“What I don’t understand,” I said, “is why. You’re a nobleman. You didn’t need to fix anything to make a pile of beans.”
Xochipilli smiled. “Such a quaint expression—a pile of beans. As if we were still digging in the dirt under the rule of Moctezuma. Unfortunately, Investigator, there are piles and there are piles. And we in Mexica aren’t the only ones in possession of them.
“Europeans like their gambling too. And in recent cycles, they have come to enjoy gambling on the Sun League. Being an owner, I saw their eagerness to do so as an opportunity.
“But it didn’t turn out that way. I lost bet after bet, and my debts began to add up. Before long, I owed my Euro friends a substantial sum.” He shrugged. “I had to do something to pay it off. I’m sure you understand.”
I felt my jaw clench. “What I understand is that you cheated millions of commoners who bet on their beloved Aztlan, often more than they could afford. And most of them did their betting in your gambling parlors.”
Xochipilli laughed. “Cheated, you say? Of what?” He looked around the room at his fellow nobles. “The chance to acquire a few beans? And if these commoners acquired them, what difference would it make in their lives? Would it make them any less common?”
I wanted to ask him if the beans he acquired made him any more noble. Instead I asked, “Even Coyotl? The man who pulled more spectators into your Arena than any other player in the history of the game?”
“He was a commoner too,” said Xochipilli. “I wasn’t going to knuckle under to him. I did what I had to do to neutralize the threat.”
“And Pactonal was only too glad to help,” I suggested.
“He was near the end of his career, and his wealth management skills had never been what you’d call impressive. He needed a payday, and I made one available to him.” He shrugged. “It was what anyone in my position would have done.”
No one in the room seemed inclined to disagree.
I wasn’t surprised. They were nobles. They lived by a different set of rules.
“This isn’t just a crime,” I said. “It goes to the heart of who we are in the Empire. If we can’t trust what goes on in the ball court—the one place where a commoner can rise to fame and fortune—then the riots we’ve seen are just a taste of what’s to come.”
“That sounds a bit like treason,” said Xochipilli.
“I’m not the one who’s put the Empire in danger,” I told him.
His mouth twisted a little. Obviously, I had hit a nerve. “No one has put the Empire in danger, Investigator. At least, not yet. And the Empire will remain secure as long as the substance of this conversation remains within the confines of these walls.”
“Which it will,” said Atlahua, iron in his voice.
Xochipilli smiled at me. “No doubt. Colhua here may be arrogant beyond his station, but he’s not a complete fool. Are you, Investigator?”
“Not a complete fool, no,” I said. Then I took the one shot I had. “Which is why I feel compelled to remind you that even a nobleman can be held accountable for murder—when his victim is another nobleman.”
Xochipilli looked at me as if I had lost my mind. “I take it back—you are a fool. Coyotl was every bit as much a commoner as you are.”
“Not true, Your Excellence. Not anymore. An acquaintance of mine advised me recently that even before Coyotl disappeared, he had all the points he needed for elevation.”
Xochipilli turned as pale as maize. “What . . . ?”
“Coyotl wasn’t a commoner when you ordered Pactonal to kill him, Your Excellence. He was a nobleman. And the penalty for killing a nobleman is a steep one.”
Xochipilli’s eyes looked hollow. “That can’t be right. Coyotl—”
“It is,” I assured him.
I handed him the tally I had received from Chief Zayanya earlier in the day. Though Zayanya hadn’t said where he got the information, a little research had borne it out.
“You can check the mathematics, if you like,” I said. Then I added, because I couldn’t resist, “Or maybe you would prefer to have your people do it for you.”
Xochipilli looked as if he desperately wanted to say something—but nothing came out of his mouth. Suddenly, his hand pulled back as if he meant to hit me. I braced myself for the blow, but somehow he restrained himself.
I doubted it was the first time he had raised his hand against a commoner. With luck, it would be the last.
Just then, someone burst into the gallery. I turned along with everyone else and saw Acama fill the door frame. He was bleeding from a vicious cut over his eye but he still looked capable of breaking a guy in half.
Judging by the way he was glaring at me, I was sure I knew which guy he had in mind.
He looked to Xochipilli, silently asking for permission to go after me—to drag me from the room, at the very least. But all Xochipilli could do was gesture for him to go away.
Acama looked confused—and disappointed. But in the end, he had no choice. He muttered an apology to the assembled nobles, backed out of the room, and pulled the doors shut behind him.
I wondered how much longer he would have a job working for Xochipilli. No doubt, he was wondering the same thing.
I felt a hand on my arm. It was Atlahua’s. “Please,” he said, and pulled me ever so gently in the direction of a side door.
There was a small, wood-paneled room beyond it. I waited for the nobleman to close the door behind us before I said, “It was you, wasn’t it?”
Atlahua frowned into his chocolate, as if there were something more to see there than ground-up cacao beans.
“You were the one who got Ichtaca off the hook,” I said, “and sent me the information about Coyotl’s elevation, and told Zayanya there would be a party here this evening.”
He looked up at me. “Even for noblemen, there are limits to what is considered acceptable behavior. Xochipilli exceeded them.”
“You were involved with Zincicha too, I think.”
“Zincicha realized that the only way to protect himself from Xochipilli was to enlist the aid of another nobleman. And since he knew me as the owner of his ball court team . . ."
“But weren’t you angry about his fixing games?”
“Very. However, ball court players make mistakes like everyone else. Besides, he offered to come forward when others would not.”
“Giving you an opportunity to expose Xochipilli without doing so on your own.” After all, the Emperor detested the idea of noblemen incriminating other noblemen.
“Zincicha gave you the tools,” said Atlahua. “You employed them.”
“What’s going to happen to Xochipilli now?” I asked. It came out a little too much like a demand.
The nobleman didn’t seem offended. “He will have reason to regret his crime. You may rely on that.”
It wasn’t an answer, but it was an assurance. Xochipilli wouldn’t be punished like a commoner, because neither Atlahua nor any of his peers was about to open that door. But Xochipilli would pay nonetheless.
“Thank you,” I said.
The nobleman smiled a little. “Thank you, Investigator.”
Because he couldn’t have done it without me.
It occurred to me that I was in a unique position—one I had never been in before, and would never be in again. I would have been a fool not to take advantage of it.
“I may be overstepping my bounds,” I said, “but I have a favor to ask.”
“Anything,” said Atlahua, though we both knew he wouldn’t grant just anything.
“I have a friend named Nagual. You may have heard of him.”
“The Nagual who starred on Axaya Xochipilli’s championship squad? Your teammate?”
“That one. Unfortunately, he’s run into hard times. And bad habits.”
Atlahua nodded. “That is unfortunate.”
“But he’s over those habits now, Your Excellence. He’s a good man, and he knows the ball court as well as anyone. If you had an openi
ng in your organization . . ."
“How long was Nagual a victim of these bad habits?”
“I don’t know. But if you hire him, I don’t think you’ll regret it. His problems stemmed from a bad break or two, and if he got a good break it would make a difference.”
The nobleman considered the request. “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve given someone a second chance. I’ll see if we have something for someone of Nagual’s talents.”
“I’m indebted to you,” I said.
“No more than I am to you,” said Atlahua, smiling. I took that as a sign that Nagual would find himself with a job soon.
At that point, I had no reason to linger. It wasn’t as if I was going to be feted with a round of chocolate morsels.
“I guess I’ll be going,” I said.
Atlahua held up a hand. “Not just yet.”
I wondered what else there was to say.
“I do agree with Xochipilli,” he said, “in one respect. What was spoken of in that room must remain a private matter. If you feel even the slightest urge to make it public, I would strongly advise you to suppress it. Do we understand each other?”
“We do,” I said.
After all, he was a nobleman and I was a commoner, regardless of what had happened in Xochipilli’s gallery. In that regard, nothing had changed.
Atlahua eyed me a moment longer. Then he said, “You’re limping. You should see a physician, Investigator.”
I couldn’t help chuckling a little. “At this hour?”
“I know of one who won’t mind. He is paid well to make himself available at any hour.”
“Thank you, Your Excellence. But if it’s all the same to you, I’ll buzz him tomorrow.”
He smiled a little. “Of course. You want to get some rest first.”
That wasn’t what I had in mind, but I nodded.
Atlahua gave me the doctor’s code and said the guy would be expecting my buzz. Then he lifted his cup to me and returned to the other room.
For the first time since I’d walked into Xochipilli’s gallery, I had a moment to think about the noblewoman I’d met in The Sleeping Jaguar. If she was indeed Atlahua’s mate, as she appeared to be, the gods had seen fit to weave her a web of intricate design.
After all, Atlahua bore a distinct resemblance to Coyotl—the kind of resemblance that made me wonder. Nagual had said that Coyotl’s mother was a slave for the House of Atlahua. Was it possible that young Atlahua had enjoyed relations with his family’s slave? And that it was his seed she had carried when she gave birth to Coyotl?
Which would have made Coyotl, the man the noblewoman had embraced as her lover . . . Atlahua’s son. A web of intricate design indeed.
Unfortunately for Coyotl, the blood of House Atalua still wouldn’t have made him a nobleman. The emperors of Mexica had always frowned on the notion of recognizing bastards as noble heirs.
All the more reason, maybe, for Atlahua to try to buy Coyotl’s contract from the Eagles. And to keep track of the points Coyotl had accumulated in the ball court, knowing they might lead to Coyotl’s elevation one day. And more recently, to see Ichtaca freed when he knew Xochipilli was the one behind Coyotl’s murder.
It was a speculation I would take to my grave.
Looking around, I saw that the side room had a second door. It led to a wooden landing outside the house. Soon I found myself descending a set of stairs that hugged the western wall.
Fortunately, the city limits and the nearest rail station weren’t all that far away. A half hour’s walk down the road, maybe a little less, as long as your knee wasn’t killing you and your painkiller wasn’t starting to flood your brain.
Me? I took it a little slower.
When I finally reached the station, it wasn’t easy getting up the stairs. I had Acama to thank for that. But it could have been worse—much worse.
The platform was empty. And quiet. There weren’t even any birds to break the stillness. Off in the distance, the golden pyramids of Aztlan loomed over the tree line, brazenly outshining the pale blue disc of Old Man Tecciztecatl.
According to the schedule I saw posted on a wall, a carriage would be along in a few minutes. I lived on the near side of Aztlan. If I wished, I could be home in no time.
But I wasn’t going home.
A couple of weeks earlier, I wouldn’t have considered going anywhere else. But in the last few days, home had begun to feel lonely.
You were right, Aunt Xoco. There was nothing wrong with women from the Merchant City. Some of them, at least.
I smiled to myself. In a few hours, Aztlan’s people would rise from their beds and face the dawn. But for now it was still night, and it held possibilities that wouldn’t withstand the light of day.
I had taken advantage of a couple of them. I’d stood up to a nobleman. I’d seen justice done in a way it had never been done before. That meant something to me.
My only regret was that I couldn’t tell Calli about it. But I had a feeling she would take me in anyway.
About the Author
Michael Jan Friedman is the author of nearly 70 books of fiction and non-fiction, about half of them set somewhere in the wilds of the Star Trek universe. His first book, The Hammer and The Horn, was published by Questar, an imprint of Warner Books, in 1985. In the next couple of years, he wrote The Seekers and The Sword and The Fortress and The Fire, completing what has come to be known as The Vidarsaga Trilogy, as well as the freestanding novel The Glove of Maiden’s Hair.
In 1992 Friedman penned Reunion, the first Star Trek: The Next Generation hardcover, which introduced the crew of the Stargazer, Captain Jean-Luc Picard’s first command. Over the years, the popularity of Reunion spawned a number of Stargazer stories in both prose and comic book formats, including a six-novel original series.
Friedman has also written for the Aliens, Predator, Wolf Man, Lois and Clark, DC Super Hero, Marvel Super Hero, and Wishbone licensed book universes. Eleven of his book titles, including the autobiography Hollywood Hulk Hogan and Ghost Hunting (written with SciFi’s Ghost Hunters), have appeared on the prestigious New York Times primary bestseller list, and his novel adaptation of the Batman & Robin movie was for a time the #1 bestselling book in Poland (really).
Friedman has worked at one time or another in network and cable television, radio, business magazines, and the comic book industry, in the process producing scripts for nearly 180 comic stories. Among his comic book credits are the Darkstars ongoing series from DC Comics, which he created with artist Larry Stroman, and the Outlaws limited series, which he created with artist Luke McDonnell, as well as tales of Superman, Batman, Green Lantern, Flash, Fantastic Four, and the Silver Surfer. He also co-wrote the story for the acclaimed second-season Star Trek: Voyager episode “Resistance,” which guest-starred Joel Grey.
Friedman lives with his wife and two sons on Long Island, where in his rapidly dwindling free time he enjoys running, kayaking, and playing single-wall handball.
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