Mihmatini shook her head. "You're not walking home in this state. I'll get Oyohuaca to row you back to the Sacred Precinct."
I would have protested, but in truth I felt too tired for that. I rose, now used to the sharp pain that accompanied every one of my movements, and bade her goodnight. "See you tomorrow then."
"You fool," she said as I limped into the courtyard. But her voice was more amused than angry. "Give those wounds a chance to heal."
I did not answer, and left Neutemoc's house without giving her further incentive to tease me.
Oyohuaca rowed me back to the Sacred Precinct in silence and left me by the western docks. Flotillas of reed boats, each bearing the insignia of the temple to which they belonged, bobbed in the darkness. Somewhere at the back would be the large ceremonial barge reserved for the High Priest for the Dead, its prow painted the colour of bone, its oars carved with owls and spiders.
From the docks, it was but a short walk to the Duality House; but this left me so exhausted I was thankful to Mihmatini for insisting I take a boat back to the Sacred Precinct.
The Duality House was still bustling at this hour of the night, and Ixtli still wasn't sleeping. Did he ever sleep? He listened to my account, cocking his head from time to time. "Very well," he said when I was done. "I'll take some men and go to the Floating Garden. But–"
"I know," I said. The trail was old by now, and it was mundane, not magical. Whoever had come for Eleuia – whoever had instigated the whole affair – had had the intelligence never to handle magic themselves. Even if they did find a trail, I wouldn't have results by the next afternoon. "Do what you can," I said.
I was about to leave the house when I saw a familiar figure ahead of me: Yaotl, Ceyaxochitl's messenger. He was striding ahead, not looking at me; but he did turn back when I called his name.
"Acatl," he said. "What a surprise. How goes your investigation?"
"As well as I can be," I said, tartly. "Where are you off to so fast?"
Yaotl shook his head, wryly amused. "To an interesting place, no doubt."
Huitzilpochtli blind him. He was as unhelpful as ever. "Let me guess," I said, more angrily than I'd intended. "The Imperial Palace."
His face grew thoughtful. "I might. But it doesn't concern you, does it?"
"It might," I said. "I'm planning to attend an Imperial Audience tomorrow."
"For your investigation?" Yaotl looked at me for a moment. Finally, he laid a hand on my shoulder, in a mock-brotherly gesture that made me uncomfortable. "I don't think there will be one."
My heart sank. "The Emperor is that ill?"
"I can't tell you more. But don't expect the Audience."
"What happens to the cases he was reviewing?" I asked, my heart sinking.
Yaotl shrugged. "Justice still has to move forward, doesn't it? I assume the High Priests will take care of them."
The High Priests. The twin powers at the head of the Empire's religious structure. The High Priest of Huitzilpochtli was theoretically the most important one; but Ocelocueitl was an old man, tired by decades of overseeing the worship of the God of War.
Which left the other one: Acamapichtli, High Priest of Tlaloc: the same man who had been in such a hurry to have Neutemoc convicted.
TWELVE
The Imperial Audience
I returned to my house, lay down on my reed-mat, and fell asleep almost immediately.
My sleep was short, and disturbed: in my dreams, I stood in the boat of reeds with deep cuts in my arms and chest. Behind me was the dark shape of the ahuizotl – and I rowed and rowed, despite the pain that every gesture aroused in me. I had only to reach the end of the canal; to reach the temple of Chalchiutlicue, where Huei was waiting for me, and everything would be made right.
But, no matter how hard I rowed, the boat never moved; and the yellow eyes of the ahuizotl broke the surface of the water; and it spoke, and its voice was that of the Wind of Knives.
There are higher powers, Acatl. Fool.
I woke up with a start. Outside, the sun had just reached its zenith. It hung, swollen, just over my courtyard. I felt as if I hadn't slept at all. Not the best state of mind to enter an Imperial Audience.
I covered myself in a clean cloak, trying to ignore the insistent pain from my wounds, and went into my courtyard. It was a modest affair, a patch of marigolds, a pine tree and a small, covered well: nothing like Xochiquetzal's house, or even Neutemoc's. I sat crosslegged in the dirt before the well, thinking of what Yaotl had told me.
No Imperial Audience. That must mean that the Revered Speaker must be hovering at Mictlan's gates. The political infighting would now start in earnest. That was my only chance: that the High Priest of Tlaloc would be too busy plotting against his peers to worry overmuch about Neutemoc's fate.
I doubted it would be that easy.
I went back to my temple. In the courtyard, two priests were busy sweeping the ground, preparing for the afternoon's offerings; a further group were in one of the worship-rooms, in vigil for a dead woman.
I went into the shrine, where I dressed in my full regalia: the ivory skull-mask askew on my forehead, and the cloak of rich cotton, embroidered with owls, carefully tied around my shoulders.
Then I went down again, and settled into one of the furthest rooms: the same one where I'd given life to the jade heart, an eternity ago. I sat on the ground with maguey paper spread across my knees, dangling Eleuia's blackened jade pendant in front of my face.
What did I have?
Evidence that underworld magic had been behind all of this, and that someone as yet unidentified had summoned the nahual magic to cover Huei's tracks.
Mihmatini's testimony, as well as those of the slaves, would establish that the Wind of Knives had come for Huei, marking her as the summoner of the beast. If I was lucky, Mihmatini would also have a description of the two men who had come to see Huei in the afternoon.
Best not to rely on luck. Seven Serpent hadn't seemed to be on my side lately.
"Acatl-tzin?" Ichtaca's voice asked.
Startled, I raised my eyes. Ichtaca was standing in the doorway, lit by the midday sun. "Yes?" I asked. "I'm busy."
His gaze held mine, inscrutable. "So I see."
As usual, he made me feel like a child caught sneaking out of the house. "Yes," I said, testily. "Now if you don't mind, I have an audience to prepare for."
I'd expected him to go away; but he didn't move. "The Imperial Audience?"
"How did you know?"
He shrugged. "Rumours. Your brother was under question yesterday and the day before."
"Yes," I said, irritated. "And I intend to make sure he doesn't endure another day of this." Although the High Priest would want to do the exact opposite.
Ichtaca shrugged again, but said nothing.
"Acatl-tzin?" the offering priest, Palli, asked from behind Ichtaca. "Your sister is here."
I got up, wrapping the string of Eleuia's jade pendant around my wrist, and went out, bypassing Ichtaca without a word.
In the courtyard, Mihmatini was waiting for me, along with the burly slave who had stood guard at the gate when I'd arrived last night.
"This is Quechomitl," Mihmatini said.
He and I looked at each other, warily. This time, I was well-dressed. But from his stiff stance, Quechomitl hadn't forgotten the drunkard he'd almost thrown out on the previous evening.
"He saw the men you wanted," Mihmatini said. "But they covered their heads with the hood of their cloaks."
"Hooded cloaks?" I asked. Those were rare; but, as Mihmatini had said, it made sense that the men would cover their tracks. I asked Quechomitl, "What did they look like?"
Ichtaca was still in the courtyard, his rotund face thoughtful – battling with some decision, I could tell, but I didn't know which one.
The slave, Quechomitl, shrugged. "Men in their prime," he said. "Strong ones."
"You're sure they were men?" That eliminated Priestess Zollin, but not the Jaguar Knig
ht, Mahuizoh.
Quechomitl nodded, obviously annoyed at my lack of trust. Well, it was mutual.
"There are complications," I said to Mihmatini, as we walked towards the temple exit, Ichtaca still trailing behind us. "The Emperor won't attend the audience."
"Then who will?"
"The High Priests," I said, grimly. "One of whom will be busy trying to condemn Neutemoc."
"Great," Mihmatini said. "Neutemoc always did have a talent for making enemies. So what do you plan on doing?"
"I think you're mistaken," a voice said, behind me. Ichtaca.
Surprised, I turned to face him. "What are you talking about?"
"The Imperial Audience," Ichtaca said, shaking his head. He was angry, I realised, though I didn't know why. "If the Emperor is unable to take his responsibilities, it's not the High Priests who will replace him."
"I was told–"
"Whoever told you was either lying or misinformed," Ichtaca said.
I didn't judge it pertinent to mention Yaotl's name. The two of them had long been locked in a battle of wills – possibly because Yaotl was a foreigner, and because Ichtaca was unwilling to admit that anything good could come from outside the Mexica Empire.
"Someone has to take charge of the hearings," I said.
Ichtaca nodded. "Someone will. The Master of the House of Darts, Tizoc-tzin."
The Revered Speaker's brother, and also the heirapparent: the one who had the strongest chance of being elected to head the Mexica Empire, if the Revered Speaker died.
"Tizoc-tzin has his moods," Ichtaca went on. "But he doesn't like the clergy, and I don't think he'll want to favour any of the High Priests."
"How do you know?" I asked. I didn't want to point out the corollary to his portrayal of Tizoc-tzin: a man who didn't like the clergy would have no reason to favour any High Priest over any other – not even the High Priest for the Dead over the High Priest of Tlaloc. Our arguments would have to be very compelling.
Ichtaca smiled, grimly amused. "I attend court, most days."
"Why?"
"Because this temple couldn't survive without Imperial patronage."
The reproach in his tone was audible. "Because I don't attend, you mean?"
He shrugged. "Someone has to," he said. "If you won't, then I will."
But he was still reproaching me. "You're a better politician than me," I said, finally, knowing it was true. I couldn't manoeuvre through the maze of the Imperial Court. I neither had the capacities nor the heart to do so. If I did go to court, the Imperial patronage for our temple would soon wither. Ichtaca said nothing.
"We'll discuss this later," I said.
"As you wish." He bowed, though his anger was still palpable. "But I thought you might want the warning."
It was a welcome one, and I couldn't resent him for it, though I had the feeling some old grievance had just been laid out in the open. I would have to deal with Ichtaca at some point. "Yes," I said. "Thank you."
He bowed, low. "Pleased to have been of service."
"What was that all about?" Mihmatini asked, as we exited the temple.
"I don't know," I said, truthfully. "Come on. Let's go."
The crowd in the Sacred Precinct was dense: we had to fight our way past pilgrims and priests. The slave Quechomitl opened a path through the crowd for my sister with his arms, but let it close before I could follow. Clearly, he did not like me.
In the Imperial Palace, I headed straight for the military court, and asked for Magistrate Pinahui-tzin.
The clerk snorted in amusement. "He's taking a pause in the garden."
Pinahui-tzin was sitting in the garden of the military court, watching the water rise and fall out of a conch-shaped fountain. At the back of the garden was an aviary: huge wicker cages held parrots, eagles, and quetzal birds, their emerald feathers shimmering in the sunlight.
"Ah. The young priest," Pinahui-tzin said, when we arrived. "I was waiting for you." He rose, leaning on his cane, and turned to greet us.
"Those would be your witnesses?" he asked, looking at Mihmatini and Quechomitl.
I nodded. "I have evidence of someone else's guilt."
"Someone you should have arrested," Pinahui-tzin said.
Why was everybody reproaching me for the same reason? "I can't. She's given her life to the gods."
Pinahui-tzin made no commentary. "Let me hear the evidence," he said. "As quickly as you can. Your brother is already inside the Courts."
I had thought it might be the case: that High Priest Acamapichtli wouldn't want to wait to convict Neutemoc.
When I was finished, Pinahui-tzin pursed his lips. "Scant," he said. "Scant. But it will have to do, young man." He scrutinised me in silence. His eyebrows went up, in what I hoped was a show of appreciation. "Come."
The last time I'd tried to find the Imperial Audience, I had roamed the palace, asking the people I met the way. Pinahui-tzin, on the other hand, knew where he was going. His cane tapped regularly against the stone floor, as we walked through corridors filled with officials in feather regalia, towards the inside of the palace. Every courtyard we crossed was a marvel: ornate fountains, fabulous plants from cacao trees to vanilla orchids, and animals ranging from caged jaguars to the web-footed capybaras. All the wonders of the steamy south, enclosed in the sandstone mass of the palace like a stone set within an exquisite piece of jewellery.
Finally, we reached the gates of the Imperial Courts. No guards waited on either side of the entrance-curtain. But this was only the antechamber: the closed audiences would be taking place deeper within the Courts.
Inside was a wide, airy room, where clerks hurried from dais to dais, carrying piles of codices from magistrate to magistrate. One of the courts was hearing two prisoners, but the rest were still reviewing evidence: the magistrates on the dais thoughtfully tapping their writing-reeds against the papers they were holding, or making annotations in the margins.
Pinahui-tzin walked straight to the end of the room, where a curtain of turquoise cotton marked the start of the area reserved to the Emperor's close staff. The curtain was closed, and two guards stood on either side. But they let us through when Pinahui-tzin marched on them with his cane pointed like a sword at the level of the lead guard's chest. There was, nonetheless, a moment of hesitation on their part – and that was how I knew that Pinahuitzin's influence stopped at getting us into the Imperial Audience.
Behind the curtain was a small antechamber where we divested ourselves of our sandals, for one went barefoot in the presence of the Revered Speaker, or of his substitute. A sizeable pile of sandals – mostly gilded, luxurious affairs – indicated we weren't the only ones to attend.
Then I pulled open the next turquoise curtain in a crystalline tinkle of bells, and we entered the heart of the Imperial Courts.
The room was much smaller than the first one, but it was crammed full of people. Underlying the hubbub were sounds from the Imperial Gardens, which lay on the far side: quetzal birds calling to each other, the grunt of capybaras digging into the earth. The air smelled of copal incense and honey.
In the centre of the room stood Neutemoc, his shoulders sagging, deep circles under his eyes. Two Imperial guards flanked him, though there was no need: he would never seek to escape.
On the dais facing him were three people, easily recognisable. On the left was the old High Priest of Huitzilpochtli, Ocelocueitl, wearing a luxurious feathered headdress, and with huge plumes hanging from his belt, spreading like the wings of a hummingbird. On the right, Acamapichtli, High Priest of Tlaloc, with a crown of heron feathers, the area around his eyes blackened to give an unsettling impression. And, in the centre, sat Tizoc-tzin, Master of the House of Darts, brother of Revered Speaker Axayacatl-tzin: a man in his mid-twenties, dressed soberly in a tunic of deep blue, and with a look of utter boredom on his sallow face.
The rest of the crowd, standing on the edges of the room, was mostly noblemen, no doubt of the Revered Speaker's close family: a dazzling
array of vibrantlycoloured cloaks, and of painted faces under feather-headdresses, saturated with the magic of protective spells.
Tizoc-tzin's gaze turned to me as I entered, his face lighting up at the prospect of a distraction, in a way that was hauntingly familiar. His gaze moved from Pinahui-tzin to me. "Well, well," he said, in the sudden silence. "You bring exalted company, Pinahui. Our High Priest for the Dead, no less."
I walked to the centre of the room, close enough that I could have touched the first of Neutemoc's guards. Ignoring the shocked look that spread on my brother's face, I bowed low. "Your Excellency."
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