Teomitl had stopped at the door, and all but tore off his sandals. I did likewise, my hands shaking on the cotton straps – trying to make out where the luminous thread was going.
The room beyond the curtain was much like the previous one: wide and airy, supported by painted pillars – and with a hint of the gardens through the back, a scent of muddy earth, a faint, raucous cry of quetzal birds seeking each other through the wooden bars of their cages.
It was packed full, as usual: almost every official in the palace seemed to have decided to attend, creating a riot of coloured cotton suits, of feather headdresses and jaguar pelts – of protective magical lattices, which hissed and faded when they met another incompatible magic.
Through the crowd, I could barely see the centre, but it seemed like some kind of hearing was going on – I caught Tizoc-tzin's voice, raised in anger, and another voice – a familiar one…
It wasn't Mihmatini's, but it was familiar all the same. Surely it couldn't be…?
Teomitl pushed his way through the crowd with the same determination he'd have used to ram a spear into a chest. I pushed ahead, oblivious of who I cast aside, of the angry voices that followed our passage, the buzzing of flies in my ears – that voice, it had to be…
"I've said it before: there is no plot against you, my Lord."
And, finally, the crowd parted, and I saw…
Tizoc-tzin, sitting on the high-backed seat of the Revered Speaker – his sallow face distorted in the familiar expressions of fear and anger.
I caught a bare glimpse of the judges to his side: two noblemen I vaguely recognised, and the familiar blackclad countenance of the She-Snake.
But, in the centre – in the centre was Acamapichtli, High Priest of Tlaloc, his clothes torn and bedraggled, looking almost vulnerable – save for his face. He'd raised it towards the judges' dais, looking the Revered Speaker and the other dignitaries in the eye – a forbidden act, sheer defiance that was going to cost him dearly once his hearing was over.
Teomitl had stopped, his gaze going from Tizoc-tzin to Acamapichtli – the greenish cast of his skin receding to show normal colours once more, his eyes the bewildered ones of a boy. He looked right and left, and finally caught sight of Mihmatini, who was standing a few paces away with the slave Yaotl by her side, her face clenched in anger. But she didn't seem to be in any kind of danger.
"What is the meaning of this?" he asked to Tizoc-tzin.
"This isn't your province," Tizoc-tzin said. His gaze moved from Teomitl to me – and in the depths of his eyes I saw only the magic of the underworld, calling out to me with the soothing song of the Dead.
Shuddering, I tore my gaze away from Tizoc-tzin. "My Lord," I said. "Grave accusations have been made–"
"I know." Tizoc-tzin waved a dismissive hand. "Don't worry, priest. They are being taken care of."
"I don't understand," I said. I swept an eye around the room, which was utterly silent. No one moved – save for the She-Snake, and in his smooth, round face I saw the first stirrings of anger. "Why–?"
"Isn't it obvious?" Tizoc-tzin asked. He laughed, and I heard the breath rattling in his lungs – such a beautiful sound, like the wheeze of funeral rattles. "Tlaloc's magic has been spilling out into the Fifth World – into the heart and entrails of my palace, priest!"
"I still don't see–" I said, though in reality it was all too clear. But I wanted him to say it, nevertheless.
Tizoc-tzin waved a hand towards Acamapichtli. "Isn't it obvious? The Storm Lord's emissary is here. It's him we should beware of, him we should cut open, him we should…" His voice dipped, and I couldn't hear the rest.
Acamapichtli hadn't moved. At length, he straightened up – slowly, stately, with that infuriating, effortless arrogance. "Will that be all, my Lord? I have the feeling we have explored the question quite thoroughly." I could have cheered.
"You– " Tizoc-tzin started, but the She-Snake interrupted.
"My Lord, I think it would be prudent to adjourn. You grow tired."
While Tizoc-tzin protested, Acamapichtli turned, slightly – until he could see me. "Acatl," he whispered, low and urgent. "They've dismantled everything."
"Everything?" I asked, with a sinking feeling in my belly. "Your sick patients…"
The look on his face was clear enough. The containment, however efficient it might have been, had been breached, and, worse than that, we had a man under accusation of grave treason loose in the palace, if not in Tenochtitlan.
We had to wait until the end of the audience to leave, which was, sadly, all too predictable. Acamapichtli and his priests were to remain in confinement until Tizoc-tzin could figure out further charges to bring against them. He wouldn't even listen to any other accusations – I caught a glimpse of the courtesan Xiloxoch arguing with a magistrate, but it was likely it would all come to nothing.
If it was even true. I had my doubts.
Afterwards, Mihmatini caught up with us.
"I didn't expect to see you here."
"Same goes for you," Teomitl said. He shook his head. "I thought you were in danger."
"In danger?"
Teomitl pointed to the thread coiled on the ground between them, which was now a faint light once more, barely visible unless one knew where to look. "It flared up."
"And of course you rushed to my rescue."
"Was I supposed to leave you–" He stopped. "What kind of danger were you in?"
Her face was set. "I lodged a formal complaint with Tizoc-tzin over the arrest of a High Priest. The second arrest in four months," she said, throwing a glance towards me.
"You did what? Are you mad?" I asked. When I had failed to enthusiastically support Tizoc-tzin four months ago, he had arrested me and threatened to execute me. And now she – Teomitl's wife in a marriage Tizoc-tzin hadn't approved of – told him to his face that he was wrong? "Do you want to be killed?"
"I'm old enough to take care of myself."
"Not in that kind of circumstance," Teomitl said.
"You think so?"
She'd always had a tendency to charge into trouble – climbing cacti to get maguey sap, with the firm belief flimsy cotton bandages would protect her against thorns; rowing to the Floating Gardens on her own and wedging her boat so deeply into the mud that she couldn't lift it out; sneaking into the calmecac school to see Neutemoc, never thinking the priests would keep a watch…
"Tizoc-tzin isn't quite a fool," Yaotl said. His face was grave. "Arresting a young woman because she spoke up against him in an open trial would make him look bad."
"She's the Guardian of the Sacred Precinct. Hardly harmless," I said, dryly.
"But she's eighteen, and a housewife." Yaotl smiled. "That's what people will see first, and Tizoc-tzin knows it. And if he doesn't, I'm sure his sycophant Quenami will remind him. He can't afford to do that, not in front of his noblemen."
But, presumably, he could afford to arrest the entire clergy of Tlaloc.
"I'm still free," Mihmatini pointed out. "If he were to do anything, he'd have done it by now."
And that was supposed to make me feel better? "Look–" I started – and gave up. She looked so much like a younger version of her predecessor Ceyaxochitl, and the gods knew nothing had ever stopped Ceyaxochitl once she'd made up her mind – only death, snatching her from us unexpectedly and pointlessly. "Just be careful, will you? You can't go on doing this, and I don't want you to get hurt."
"I appreciate the thought, but really, I'm old enough to take care of myself."
"I'm just worried about you," I said.
Teomitl moved to stand by my side. "The court is no fit place for anyone currently."
Mihmatini's eyes rolled upwards. "Honestly. If I didn't know better, I'd have thought you had prepared beforehand." Someone sniggered: Yaotl, who never wasted an opportunity to mock Mexica. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to be elsewhere. I'm lodging a formal complaint with the She-Snake as well."
"I wish you wouldn't do that," I s
aid. Ceyaxochitl had once told me that everyone had to grow up, but why did it have to happen so fast to those around me?
"Thank you for the honesty." Mihmatini grimaced. "Now, you're not going to make me change my mind, and you two look as though you'd better be elsewhere. I'd suggest we both get on with what we were doing."
And, before either of us could answer that, she was gone. Yaotl threw us an amused glance, and turned to follow his mistress out of the courts.
"Acatl-tzin…." I'd never seen Teomitl look so forlorn.
"She'll survive," I said, slowly. She had Yaotl to watch out for her, and probably the She-Snake. And surely she was right – surely, if Tizoc-tzin had wanted to act against her, he would have done it by now? "We'll deal with this later. We have to find the sick men first."
TEN
Contagion
The wing of the palace Acamapichtli had occupied had, indeed, been quite thoroughly dismantled – the white and blue cloaks of Tlaloc's clergy replaced by the familiar black garb of palace guards, and the courtyards filled with feather-clad noblemen instead of dark-faced priests. As I crossed into the courtyard that had been the centrepiece of Acamapichtli's power – albeit temporarily – I couldn't help but brace myself against protection spells, as if some kind of veil would still remain across the threshold.
But nothing happened; I crossed easily, as if nothing were there. We found the room where Acamapichtli had confined his sick men without much trouble: it was wide, swept clean of any furniture save three sleeping mats – and two of those mats were still occupied by groaning bodies. A slave was crouching by the second one – wiping the forehead with a wet cloth; he looked up as we entered, and then bent back to his task.
"They're still here," Teomitl said.
Both Coatl and the priest of Patecatl lay on the ground – their skins as pale as muddy water, their eyes sunken deep into the oval of their faces – and a familiar blue tinge around the lips, like the touch of a drowned man.
I knelt by Coatl, careful not to touch the body. My protection tingled and tightened – how effective was it, really? If this thing was passed on through contact…
Coatl was shivering, beads of sweat pearling at his temples; his gaze swung wildly from left to right, quite obviously not focusing on anything in the Fifth World. He lay curled on the sleeping mat, like a warrior around a mortal stomach wound, and his skin was black as if he'd been charred in a fire – except that it looked smooth, without any of the blisters I'd have expected. The eyes… the eye-whites were a deep red, against which the cornea obscenely stood out.
"Coatl?" I asked, though it was quite obvious he could no longer hear me – lying in the clutches of sickness, his mouth in the earth, his face in the mud, oblivious to anything save the voices of the gods. "Coatl."
A light played on my hands, turning them paler – a radiance as green as quetzal feathers seen through water, first quivering on the edge of being, and then growing stronger and stronger, until it had washed out every colour in the room, making even the painted frescoes on the wall seem of carved jade, gilding the faces of gods and warriors on the adobe until they, too, seemed alien and faraway. Teomitl knelt by my side, his hands outstretched over the body of the priest.
"Coatl," he called, and his voice was the thunder of storm-tossed waves, the slithering sounds of ahuizotl water-beasts moments before they fed on a corpse. "Honoured one, keeper of the red and black codices, holder of the wisdom – of the words as precious as wealth. Honoured one, travelling far in the wilderness, in the jungles – the time has come to wake up."
Coatl went rigid. "My Lord," he whispered, without opening his eyes.
"Wake up, honoured one." Teomitl's voice had the cadences of ritual – and its pitch was getting higher and higher – deeper, too, no longer the voice of anything human.
Coatl shuddered again. "I can't, my Lord!" Foam pearled up on his lips – his body arched, as if in the grip of a seizure, and then he fell back down again, hitting the mat with a thud.
Teomitl looked as though he was going to reach out and seize the body. "No," I said, laying a hand on his arm – a mistake, for the power within him struck as quickly as a coiled snake – pain travelled up my arm, and for a bare moment I had the feeling my skin was being flayed away, exposing muscles and bones that bent and snapped, sending my arm into spasms…
I jerked back, biting my lips not to scream. "Don't – touch – him," I managed through dry lips. "You–"
Teomitl's gaze moved towards me – held me, and for a moment I saw not him, but Jade Skirt – waiting for me with arms outstretched, to drag me down into the waters that had cleansed me at my birth… "Teomitl!"
"I'm the one you shouldn't touch, priest." His lips quirked into a smile – lazy and cruel, nothing human anymore – and then, as abruptly as She had appeared, the goddess was gone, and we were left in an empty room with an unconscious priest – unconscious, not dead, thank the Duality, for while I could see the shadow of Lord Death hovering over him, his spirit had not yet departed his body.
Teomitl looked at me questioningly.
"I did something foolish," I said, a little more abruptly than I'd intended to. Chalchuihtlicue, Jade Skirt, like most gods, always made me uneasy: pretty much the only god I could claim a modicum of common understanding with was my own god, Mictlantecuhtli – ruler of a place that welcomed everyone, patiently waiting for the corn to ripen and wither, the fruit to fall and rot.
"So did I." Teomit's face was harsh again. He looked down at Coatl. "I don't think he'll be awake for a while."
I didn't think he'd ever been in a state to hear us. On the positive side, though, he wasn't going to walk away and spread the sickness yet further.
My eyes caught on the third sleeping mat, and I froze, remembering what Acamapichtli had said. "There was a third man in confinement, wasn't there?"
"That's the first I hear of it," Teomitl said.
I shook my head. "A warrior, one of those who carried the body. Acamapichtli told me they'd found him, and that he was sick."
I didn't like that empty mat: it made me feel uncomfortable. It was one thing to have healthy warriors possibly passing on the sickness unawares, quite another to have a sick man get up and leave.
"But we don't know where he is," Teomitl said.
"No," I said. And we were obviously not going to find out from either Coatl or the priest of Patecatl. I decided on a more constructive approach: I walked out, yanking the entrance-curtain out of my way in a tinkle of bells, and asked the first guard of the She-Snake I met where the priests of Tlaloc had gone.
He looked at me, hard. "You're not one of them." It sounded halfway between an accusation and a question: he didn't quite know what to make of me.
"No," I said, bowing my head – letting him take in the regalia. "I'm High Priest for the Dead in Tenochtitlan."
"Tizoc-tzin said they were traitors," the guard said.
He– he had arrested the whole clergy of Tlaloc – as thoughtlessly as that? He– What could he be thinking of, cutting away everyone that sustained him?
He–
Focus, I needed to focus. Little good I would do, if I managed to get myself arrested yet another time. "They… might have information we need," I said, gaining in assurance as I spoke. "For the good of the city." I felt soiled, even though it wasn't quite a lie.
The guard looked at me, dubiously. Fortunately, Teomitl chose this moment to join me, and the sight of the Master of the House of Darts – Tizoc-tzin's brother – standing by my side helped the guard decide. "Fine." He gave me a location, which was a set of courtyards reserved for the private usage of officials.
When we arrived there, we found the courtyard had been turned into a jail: wooden cages filled it from end to end. Through the bars, I caught glimpses of the men crouched within – whispering hymns in a low voice, beseeching their god to help them. The hubbub of their voices was almost deafening – there had to be more than a hundred priests in that courtyard. Magic flowe
d over us: the harsh, pitiless feel of Huitzilpochtli's magic, laid over the cages and the courtyard to prevent the priests from casting any spells.
At the other end, under the pillars, a couple of wooden cages had been set aside for the higher ranks: Tapalcayotl and two other priests sat – it wasn't easy to look dignified and haughty while sitting hunched under a low canopy, but Tapalcayotl managed it. I guessed Acamapichtli had been giving his second-in-command lessons in arrogance.
"Well?" he asked when I came closer. "I assume you're not here to tell me we're to be freed."
"Not exactly," I said.
Dealing with Acamapichtli was bad enough; I didn't have to bear with that kind of attitude from Tapalcayotl, as well. "You're not in much of a position to argue or make demands."
Master of the House of Darts: Obsidian and Blood Book 3 Page 15