Servant of the Underworld

by Aliette de Bodard

  I headed straight for the military courts. The vast, raftered room was deserted: I made my way towards the back, and the patio opening on the gardens. Only one magistrate remained: an old man sitting on a reed mat and dictating notes to a clerk.

  "And you would be?" he asked peevishly.

  I didn't know him, but then my cases seldom came to a military court. "I'm Acatl. I'm looking for a Jaguar Knight."

  The magistrate sneezed, turned to his clerk with his eyebrows raised. The clerk said, "He's being heard in the Imperial Audience."

  What? It wasn't possible. The Imperial Courts were reserved for grave crimes that touched on the security of the Empire.

  "It's not that serious," I said, when words came back to me.

  The clerk shrugged. "It is, when the High Priest of the Storm Lord becomes involved."

  I cursed under my breath, consigning politics and politicians to the depths of Mictlan. "Where is the audience?" I asked.

  "Closed audience," the clerk said. He laid his writing reed on top of his maguey-fibre paper, and looked at me. "No one comes in."

  "But I'm in charge of the investigation," I protested.

  "Not any more, it would seem," the clerk said. He might have been sorry, though it was hard to tell. I wanted to scream, to tear something, anything to lessen the growing feeling of frustration in my chest.

  "An important case?" the old magistrate asked. Beneath the rheumy veil, his gaze was still sharp.

  I didn't want to discuss the details of the inquiry with a stranger. "Very important," I said.

  He tapped his cane against the stone floor, in a gesture eerily reminiscent of Ceyaxochitl. "Supernatural case, eh? That's why you'd be involved. Though the High Priest…" He looked at me again. "I'm not without influence myself," he said.

  Hardly daring to hope, I asked, "Can you get me into the Imperial Audience?"

  He coughed. "No," he said. "I won't waste my influence on a guilty man."

  "I don't know whether he's guilty. There's barely enough evidence," I said, a hollow growing in my heart. I didn't know what to think any more. I had few leads, and every time I seized hold of one, things seemed to become worse.

  "That's not what I heard," the magistrate said. "It seems to be damaging, the situation they've found him in."

  "Yes, but I don't…" I started, then caught myself. Whatever I admitted to couldn't make things worse. "He's my brother. I can't let him fall because of politics."

  The old magistrate watched me, as unmoving as the statues of the gods in the temple. "The Emperor's Justice is swift," the old magistrate said. "But not that swift. It will take at least another three days of audiences for the Revered Speaker's representatives to reach a decision. If you have any evidence, you may bring it to me. Ask for Pinahui-tzin."

  "What kind of evidence?" I asked.

  "Proof of his innocence, or of someone else's guilt," Pinahui-tzin said.

  "In a bare handful of days?" It was hope, of a kind, but barely within my reach, unless Chicomecoatl, Seven Serpent, saw fit to bless me with Her luck.

  Pinahui-tzin rapped his cane on the floor: a parent scolding a disobedient child. "I'm no maker of miracles, young man. I offer you a chance. Whether you take it is your own problem."

  I nodded. I had no real choice. But I prayed that Pinahui-tzin was right, and that Neutemoc would survive a few more days.

  Otherwise I couldn't see myself telling the news to Huei, or to Mihmatini.

  I did try to locate the Imperial Audience, but Pinahuitzin had been right: the guards wouldn't let anyone in, not even me.

  The Duality curse politics and politicians. If Neutemoc was innocent–

  You don't know that, my inner voice pointed out to me.

  No, I didn't. But let oblivion take me if I allowed Neutemoc to die because of priestly politics.

  I left the Imperial Palace in a sour mood, and headed back to my temple. In front of the Jaguar House, the dance had ended and the dancers had left. The scruffy slave was still there, though the two guards at the entrance pretended not to see him.

  After my first aborted attempt at the House, I hadn't come back – if I thought about it, more out of fear than out of genuine reasons. But time was growing short for Neutemoc. Already the sun was low in the sky, and night would soon fall.

  I walked straight to one of the guards and bowed to him.

  He was dressed in full Jaguar regalia, in a uniform even more sumptuous than Neutemoc's. The jaguar skin covering him had no visible seams: it wrapped around him tightly, the jaguar's skin fitting tightly around his own head. A plume of red, emerald-green and blue feathers protruded from between the jaguar's ears; and his face between the jaguar's jaws was painted in an intricate red pattern. In one of his hands, the knight held a spear; in the other a shield covered with red feathers. He looked at me, puzzled, as if an insect had suddenly elected to speak to him.

  Sometimes, I remembered why I hated warriors, and Jaguar and Eagle Knights worst of all. "I want to speak to a Jaguar Knight," I said.

  The guard shook his head, and subtly moved to bar my way. Nothing unexpected, sadly. "Your kind isn't allowed in here."

  "I know," I said, exasperated by the thoughtless slight. Only Jaguar Knights could enter the House. "But you can at least tell me whether he's here."

  The guard looked thoughtful, probably deciding whether I would leave faster if he answered me than if he didn't.

  "His name is Mahuizoh," I snapped. "I don't know his calpulli." From the corner of my eye, I saw the illkempt slave was leaning forward, suddenly interested.

  The guard shrugged. "We have several of those."

  "I know." Two, according to Teomitl's research. "Unfortunately…" I started, and realised that admitting to lack of knowledge would allow him to dismiss me. "He has a sister in the girls' calmecac."

  "Mahuizoh of the Coatlan calpulli?" the slave said, his mouth yawning wide open. Half his teeth were missing – knocked out, by the jagged looks of the remains – and the others were stained as black as dried blood. He breathed into my face the rankness of someone who hadn't washed body or teeth for several days. I recoiled.

  The guard slammed his spear on the ground. "Huacqui. Be silent."

  The slave smiled. "I don't see why I should. The mighty Mahuizoh got me thrown out of the Brotherhood, didn't he?"

  "Be silent," the guard said, raising his spear, but Huacqui leapt back, with more agility than I would have credited him with.

  "Let me tell you about Mahuizoh and his high standards of behaviour. He gets me expelled from the Knights on a trifle–"

  The guard growled, but he was clearly unwilling to abandon his post. "You stole from your comrades, Huacqui. That's an offence."

  Huacqui cackled. "Yes, yes," he said. "But Mahuizoh… he enjoys his women, doesn't he?"

  My heart gave a lurch in my chest. "What do you mean, he enjoys his women?"

  "The talk of our clan," Huacqui said. "He has his own little prostitute in the girls' calmecac–"

  "He has a sister," I said.

  "A convenient excuse. He'd have found another if she hadn't been there. He's been sleeping with that priestess for ever." Huacqui stamped on the ground with both feet. "And he gets the honour and the glory, while I have to sell myself as a slave to earn a living."

  "You were always too lazy for your own good," the guard snapped. "And there is no truth – none at all, do you hear? – in those rumours." That last was obviously addressed to me, but in the tense features of the guard's face I read the exact opposite of what he wanted me to believe.

  "A priestess," I said to Huacqui. "Which one?"

  He shrugged. "Priestess of Xochiquetzal. I don't remember her name. But he was jealous of all the men she kept flirting with, all the young warriors she'd eye like potential lovers." His face was sly.

  Neutemoc had said that Eleuia had flirted with him, quite ostentatiously. If Mahuizoh had been her lover, and if he was indeed a jealous man, then he had motive both t
o kill her and to make sure my brother was indicted for her murder. "Priestess Eleuia?" I asked.

  The guard winced; Huacqui burst out laughing, with a malevolent expression. "So it's come out, hasn't it? Yes, our dear little Jaguar Knight and his whore–"

  The butt of the guard's spear caught Huacqui in the face, throwing him to the ground. "You – will – be – silent," the guard said, accentuating every word of the sentence. "You will stop spreading such filth, or I might just be tempted to do more than strike you."

  Huacqui, lying on the ground with blood pouring into his eyes, just laughed and laughed. He knew the damage had already been done.

  I knelt by him; I hesitated to grab him, as he was so filthy, but he pulled himself upward without my help. "Will you swear to that in court?" I asked.

  He smiled, a truly unpleasant expression. "If it brings him down, I'll swear to anything."

  "You've seen them together?" I asked.

  He shook his head. "But I'll find you people who have."

  I was afraid he'd bribe them, but I didn't think he was wrong about Mahuizoh's relationship with Eleuia. Mahuizoh had reacted far too strongly to her disappearance.

  I drew Huacqui away from the Jaguar House, gave him a few cacao beans, and got his address. He also gave me a description of Mahuizoh, distinctive enough to recognise him if I saw him. It wasn't much, but it was more than I'd previously had.

  Now I needed to see Xochiquetzal, and find out who the father of Eleuia's baby was. Hopefully, it wouldn't be Neutemoc. Please, Duality, let it not be my brother, I didn't need any more damaging evidence. I shook myself. I was making progress. There was hope for Neutemoc.

  I just wished I could be sure that he was innocent of Eleuia's abduction.

  I walked back into my temple in the gathering darkness, and headed straight for the storehouse. Ezamahual had gone, presumably to join one of the vigils, the death-hymns of which echoed through the courtyard; Palli had taken his place.

  I needed suitable offerings for the Quetzal Flower, and I didn't remember what those would be. I could have asked the ever-useful Ichtaca, but I didn't want to lower myself in his esteem yet another time.

  "Good evening, Palli," I said. "Watching the storehouse again?"

  Palli shrugged. "I like it. It's quiet out here."

  We had offerings, but not enough to tempt a thief; not when there were larger, richer temples within a spear's throw.

  "I need to look in there."

  Palli nodded. He wasn't going to question me, in any case. "Help yourself."

  Inside, the storehouse was as dark and crowded as ever: owls screeched in protest as the light of my lamp fell on them; scuffling sounds came from the rabbit cages. The combined smells of copal, cedar oil and alum made my head spin. We'd have to sweep the place clean one of these days, before someone fainted in here.

  Xochiquetzal… It had been a long time since I'd gone to calmecac, a long time since I'd learnt the hymns and proper offerings for all the gods. I remembered those for the gods I dealt with in everyday life: Mictlantecuhtli, Lord Death, and Mixcoatl, Lord of the Hunt. Xochiquetzal I'd never had many dealings with, for obvious reasons: She was hardly associated with death.

  The light of my torch fell on an array of quetzal feathers, stacked near a pile of copal incense cones. Feathers? They were symbols of beauty, but they were not distinctive: I could think of a dozen gods who would accept that particular offering.

  For Xochiquetzal, what I needed was some kind of flowers…

  Palli's shadow fell across the doorway, casting me in darkness. "Do you know what you're looking for, Acatl-tzin?"

  I shrugged, unwilling to admit to weakness. What a poor High Priest I made. "I'm fine," I started, and then thought of Neutemoc. Hmm. I changed my mind. "I need suitable offerings for Xochiquetzal," I said. "Would you remember what those are, by any chance?"

  Limned by sunlight, Palli's face was unreadable. "For the Goddess of Beauty? Any flowers, but poinsettias are Her favourites."

  A flower as red as the blood of sacrifices. I bit back on a snort. How unsubtle some gods could be.

  "Anything else?"

  "Butterflies," Palli said. "But we don't have those here. You can find the flowers in the temple gardens, but living butterflies… I could send to the marketplace."

  The animal marketplace would be closed, and wouldn't reopen until late tomorrow morning. "I'm not sure we have time," I said. "Anything else?"

  "Jade earrings. And" – I heard Palli tap the mace at his side – "quetzals would do. Live ones, not feathers."

  "Do you have any of those?"

  "The jade earrings, yes. Quetzals… I think we have a pair somewhere at the back." He stepped into the storehouse with a torch in his hand. "Let me see. We got a rattle and drum from the vigil of that woman, four days ago. They're for Her Consort, but She's also patron of music, when the mood takes Her…"

  He was going through the rows of aligned offerings with the ease of experience, picking up small items and discarding them after no more than a casual glance. I felt… not entirely useless, but close. I strolled back to the door of the storehouse and waited in the darkness.

  Which was why I saw Ixtli, the head of the search parties, walk into the temple courtyard with a grim expression on his face.

  My stomach sank. Whatever news there could be, it would not be good. I detached myself from the wall. "Ixtli!" I called out.

  He bowed to me. "Acatl-tzin." In the gathering darkness, he looked even worse: his face drained of colour, his gnarled hands crooked like the claws of an animal.

  "Any news?"

  "Only bad." Ixtli shook his head, apparently annoyed. Suddenly he reminded me of an older Teomitl, still unwilling to forgive his own failures. "We searched all four districts of Tenochtitlan. Then we went further, into the Floating Gardens. But there was no track of that beast. It's as if it has vanished from the surface of the earth."

  As it had vanished from within an enclosed calmecac. Something wasn't right about that nahual. What had I missed?

  "I see," I said. "You found tracks near the calmecac?"

  "No," Ixtli said. "No tracks. We were searching houses at random, on no more than instinct." He fingered the jade amulet around his neck, and said, "There was no chance we would find her."

  "I see," I said. "Are you going to stop the search?"

  Ixtli shrugged. "No, not yet. But I don't think you should depend on us."

  No. I didn't think I should.

  "The priestess," Ixtli said. "Do you think she's still alive?"

  I shook my head. "I think it's too late."

  His gaze held me, unblinkingly. "So do I. Will you be needing any more help?"

  I searched my mind for something he could give me, but there didn't seem to be anything. "No, I don't think so. You can take off the jade amulets," I said. "Not much use against a nahual, anyway."

  Ixtli smiled. "Better be safe. I'll go reassure my wife, and then I'll go back to the Duality House. Come there if you need us," he said, and then he turned on his heel and left.

  Palli had gathered the offerings near the storehouse door. "You mean to go out again?" he asked.

  I looked up at the sky. The night had well and truly

  fallen this time: there would be vigils to take, and offerings to make at the proper times. The Quetzal Flower would certainly not want to receive me at this late hour; and I had seen already what would happen if I tried to enter uninvited. I did want to help Neutemoc; but angering a goddess was not going to arrange matters.

  "No," I said, with a sigh. "I'll go tomorrow morning."

  I was not, by any means, looking forward to the morrow. One interview with Xochiquetzal had been affecting enough; this one looked set to be even worse.

  SEVEN

  The Chalca Wars

  The following morning, I woke up, made my offerings of blood to Lord Death, and went back to my temple. The priests seemed to have all disappeared. After a cursory search, I found them gathered
in one of the largest rooms, watching Ichtaca examine the body of a dead woman: the older offering priests in front, the novice priests a little way behind – and, all the way at the back of the room, a handful of calmecac students, their pale faces fascinated.

  "No blood," Ichtaca was saying, pointing at the livid face. "She's been in that position for a while…"