Harbinger of the Storm (7 page)

”Ah, the High Priests,” the She-Snake said. He gestured towards us. “Why don’t you sit down and join us?”

”I think not.” Quenami’s voice was as cutting as cold obsidian. “We’re not here to pour chillies on the fire.”

”Are you not?” The She-Snake’s voice was measured and pleasant, much in the same way that the song of an
ahuizotl
waterbeast was pleasant; a prelude to being dragged down, drowned and torn apart. “You’re not part of this council, Quenami.”

Quenami did not give ground. “I stand for Huitzilpochtli, and you would do well to remember it.”

The She-Snake raised an eyebrow. “So do I. Have you forgotten? In the absence of the Revered Speaker, the She-Snake is the ruler of the land. If it helps make the point, I’ll start eating behind a golden screen, and forbid any man to look me in the eye. Though I’d prefer not, it would be unseemly.”

During his speech, I’d been surreptitiously looking at the council, trying to gauge their mood. They sat unmoving, their gazes alternating between the She-Snake and Quenami. The overall atmosphere was tense, far too tense. Several of them were sweating, as if in fear for their lives. No wonder, with a summoner of star-demons loose in the palace.

Quenami glared at the She-Snake, obviously preparing a withering response. “Look,” I started, at the same time as the She-Snake’s neighbour, the round-faced man, got up.

”I don’t think this petty quarrel is the reason you came here,” he said, and he was looking straight at me. Now that my attention was focused on him, I could remember seeing him several times at Court. His name was Manatzpa, a brother of Axayacatl-tzin’s father, making him therefore Teomitl’s and Tizoc-tzin’s uncle. He was Master of the Worm on the Maize Blade, among his duties was the collection of the tribute from the conquered provinces.

I shook my head. “I came with questions. As you all know, there has been a death in the palace tonight.”

Several members shifted uncomfortably. Manatzpa nodded. “Ocome. Not a popular man.”

”I take it you didn’t like him?” I asked him, bluntly. He sounded congenial enough, and I doubted he’d be vexed by my honesty.

”None of us did. But I, no.” Manatzpa smiled. “You’ll discover soon enough that I threatened to dismiss him from the council.”

”Something you had no right to do.” Quenami’s face was filled with self-righteous outrage.

”Oh, Quenami,” the She-Snake said with a shake of his head. “You’re far too concerned with propriety.”

”Propriety?” Quenami drew himself to his full height. “You speak of the rites of Huitzilpochtli? They have kept us alive. They have allowed us to survive She of the Silver Bells, and a century of migration in the marshes. They will allow us to survive those shadowed days, if we’re willing to follow them.”

More than a few council members looked embarrassed. Quenami, as subtly as ever, had reminded them that, in the first days of the Mexica Empire, the Revered Speaker had chosen his heir before his death, and the council’s role had only been to approve that choice. By that logic, Tizoc-tzin should have been elected Revered Speaker without much fuss. But, over the years, the councilmen had gained influence and prerogatives, and now they would not be content with merely confirming Axayacatl-tzin’s opinion.

Well, at least I knew exactly where Quenami stood. Not that I was surprised, since Tizoc-tzin had appointed him in the first place.

Manatzpa’s face had turned smooth, unreadable. “Believe me, the last thing we want is chaos, Quenami-tzin.” He turned again towards me. “Acatl-tzin, I imagine you still have questions?”

If glances could kill, Quenami would have struck me dead on the spot. Then again, the man had asked me to come with him, so he had only himself to blame.

”Yes. You said you had tried to get Ocome dismissed from the council. Why?”

”Oh, come, Acatl.” Manatzpa smiled. “By now, you must know what Ocome was like. He was a liability to this council. His only use was as an indicator of which direction the Fifth Sun would shine. We’re the high council, not stalks bending to the slightest breath of wind. He made us all a disgrace.”

I could see his colleagues as he spoke, several of them nodding to the rhythm of his words, others carefully unreadable. Very few people seemed to disagree outright.

It looked like I was not going to lack suspects.

”It’s hardly a reason to commit murder, though,” Manatzpa said. “There are more civilised ways to solve our quarrels.”

”Even when precedents aren’t on your side?” This from Quenami, who had obviously not forgotten his curt dismissal.

Manatzpa did not even bother looking at him. “Not everyone considers death a viable solution. Believe me, if I’d really wanted him out of this council, I’d have found a way. Enough pressure in the right places…”

”Such as envoys?” I asked.

Manatzpa looked puzzled. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

”Someone sent envoys to Ocome regularly,” I said. “With threats, in all likelihood. And the chances are it’s someone in this room.”

Or Tizoc-tzin, or Acamapichtli, or Xahuia, the princess from Texcoco. But I didn’t say that aloud. I just watched them. Several members of the council were looking distinctly uncomfortable, bearing the waxy hue typical of guilty men.

There’d only been one set of envoys, though. Why did so many of them look so nervous?

”Look,” I said. “I need to speak with you, that’s all. Work out where you’re standing.”

”That doesn’t concern you.” Manatzpa’s voice was hard.

”It might,” I said. “Someone is obviously trying to meddle in the succession. I wouldn’t care if they had poisoned Ocome or stabbed him, or crushed his head. But they summoned a star-demon to do it, and that comes within my province.” And Quenami’s, and Acamapichtli’s, but neither of them had made much effort to deal with that so far.

Manatzpa eyed me for a while, as if gauging my worth, but he did not move. At length he relented. “I suppose,” he said. “But let’s do this somewhere else, Acatl-tzin.”

Manatzpa and I repaired to a smaller room in an adjacent courtyard, an almost bare affair, with only a few frescoes showing our ancestors within the seven caves of the heartland, before Huitzilpochtli sent them on their migration to found a city and an empire that would spread over the whole Fifth World.

He sat for a while, cross-legged, as impassive as a statue of a god or an obsidian mask, waiting for me to make the first move. I sat down on the other side of the reed mat. “You look like one of the most active members of the council.”

Manatzpa inclined his head, gracefully. “If you mean that I view this appointment as more than a sinecure, yes.” He must have seen my face, for he laughed. “Expecting more evasions? I dislike deception, Acatl-tzin.”

I very much doubted that he’d risen so high on honesty alone. Teomitl was the only member of the imperial court I’d met who preferred bluntness to flattery, and while I couldn’t help but like him for it, I was also aware that it made his survival at court much more difficult. “Let’s say I believe you,” I said. “If you’re determined to be so honest, tell me this. Who do you support as Revered Speaker?”

Something like a smile lifted up the corners of Manatzpa’s thin lips. “Tizoc-tzin is a weak fool. He has the support of the army’s core, but not much else. He lacks the… stature to fill the role he wants to claim. The foreign princeling – Xahuia’s son – he has her support and that of her followers, but he is a spoiled brat, nothing like the ruler we’d wish for.

”The She-Snake,” and here Manatzpa sounded almost regretful, “he has the ambition, and the greatness within him. But it would set an uncomfortable precedent. His father refused the honour of the Turquoise-and-Gold Crown, and justly so. There is a place for the She-Snake, and one for the Revered Speaker. Male and female, violence and order-keeping; you cannot mix both.”

”And the High Priests?” I asked, fascinated in spite of myself.

”We both know where Quenami stands.” Manatzpa sounded amused. “Especially after tonight. You, Acatl-tzin, obviously have no ambition. ” He lifted a hand to forestall any objection I might have. “Understand me, I say this as a compliment. To keep the balance is knowing your place in the order of things. I respect this.”

That we could agree on, if nothing else. “And Acamapichtli?”

”Tlaloc’s High Priest is also ambitious. The Storm Lord made a grab for power last year, after all. Though Acamapichtli’s participation has not been proved, I wouldn’t swear that he has the best interests of the Fifth World at stake.”

Me neither. Last year, he had also been quite busy trying to convict my brother Neutemoc on false evidence. I’d have to speak with him, if I could keep my calm long enough to do that. Better purge the abscess before it could fester.

”So you stand for no one?” I asked. “To have no candidate–”

”Is to wish for the star-demons to walk among us, I know. But consider, Acatl-tzin. The Revered Speaker is the embodiment of Huitzilpochtli, the vessel through which the Southern Hummingbird’s divine powers can spread into the Fifth World. A flawed vessel just means a flawed protection. Is that what you wish for?”

”No,” I said. It was one of the reasons I couldn’t wholly support Tizoc-tzin, even though I knew he had been Axayacatl-tzin’s choice of heir. “But still, every day that we temporise looking for perfection…”

Manatzpa inclined his head. “Make no mistake. If I can’t have what I wish for, I’ll settle for a flawed vessel rather than none at all. But I’d rather try to sway the council towards a more suitable choice of candidate.”

”Who?” I asked. I couldn’t see any other suitable candidate, anyone who’d have the stature of a Revered Speaker.

Manatzpa looked away. “Forgive me. To name him would be pointless, since he has so little support.”

I frowned. “I don’t want mysterious factions within the council, Manatzpa-tzin. I need to know–”

”You need to know who killed Ocome,” Manatzpa said. “I can give you my word that my candidate isn’t involved in this. He couldn’t have been, since he doesn’t even know of my support for him.”

”Your word?”

”As I said, I despise deception. I’ll swear it by my face, by my heart. May I lose both if I have been deceitful.”

I watched him, trying to gauge his sincerity. His eyes shone in his moon-shaped face, burning with a fire I wasn’t sure how to interpret. “Fine,” I said, not sure if I could believe him. “But if it comes to a point when I need his name…”

”Come back and speak with me,” Manatzpa said. “I’ll help you. My word.”

”I see,” I said. “What else can you tell me about the council?”

He appeared relieved by my change of subject, and launched into a tirade on the various members, dissecting them in small, neat sketches. He was obviously a keen observer of men, and he had had enough time to read the currents of the council.

There wasn’t much to be learnt. The council was nearly evenly split between the She-Snake and Tizoc-tzin, with a few supporting Xahuia. It was a bleak picture, promising endless days of debates before a clear vote could even be reached, days during which the star-demons would grow closer and closer to us, not to mention opportunities for the summoner to call more demons to roam the palace.

”You have no influence…” I started.

Manatzpa spread his long, elegant hands on the reed mat, palms up in a gesture of powerlessness. “I’m just a man, Acatltzin. I speak for the council in matters of law, which makes my word respected. But, at times like this, it’s not enough to make them remember anything but their own good.”

Great. I prayed that the Duality was indeed watching over us, because the days ahead promised to be fraught and messy at best.

”And about Ocome?” I asked.

”I’ve told you what I knew about Ocome. Truth is,” he smiled at that, “most people would have leapt at the chance to get rid of him. A vote is a vote, but one you can’t trust…”

”Did anyone have a quarrel with him?” I asked. “I mean, more than usual?”

Manatzpa thought for a while. “I know the She-Snake had words with him. But then again, he had words with everyone.”

Clearly, Manatzpa liked the She-Snake. I could understand his argument why he didn’t want the She-Snake to claim the Turquoise-and-Gold Crown, but all the same, it must have pained him, because here he was, still trying to defend the man in spite of everything else.

I didn’t trust the She-Snake, who was far too smooth and too ruthless. And I was definitely going to make sure I caught him and asked him about this quarrel with Ocome.

”I see,” I said. I talked more with him, but got nothing else that was useful. “Thank you. Can you see if the other councilmen will speak with me now?”

Several hours later, I had not learnt much more. Most of the council members were of the same mould as Manatzpa, men of imperial blood bypassed by the succession and either proud of or resigned to their subservient roles.

Of the frightened ones, the only thing I was able to find out was that there had indeed been threats. The same envoys, perhaps, though they wouldn’t admit to anything. Except for Manatzpa and the old magician, they seemed in fear for their lives. Hardly surprising, when one has enjoyed all their lives the riches and privileges of power without responsibility, to suddenly face that much danger must have been sobering.

The old magician was much calmer, and even his protective spells were nowhere as powerful I’d originally thought, mainly for protection against human attacks, nothing that would stand against a star-demon or other creature.

”I grow weary of the strife,” he said to me, bending to lift his bowl of chocolate.

”It’s not really going to get better as time passes,” I said.

He shook his head, a little sadly. “No. Men have always loved power. I’ve seen many things in my years, Acatl-tzin.”

His name was Echichilli, and he was Master of Raining Blood, keeper of the rites and ceremonies, another watcher who made sure the balance was respected. He was a risen noble – a man who had joined the council on battle prowess and not birth – and he insisted on calling me by the honorific “tzin”, even though he was my superior both in position and in years. In many ways, he reminded me of my old mentor, a man long since dead. In other circumstances, I might have been glad to call him a friend.