I stood up. Shaky. Numb. Like I couldn't quite feel my own body. Maybe I was trying to convince myself I wasn't really there. Maybe I wanted to believe that I was back there, back in the world, back in school, in a familiar hallway, standing by lockers, talking to my friends, far away, not here.

It couldn't be real. Could not be.

I stumbled, a step behind Jalil. The warriors were almost gentle in their treatment. Respectful, even. Not just to us but to the Vikings as well.

The Vikings went along like sheep. We did, too. But I guess I expected more from the Norsemen. They just hung their heads and shuffled along.

"Where's David?" I asked Jalil.

He shook his head.

"Figures he'd find a way to hide out," I said bitterly.

We were outside. The moon cast a blue glow over the city. Golden adobe walls and terra cotta roofs and volcanic black cobblestones were all blue and silver, shadows and darkness.

The air was humid. Jungle air. Warm, even at night. Thick. But there were no mosquitoes. Strange. Maybe Huitzilopoctli had banished them. Maybe he didn't want any competition for the blood supply.

I did see rats, or something awfully much like rats, scurrying across our path, trundling along the bases of walls.

They marched us along the street in near silence but for the shuffle of feet. Maybe two, maybe three hundred of us, guarded by no more than twenty warriors.

"Not many guards," I whispered to Jalil.

He nodded. "They're armed, we're not. But it's not like they're carrying shotguns or machine guns. One guy with a stone sword can't stop ten times his own number."

It was weird. We could have taken the guards down. We didn't. No one but us even seemed to be thinking about it. The guards themselves were laid-back. Relaxed.

"Come on," I said. "No one said we have to keep up." I jerked my head subtly.

Jalil caught my hint. We started walking a little more slowly, letting the Vikings flow around us. Maybe I was looking for David. Maybe I was just looking for an opportunity. Something. Anything.

What we found was Thorolf. He's a picture-book Viking: big, big arms, big chest, big beard. An older guy. Middle-aged. Not a kid. But we liked him. Thorolf was about as close as you could get to a mellow Viking.

"Thorolf!" I whispered.

"Yes, it is me. More the shame."

He didn't look like himself. Not the bluff, loud, backslapping, guffawing guy we knew.

Then again, I wasn't exactly myself, either. Imminent death will do that to you.

"Thorolf, we can take these guys," I whispered. "There's hundreds of us. Just a handful of them."

He looked puzzled. "We are prisoners."

"What Christopher is suggesting is, maybe we don't have to stay prisoners," Jalil said.

Thorolf kept on looking dumb. "We lost the battle. Their power was greater than ours."

"Yeah, we were there, dude," I said. "We know who lost and who won. But that was before. Right now we outnumber these guys about ten or fifteen to one. Bada bing, bada boom, we take them down, run for the gate, make it to the boats and haul butt."

"Their god is too powerful. Even Mjolnir wielded by Olaf Ironfoot could not defeat him."

"Maybe Big H - Huitzilopoctli, I mean - maybe he's asleep. I mean, it's night, right?"

Jalil jumped in with is usual, "I've figured it all out," tone of voice. "If there are still warriors in this society it can only mean that Huitzilopoctli limits his involvement. I mean, why would these guys still be training and practicing and making weapons and so on, if all they had to do was dial up Big H every time they ran into trouble?"

"What he said, " I urged Thorolf, pointing at Jalil. "Come on, man. Give the word. Let's take these guys out!"

"Give it up."

David! He was just a few paces behind us.

"Oh, so nice of you to join us," I said, torn between relief and annoyance.

He shrugged. "I didn't go anywhere. I've spent the night trying to get some of these guys to work on an escape. No luck. Not happening."

We sidled back from Thorolf to join David.

"They don't get it," David explained. "For these guys the battle was it. The last word. They bring Mjolnir, the Aztecs bring the Big H, everyone's brave and heroic, our side loses. So that's it. Now they're prisoners. The End."

Jalil nodded. "I was afraid that was it. Fatalism."

"Fatal is right," I muttered.

"It's a fatalistic outlook," Jalil went on, probably soothed by the sound of his own brain churning. "It's what comes of believing that great, supernatural powers control your life."

"Yeah, well, great supernatural powers do," I said. "Or didn't you happen to notice the big blue guy with the snake on his arm?"

"No. Bull. I'm not saying Huitzilopoctli isn't real. I'm just saying he doesn't seem to be able to keep his people fed. And anyway, Olaf knocked Big H's arm off with Mjolnir. So he's not invulnerable."

We had reached the end of our march. We had gone around what looked like the back side of the pyramid. There was a large building there, four stories tall with no windows and a single large door. He door was open, a rectangle of golden, welcoming light.

The head of or column started through.

"Now or maybe never," David said.

"The three of us, alone?" Jalil said. He shook his head. "You ask me to commit suicide before I can be murdered? Unh unh. There may still come a better chance."

I hesitated, waffling between the two of them. Then, I heard a strange, incongruous sound. The sound of a female voice giggling.

"There may be a better chance," I said.

We reached the doorway. Stepped through, behind the first hundred or so Vikings.

Inside there was a line of nine priests. A Supreme Court of dirt, crusted blood and odor. Several of them had knotted cords of thorns passed through their tongues, lips, cheeks, ears. Some of the thorns were an inch long. There were lacerations from pushing the thorns through the flesh. Sideways, in some cases. Some of the priests had ears that looked like the fringe on a buckskin jacket.

The Aztec priests took their body piercing very seriously.

At one end of the room was the best buffet table I'd ever seen. Huge mounds of bananas, mangos, brilliantly red tomatoes, and something that looked like cactus with the prickles removed. It was like the exotic produce section of the supermarket, times ten. There was roasted corn and roasted potatoes. Eggs in a dozen different sizes. Whole pigs. Whole . . . some other animal. There were pottery jars full of beverages. Flowers. Pastries. Tortillas. Beans.

It was brunch at the Aztec Hyatt Regency.

But, as hungry as I suddenly was, the food was only the second most interesting thing about the room.

Because, behind the line of priests, were women. Young, attractive women. A lot of women. At least one, maybe two for each prisoner. A lot of pretty, underfed women, most as skinny as Courtney Cox, many with faces painted yellow, and very little clothing between them.

"Our farewell party," Jalil said mordantly.

He was right, of course. The Vikings had mentioned this aspect of Aztec behavior. For the Aztecs feeding your heart to Huitzilopoctli was an honor. (One they themselves tried hard to avoid.) They figured the human sacrifices should be in good shape, well-fed and happy. They were going to stuff us full of food and booze they themselves didn't have enough of. All to make us fit for Huitzilopoctli.

The Aztecs were giving us a nice send-off. But still, a send-off.