The Lord of Opium

“If only I could go there,” said Chacho, with the same longing Matt had noticed in the Bug. And then Matt thought, I own that space station. I can go there whenever I want.

The thought gave him a chill. When he was young, Celia had told him that the Indians in her village carried charms to keep from being carried off by the wind. And Matt had experienced a strange terror while lying exposed under a dark sky, as though he might lose his hold on the Earth and find himself lost among all those bright, inhuman lights. “Earth is a good place,” he said.

“Not anymore,” said Chacho, and Matt could find no answer for that. A small sliver of moon rose before the dawn. A rooster crowed somewhere in the shadowy buildings surrounding the hacienda, to be answered by another and another.

Ton-Ton yawned. “I’m too sleepy to, uh, think now, Matt, but tell me more about the m-microchips later. They seem to work together like the inside of a music box.”

“What a brilliant idea,” said Matt. “They must work together. If you can figure out how to break a music box, maybe you can do the same to microchips.”

“Give a box to Fidelito,” Chacho said. “He’ll break it for free.”

30

A VISIT TO THE AJO HILLS

In the morning, as the doctor had predicted, Listen had no memory of her night terror. She shuffled into the banquet room, and Matt noticed how frail she looked. Sor Artemesia lifted her into a chair and fetched a bowl of oatmeal. Mirasol waited patiently by the food cart.

“I don’t like oatmeal,” said Listen.

“Tough,” said Sor Artemesia.

Only Matt was up, and so they had the huge banquet hall to themselves. It was going to be a hot day. The desert had at last decided spring was over, and a heat haze shimmered over the garden. Birds flew back and forth through a lawn sprinkler.

“María told me about Mirasol,” said the nun, buttering a slice of toast.

“She has nothing to worry about. I talked to her alone and told her,” said Matt.

“I know you did. As for whether there’s something to worry about, I’m not sure.”

“You can’t think Mirasol is a—is a girlfriend,” stammered Matt.

“You pity her, which is a good thing, but it must not go any further.” Sor Artemesia bit into her toast and licked the butter off her fingers.

Matt was almost speechless with outrage. “You’ve been talking to Cienfuegos. Why does everyone think I’m such a monster?”

“Because you’re El Patrón reborn.”

“I’m not the same!” Matt felt his face tighten and a current of heat run under his skin.

“Not yet,” said the nun. “You’ve been given great power, and stronger people than you have fallen under its spell. Think of me as the slave that used to stand in Caesar’s chariot and whisper into his ear, ‘Remember. You, too, are mortal.’ ”

“How dare you say things like that to me!”

“I dare because I serve God, not the rulers of this world. I thought about El Patrón while I was praying in the chapel. How did a reasonably decent village boy wind up killing so many people? And I thought about whether you were strong enough to avoid his fate. Cienfuegos told me about your party. You’ve realized that you can have anything and do anything you want. You even have a clone.”

“That wasn’t my doing!” cried Matt.

“No, it wasn’t. But don’t you see the tremendous temptation set out before you? To live forever, to have everything you desire. That’s what hollowed out El Patrón’s soul.”

Sor Artemesia was trembling, and Matt realized that she was afraid. He remembered her nervousness when he’d first contacted the Convent of Santa Clara, and her obvious fear of Esperanza. Yet here she was, risking her life for what she believed was right. All Matt had to do was pass the word along to Cienfuegos, and the nun would join Major Beltrán under the poppy fields. He had that much power. Cienfuegos wouldn’t want to do it, of course, but he was powerless to disobey a direct order. El Patrón had given such orders many times.

“I’m not angry,” he said, although he was, a little. “I think you could stand up to Glass Eye Dabengwa.”

The nun laughed shakily. “I’m not that crazy. You’re still young. You can change. And now that I’ve said my piece, mi patrón, let’s stay friends.”

She held out her hand. After a moment’s hesitation, Matt took it. “Friends,” he said. He saw that Listen was paying close attention to the conversation.

“What party?” the little girl asked.

“Something you won’t be invited to if you breathe one word about it,” said Matt, for now Ton-Ton, Chacho, and Fidelito had finally rolled out of bed and were sniffing with great interest the food Mirasol had on her cart.

*  *  *