Aztlan: The Courts of Heaven (6 page)

“Yes.”

I thought about the last time I had seen Eren. It was at the intercity rail station. She was on her way back to the capitol. But not to work for the Emperor, as she had before. She was going to lead a protest of his Mirror policies at the Imperial Palace.

“She was a member of a religious cult,” I said. “We didn’t look at the gods the same way.”

“You mean those people who marched around the pyramids?”

“Yes. Those people.”

My companion looked apologetic. “That came out the wrong way. Everybody’s got a right to think the way they want.”

“She thought so too.”

“Well,” Calli said, using her napkin to dab at her mouth, “I’m full. Care to see me home?”

I nodded. “I would.” An easy choice. It was a sure bet that she lived in Aztlan proper, and I had to go back that way anyway. “But I can’t stay.”

“You’re in the middle of an Investigation,” she said, the slightest hint of sadness in her voice. “I understand.”

As Calli had promised, she paid the bill. Normally it was the man’s place to do that, but I didn’t feel bad accepting her kindness. I had a feeling—a good one—that I would get the chance sometime to return the favor.

“Where do you live?” I asked her as we got up to leave.

“District Twenty-nine.”

I had been right to think her family had beans. District Twenty-nine was where rich people lived when they didn’t live in District Fourteen.

It was sundown when we boarded a southbound rail carriage. The sky in the west was a thinning blue, the clouds painted in startling pinks and golds.

Once we were seated, Calli put her head on my shoulder and said, “Long day.”

Of course, mine wasn’t over yet.

But I could enjoy this small part of it while it lasted. As I turned to Calli and drank in the perfume of her hair, I was glad her place was a good half hour away.

I didn’t get a kiss when I said goodbye to Calli, but I did get a long, heartfelt hug—and a promise that she would call me the next day. Having learned a long time earlier that a relationship had to proceed at its own pace or not at all, I told her I looked forward to hearing from her.

It didn’t take me long to get back to the office. It turned out I wasn’t the only one working late.

“Anything?” asked Quetzalli, whose desk was next to mine.

“I wish,” I said.

“Takun finally spoke to that doorman,” she said. “He left you a message.”

I retrieved it and put it up on my screen. It said, “He ate at a mixiotes place down the block—and he wasn’t the only one who got the runs that night. Nothing to pursue.”

Takun was a slob but I trusted his judgement. Forgetting the doorman, I sat down and plied the Mirror for clues.

I doubted I’d find much about Coyotl that I didn’t know already. After all, I was as big a fan of the game as anybody, and Coyotl had been heralded as a great prospect even before he hit the Sun League.

But there might have been some tidbit of which I was unaware, some innocent piece of information that would help me solve the puzzle of Coyotl’s abduction.

An hour and a half later, I was still searching for it. I sat back in my chair and rubbed my eyes.

Enough of the Mirror, I told myself.

I figured I would go back to Coyotl’s apartment and give it another look—you know, see if there was anything I missed. But as I got up to go, I saw Izel walk over with his ever-present cup of tea.

Izel was another of my fellow Investigators, though you’d never have known it from looking at him. When they made up all those beanpole jokes, they must have had him in mind. I’d seen skeletons with more meat on their bones.

The guy was a wealth of stories, though, and even the gods couldn’t touch his honeyed maize cakes. So what he lacked in brawn, he made up for in other ways. He just wasn’t the colleague I would have picked to guard my back in a street fight.

“Making progress?” he asked me.

“Not yet,” I said. “You?”

Izel had been assigned a murder in District Six—the result of a domestic dispute, from all appearances. Nothing nearly as exciting as the disappearance of a ball court star.

“It’s all over but the sentencing,” he said.

“That’s good.”

“It’s great. If I could get a halfway decent cup of tea, life would be perfect. Anyway, I had a thought. Did you by any chance check Coyotl’s Mirror log?”

“Mirror log?” I repeated. It was something the Emperor had ordered built into all new monitors, but the decree didn’t go into effect for nearly half a cycle.

“I haven’t seen Coyotl’s apartment,” Izel said, “but I’m guessing he had an advanced system—the kind that lets you pull in premier content. Some of those systems have the log built in already.”

Izel would know. He was almost as savvy about Mirror tech as he was about maize cakes.

I nodded. “I’ll check. Thanks for the tip.”

He smiled. “You want to return the favor?”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Seems to me that with Coyotl out, there’s an opportunity. Aztlan fans bet on Aztlan, right? I mean
always
. They don’t even think about it.”

I saw where he was going. “So as long as Coyotl’s missing, you’re going to bet on the opposition.”

Izel shrugged. “As I said, it’s an opportunity.”

“And when Coyotl comes back . . ."

“That’s an even bigger opportunity.”

“Which is why you want me to give you a heads up before Coyotl’s likely to take the court again. Then you can turn around and bet big on Aztlan, and get yourself a premier content system of your own.”

“No law against it, right?”

That was true. But it went against my grain to give Izel—or anyone else—an unfair advantage in a betting den.

“It’s not going to happen,” I said. “But thanks again for the tip.”

Izel tilted his head. Then he said, “Any time,” and walked back across the office to his desk.

And me? I returned to Coyotl’s place as I’d planned, but thanks to Izel I went there with a purpose in mind.

On my way to Coyotl’s apartment, I arranged for a tech expert to meet me in the lobby. She got there at the same time I did.

To say she was eager to inspect Coyotl’s Mirror system was an understatement. Apparently, she was a fan too. Unfortunately, she found that Coyotl’s system didn’t have the log feature Izel had described.

So much for
that
, I thought.

I thanked the expert and sent her on her way. I was wandering around Coyotl’s apartment, trying to reconstruct the abduction in my mind, when I finally got a call from my pal Nagual.

“I’m looking for the worst attacker in the history of the Sun League,” he said. “I was told this was his buzzer code.”

He sounded like he had a cold. Still it was good to hear his voice.

“No one was worse than you,” I told him. “All those shots to the head must have screwed up your memory.”

Laughter. “I thought you were dead, Colhua!”

“Soon enough,” I said, “if I’m not careful. But you’re doing well for yourself. I see you on the Mirror all the time pushing dental cream.” I imagined him smiling his million-bean smile on the other end of the connection.

“That’s what happens when you go your whole career without getting a tooth knocked out.”

Nagual had played for fourteen cycles. I had only played for three and a half, and I’d lost four teeth in the process. The ones in my mouth now were replacements.

“But you didn’t call just to reminisce, right? So what can I do for my old teammate?”

“I need some help on a case,” I said.

“Anything, brother.”

It was what he used to say to me when I was new on the Eagles and he had already established himself as a top defender.
Anything, brother.

Including pulling me out of an illegal gambling den late one night after I’d gotten mixed up with the wrong crowd. Or talking Malinalco’s defenders out of removing my head after something I’d said something about them on the Mirror. Or sending my Aunt Xoco on a vacation to the Western Markets that a young guy like me couldn’t afford.

Nagual had shared the fruits of his success with me until I had some of my own. I would never forget him for that.

Unfortunately, we hadn’t spoken much since I left the
tlachtli
. But then, we’d no longer had so much in common. Nagual had gone on to make a hill of beans endorsing products like dental cream and I’d become an Investigator like my father.

Still, Nagual was my brother. Which was why I felt comfortable buzzing him about Coyotl.

And why I wished I could bring him better news. “You played with Coyotl. It’s about him. He’s gone missing.”

“What do you mean?”

“Gone. Kidnapped, it looks like.”

“Gods of Life,” he breathed. “Since when?”

“Since sometime before the start of last night’s game. That’s why he didn’t play.”

“I wondered about that. I figured he was just sick. Or maybe hung over.”

“No such luck,” I said. “Of course, that’s privileged information. I need you to keep it to yourself.”

“I will. So what can I do?”

“Tell me something about him. Anything at all.”

“That the public wouldn’t already know?”

“Exactly.”

“Let me think.” Nagual took a moment. “Well, he likes slaves.”

I hadn’t heard
that
before. “You mean he finds them . . . appealing?”

“I mean he
owns
them.”

Only nobles were permitted to own slaves. “Are you sure?”

“Would I have said so if I wasn’t?”

“Sorry. It’s just hard to believe.”

“We’re talking about Coyotl,” he reminded me. “People look the other way for him.”

“So . . . did he have one slave?
Two
?”

“Only one that I know of.”

“For sex.”

“I don’t know. Maybe not.”

“Why else?”

“Companionship. Sounds funny, I know. But it was a thing for him. You see, his mother was a slave.”

“Really,” I said.

“Yes. For House Atlahua. That always bothered him. I think by owning slaves, he was saying he had risen above that. Maybe just saying it to himself, but saying it nevertheless.”

It made sense. “You know the names of these slaves?”

“I don’t. Sorry.”

“It’s all right. You’ve been a big help already. Take care of that cold, Nagual.”

He fell silent for a moment. Then he laughed. “Leave it to an Investigator to notice something like that. Gods smile on you—and on Coyotl.”

I stood there for a while, looking out Coyotl’s window at the lights of Aztlan and considering what Nagual had told me.

I
didn’t have much use for slave brokers.

It wasn’t that they were any sleazier than other denizens of the Merchant City. In fact, because slave brokers dealt exclusively with noblemen and their agents, they usually had better manners than I did.

I just didn’t like the idea of buying and selling people.

Still, there was one slave broker with whom I had something approaching a friendship. His name was Popo Cueponi. He was a merry guy, short and round with slicked-back hair and cheeks the color of apples, who liked people to call him “Uncle.”

A couple of cycles earlier, I had cleared his son of a murder charge by revealing that someone else was the killer. It was then that Cueponi had taken a liking to me.

So when Nagual mentioned Coyotl’s slave, I immediately thought of “Uncle” Cueponi.

First thing in the morning, I called him and said I’d be visiting him in the Merchant City. He was happy to hear it, though he didn’t know the reason for my visit until I got there.