Tlaloc had said the epidemic wasn't Chalchiuhtlicue's will, and in truth, I couldn't have seen why He'd have lied to us. So the most likely explanation was a sorcerer – one ruthless enough to steal from the goddess.
Which wasn't exactly heartening, as far as explanations went.
Ichtaca's grimace would have been comical in other circumstances. "Yes. How many victims have there been?"
"Too many," I said, thinking of the palace. "You know that as well as I do."
"It has to be contained." Ichtaca's face was set in a grimace. "Unless the Southern Hummingbird…"
I shook my head. "He won't intervene."
Ichtaca looked almost disappointed, but then, like Teomitl, he'd always been persuaded that our destiny was to conquer the Fifth World. I'd never been quite as enthusiastic. Like Coatl or Itamatl, I tended to think that wars were His province, and that He granted His favours as He saw fit.
Which didn't excuse murder, or the casting of dangerous spells.
Ichtaca, after the initial moment of uncertainty, appeared to have rallied. "Then it has to be contained."
"Easy to say. We're all working on it."
"I know," Ichtaca said. He flipped his knife upwards, staring at the blade. "You think it's Chalchiuhtlicue?"
"I don't think so." But still… one way or another, She was in the game, and Her magic was loose in the Fifth World, used against the Mexica Empire. And Her magic was tied to Teomitl, and She could drag him into Her little games – a train of thought I would gladly have done without.
"About healing the sickness…?" I asked.
"That's what your sister's priests are working on."
He'd always been much better at crafting new rituals than me. "I know. But Nezahual-tzin told me that there might be a way, with Toci's magic."
"Grandmother Earth?" Ichtaca shrugged. "Appealing to Her stability and solidity. Yes, it might work. At any rate, it can't make things worse."
"We need to try," I said. "There are two people in the palace–"
"I know. I'll see your sister's priests and see if we can work something together. What about you, Acatl-tzin?"
I looked at the bodies again, spread out pathetically in the sunlight, every one of them holding pain beyond my imagination, every one of them a sacrifice building power for someone who wished us no good. A few priests were still examining them – among them familiar faces, like Palli, a burly nobleman's son who had taken to the priesthood like an ahuizotl to water. His face was creased in a familiar frown, trying to work something out.
"I'm going to find some answers." I grasped the cane so hard my knuckles whitened.
Ichtaca frowned. "You should get a bit of rest. I'll call for a priest of Patecatl."
Why was everyone so suddenly concerned about my wellbeing? "There's more at stake than my health."
"Which doesn't mean it's unimportant." Ichtaca's face was disturbingly shrewd.
Ahead, Palli raised his head, and gestured towards us. "Acatl-tzin!"
"What is it?"
"You have to see this!"
"If it can be moved, bring it here," Ichtaca said, "Acatltzin is in no state to walk." He threw me a meaningful glance, almost a threat to get some rest.
Palli scrambled to his feet, and all but ran the distance that separated us, his sandals squelching in the mud. "Acatl-tzin." His hand was wrapped in cloth; and on the cloth was something – a small, shrivelled thing that stank of Chalchiuhtlicue's magic.
"I found it on Eptli," he said, almost apologetically. "Didn't dare touch it."
"What is it?" Ichtaca asked.
"The object," I said. "The vector of the sickness."
Palli angled it so that it caught the light: it was a small, translucent tube, with the remnants of a fine powder inside. And something else was carved on its flaring end – it looked like a hand, holding a stick?
No, not a stick. It was…
"This?" Ichtaca shook his head. "I can't possibly see–"
"I can," I said, darkly. "Before it was crunched up like this, it was a hollowed-out feather stem."
"Money?" Ichtaca asked. "But there is no gold inside."
No, and I couldn't identify the powder inside, which was an uncanny shade of yellow – a colour too light to be cacao, too dark to be maize flour. "It's symbolic money. The powder is probably the vector; the feather is the package. It gives it significance."
"You mean it represents money. I still don't see–"
"There is something carved on it," I said. "What do you think it is?"
Everyone squinted at it. At length, Palli said, doubtfully, "I think it's a hand holding a curved blade."
"I suppose so." Ichtaca didn't sound convinced. "Acatltzin, I don't understand…"
But I did. The hand holding a curved blade: the symbol of Itztlacoliuhqui, the Curved Point of Obsidian, god of frost and of justice – as cold and as unyielding as retribution. And the money: a single feather, an offering with the promise of more to come.
A bribe. Justice for a bribe.
Eptli had been greedy and arrogant, thinking money could buy anything and everything – even status. Even the war-council for his trial.
It looked like Xiloxoch's accusations of bribery hadn't been a lie meant to sow chaos amongst us, after all.
Ezamahual rowed me back to the Sacred Precinct in silence, but steadfastly refused to leave me alone after that. "You're in no state to walk, Acatl-tzin," he pointed out, his eyes averted from mine, but with an utterly stubborn expression on his face.
I gave in – we could have argued for hours, and I was feeling none too steady at the moment, as if I were still standing in the boat on the water. "Fine. Let's go to the Duality House."
I found the Duality House in an unusual state of feverish activity: in addition to the crowd of supplicants gathered at the gates, the clergy seemed to be busy. Sober-faced priests and priestesses carried armloads of fruit and flower garlands from the storehouse to the shrine in the centre, and every entrance-curtain seemed to be drawn open, revealing small but fervent gatherings – two or three priests crouching on the ground, listening to the orator in the centre with focused intensity. What sent my hackles up, though, weren't the priests, but the dozen Jaguar warriors among them – leaning against frescoes, casually hefting worship-thorns in callused, bloodied hands, and generally doing their best to appear innocuous, their visit merely a coincidence in the grand scheme of things.
I wasn't fooled, and I very much doubted Tizoc-tzin would be, either.
Mihmatini was in her rooms, and received me almost immediately. Under the feather headdress, her face was pale and drawn, the lines at the corners of her eyes making her seem much older than her twenty years.
"Acatl. Yaotl told me you were alive, thank the Duality." I'd expected a verbal flaying, but she merely sounded relieved.
"What's going on?" I asked.
"They're looking for Teomitl," Mihmatini said.
"Who isn't here." Yaotl had already told me he'd left.
"No," Mihmatini said. She exhaled, slowly and deliberately – an easy expression to read.
"I'm not the first one to ask."
Her gaze was bright, desperate. "No. The She-Snake was here."
Trust the She-Snake to always be near the heart of intrigues, but never quite embroiled in them. Careful and measured, like his father before him: the power in the shadows, never challenged or besmirched. "What else did he say?"
"You already know it."
"No," I said. "I'm not a calendar priest, and I've always been abysmal at divination. Tell me."
"He said… to be careful. That Teomitl was playing a dangerous game, and that we could lose everything." Her hand wandered to her cheek, scratched it. "And I said I didn't know what game, and he left." Her eyes wouldn't meet mine.
"But you know." And hadn't told me – I suspected perhaps not even admitted it to herself. Then again, had I been any better? I'd received enough warnings – both in signs and speeches – and hadn
't heeded any of them.
"There have been…" Mihmatini shook her head, angrily. "The Duality curse me, I'm not about to behave like some gutless and bloodless fool. There have been signs, Acatl. Visitors at Neutemoc's house – Jaguar warriors and veterans, and too many noblemen to be relatives concerned with our old welfare. And an old woman, several times."
"An old woman?"
"Yes. Why are you interested in that? I would have thought the warriors were more significant."
"Significant, but not unexpected." My hands had clenched into fists; I forced them to open again – relaxed, carefree. "The old woman – you might know that when he almost died of the sickness, it was Toci's magic which saved his life."
Toci. Grandmother Earth. The aged, ageless woman; the bountiful and damaged earth that we broke anew with every stroke of our digging sticks. Most of Her devotees were women past their prime – the younger ones tended to call on the more youthful Xochiquetzal, like the courtesan Xiloxoch; the men chose other deities altogether.
"But I don't see what this has to do with anything," Mihmatini said, slowly and carefully, as if she stood on the edge of a great chasm, listening to the whistle of the wind in her ears.
"I don't know," I said. Gods help me, I didn't know. I just didn't like any of it. First, Jade Skirt's magic; now Teomitl's odd behaviour.
"Well, you might be content with that, but I intend to find out what's going on." Her hands shook, and for a moment there was a glimmer of tears in her eyes. "He always gets into scrapes bigger than he is. I… I need him back, Acatl."
"We'll find him," I said. "He's still my responsibility, remember?"
"You don't act like he is."
"He's my student, not my child," I said – and immediately regretted it: by becoming his wife and tying her garment to his, Mihmatini had taken on the responsibilities of both sexual partner and mother to him – nourishing him just as his mother had once done.
My sister grimaced, but said nothing, even though it cost her. I mentally vowed to have pointed words with Teomitl – plotting the gods knew what against his brother was one thing, but giving his wife sleepless nights quite another.
But I did need to check one thing, before it cost me my own night's sleep. "I need to ask," I said, spreading my hands in a gesture of apology. "Has he been talking about his brother to you – about our choice of Revered Speaker?"
"Not in complimentary terms, no…" Her voice trailed off, and she looked at me. "Acatl."
Much as I wished to, I couldn't lie to her. "You know what he wanted, more than anything else; you heard him as well as me. He wants things now, not five or ten years into the future."
"But…"
I couldn't think of any comforting lies. "We need to find him."
"Be my guest," Mihmatini said with a touch of anger. "He's hidden himself well."
Leaving all of us exposed – and the Duality House to become the rallying point for the discontent. Oh, gods – when I caught the fool I was going to pinch his ribs, hard. "I hadn't come here for Teomitl, originally."
"He does have a way of taking over conversations even when absent," Mihmatini said, her voice expressionless and flat – like glass, a moment before it shattered. "What did you want?"
"Two things. The plague–"
Mihmatini snorted. "Quenami is in charge, and making a mess out of it. Then again, he doesn't listen to half the things I'm saying."
So – panicked, but still not smart enough to see my sister as talented. "He's a fool."
"I don't care." Mihmatini's voice was grim. "Whatever he is, he's failed at containing this. That's his biggest fault to me."
"It's bad, isn't it?" I asked, cautiously – though I already knew the answer.
"As bad as it can get. Yaotl probably told you it's starting to spread within Tenochtitlan."
The last thing we needed. "Yes." I said, carefully, "Some of my priests might come by, later. We have an idea for a cure."
Mihmatini's gaze snapped up sharply.
"I don't want to give you false hope," I said. "It's quite possible it won't work at all."
"It's still going to be better than whatever Quenami's come up with," Mihmatini snorted. "And what was the second thing you came for?"
It took me a moment to remember what she was talking about. "Oh. Xiloxoch."
"The courtesan?" Mihmatini gave it some thought.
"Teomitl said he was going to arrest her, remember?"
"I do." Mihmatini puffed her cheeks, thinking. "I haven't heard any news – wait." She rose, and pulled the entrance-curtain to her chambers open. "Yaotl!"
"Mistress?" Yaotl came in wearing his palace vestment – an elegant, richly embroidered cloak – and streaks of blue and black across his cheeks.
"Acatl wants to know what we have on Xiloxoch."
Yaotl looked startled. "Nothing that I know of." He thought, for a while. "She did make an accusation against Eptli."
"When?" I asked. I hadn't thought she'd had time to see the judges before Tizoc-tzin worked himself into a rage over the clergy of Tlaloc.
"Before the clergy of Tlaloc was hauled in. For all the good it did her… It was dismissed summarily, like all the cases that didn't concern Acamapichtli's clergy."
Mihmatini shook her head. "She's a wily one. Nezahual-tzin probably neglected to tell you she's been serving her goddess well."
Not surprising, though it was heartening to have a confirmation my suspicions were headed somewhere. "I presume she's been keeping an eye on the interests of Xochiquetzal while the Quetzal Flower is in exile from Tenochtitlan."
"That's what my priests have confirmed, yes," Mihmatini said. The Duality House was also the centre of a network of spies and magicians, whose only goal was to safeguard the balance. Her predecessor, Ceyaxochitl, had used this to terrific effect. Clearly, Mihmatini was learning fast.
"And this means?"
"Now? Nothing much," Mihmatini said. "It looks as though she's just watching and waiting."
"But you don't think she's involved in the plague."
"I haven't said that."
"I see." I thought of the snapped quill again. I couldn't see why Xochiquetzal would ally Herself with Chalchiutlicue, but the evidence spoke against Xiloxoch. "I need to find her."
Yaotl shrugged. "Try the palace. She'll be there – too canny not to be."
"Where is she?"
"I don't know. I'd try the palace, if I were you. If she wants to keep an eye on the Flower Quetzal's interests, she'll have to be at the heart of things."
Not the first place I wanted to come back to, especially with the plague raging within its walls. But still… I didn't have much choice.
Ezamahual didn't leave my side as we walked out of the Duality House. I leant on the cane, grateful for its support – but the Southern Hummingbird strike me if I was going to accept help from one of my priests.
"I'm going inside the palace," I said to Ezamahual. "You might want to leave."
He looked at me as if I were mad. "It's not a safe place," I explained, feeling increasingly flustered.
His look was the patient one of a mother towards a wayward child. "You're High Priest, Acatl-tzin. I wouldn't dream of leaving you alone."
Great, so much for that.
I half-expected the guards to challenge us as we climbed the stairs towards the entrance, but they seemed more bored than busy, leaning on their obsidian-tipped spears while gazing at the sky, looking through us, halfexpecting us to provide some distraction. But we both looked like ordinary priests for the Dead, on errands that could only be menial – nothing worth salvaging from that, no fun or currency to be had.
Inside, the palace seemed empty and forlorn, the usual crowds subdued and silent, hurrying from courtyard to courtyard without looking up. A few artisans crept by looking as if they were trying to make themselves forgotten about altogether, and the judges and clerks walking with codices under their arms didn't look much more reassured, either.
I direct
ed us towards the part of the palace where the young warriors usually congregated, thinking to catch if not Xiloxoch, someone who would tell me where she was – or perhaps our wayward Teomitl, who would laugh and toss his head back, and assure me that Mihmatini and I were being foolish with our suspicions. He would make it all go away, like an image in a darkened obsidian mirror…
Master of the House of Darts Page 24