person at the same time,”Esperanza went on. “One of them—thecopy—has to be declared an unperson.But when the original dies, the copytakes his place.”

“What … does that mean?” Matt said.“It means you really are El Patrón.

You have his body and his identity. Youown everything he owned and ruleeverything he ruled. It means you’re thenew Master of Opium.”

María raised her head. “Matt’shuman?”

“He always was,” her mother replied.“The law is a wicked fiction to make itpossible to use clones for transplants.But bad law or not, we’re going to use it

now. If you survive the landing, Matt,I’ll do everything in my power to makeyou the new reigning drug lord. I havethe backing of the Aztlán and U.S.governments on this. Only you mustpromise me that once you’re in control,you’ll destroy the opium empire and teardown the barrier that has kept Aztlán andthe United States apart for so long.”

Matt stared at the small, fierce womanas he tried to understand the sudden shiftin his fortunes. He guessed thatEsperanza cared less about herdaughters than her desire to destroyOpium. She’d gone off without abackward glance when María was onlyfive. In all the years since, she’d nevercontacted her. It was only when María

made the first move that Esperanzareturned and proceeded to ordereveryone around.

Matt thought she would easilysacrifice him to realize her goal. Buthow could he refuse after the terriblesuffering El Patrón had caused? Heunderstood the full extent of it now. Itwasn’t only the drug addicts throughoutthe world or the Illegals doomed toslavery. It was their orphaned childrenas well. You could even say the old manwas responsible for the Keepers. If Matthad become El Patrón, then he’d gottenthe whole package: wealth, power …and the evil that created it.

“I promise,” he said.The hovercraft trembled as it was

scanned by beacons from the ground.Matt glanced at the pilot. The man’s facewas grim. “When the red light goes on,press your right hand on the identityplate,” he said. WARNING! GROUND ARTILLERY

DEPLOYED, flashed a panel over thecontrols.

They’ll shoot first and ask questionslater, thought Matt. He carried messagesfrom the Aztlán and U.S. presidents, butthey wouldn’t do much good if he gotblown out of the sky.

“There’s the signal!” cried the pilot.The identity plate lit up. Matt

slammed his hand down. He felt thetingling he’d noticed when he’d pressedthe glowing scorpion outside the secretpassage in the mansion. The red light

faded, and the panel turned a welcominggreen.

“You did it, sir! Well done!” Thepilot began to bleed off antigravity inpreparation for landing. Matt felt a glowof happiness. The man had called him“sir”!

Matt watched anxiously through thewindow. He saw the estancia as he’dnever seen it before. The waterpurification plant lay far to the east, andthe little church Celia visited—couldshe still visit as an eejit?—was to thewest. In between were storehouses, drugpurification labs, and a factory wherefood pellets for the eejits were made.Slightly to the north was the gray,featureless hospital. Even from here, it

looked sinister. Next to it was themausoleum where the Alacráns slept intheir marble drawers.

The swimming pool flashed withsunlight as they passed over. Mattsearched the grounds for people. He saweejits crouching by a lawn. He sawmaids hanging out wash, and someoneseemed to be repairing a roof. No onelooked up. No one showed the slightestinterest in the hovercraft that was nowdescending to the ground.

“Where’s the welcoming committee?”he murmured. A platoon of bodyguardsalways ran out to greet visitors.

The ship bumped gently to a landing.“Do you need a weapon, sir?” asked thepilot, handing him a gun. Matt looked at

it with dismay. Such guns had been usedby the Farm Patrol to stun—and kill—the parents of Chacho, Flaco, Ton-Ton,and the other orphans.

“It’s probably better to appearfriendly,” he said, handing the weaponback.

“I’ll remain here in liftoff mode, incase you want to leave quickly,” thepilot said.

Matt opened the door and climbeddown. The landing field was empty. Theonly sounds were of birds, fountains,and—briefly—the hammer of the manfixing the roof.

Matt followed a winding path throughthe gardens. His job was to confront theAlacráns and end the lockdown. He

could disable the lockdown systemhimself—when he found it. Tam Lin orDaft Donald would know its location.Then Esperanza and top officials fromboth countries on the border woulddescend on Opium and try to install Mattas leader.

I had better odds for survival in theboneyard, he thought. He saw a peacockstrut across a lawn. A mob of red-winged blackbirds shrieked at oneanother from a crowded tree. A wingedbaby watched him from atop a fountain.

Matt’s nerves were raw. Any minutenow Mr. Alacrán would stride out of thehouse and shout, Take this creatureaway! Dispose of it at once! Memoriesthreatened to overwhelm him. He didn’t

know what he’d do if he saw Celia.Matt went up the broad steps leading

to the salon. It was there that El Patrónhad introduced him to the family so longago. It was there that El Viejo had lainlike a starved bird in his coffin andEmilia, surrounded by eejit flower girls,had married Steven. It was as though thegreat hall thronged with ghosts. Theyhovered behind the white, marblepillars. They breathed over the darkpond covered with water lilies. Mattsaw an ancient fish rise from the depthsto look at him with a round, yellow eye.

Matt froze. Someone was playing apiano. The person was certainly skilled,but he—or she—was attacking the musicwith such ferocity that it bordered on

madness. Matt raced toward the sound.The noise rolled like a tidal wave out ofthe music room, and he had to cover hisears.

“Stop!” he yelled. But the persondidn’t react. Matt crossed the room andgrabbed the man’s arm.

Mr. Ortega spun around. He took onelook and fled. Matt heard his footstepsdisappear down the hall. “I wasn’t thatbad a student,” Matt murmured. But ofcourse Mr. Ortega had thought he wasdead. He was probably crying alarmfrom one end of the house to the other.Now it was only a matter of time beforesomeone showed up.

Matt sat down. His hands werecallused from the work he’d done at the

salt factory, and he was afraid the hardlabor had made his fingers clumsy. Butas he began the Adagio fromBeethoven’s Piano Concerto No. 5, theawkwardness fell away. The musicswelled through his body, transportinghim from the horrors of the past fewmonths. He felt as light as a hawkcoasting the upper air over the oasis. Heplayed until he felt a hand on hisshoulder.

Matt turned, still in a daze of music,and saw Celia dressed in the flowereddress he remembered so well. “Mihijo!” she cried, gathering him into aferocious bear hug. “Oh, my darling,you’re so thin! What happened to you inall this time? How did you get back?

What’s wrong with your face? It’s sothin and—and—”

“Covered with zits,” said Matt,struggling to catch his breath.

“Ah, well, it’s part of growing up,”declared Celia. “They’ll go away withthe right food.” She held him at arm’slength to look at him. “I’m sure you’retaller.”

“Are you okay?” said Matt. Hersudden appearance shocked him. He wasafraid of bursting into tears.

“Of course. But you took about fiveyears off Mr. Ortega’s life.”

“How did you—I mean, Tam Lin saidyou had to hide …”

Matt couldn’t trust his voice enough tosay any more.

“Tam Lin. Oh, my.” Celia suddenlylooked very tired. “We’ve been inlockdown for months and couldn’t sendout a message.”

“Why didn’t Mr. Alacrán or Stevendo something?” said Matt.

“You’d better come with me.” Celialed Matt through the halls, and onceagain he was struck by how silenteverything was.

They came to the kitchen, and at lastMatt saw something reassuringly normal.Two undercooks were kneading bread,and a maid was slicing vegetables.Strings of garlic and chiles hung from theceiling. The odor of roast chickenwafted over him from the big, wood-fired oven.

Mr. Ortega and Daft Donald weresitting at a table with cups of coffee andtwo laptop computers. “See? I wasn’tmaking it up,” said Mr. Ortega. DaftDonald typed something onto hiscomputer. “I was not running around likeChicken Little,” said Mr. Ortega,reading his screen. “You’d be upset tooif a ghost grabbed your shoulder.”

Daft Donald smiled.Matt stared at them. He’d never

thought of the two men outside theirduties as music teacher and bodyguard.He’d never tried to communicate withthem, and besides, he’d always assumedDaft Donald wasn’t bright.

“I’d better begin,” sighed Celia. Shesettled Matt between the two men and

fetched him a mug of hot cocoa. Theodor brought back memories soprofound, the room wavered before hiseyes. For an instant Matt was in the littlehouse in the poppy fields. A storm ragedoutside, but in the house it was warmand safe. Then the scene faded, and hewas back in the kitchen.

“You remember what I said about ElPatrón never letting anything go?” Celiabegan. Matt nodded. “Tam Lin used tosay that things—and people—becamepart of El Patrón’s dragon hoard.”

Used to say, Matt thought with a chill.What did that mean?

“That’s why he wouldn’t let Feliciarun away and why he kept Tom close tohim, although he hated the boy. We all

belonged to him—the Alacràns, thebodyguards, the doctors, me, Tam Lin,and you. Most of all, you.”

38

THE HOUSE OFETERNITY

Matt saw that last evening in hismind’s eye as Celia and the others toldthe story. When she faltered, DaftDonald would take up the narrative onhis computer. Sometimes Mr. Ortegawould burst in with an opinion.

While he, Matt, was lying under thestars at the oasis, Tam Lin and everyoneelse had been called to the wake. Celiawas missing because she was supposed

to be an eejit. Mr. Ortega was missingbecause he hadn’t heard about it.Besides, he’d lived such a quietexistence for so many years thateveryone had forgotten about him.

The Farm Patrol stood at attention inthe gathering dusk. Six bodyguards,including Tam Lin and Daft Donald,carried the coffin from the hospital to thedesert beyond the mausoleum. One manalone could have carried El Patrón, butthe coffin was so encrusted with goldthat six could barely lift it.

They walked slowly as a choir ofeejit children sang the “HummingChorus” from the opera MadamaButterfly. It was one of El Patrón’sfavorite pieces, and the eejits’ voices

were high and sweet.“I heard it from the stables,” said

Celia, wiping her eyes. “He was an evilman, but the music would have brokenyour heart.”

A door had been opened in theground. A ramp led deep down into avast underground chamber lit by candles.It was only the first of many chambersleading off under the earth. Daft Donaldsaid he didn’t know how many therewere.

The coffin was a wonder, DaftDonald wrote on his computer. It had animage of El Patrón on the lid, like theportrait of an Egyptian pharaoh. ElPatrón looked about twenty-five. Youcouldn’t recognize him, except—and

here Daft Donald glanced up—that helooked a great deal like Matt.

Matt felt cold.Everyone went down into the

chamber, the bodyguard continuedtyping, which was filled with drifts ofgold coins. You had to wade throughthem like sand on a beach. Daft Donaldsaw some of the bodyguards scoop someup and hide them in their pockets. Thepriest performed the funeral rites. Thenthe eejits and Farm Patrol were sentaway. It was time for the wake.

“Which is just another name for aparty,” interrupted Mr. Ortega. “Youcelebrate the dead man’s life—or in thiscase, his eight lives. You were supposedto be the ninth, Matt.”

Matt felt even colder.Everyone was in a fine mood, what

with the food and wine, wrote DaftDonald. Everyone talked about what anold beast El Patrón was and how theywere glad he was dead.

It had gone on for hours when TamLin brought out a special wine that hadbeen bottled the year El Patrón wasborn. It was in a musty crate coveredwith cobwebs and sealed with theAlacrán scorpion mark. “This is what ElPatrón was saving for his one-hundred-fiftieth birthday,” announced Mr.Alacrán. “If he didn’t make it, it wassupposed to be served at his funeral. Ipropose we drink it to celebrate the oldbuzzard’s death!”

“Hear! Hear!” everyone cried.Steven opened the first bottle and

sniffed it. “It smells like someoneopened a window in heaven,” he said.

“Then it doesn’t belong with thiscrowd!” Tom yelled. Everyone roaredwith laughter. They passed around finecrystal glasses. Mr. Alacrán said theywere all supposed to toast El Patrón atthe same time and then smash theirglasses on his coffin.

I had a glass, wrote Daft Donald, butTam Lin came up to me and said,“Don’t drink it, laddie. I’ve got astrange feeling about this wine.” Andso I didn’t.

We raised our glasses for the toast.Mr. Alacrán said, “Tomorrow we’ll

send a truck down here and haul thisstuff away! Here’s to greed!” Everyonecheered and then they drank—exceptfor me. Before the next minute hadpassed, they had all fallen to theground. Just like that. As thoughsomeone had reached inside and turnedoff a switch.

“What happened?” Matt asked,gasping.

I went from one person to the next,trying to wake them up, but they wereall dead, wrote Daft Donald.

“Dead?” cried Matt.“I’m so terribly, terribly sorry,” said

Celia.“Not Tam Lin!”“The poison was very quick. I don’t

think he felt it.”“But he knew something was wrong

with the wine,” shouted Matt. “Why didhe drink it?”

“Listen to me,” said Celia. “El Patrónhad ruled his empire for one hundredyears. All that time he was adding to hisdragon hoard, and he wanted to beburied with it. Unfortunately”—Celiastopped and wiped her eyes—“Unfortunately, the dragon hoardincluded people.”

Matt remembered with a chill howoften the old man had spoken of theChaldean kings. Not only were theyburied with clothes and food, but theirhorses were slaughtered to providetransport in the shadowy world of the

dead. In one tomb archaeologists haddiscovered soldiers, servants, and evendancing girls laid out as though theywere sleeping. One girl had been in sucha hurry, the blue ribbon she was meant towear in her hair was still rolled up inher pocket.

The plan must have been in ElPatrón’s mind all along. He’d neverintended to let Mr. Alacrán or Steveninherit his kingdom. Their education wasas hollow as Matt’s. None of them wasmeant to survive.

“Tam Lin knew what was going tohappen,” said Celia. “El Patrón told himeverything. He was closer to the old manthan anyone, except, perhaps, you.”

I laid out the bodies, wrote Daft

Donald, as many as I could manage. Iwas crying. I don’t mind admitting it. Ithappened so fast. It was so awful. Iwent outside and got dynamite from astorage shed. I wired it to the entrancepassage and set it off.

“I didn’t hear the explosion, but I feltit,” said Mr. Ortega.

“Everyone ran out to see what hadhappened,” said Celia. “We found thepassageway buried and Donald lyingstunned on the ground.”

“I felt the explosion too,” Mattmurmured. “Just before dawn the groundtrembled, and it woke me up.”

“Tam Lin saw it as his chance to freethe eejits,” said Celia. “That’s why hedidn’t warn anyone except Donald about

the wine. I know it sounds terrible, buthow else was he to break the power ofthe Alacráns? El Patron had ruled thiscountry for one hundred years. Hischildren might rule for another hundred.”

Matt could see the buried tomb in hismind’s eye—the broken wineglasses, ElPatron’s portrait staring up from thecoffin, the bodyguards laid out in theirdark suits. Only instead of ribbons, theyhad gold coins in their pockets.

Tom was there too, his lying, oh-so-believable voice stilled forever. Howmany times had Matt entertained himselfwith thoughts of Tom’s downfall? Nowthat it had happened, Matt felt numb.Tom had been no more in charge of hisfate than the dullest eejit.

“Tam Lin did what he wanted to do,”Celia said. “He was guilty of a terriblecrime when he was young, and he couldnever forgive himself for it. He believedthis last act would make up foreverything.”

“Well, it didn’t!” shouted Matt. “Hewas an idiot! A stupid, crotting idiot!”He jumped up. Mr. Ortega tried to stophim, but Celia shook her head.

Matt ran through the gardens until hecame to the stables. “Get me a horse!”he yelled.

After a moment Rosa shuffled out. “ASafe Horse, Master?” she said. For amoment Matt was tempted to ask forTam Lin’s steed, but he wasn’t skilledenough to ride it.

“A Safe Horse,” he said.Soon he was moving through the

fields as he had done so many timesbefore. Some were misted with the bittergreen of opium seedlings. Some dazzledhis eyes with the glory of full-grownpoppies. A faint, corrupt perfume hungin the air.

Matt saw the first laborers. Theywalked slowly, bending down with tinyknives to slash the seedpods. What washe going to do about them? He was theirlord now. He was the master of this vastarmy.

Matt felt utterly drained. Somehow,he’d expected everything to work out.He’d expected himself, María, Tam Lin,and Celia to someday be happy together.

Now it was all ruined.“You fool!” he shouted at the

vanished Tam Lin.Could the eejit operation be reversed?

Even with a restaffed hospital, it mighttake years—that is, if Matt could luredoctors to Opium after they found outwhat had happened to the last batch.He’d have to get rid of the Farm Patrol.They were felons wanted in countries allover the world. He could tell theirpolice forces to come and get them. Hewould have to hire other, less violentmen to replace them because the eejitscouldn’t exist without orders.

It was an overwhelming problem.He’d need to hire another army ofbodyguards. Wealth such as Opium

possessed lured criminals. Alwayschoose your bodyguards from anothercountry, whispered El Patrón. They findit harder to make alliances and betrayyou.

Okay, thought Matt. He would askDaft Donald about it tomorrow. A packof Scottish soccer louts sounded aboutright.

He gave the horse a drink and madehis way into the mountains. A clear bluesky cast its light over the oasis. The sandnext to the water was marked withanimal prints, and the metal chest wasstill hidden under the grape arbor. Mattrummaged through it until he found TamLin’s old note.

Deer Matt, he read. I’m a lousy

writer so this wont be long. El Patronsays I have to go with him. I can’t doanything about it. I put supplise in thischest plus books. Yu never know whenyu mite need things. Yor frend Tam Lin.

Matt folded it and put it into hispocket, along with a flashlight for whenit got dark. He made a fire and warmedhis hands as he listened to the sounds ofthe oasis. It was too cold to swim.

He would dig up the poppy fields andput in normal crops. Once the eejitswere cured, Matt would give them thechoice of returning home or of workingfor him. He would help them find theirchildren.

Matt sat up straight. Of course!Chacho, Fidelito, and Ton-Ton! He

could invite them to live with him. Hecould imagine Fidelito’s wide-eyedastonishment. This is really yours? thelittle boy would cry. You’re not makingit up?

It’s all right , Chacho would say,refusing to be impressed. Matt couldgive him his old guitar. Mr. Ortega couldteach him music. Ton-Ton could havehis own machine shop. He couldmaintain the equipment Matt needed tocreate his new farms.

He could invite María to stay—andhope that Esperanza was busysomewhere else. María would lovereuniting the eejits with their children.And they could have picnics and ridehorses, and she could keep as many

three-legged cats as she liked.Matt looked up at the sky. Sunset

wasn’t far off. The light was turninggold, and sunlight shone through a gap inthe mountains and made a bar ofradiance on a wall of rock just beyondthe oasis. Matt saw something dazzle.

He jumped up and ran to the spotbefore the radiance slipped behind themountains. When he arrived, shadowhad almost hidden the mark, but he saw,in the red light of the setting sun, ashining scorpion. He pressed his handagainst it.

Slowly, silently, a door opened in thecliff. Matt felt the rock. It wasn’t stoneafter all, but a clever imitation. The doorrevealed a dark passage going down into

the earth. Matt shone the flashlightinside.

The floor glittered with gold coins.Farther on were weird statues that mighthave been Egyptian gods. Matt lay backagainst the cliff, breathing hard. It waspart of El Patróns dragon hoard. It wasthe first of the underground chambersthat stretched all the way to El Patrón’scoffin and his attendants.

Around the old man were bodyguardsto protect him in the shadowy world ofthe dead. There were doctors to attend tohis health. Mr. Alacrán could entertainhim with matters of business, and Stevencould offer opinions about the farming ofpoppies. There would certainly be anopium farm in El Patrón’s version of

heaven. Felicia, Fani, and Emilia couldadmire him from tables covered withmoro crabs and caramel puddings.

And Tam Lin? Matt took out the noteagain: El Patrón says I have to go withhim. I can’t do anything about it.

“You could have done somethingabout it,” Matt whispered. “You couldhave said no.” He stepped away, and thedoor slid shut again. He ran his fingersover the surface. He couldn’t tell wherethe opening had been, but he could find itagain with red light.

Late that night Matt sat by the fire andsmelled the good mesquite smoke as itspiraled up into the starry sky.Tomorrow he would begin the task ofbreaking down the empire of Opium. It

was a huge and terrifying job, but hewasn’t alone. He had Chacho, Fidelito,and Ton-Ton to cheer him on. He hadCelia and Daft Donald to advise him andMaría to be everyone’s conscience. Healso had Esperanza, but he couldn’t seea way out of that.

With everyone’s help, it would getdone.

You can do it , said Tam Lin from thedarkness on the other side of the fire.

“I know I can,” said Matt, smilingback.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Nancy Farmer has written two NewberyHonor Books, The Ear, the Eye and theArm and A Girl Named Disaster. Otherbooks include Do You Know Me, TheWarm Place , and three young picturebooks for young children.

She grew up on the Arizona-Mexicoborder in the landscape she evokes sostrongly in this novel. She lives with herfamily in Menlo Park, California.