Master of the House of Darts (22 page)

A human child.

True, the head was wrong – flat rather than round, and slightly too small – but the rest – the rest was unmistakable: the small limbs just starting to branch into fingers and toes, the sharp edge of the spine with its vertebra. I hadn't attended many vigils for premature children, but several times, I had had cause to examine a woman who had died in childbirth with the child still in her womb – praying all the while that her spirit was at rest, that she wouldn't see the indignity of knives tearing her open from the Heavens where she now dwelled.

That made no sense – carefully, I lifted the thing again, but saw only the same resemblance.

And then I remembered, with a chill – that Xochiquetzal, the goddess who watched over the courtesan Xiloxoch, was not only Goddess of Lust and Desire, but also watched over childbirth.

TWELVE

Recovery

I must have remained there for an eternity, staring at the thing – and not knowing what to do.

Xochiquetzal's magic. And Tlaloc's influence. I had been right: it looked like the plague came from those two – seeking to damage the Fifth World once again. And Xiloxoch had been the self-confessed worshipper of the goddess – doing Her will in Tenochtitlan in Her absence. But still…

Still, all this for revenge?

Xochiquetzal would not remember the Mexica, or Tizoc-tzin, kindly. Neither would She blink at slaughtering dozens to make Her point.

Before rushing out to the temple of Xochiquetzal, I needed – confirmation. Some evidence that the thing had indeed been the result of a spell which called on Xochiquetzal. I needed to cast a spell of true sight, and look for magical traces.

A shadow fell over me – the priests of the Duality? Perhaps even the people we'd sent to Chipahua's house, with more information on what had happened?

The shadow did belong to one of the priests; what I had not expected was that they wouldn't be alone: leaning on their shoulders were two Jaguar warriors – the same ones that Teomitl had so peremptorily recruited on the way out of the palace.

"What happened?" I asked the priests.

They had little to report. The bodies of Chipahua and his household had been taken to a remote spot on the edge of Tenochtitlan, past the Floating Gardens, where Ichtaca and the other priests of my order could conduct more thorough examinations – hopefully with a reduced risk of contagion.

The Jaguar warriors looked pale, and probably felt as bad I did; but appeared unharmed otherwise. I wondered about the sickness – it didn't seem to take time to show symptoms, but its progress seemed… erratic, to say the least? It didn't look natural at all.

"I need you to do one thing," I said.

They looked at each other – with an eagerness I found troubling. "When you go back to the palace, can you arrange for the other bodies – Eptli and his prisoner – to be taken with the others? My order will need to examine this."

"Of course, my Lord."

The entrance-curtain tinkled again: Nezahual-tzin, his face set in a careful mask. He looked angry, or contemptuous, I wasn't sure. "Acatl," he said. "You have to see this."

The first thing I saw when I entered was Teomitl. He was awake, sitting propped against the wall, pale and wan, his eyes dark wells in the beige oval of his face, his hands clenched within his lap in a way that was anything but natural – it was obvious that if he released them, they would start shaking. Mihmatini was by his side, crushing his hand in hers – her face a mixture of elation and relief. The luminous thread between them was all but gone now, faded enough to become part of the beaten earth.

"You're awake," I said.

Teomitl's face twisted; it would have been a carefree smile, if it hadn't suddenly seemed so old. A white light played on his cheeks and forehead – the same one that had been on Mihmatini's face, save that on him, it made his skin recede, until I could see the arch of his cheekbones, the empty holes of his eye-sockets.

Like Tizoc-tzin – but I caught and crushed the thought before it could wound. "As you can see." His voice was toneless.

"So it worked, then," I said.

"It didn't." Nezahual-tzin was standing away from all of us – leaning against the wall near the entrance, his head level with a fresco of a snake emerging from a man's open mouth. His arms were crossed, in that familiar nonchalant attitude which belied the seriousness of his words.

"You're obviously better at healing than you think," Teomitl said. His voice shook, but the sarcasm was unmistakable.

"I know my weaknesses. There was something left within you, something the spell couldn't catch."

"And yet here I am."

"Teomitl," Mihmatini said. "You're not in any state to make coherent contributions to the conversation."

"I almost died," Teomitl said. He'd obviously meant it as a joke, but his voice caught on the words. "I won't put off things any more. Time is playing against us, isn't it, Acatl-tzin?" His shadowed eyes, roaming, caught Nezahual-tzin – and then moved on to the two Jaguar Knights, who had followed us inside but said nothing so far.

There was a moment of silence. One of the warriors started to bow, but Teomitl shook his head imperiously. "This isn't the time or the place. I apologise for dragging you into this."

"It is we who should apologise, my Lord," the eldest warrior said. "We ran away when we saw the shadows over the house. You could have died."

Teomitl's face had hardened, in a curious mixture of anger and vulnerability. "Yes, I could have died. Ran out of time, like anyone else in the Fifth World." He shook his head. "I have greater things to do, before I die. Your apology is accepted – as long as you don't run away again."

"You know we won't, my Lord," the eldest warrior said.

Teomitl nodded; I hadn't expected him to be embarrassed, as I would have been had any of my priests said this to me, but I couldn't read his expression – was it anger, contempt? Perhaps merely anger at himself, for catching the sickness in the first place – it wouldn't have surprised me from a man who always strove to reach the Fifth Sun.

"What next?" Unsurprisingly, they all looked at me. But there were so many things, so much that wasn't right. With an effort, I quelled the panic, and forced my thoughts into some kind of order. "Chipahua is dead," I said. "I don't know why, but I intend to find out." That could be taken care of by my clergy. I spread out my hands, counting out matters one after the other. "Acamapichtli is under arrest." And we needed him – we needed my clergy for death, the Duality for protection, and the clergy of Tlaloc, for the epidemic itself.

I lifted the black thing Mihmatini had carried. Teomitl looked at it with curiosity. "What is it?"

"The spell that almost killed you." Mihmatini's voice was low, almost spent.

Teomitl shook his head. "I've never seen it before."

A frown had started spreading on Mihmatini's face; she looked from the thing in my hand to Teomitl – and then back to me. "Acatl–"

"Yes," I said. "It looks like a human child, except smaller."

"I don't see–"

Nezahual-tzin detached himself from the wall, the muscles in his chest rippling as he moved. I could see why he'd have no trouble finding women to marry or bed – he'd have found them even without being Revered Speaker of Texcoco. "Xochiquetzal," he said. "Goddess of childbirth."

"You said Xiloxoch worshipped her."

Teomitl's face hardened. "Let's arrest her."

"It's scant proof," I said.

"Don't be foolish." His voice was harsher than anything I'd ever heard. "We have someone killing off the warriors and the priests of the Mexica Empire. If Xiloxoch isn't involved, I'm ready to apologise to her, and pay her whatever she might want as compensation. But in the meantime, I'm not taking any risks." He made an imperious gesture with his fingers, motioning the Jaguar Knights closer.

While Teomitl was giving instructions to the two warriors, I sidled closer to Nezahual-tzin. "You said you weren't responsible for his recovery."

"I am not."

"Then–"

Nezahual-tzin nodded. His eyes were still on Teomitl. "I don't believe in miracles. If he's cured, someone must have helped."

"Chalchuihtlicue?" I asked.

"Your sister said that she'd tried summoning Her earlier, and that it had been in vain."

"But who–?"

"I don't know," Nezahual-tzin said, grudgingly. He had never liked admitting ignorance. "But I will find out." He looked at Teomitl – who seemed in the middle of an animated conversation with the warriors, with the occasional interjection from Mihmatini. "Can I speak to you outside?"

I felt, suddenly, like a conspirator. "Surely anything you have to say to me–"

"I'm afraid not. It's outside, or not at all."

I sighed, casting another glance at Teomitl. I guessed it had to do with my student – whom Nezahual-tzin had little liking for.

We walked out of the room, and back into the courtyard. The air was thick with the smell and smoke of copal incense; the altar atop the pyramid shrine covered in a mound of maize cakes. Priests with black-streaked faces were sweeping the courtyard with rush brooms, keeping it clean so the Duality would always been welcome.

"What do you want?" I asked.

Nezahual-tzin smiled. "Don't be so hostile. You know I'm working in your best interest."

"Until you decide you no longer need us." He had done it often enough, after all – last year, when I'd had a death sentence hanging over my head, he'd all but sold me back to Tizoc-tzin.

He shrugged. His eyes rolled up in their sockets, revealing the milky white of faraway stars. "You heard Teomitl. Someone is acting against the Empire."

"And?"

"You think a mere courtesan would want this?"

"Why not?" I asked. "You forget. Her goddess has enough of a grudge against the Mexica Empire."

Nezahual-tzin shook his head. "There's something wrong with this."

There was, perhaps – I still needed to examine the black creature, and see if I could identify the traces of magic left on it. And I hated to have to arrest an innocent woman. But Teomitl had a point: the risk was great, and the time for hesitation had passed. "We're the ones investigating this, and as of this moment we don't have any other leads. If you want to investigate, please do."

I'd intended to make clear to him that barging in with his criticism wasn't appreciated, but he took me seriously. Or, knowing him, perhaps he understood and didn't care. "There was a merchant involved, I understood."

I didn't bother to ask how he knew. It was either the blessing of Quetzalcoatl the Feathered Serpent, or his preternaturally excellent network of spies. "Yayauhqui."

"Yes, Yayauhqui. You didn't ask the right questions."

"What right questions?"

"I'm told your Fire Priest was wondering what deity Yayauhqui worshipped as a youth."

"I thought there might be something there." Even if there hadn't been.

"Perhaps," Nezahual-tzin said. "But that's not what matters. What matters is Yayauhqui himself."

"I don't see–"

"He was a member of the Imperial Family. A small and insignificant one: I doubt Moquihuix-tzin ever paid much attention to him. He was never a man to pay much attention to the small fish anyway."

"A member of–"

"You see why it's important," Nezahual-tzin said soberly.

"It could still be something else."

He shook his head. "You don't understand, Acatl-tzin. Tlatelolco will not forget. They'll never forget."

I looked at him curiously. Why such animosity? He had been barely a child at the time of the war that had cost our sister city their independence. "What makes you say that?"

"You have been to Tlatelolco."

"Only the marketplace," I said.

"You'll have missed the most important thing," Nezahual-tzin said. "Their Great Temple."

"What of it?"

"It's a ruin," Nezahual-tzin said. He sounded sad, or angry – I couldn't tell. "The limestone has cracked and dimmed; the frescoes have all but vanished. Not a human hand has touched it for eight years; not a single sacrifice has been offered there. To the gods, it might as well be dead."

"Why?" I asked, and thought of the answer before Nezahual-tzin could speak. "Tlatelolco worships within Tenochitlan's Sacred Precinct. Tlatelolca shouldn't be allowed to repair something that has no use." The Great Temple: the focal point of worship, the pride of one's city – the beating heart, the entrails.

"And they pay tribute every eighty days; send men to keep the temple of Huitznahuac in good repair, and feathered costumes every year. That, on top of the exactions the Tenochca warriors committed within the city on the day of the battle."

"You weren't there," I said.

"My father was," Nezahual-tzin said. His eyes were brown again, but with a particular, distant glaze, as if he could actually see into the past. Knowing him, it might well be the case. "But for him, Moquihuix-tzin might well have succeeded in his bid to overthrow the Tenochca domination."

"I still don't see–"

"You don't know how the war started."

"Over his wife," I said, slowly. Teomitl's sister, the one Revered Speaker Moquihuix-tzin had neglected.

"No," Nezahual-tzin said. "It started because, when Moquihuix-tzin's wife found refuge in Tenochtitlan after one too many nights of neglect, she brought word of a plot – an alliance between Tlatelolco and Culhuacan – both cities would regroup their armies, storm Tenochtitlan and send every man and woman of Tenochca blood soaring into the Heavens."

"That's–"

"Not something the Triple Alliance boasts of." Nezahual-tzin shrugged. "You can see how ill-informed it makes us seem. That it should take a woman to bring us word of what was right under our eyes."

I couldn't help it. "You don't like women, do you?"

"On the contrary," Nezahual-tzin said. "I think most people underestimate them, often unfortunately. Your sister, for instance, is worth perhaps more than all three High Priests combined, but there'll be few members of the clergy crowding to offer her any kind of official position. But never mind, that's not the point."