by Zoe Saadia
Putting it all into the wild dash, afraid to trip in the deepening darkness, Chantli raced after their self-appointed leader, determined not to let him out of her sight wherever he was heading to. It felt safer by this boy’s side. The rasping breath of the others assaulted her ears, especially that of the Palace’s boy. That one rushed beside her, keeping close, typically determined, a courageous beast.
The breeze was refreshing, rustling in the thick reeds, murmuring dreamily, heavy with the lake’s odor, offering shelter. As the shouts behind her back erupted louder, she leaped toward the swaying mass with no additional thought. The water was cool, pleasantly calm but for the surrounding darkness. Crouching in its shallow depths, she held her breath, taking in another bout of splashing, feeling the smaller boy huddling close by, waist-deep in the water, clearly uncomfortable but not daring to move. Troubled, she wondered where their calmecac companions and Patli were. Had they run on, knowing a better place to hide? She felt the cold sweat breaking, covering her back, making her shiver in the intensified breeze. The flickering light neared, dancing in the wind, quivering.
“It’s Tepecocatzin’s doing,” rasped an angry voice not far away, muffled by the wind but clear. “All this spying around. It’s that old scoundrel, trying to stick his nose in again.”
The other man just grunted in response, poking his light here and there, judging by the fluttering of the weak flame. “Can’t see anything with this thing. Are you sure there was someone in there?”
“Am I sure?” the other’s voice grunted. “Didn’t you smell the stench of the burning oil? Are you simple in the head?”
She could almost feel them, so close the man with the torch was. Holding her breath, she tried not to succumb to the panicked urge to run.
“Check under the causeway. If they didn’t climb up it, they may still be around.”
The torch danced away.
“When I lay my hands on the filthy intruder,” cried out the voice with no light, drawing away as well, to the overpowering immensity of her relief. “He and his master will wish they had never been born, let alone stuck their noses into any of this.” A heartbeat of pause. “And the meddling mealy-mouthed ChalchiuhNenetzin too! What a piece of work that worthless filthy nenetl is!”
She felt her nerves quivering like an overstretched copper string, the boy beside her just an inanimate form, barely breathing. However, at the last words, he stirred imperceptibly. Afraid to move as yet, she listened, the reeds rustling too loudly, as though trying to interfere. Where did these men go? Was there a place to hide further down the causeway? The boy moved again, shifting lightly, causing some of the reeds to murmur more urgently.
“Hush,” she hissed, afraid that he might be intending to come out. “They are still here.”
“I know that,” he breathed, just a warm gust brushing past her cheek. Then a murmur containing a long, elaborately colorful expletive came. Chantli stifled a nervous giggle. But this boy was something else! “My sister is no filthy nenetl,” he breathed in the end.
Before she could react to that claim, with an outburst of hysterical laugher, maybe, having understood the double meaning well enough, something that their angry pursuer clearly implied, a new outburst of splattering was upon them, the surrounding reeds rustling with a thundering quality now, bringing danger.
Leaping sideways and away, out of an instinct rather than as a conscious reaction, she saw the shadow shooting across, grabbing her companion by his shoulder, pressing hard. The boy, losing none of his fighting spirit, struggled fiercely, spluttering in the shallow water, digging in with all his limbs, it seemed, resisting his assailant’s attempt to drag him out. It was a strange vision. Like in a dream, Chantli watched, stupefied for a moment. Yet, as the man cursed and his silhouetted arm came up, then descended with force, generating a muffled thud, then another, causing the boy to cry out, she pounced on this same hand with matching determination, more angered than frightened now. He was just a little boy!
Her fingers claws, slipping but holding on, she clung to the sinewy arm, revolted by its touch and smell but determined. Ahuitzotl couldn’t be allowed into these people’s hands, to follow Miztli’s fate, maybe. Oh no!
The man whirled around, very put out, or so the loudness of his curses told her. A wild shake of the assaulted arm accompanied by a powerful push had her skidding into the water, to splatter there and spit in disgust, nauseated by the taste of the slimy mud, panicked again. Before she could straighten up on her own, a ferocious yank dragged her head upward, as though determined to make her entire scalp come off.
Crying out against her will, the pain so sudden and encompassing, she flailed her arms wildly, trying to free herself, or at least to find a grip. It didn’t help. The same force that pulled her out was now dragging her along and onto the dry land, unconcerned with the multiple of obstacles her limbs hit along the way. Amidst the dread and confusion, she felt Ahuitzotl’s hands closing somewhere around her ankles, hurting more than helping as he was pulled along, achieving no worthwhile results.
When the ordeal stopped momentarily, she felt nothing but relief, curling on the sand helplessly, welcoming the respite, concerned with nothing but the receding pain. Had her hair come off for good? Instinctively, she reached for it, feeling out the agonized areas, afraid to think of anything else, a torch thrust too closely to her face, making her eyes water. As they focused, she could see the silhouettes, the one holding a torch leaning forward, studying her, the other holding the boy, struggling against his desperate kicks.
“They are nothing but children. Again!” exclaimed a voice that by now was familiar, the calmer of the two. “What is going on?” Even in the darkness, it was easy to see his squint. “Who are you?”
The light thrust yet closer. She squirmed to escape its heat, rewarded by a merciless kick for her efforts.
“Stop squirming and answer the question, you stupid fowl,” demanded her interrogator, pushing her with the tip of his foot again, this time in a lighter way, forcing her to face the darkness of the star-studded sky. “What are you two doing here?”
“I…” She tried to make her voice work, too terrified to succeed. In her entire life, no one had kicked her or hurt her otherwise; her father too nice and her brothers too old, not interested in the lives of their younger half-siblings. “I… we…”
“Stop stammering.” Grabbing her shoulder, the man yanked her back onto her feet with surprising ease, as though she had no weight at all, like a reed-woven doll. “Who sent you into this tunnel? Who?” The question was accompanied with a resounding slap that made her ears ring. Staggering, she would have fallen but for the firmness of the hurtful grip. “Who brought you here?”
She whimpered in response, unable to think clearer than that.
“Don’t you dare hit her!” Ahuitzotl’s smallish silhouette leaped toward them, squirming from his previous captor’s grip, surprisingly agile. “Don’t you dare –”
In response to this spirited chivalry, her assailant loosened his grasp, letting her go while grabbing her rescuer instead, landing him a generous blow in the process. The boy’s smothered yelp brought Chantli back to her senses in force, sending her launching at their mutual enemy, only to be seized by his companion, again with a contemptible ease. Beside herself, she wriggled and kicked, held too firmly again but berserk, not caring for her safety anymore. It was all just too much.
The man shook her hard, then tried to better his grip while dragging her closer to their meager source of illumination, now dancing wildly while its holder was busy with a struggle of his own, his prisoner yelling and punching, beyond any reasonable behavior as well. More sounds joined the turmoil, and as she shoved to break free again, her body suddenly took the weight of her assailant, leaning heavily against her, strangely limp, not clutching into her; or anything else anymore, for that matter.
Unable to keep her balance, she crashed down and into the sharp gravel, hurting all over, terrified beyond reason, takin
g his weight as he went after her, so listless and heavy, disgustingly soft. In a panic, she screamed, pushing and kicking, crawling from under the revolting pressure, seeing nothing but darting silhouettes, hearing the blows. Oh, but it was a nightmare!
In another heartbeat, one of the silhouettes dropped next to her, catching her shoulders between his palms, pulling her up uncompromisingly. She fought this new attempt at forcing her into something, sinking her scratched, aching elbow into his side, trying to kick. Then the familiar voice penetrated the raging tide of terror.
“Stop it, Chantli, stop it! What are you doing?”
Still, it took more squirming and pushing to make the words sink in. Upright already, she blinked, trying to understand. Necalli, unmistakable even in the meager illumination of a thin moon, was clutching her tight, staring at her, puzzled and worried, or maybe just dreadfully confused; she wasn’t sure which.
“You… where did you come from?” she muttered, taking in the rest of the scenery, the narrow piece of the dry land adorned with two dark sprawling forms, with another standing above, as though at a loss. Ahuitzotl was hovering next to it, leaning forward but at a safe distance, not about to chance a closer look.
“I think… I think they are done for. Eh, Axolin?” There was a tone of uncertainty in Necalli’s voice, so atypical for the boy she had grown to know through the last two days.
Axolin’s silhouetted head moved faintly, in a vague, non-committal gesture. She could feel Necalli shuddering by her side, still pressed against her, holding her close, as though readying for another attack. Reassured, she didn’t try to move away.
“What rotten pieces of stinking excrements!” exclaimed Ahuitzotl, apparently gathering his fighting spirit back.
“Did they hurt you?” asked Necalli, brisker this time, regaining his cheerfully bossy self as well. “Why didn’t you two run after us?”
That was a good question. Chantli tried to shrug against the embarrassing trembling that was setting in, interfering with her ability to do simple things, like shrugging or talking. “Are th-they… are they… dead?”
She hoped Necalli wouldn’t volunteer to go nearer and check, afraid that if he stopped supporting her, she might collapse onto the ground once again, unable to cope with this violent shaking. To accompany him those additional few steps was out of the question; she didn’t intend to near any dead or even just merely unconscious bodies. Not of these dangerous, scary, terrible people!
“Maybe. I don’t know and I’m not about to find out. Not this time.” Shrugging, he began to turn away, propelling her alongside, not letting her shoulders go – thanks all the mighty deities for that! “Those training swords aren’t that bad.” He shook his head forcefully, as though trying to get rid of a bad memory. “Come, you two. Hurry. The telpochcalli boy will paddle away all by himself if we don’t hurry. He is well capable of something like that.”
“Paddle?” repeated Ahuitzotl, turning to follow with atypical obedience.
“Yes, paddle. There was this silly canoe right under the causeway. But for you two deciding to enjoy a dip in the reeds, we would have been in the middle of the lake by now.” Another brief pause. She could feel that he was trembling too, lightly but unmistakably, in many little tremors. “Come, Axolin. Stop staring and come.”
Chapter 13
The woman was strikingly beautiful and exceedingly well dressed. Even in the dim light of a pair of torches, it was easy to see the deep green of her blouse, the glitter of her jade necklace, an elegant row of thin polished pieces of turquoise chained to a single base of beautifully polished green precious stone. As she leaned closer, it swung prettily, slowly, and with much dignity, as though aware of its own preciousness. Miztli couldn’t help staring.
“Why is the boy beaten and tied?” she demanded, her voice cool and melodious, not warming or promising safety, yet not scowling or menacing either. Indifferent, uninvolved. Better than the rest of them.
“He is wild and dangerous, Revered Princess.” The elderly man stepped forward, as though eager to shield the woman from his, Miztli’s, possible attack.
He wanted to roll his eyes or to tell them all go and dump themselves into the lake, the beautiful princess included. The elderly man’s name was Tepecocatzin, he knew by now, as the brute that had kidnapped him from his own peers had addressed the elderly dignitary by this name enough times to catch the sound of it and to make him remember.
Not that he cared by this point. Since the last desperate attempt to escape, coming back to his senses in this, yet another dilapidated shed, retied for good measure, more tightly than before, his head resonating with clubs pounding inside it, his body so numb it didn’t even hurt anymore, he discovered that he simply didn’t care. Unconcerned, uninvolved, unresponsive. It was good to be this way; it made him feel safe. For what could they do to him now, except finish him off for good? Nothing else, absolutely nothing.
So he paid no attention to the threatening glares of his latest kidnapper and the growling quality of his words. Neither did he pay any respect to his new, more dignified interrogator, this same elderly man to whom his kidnapper addressed groveling comments and observations, taking with much deference, using the honorable ‘tzin’ every time he dared to speak the nobleman’s name. Tepecocatzin – an impressive alias, as impressively cold and aloof as its owner, smelling of aristocracy.
Well, as haughty as this man was, he turned out to be a better company than the kidnappers from the warehouses, or their frighteningly soft-spoken master; certainly a more preferable presence than the man who had dragged him here, a treacherous piece of rotten fish that he was. A puzzling one as well. First advocating killing their prisoner, then kidnapping him from his fellow kidnappers, then turning all deferential and submissive before a haughty piece of work from this neighboring silly town. Disgusting. And boring too. He wished they would decide what to do with him once and for all, filthy pieces of dung that they were.
“You shouldn’t have come here in person, Revered ChalchiuhNenetzin,” went on the older man, his voice warm and tender, not remote anymore, brimming with worry. “At this time of the night… the spies of your husband… Oh, but what if someone had seen you leaving the Palace? There is no telling what this man might do to you. An allegation of unchastity; oh, this would be enough to give him an excuse…” The elderly voice trailed off, dying in the semi-darkness.
The woman looked up, her smile flashing suddenly, warming the night. She was a beautiful sight to look at, her face delightfully soft with no sharp angles to it, gleaming delicately, exquisitely. It made him think of a refined, subtly carved mask made of melted copper mixed with gold, annealed to perfection with those famous warm and cold hammering techniques afterwards.
“Oh Honorable Uncle! Your love and worry warms my heart. It makes it up for the cold and indifferent treatment I received here in Tlatelolco Palace from the day of my arrival, from the dismal wedding ceremony I was subjected to.” The smile was gone, replaced with pressed lips and a pair of knitted eyebrows, two perfect lines. A less pretty sight. “But for you, my life would have been so miserable, so worthless. My son sleeps in a drab cot, with not enough blankets and braziers to make his nights warmer, with a miserable nursemaid and barely enough servants to see to his needs.” The pouting mask became more definite. “I’m not concerned with my private needs anymore, but only with those of my son, the lawful heir to the Tlatelolco throne but for the shameless manipulations of heartless people.”
Fascinated, Miztli tried to wriggle into a better position without drawing their attention to him. Since being made to drink water and then that spicy beverage the people of the other warehouse promised but didn’t have time to deliver to him, the pain and exhaustion had receded a little, yielding their place to this new sensation of eagerly welcomed indifference. Yet now he felt his curiosity arising anew, not a bad feeling.
“I know who these people are,” muttered the elder man. “If only your revered husband was to bend his e
ar to my advice again, like he used to do before deceitful Teconal managed to ingratiate himself and his vile ways in your Palace, to ensconce his despicable person in the adviser’s chair and his vile daughter in our ruler’s bed!”
The woman’s lips pressed tighter, taking much of her beauty away. He saw his kidnapper stirring beside the doorway, moving uneasily, shifting his weight from one foot to another. Didn’t those two nobles have better things to do with their night besides huddling in this dilapidated shed, gossiping about politics and some palace’s intrigues? He remembered Chantli boasting her knowledge of Tenochtitlan’s Palace and from a royal source. Back then, all he wanted was to be able to sneak back into the workshop and forget about this whole thing, but now he wondered. Shouldn’t he have listened more carefully, asked the girl questions? It certainly helped him to avoid being killed the previous night, her silly Palace’s gossip, and it might still make his survival possible. That scary man in the warehouse wanted to know what he knew, and his name was, indeed, Teconal, wasn’t it? Oh yes, Revered Teconal; that was how the smugglers back there addressed him, with plenty of humble floor-staring at that. And now these two nobles were talking about this same scary man and his ways of poisoning this other island’s ruler’s mind, or slipping vile daughters into people’s bed. What was this man’s name? Chantli used it too, while marveling at the prettiness of this Tenochtitlan’s princess’s name. Should have seen the princess herself.
He glanced at the doll-like face once again, all hidden by the nondescript hood of her cloak except the peek of the vivid green and the marvelous jade necklace, so fitting her name Noble Jade Doll. What did this woman want with him?
As though reading his thoughts, the exquisite eyes shifted back to him, measuring him with an unconcealed curiosity, clouded with contemplation, pondering. Forcing his body into stillness – not a difficult fit with his limbs being numb anyway – he didn’t let his eyes drop or wander. If this woman wanted something, she would just have to tell it outright. He was not up to ceremonial games.