"He was handsome," Xiloxoch said, dismissively. "One might as well pick the prettiest ones."
"That's not a very strong reason," I said. "Why did you pick him, Xiloxoch?"
She shook her head, but did not answer.
"Xiloxoch." Teomitl said – his voice was soft, but it was no longer that of the young, unproven warrior. "Someone has been spreading diseases in the heart of the Mexica Empire. This is also a serious crime."
"I wouldn't know anything about that." Her eyes had flared; her hands clenched. She looked more angry than fearful.
"Why pick Eptli, Xiloxoch?"
"I told you. For justice."
"No," I said, slowly. "That's not what you told us. You said you'd learned of Eptli's transgression only after you slept with him."
There was a soft, green light spreading – Teomitl's aura, giving everything the air of underwater caves. The air smelled of churned mud, with the salty aftertaste of blood – and it was thicker too, clogging in our lungs. I could hear Xiloxoch's rising breath – coming in shorter and more laboured gasps. "Why?" he asked.
Last time I'd seen him try this, he'd almost killed a guard – but things had changed now, and he seemed more in control. Though one could never be sure, with the capricious Jade Skirt.
Xiloxoch's face was pale, her teeth drinking in the light and giving nothing back. "He was such an arrogant, obnoxious man. Thinking all the quetzal feathers, all the jade of the Fifth World were his due. So used to riches he thought they could buy anything."
The quintessential warrior – contemptuous of anything so feminine as sacred courtesans. "In other words, the perfect worshipper of the Southern Hummingbird."
Xiloxoch smiled, but said nothing.
"It's a serious accusation," I said, again. "But, if it's true, then they'll uphold the law, and Eptli will be stripped of rank, posthumously. Warriors were held to higher standards than commoners, by virtue of their higher knowledge and education. The war-council – the heads of the warriors, their role-models in the Fifth World – would be held to even more exacting rules.
"Come on," Teomitl said. "Let's see the magistrate, and we'll sort this out."
I shook my head. The pattern was disturbing: if Xiloxoch's accusations were true, we had three people involved. Eptli had offered the bribe, Pochtic and Coatl had accepted it. Eptli was dead, someone had attacked Pochtic, and Coatl had fallen prey to the same sickness as Eptli. As to the prisoner Zoquitl – the prize in all of this – he had also died.
Whether Xiloxoch's accusations were true or not, someone seemed to be killing off everyone alleged to have taken part in the affair.
Was it someone else associated with Xiloxoch? "Who else knows about this?" I asked her.
She started. "I don't understand."
"Don't take us for fools," I said. "As you said – everyone mentioned has died, or been attacked in some way. I find it hard to believe there is no connection."
Xiloxoch's eyes flicked towards the ground. "I didn't mention it to anyone. Why would I?"
Teomitl watched her intently – I wondered if he saw anything else, with the light of Jade Skirt so strong in his eyes – but at length he nodded. "Let's go, Acatl-tzin. We've wasted enough time already."
I thought, quickly. The coincidence was troubling, but then all the men she had accused were members of the war-council and what better way to sow chaos amongst us than target them – the supreme four, commanders of the army?
"No," I said. "We have more important things to do than this." And, to Xiloxoch: "I'm pretty sure you can find your own way to the military courts."
Her smile was wide and dazzling. "Of course. Don't worry about me, Acatl-tzin."
After she'd left, Teomitl turned to me, his face creased in puzzlement. "We could have–"
"No," I said. "She brought nothing but groundless accusations. I'm not about to give her the pleasure of our approval. Let her face the magistrates on her own terms."
"It's a serious matter."
"You've said it yourself: you noticed nothing."
"Yes, but I'm a fool when it comes to matters like this."
I shook my head. "It's not good enough, don't you see? We serve justice; not whims based on scant evidence." Otherwise we would not be much better than Tizoc-tzin.
Teomitl's face took on some of the harshness of jade again, but it was soon gone. "Fine. I suppose you're right. But if it's not true, then what was she was doing in Zoquitl's room?"
I had a fair idea of what she could have been doing in Zoquitl's rooms – what sacred courtesans did best. She was a servant of the Flower Quetzal, goddess of Lust and Childbirth, and sleeping with a promised sacrifice would not only enable her to honour her goddess, but might also leech potency from the Southern Hummingbird. It was small – one sacrifice out of forty – but the Flower Quetzal would have gladly counted it a victory.
Unless She had more extreme plans? Unless She was once more Tlaloc's ally, seeking retribution on the Fifth World?
"What now?" Teomitl asked, impatiently.
There was something going on – someone undermining the Mexica Empire or Tizoc-tzin's leadership. It could have been Tlatelolco; it could have been Xochiquetzal's followers, but it could also come from inside.
Pochtic had seen his assailant and recognised him, which in turn meant that he had known him. And I didn't think that could apply to either the Tlatelolcan merchant or the sacred courtesan. But Itamatl – the fourth member of the war-council, who had displayed such hatred for Tizoc-tzin… that was a strong possibility.
"There's a man we have to see."
• • • •
We stopped by the kitchens first, to get some flatbreads and fried newts. As we ate, I asked Teomitl about Itamatl.
"Honest man," he said with a shrug.
"He doesn't seem to like Tizoc-tzin all that much."
Teomitl grimaced. He looked distinctly uncomfortable, which was unusual for him. "Itamatl had an elder brother who was on the council."
I winced. "So he's dead?"
"And bound to the Southern Hummingbird, like the rest of the council."
And, of course, it had been because of Tizoc-tzin, and because of his fanatic drive to become Revered Speaker, that the council had died – or, more accurately, had been sacrificed to buy the Southern Hummingbird's favour. "And Itamatl?"
Teomitl wouldn't look at me. "Itamatl was very fond of his brother. But Acatl-tzin, you can't possibly think–"
"I don't think. I just follow what I see." Open hostility to Tizocztin, and a motive for wanting the Revered Speaker cast down, denied the Gold and Turquoise Crown Itamatl's brother had died for… "And I can't exempt anyone from suspicion."
Teomitl snorted. "You might as well suspect me."
"Of dubious loyalties to Tizoc-tzin?" The words were out of my mouth before I could think, but Teomitl said nothing. He merely watched his fried frog, as if he could order it out of his sight.
"You have to wait," I said, slowly. "Otherwise…"
"I know." He bit his lips. "I've seen the star-demons, remember. I know you made the right decision, Acatl-tzin. But, still…"
I said nothing. He needed time for things to sink in. He would see the truth of it soon enough.
Itamatl's quarters were not far from Pochtic's – in the same grand and ostentatious part of the palace. They looked much the same: a squat pyramid of limestone with more unfamiliar insignia – that of the Master of the Bowl of Fatigue, I presumed, and the lesser ones, the one with the coyote underneath the red sun, had to be for Itamatl's war prowess.
There were no slaves, no servants to block our way; and the antechamber was similarly devoid of people. From inside, beyond the simple black and red entrance curtain, came rustling noises, like someone turning the pages of a codex with great speed.
Teomitl pulled the curtain open with his customary energy, sending all the bells into a frenzy of ringing – but it was not enough advance warning for the man inside – who rose from his crouch near the brazier with wads of paper still in his hands, and an expression of anger slowly stealing across his face. "What is the meaning of this – oh, I might have known. Good afternoon, Teomitl." He still appeared angry.
"Burning papers?" Teomitl asked.
Itamatl shook his head. He wore nothing but a simple cotton loincloth – no warrior finery here, as if he were uncomfortable with it. But he addressed Teomitl as an equal. "Time to get rid of the old, I should think."
"The old order?" I asked.
Itamatl put the papers down. I caught a glimpse of elaborate drawings – warriors striking at each other, elaborate representations of army units, with their feather insignia and shields. "The remnants of our old wars. Might as well not keep them." He appeared utterly unashamed; at ease. "Especially given how they turned out."
"Be careful what you say," Teomitl said.
"You know what I'm going to say."
"Yes. And I'll listen as a friend, but I am also Master of the House of Darts."
Itamatl shrugged. "Fine." He turned to me, and bowed, brusquely, as if forced to acknowledge someone he didn't much care for. "And you'll listen as High Priest for the Dead."
"It's my role," I said, slowly. "You don't seem to care much for our wars."
Itamatl looked at Teomitl – who said nothing. At length, he said, "There will always be wars, and the Southern Hummingbird will always grant His favours as he sees fit."
"But, here and now, we are the ones holding His favours."
Itamatl's gaze was sardonic. "And this grants us the right to lie and dissemble?"
"If you approve so much of the truth," I said, "then be frank with us. Do you wish for this coronation war to be a success?"
That, if nothing else, caught him aback. At length he threw his head back, and laughed.
"Just like a priest, to wound with words." He was silent, for a while. "No. Just once, I would like Tizoc-tzin to be thwarted in his desires. To know what it is to lose." He smiled, bitterly, at Teomitl. "I might have tried to make him lose you, but I don't think he would care, either way."
Teomitl's face was a mask; for once, I couldn't read him, no matter how dearly I might have wished to. Did he still love his brother, in spite of the grievances between them – or was there nothing left between them, save duty?
"Be careful what you say."
"Words aren't a crime," Itamatl said. "Not yet."
"But acts are," I interjected. "Eptli's death. The sickness. The attack on Pochtic."
There was a moment of silence, which seemed to stretch into an eternity. Then, a snort and a shake of his head. "I'd have been tempted, perhaps. But I assure you, I have nothing to do with this. If anyone has to pay, it's Tizoc-tzin. I won't drag down other warriors."
And, but for the silence, it might have sounded sincere.
"I see," I said, though all I could see was that we couldn't discount him as a suspect.
Teomitl said, in a brusque fashion. "There have been talks, Itamatl. Talks we were approached for bribes by some of Eptli's allies."
"Bribes?" The puzzlement on his face looked genuine, but then again, he had had ample time to prepare himself for the question. "I don't see–"
"I didn't either." Teomitl's voice was low and savage. "But that doesn't mean there was nothing."
As we walked towards the entrance-curtain, his voice brought us short. "Teomitl!"
"Yes?" Teomitl didn't turn around.
"He'll drag us down, you know. Bit by bit and lie by lie. You know this."
"I know." Teomitl shook his head. "Come on, Acatl-tzin. Let's go."
Outside, it was early evening and the stars were shining in the sky. Teomitl paused on the platform, staring at them – I thought he might be looking for the Evening Star, the incarnation of Nezahual-tzin's protector god, but when he did speak, it had nothing to do with the Feathered Serpent. "Acatl-tzin… it was worth it, was it not?"
Trust him to get to the heart of the matter. Itamatl had accused priests of wounding with words, but Teomitl could be equally devastating in his naiveté. I stared at the stars – fixed, distant, but it only took a slight effort of memory to remember the rattle of skulls, and the lights plunging down towards us, becoming the eyes of the monsters, becoming large shapes looming over us, bringing the shattering cold, and the sense that nothing would be right again…
"We need a Revered Speaker," I said. "Otherwise the star-demons will come back." I wished I could believe it that easily. Perhaps it was better to weather a period of chaos, if that was the price to pay for a better man? But I couldn't say that. I couldn't agree to pay in blood and deaths, and casually sacrifice so many, as Tizoc-tzin had sacrificed the whole council. I'd had no choice, back four months before: we'd had to bring Tizoc-tzin back into the Fifth World, so that he would ward us against chaos and fire. That he was a man I despised changed nothing.
"He's a bad Revered Speaker. Itamatl is right." Teomitl's voice was low and fierce. "I can't admit it to him because of who I am, but he is right."
"He's not eternal," I said, finally. I started down the stairs, slowly, towards the inner courtyard, which lay in darkness beneath the merciless light of the stars.
"But he's still young." Teomitl scowled. "He could live forever."
He was a shambling corpse – because that was what we'd brought him back as, because I'd held back during the ritual, and left us with only a shadow of who Tizoc-tzin had been. "He won't last long," I said, finally. "Trust me."
"Days, months? A year?" When I didn't answer, he said, "It'll be long enough, then. Look at us. We're already torn apart."
"It's nothing new," I said, but I didn't know what I could tell him. He had seen the star-demons, as I had. He knew the price of being without protection – the price of opening up the boundaries and letting everything that prowled in the space outside the Fifth World walk our streets and swim in our canals. "I hate to say it, because it makes me sound like Acamapichtli, but we'll endure. We always have."