Aztlan: The Courts of Heaven

by Michael Jan Friedman

  “I’ll lend you the beans,” I said, reaching into my pouch for a couple of gold pieces, “but I’m not going to forget about you. We’ll figure this out, you and me.”

  For a moment, I saw the old, dashing Nagual in his eyes. Then he bit back another sob and whispered, “Thanks, Maxtla.”

  I shrugged. “What are friends for?”

  • • •

  On the way back from Nagual’s, the painkiller really started to weigh me down—to the point where I fell asleep in the rail carriage and almost missed my stop in District Ten. Fortunately, I got up in time and staggered out onto the platform.

  The Arena loomed before me only a block away, a golden crown rising above the smaller, less impressive buildings around it. In fact, it had been designed to look like a crown—the kind worn by the Emperors in ancient days. Except it was made of gold-painted stone rather than actual gold, and it trailed brightly colored banners in place of the Emperors’ brightly colored parrot feathers.

  Talking with Nagual had inspired me to take another look at Coyotl’s workplace, which had once been mine and Nagual’s as well. Sure, I had seen the place the other night before I interrogated the team, but it never hurt to go back for another visit.

  I entered through the front door, showed the guard my bracelet, and made my way into the Arena proper—an immense well that ascended in row after row of green and gold painted seats from the ball court at its bottom to the roof high above it. The Eagles were practicing as I walked in, listening to Ichtaca bellow at them. His voice echoed like that of a god.

  He didn’t sound happy with the team. But then, he wasn’t accustomed to losing two games in a row—certainly not during his time with Yautepec, and not in his inaugural season with Aztlan.

  I took a seat high up in the stands and tried not to draw any attention to myself. There were twelve players down there in the I-shaped ball court, the Eagles’ six starters against the six who comprised their second team. Ichtaca, dressed in a loose-fitting white tunic with the Eagles’ green-and-gold insignia on it, was trying to show them what they had done wrong in the match against Malinalco.

  The players, stripped to their breeches, were covered with sweat despite the fact that they had a game later that evening. It was a sign of desperation, a mistake I wouldn’t have thought an old boulder like Ichtaca capable of making. Then again, who was I to say what was a mistake and what wasn’t—I, who had never coached a single game in the ball court, much less in the Sun League?

  On the other hand I was an Investigator, and as I watched the practice I took note of the players’ postures, the way they interacted with each other and with Ichtaca. Some were eager, perhaps seeing Coyotl’s disappearance as an opportunity to advance their own careers. Some were resentful, perhaps thinking they liked their previous coach’s style better than Ichtaca’s.

  In the end, I didn’t see anything that would steer my Investigation in a new direction. Still, it was hardly a wasted afternoon. I knew more about the team when it was over, and one never knew what information would prove valuable.

  As I sat there, I thought about the deep-fried rabbit wrapper I’d found in Coyotl’s trash container. From all accounts, Coyotl loved to play the game, and in fact it had been a long time since he had missed one. What had made him want to sit one out? I had a feeling that if I knew that, I would know everything.

  Maybe Coyotl’s mysterious noblewoman would be able to explain it to me.

  • • •

  At the appointed time, I showed up at Calli’s apartment for dinner, flowers in hand.

  She made a fuss over them, as if no one had ever brought her flowers before. As pretty as she was, I doubted it.

  I noticed, as she placed the flowers in a ceramic vase, that she had put her hair up. It exposed the curve of her neck, which was as beautiful as the rest of her.

  I had never seen a woman wear her hair that way in the Empire. In a braid, yes, of course. Hanging loose, on occasion. But never up that way.

  I liked it.

  “Sit,” Calli told me, indicating a long, buffalo-skin couch. “Can I get you some octli?”

  I shook my head. “The painkiller.” It didn’t make a good mix. Besides, I had to go back to work after dinner.

  “Right,” she said. She slapped her forehead with the heel of her hand. “What was I thinking? Juice, then? I’ve got apple, orange, grapefruit . . ."

  “Grapefruit.”

  She served me my drink in a wooden cup the color of clay. Such vessels were rare in the Empire. But then, I’d already guessed that her family had some beans.

  The grapefruit wasn’t bad either. It seemed fresher, somehow.

  “Nice?” she asked.

  I nodded. “Nice.”

  Calli smiled.

  Despite her veneer of sophistication, she seemed to enjoy playing hostess as much as the next woman. Fortunately, I liked being catered to as much as the next man.

  “Stay here,” she said.

  “I will,” I assured her.

  A moment later, she came out with a wooden platter that matched the cups. As she got closer, I could see an array of small grey fillets in a pale yellow sauce. Their smell was sharp and sweet at the same time.

  “What are they?” I asked, never having seen such a dish before.

  “Herring. They’re fish.”

  “Never heard of them.”

  “Try one.”

  I forked one of the fillets onto my plate. Then I picked it up and turned it around so I could get a better look at it. “There are little green spots in the sauce,” I noted.

  “Pieces of chopped dill,” Calli explained.

  I hadn’t heard of dill either. Where had she gotten such things?

  “Don’t you trust me?” she asked.

  “I do,” I said.

  Nonetheless, I bit off only a little of the fillet. The yellow sauce was sharper than I had expected, though not nearly as sharp as a good hot pepper.

  Calli smiled at me. “Like it?”

  To my surprise, I did. Somehow, the fishiness and the sharpness and the sweetness came together. “Where did you get them?”

  “The Scandinavian Peninsula.”

  “You’ve been to Europe?” I was surprised.

  “Yes. Last winter. I toured the place from top to bottom.”

  “You got permission from the Emperor?”

  “I was part of a trade delegation. There were twelve of us, each representing a different business.”

  “And which one were you representing?”

  “A tunic manufacturer. A man my family knows.”

  “What do the Euros want with tunics?”

  “They love them. In fact, they love everything about the Empire.”

  “I don’t blame them.”

  “It’s not because they know anything about us. In fact, it’s because they don’t know anything about us. We’re mysterious to them, and mysterious equals exciting.”

  “Did you have bodyguards?”

  “Actually, it’s quite safe over there.”

  I couldn’t tell if she was serious. “Really? How could that be? They’re constantly at war with each other.”

  “They’re not really wars, Maxtla.”

  “They’re not harvest festivals.”

  “People don’t die in them. Not anymore. Governments just flex their muscles a little.”

  “That’s not what I hear.”

  “It’s not what I heard either. But now I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”

  “You sure you were on the right continent?” I asked her.

  “Pretty sure. Europe’s not what people make it out to be. In some ways, it’s better there than what we have here in the Empire.”

  I didn’t believe it. “Name one thing that’s better.”

  “They have a lot more freedom.”

  I laughed. “Freedom from what? From peace of mind? From a place to live? From a full belly?”

  “Sometimes,” she conceded. “And of course,
those are the problems the Emperor likes to dwell on when he talks about Europe or Pacifica. But outside the Empire, people don’t need to ask permission to do what they want. If they feel like gambling, they gamble. If they feel like eating chocolate, they eat chocolate.”

  “So do we,” I said. “Nobody’s been busted for possession of chocolate since before we were born.”

  “It’s still a law,” said Calli, “isn’t it? They haven’t gotten rid of it. In fact, the nobility can conscript human sacrifices if they want. That’s still a law too.”

  Technically, she was right. But I had no problem with the nobility. “They’re a little pompous, sure. But they’ve always dealt fairly with us, as far as I can tell.”

  “What’s fair, Maxtla? Unless you’ve seen the alternative, fair is whatever the nobility says it is.”

  “The system works,” I said. “It’s worked for a long time. Everyone has a job if he wants one. Everyone gets medicine. Everyone gets an education.”

  “That’s strange,” she said, “coming from the guy who took down Itzcoatl. Before that, people probably said the institution of the priesthood was working too.”

  “That was different,” I said. “The problem was Itzcoatl, not the office of the High Priest.”

  “Maybe we’ll be saying that about one of the nobles someday. The problem wasn’t the institution of nobility, you know, it was him. Or her.”

  “What would you like us to do?” I asked. “Overthrow them? Turn society over to the masses?”

  “You make it sound so crazy. It’s what people have done everywhere else in the world, in one way or another.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  She looked like she was thinking about it.

  “All right,” I said, “so if you like the rest of the world so much better than Mexica, why did you come back?”

  Calli frowned. “Are you kicking me out of my own country?”

  “It’s a legitimate question.”

  “Because this is where I was born. This is where my people are. I don’t want to leave Mexica, Maxtla. I just wish it could be more like other places. I wish it could be free.”

  “It is,” I insisted.

  We had come full circle, like a snake trying to eat its tail. And though I hadn’t lost the argument, I saw that I had inadvertently lost something more precious along the way.

  Because Calli wasn’t looking at me anymore. She was staring out the window, as if she had found something there that she couldn’t take her eyes off.

  “I’ve got a bad feeling,” I said, “that I’ve just talked myself out of a wonderful evening.”

  She turned back to me, the light gone out of her eyes. “It’s my fault. I’ve been getting into these political discussions ever since I got home.”

  “Maybe you just need some time to acclimate.”

  “Maybe,” she conceded.

  “Should I see myself to the door?”

  She shook her head. “Of course not. You haven’t finished your dinner.”

  So I stayed. But it wasn’t the same between us after that. We talked, we laughed . . . but not with the same enthusiasm. And when I finally did leave, an hour later, the only kiss I got was on the cheek.

  “Thanks for dinner,” I said.

  Calli nodded. “Take care of yourself, Investigator.”

  Investigator.

  Good going, I thought, as her door shut behind me. If you’d been that smooth in the ball court, you wouldn’t have lasted past the first intermission.

  Halfway to the office, it was dark already. I was watching the sacred river glitter like gold in the reflected light of a pyramid when I got a call from Necalli.

  “I’ve got good news and bad news,” he said.

  He could be a child sometimes. “All right,” I asked, “what’s the good news?”

  “Coyotl isn’t missing anymore. You want to hear the bad news?”

  I didn’t have to. Necalli had played this game with me before. “He’s dead.”

  As I said the words, a chill climbed the rungs of my spine. This wasn’t just business, after all. Coyotl had been a ball court player.

  It didn’t matter if he’d been a good man or not. He’d bled in the Arena the same way I had. He’d felt the same surge of triumph when he saw his ball go through the ring. We were brothers.

  And he was dead.

  “We found him in District Four,” said Necalli, “in an alley.” He gave me the location. “See you there.”

  I looked out the window at Aztlan, at its proud, bright buildings shouldering the night and the awakening stars. The city wasn’t going to accept Coyotl’s death with equanimity.

  There would be trouble.

  Chapter Seven

  Even in death, Coyotl looked like a god. Lands of Death, I had known living men who looked worse.

  Except for the trickle of dried, black blood at the corner of his mouth, of course. That made it clear his days among the living were behind him.

  “Hard to believe,” said one of the six District Four officers assigned to guard the body. “He was my favorite player. He was everybody’s favorite player.”

  I agreed. Coyotl belonged in the Arena, not in a dark, dirty alley.

  “He couldn’t have been killed very long ago,” said the same officer, a man who looked like he had seen a few bodies in his time. “He’s not even cold.”

  So someone had kept him somewhere since he disappeared. And then, for some reason, that someone had killed him. And dumped him. At least, that was the way it looked.

  “Who discovered the body?” I asked.

  The officer tilted his head to indicate a back door. “A chef. He was taking out the garbage when he saw someone lying here. But he didn’t think the guy was dead until he turned him over.”

  “Must have been a shock,” I said.

  I knelt beside Coyotl. His black shirt, an expensive one made of the finest linen, was cut to pieces.

  “Twelve wounds,” said the officer. “Apparently, all with the same knife.”

  “Did you find it?” I asked.

  “The murder weapon? No. But we’re still looking.”

  “Any witnesses?”

  He shook his head. “Not yet. And, of course, we’ve got to be careful what questions we ask.”

  “Of course,” I said. We didn’t want it to get out that Coyotl had been killed. At least not yet.

  I heard the scrape of footfalls and turned to see Necalli come walking down the alley. “Took me longer than I thought it would,” he snarled. “Damned carriage moved like a sick tortoise.”

  He looked down at Coyotl and shook his head. Then he turned to the guy from District Four. “Secure the scene and get him out of here.”

  The officer nodded. “Yes, Chief.”

  Necalli turned to me. “I’ll get Chief Zayanya to call the Mirror people. Under the Emperor’s new information policy, we can’t keep this a secret from them.”

  “But we can get some warning before they run the story.”

  “One would hope.” Necalli studied Coyotl again. “He was the luckiest guy on the face of the Earth, Colhua. Now you and I are luckier. What does that say?”

  “I don’t know. That we shouldn’t envy fame and fortune?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know either.”

  Despite the painkiller, I stayed awake that night for the Eagles’ road game against the Salamanders of Xoconochco, the worst team in the league. With Coyotl, Aztlan would have won with its eyes closed. Without him, it would be a match.

  This time, it was the much-maligned Chipaua who staked the Eagles to an early lead. Darting between two defenders, he intercepted a pass and kicked the ball in for a score. But it was easy to see that the advantage wouldn’t last long.

  Aztlan was just out of sync. Every pass was a bad one. The defense had too many holes. It came as no surprise to anyone when Xoconochco tied the match at one, or when the Salamanders followed with a second goal. But no one expected the match to get out o
f hand—which is what happened.

  Xoconochco took chance after chance in the corridor, usually a bad idea. But without Coyotl to keep the Salamanders honest, they made their chances pay off.

  It was 5-1 before the Eagles knew what had hit them, and it went downhill from there. I stopped watching with a couple of minutes to go, after Xoconochco scored its ninth goal—more than any team had notched in a match against Aztlan since before I was born.

  Gloating over their victory, the Salamander fans hooted like owls as the Eagles left the ball court. I had never heard such a sound in Xoconochco when I played, not even on our worst nights in the place.

  The Salamanders probably heard it every time they went on the road. That was how bad they were.

  But the Eagles . . . ?

  District Fourteen was the nicest district in Aztlan, and The Sleeping Jaguar was nestled into the nicest part. I showed up exactly at noon, as I’d been instructed.

  Inside the restaurant it was cool and dark, and it smelled like lizard leather. The manager approached me as soon as I walked in.

  “Table for one?” he asked.

  “I’m joining someone,” I said.

  He smiled. “Of course. This way.”

  I followed him through the restaurant. It was empty except for a single customer in the back.

  She was sitting in a shell-shaped corner booth meant for a party of eight, a single candle burning in the center of her table. Most people would have felt uncomfortable with all that wasted space. She didn’t look uncomfortable at all.

  As I got closer, I got a better look at her. She was attractive, no question. Big eyes, proud cheek bones, flawless skin. But even in the candle light, I could see a hint of wrinkles under her eyes and at the corners of her mouth. She was fifty cycles if she was a day, and Coyotl had barely broken thirty.

  He could have found someone younger and prettier if he had wanted. Easily. But the woman was a noble. To some guys that meant something. Maybe Coyotl was one of them.

  Anyway, she wasn’t one of the nobles you saw on the Mirror every so often, so I didn’t recognize her. But then most members of the noble caste preferred to stay out of the public eye, especially those who were married and carrying on an affair with a ball court player. That might or might not be all right with their mates, but it made for bad publicity with the masses.