Master of the House of Darts (13 page)

His quarters were on the ground floor near Tizoc-tzin's own private quarters: his elevation to Master of the House of Darts had, it seemed, changed little. The entrance-curtain fluttering in the evening's balmy breeze had gone from orange to red and white with a huge butterfly – the colour and pattern reserved for warriors who had captured three or more enemies.

"Teomitl?" I pushed open the entrance-curtain – the bells sewn into it tinkled, a familiar, high-pitched sound – and stepped inside.

The room was as bare as it had always been, the only concession to wealth being the frescoes representing our ancestors in Aztlan, the mythical heartland of Huitzilpochtli the Southern Hummingbird.

I'd expected to catch Teomitl; what I hadn't expected was to find him with someone else.

"Acatl," the visitor said, rising. "What a pleasant surprise."

I found myself wishing I'd removed my sandals, after all. "My Lord," I said, bowing as low as I could.

Nezahual-tzin, Revered Speaker of our ally Texcoco, was a youth of barely sixteen years of age, with a smooth face that could have belonged to a child. The easy, graceful way he wore his feather regalia and turquoise cape, however, served as a useful reminder: Nezahual-tzin was a canny player of politics, who had grown up fighting for his Turquoise and Gold Crown, and he was blessed with the wisdom of Quetzalcoatl the Feathered Serpent. A dangerous opponent, should he ever set himself against us…

A horrible thought crossed my mind. What if he was the one behind it all? The gods knew he didn't like Tizoc-tzin; the man had all but accused Nezahual-tzin of wanting to break the Triple Alliance, four months past. And Nezahual-tzin certainly had the knowledge and the craft to make any spell he wished to – even one calling on the power of Tlalocan, though Tlaloc wasn't his preferred god to call upon.

But no; he was a smart and canny man, and, like me, he had seen the heavy cost we had paid during the change of Revered Speaker. He might have disliked Tizoc-tzin, but he had helped us crown him all the same. No, it couldn't possibly be him.

Teomitl wouldn't meet my gaze. "Nezahual-tzin came to inquire about the dead warrior. We were planning to look for you."

Eventually, I guessed. No – I looked at Teomitl again, seeing the impatience ill-hidden on his features. Those two still had no love for each other, and I guessed Teomitl had been trying to get rid of the unwanted guest for a while.

"I didn't know you had the best interests of warriors at heart," I said to Nezahual-tzin.

He smiled, uncovering teeth of a dazzling white. "Warriors, no. Magical epidemics, most probably."

"I see," I said. "You weren't with the army."

"No." Nezahual shook his head, briefly. "The coronation war is Tizoc-tzin's only. The Triple Alliance won't interfere when he proves his valour." He sounded vaguely amused: he had no illusions about Tizoc-tzin's valour.

"Don't mock my brother," Teomitl said. "I haven't seen you much on the battlefield, either."

Nezahual-tzin rolled his eyes upwards. "To each their own." I'd expected him to elaborate, but he didn't.

I looked at Teomitl, who was fidgeting. "I need to talk with Teomitl. Alone."

Teomitl nodded. Yes. There is plenty to do."

I could see that he wanted to remove Nezahual-tzin from his presence – and Nezahual-tzin saw it as well, because a slightly mocking smile was playing on his broad features.

I didn't know how much I could trust him with any of the details on the epidemic, and in any case, it was better to be prudent. I took the first excuse that came to mind. "If you'll excuse us," I said to Nezahual-tzin. "We have to look for a woman."

"Women tend to be elusive," Nezahual-tzin said, gravely. I remembered, too late, that he might be sixteen years old, and have the wisdom and grace of someone far older, but he didn't disdain the pleasures of the flesh, and his women's quarters already held dozens of concubines.

Teomitl glared at Nezahual-tzin. "You don't know what you're talking about."

His desire to oust Nezahual-tzin from his quarters was palpable, and at length Nezahual-tzin nodded. "I see," he said in a swish of feathers. "I will leave you to your affairs while I attend to mine."

I waited until he had left to look at Teomitl. "We have a problem," I said.

"A problem?"

Quickly, I outlined what Mihmatini had told me. Teomitl's face did not change during the recitation, save that it went paler and paler – and that a green light, like jade, like underwater algae, started playing on his features. "Deliberate?"

"Insofar as I know, yes."

"Then who?" The room was bathed in green shadows now; if the culprit had been there, he would have been blasted straight into Mictlan.

"I don't know."

Teomitl grimaced. He looked disappointed – an expression which sent an odd pang through my chest, making me wish I'd been capable of removing it – but he soon rallied. "So we're looking for enemies of the Mexica?"

I shook my head. "Not only that. Enemies of your brother, quite possibly. Remember last year. Someone could well be a Mexica and love the Empire, and yet still want to depose Tizoc-tzin for personal gain."

Teomitl snorted. "You don't remove a Revered Speaker. You kill him." I'd expected him to be outraged, or angry; but he was merely stating a fact all too wellknown to him, as if he'd already brooded over this many times.

"Teomitl–" I said, suddenly frightened.

He grinned – careless, boyish again. "Don't worry about me, Acatl-tzin. I'm not a fool. But the fact remains: what does our sorcerer hope to gain with this?"

"Weaken us," I said, darkly. "Perhaps even encourage a civil war." We'd always stood united, but then again, all our Revered Speakers had had the favour of the Southern Hummingbird – their coronation wars a success, bodies piling at the foot of the Great Temple until the steps ran slick with blood.

Teomitl's face darkened – and, for a moment, he looked far too much like his brother. "You go too far."

I shook my head, ignoring the faint stirrings of unease. "You've seen the banquet. We are divided. With enough panic, and enough fear… the gods only know what a sorcerer can achieve."

And there was Tizoc-tzin – who had been dead, and who we had brought back to life. What kind of magical protection could a dead man afford us?

Teomitl said nothing.

"You must know the court. You must see the atmosphere."

His hands were steady – almost too much – his face carefully guileless. "I can look," he said, finally. "Does that mean we stop enquiring about Eptli's enemies?"

I thought of what Mihmatini had told me. "Not necessarily. Whoever the culprit is, they must have hated Eptli – or what he represented."

Teomitl grimaced. "I did have some information, but…"

"What information?"

"The head of prisoners sent word," Teomitl said. "He said that a woman dressed like a sacred courtesan walked into their quarters, not long before the uproar of Eptli's death. She all but barged her way into Zoquitl's quarters, and they had a lengthy conversation."

A courtesan? "You don't know which kind?"

"Fairly high-up in their hierarchy, I should imagine, from what Cuixtli said. Why?"

"Xochiquetzal," I said, curtly.

"Oh."

Xochiquetzal, Goddess of Lust and Childbirth, had until recently been a resident of Tenochtitlan, granted asylum by the grace of the Duality – and of the previous Guardian, Ceyaxochitl. However, in the wake of Tizoc-tzin's ascent to power, She had been exiled from the city, partly in retaliation for her plot against the Southern Hummingbird a year before, and partly because Tizoc-tzin's paranoia wouldn't allow a scheming goddess to be within a stone's throw of him.

I hadn't approved. Like all gods – except Lord Death and the Feathered Serpent, who took no part in the intrigues of the Fifth World – Xochiquetzal was ruthless, and always plotting something. But risking Her anger and resentment wasn't wise.

"Does he know who she was?"

"He didn't remember her name. He thought it was something to do with flowers…" which didn't help, since half the women's names included precious stones or flowers, "and something else. Some kind of food – amaranth, maize?"

"I don't see–" I started, but the tinkle of the bells on the entrance-curtain cut me short.

"Xiloxoch," Nezahual-tzin said, not even bothering with an apology or an introduction. "xoch" was for flower; and "xiloch" was tender maize.

"You were spying on us?" Teomitl asked, indignantly. "You–" He stopped himself with an effort, remembering that he spoke to a superior and an ally. "That's not honourable."

"Honour will see us all dead," Nezahual-tzin said, with that particular, distant serenity that was his hallmark. "Let's be practical."

"How much did you hear?" I asked.

He didn't answer, but by his mocking glance, I could guess he had been outside all the while, listening.

"Don't you dare make this public," I said. I could have asked him not to act on it, but it would have been in vain.

Nezahual-tzin snorted. "Secrets are of value. Why would I reveal something like that?"

"For your own gain," Teomitl snapped.

"Of course I wouldn't." He smiled, with practised innocence – not that we were fooled.

"You'd better not."

I decided to interpose myself, before the conversation degenerated: those two would come to blows easily enough, and it wouldn't help the stability of the Triple Alliance if the heir-apparent to the Mexica Empire and the Revered Speaker of Texcoco fought among themselves. "You said the courtesan's name was Xiloxoch. How do you know, Nezahual-tzin?" And realised, too late, that there was only one possible answer to the question.

A faint, sarcastic smile appeared on Nezahual-tzin's lips for a bare moment, before his face was once more smooth and expressionless. "You know how I know," he said, curtly. "She's a delightful woman, Xiloxoch. Not as young as she used to be, but a treasure-trove of inventions. A pleasure to be with. Almost makes staying in Tenochtitlan worthwhile."

Teomitl's face went crimson. I was less fazed than him – both because I'd expected something like that, and because what women did in the privacy of their chambers had long since ceased to matter for me. "I don't think your prowess as a man is the question here."

Nezahual-tzin's eyes rolled up, revealing corneas of opalescent white. "Of course. You don't feel concerned."

Less than Teomitl, obviously. Ah – might as well question him, and find out what he knew. "As I said earlier, let's focus. What do you know about Xiloxoch that would be relevant?" I stressed the word "relevant."

For a moment, I thought Nezahual-tzin was going to launch into a recitation of Xiloxoch's virtues on the reedmat – but he must have perceived the shadows of jade playing on Teomitl's face, a sure sign that my student was losing hold of his divine powers. "You forget. I have no idea what you want with her."

"You know. You were listening."

"I see," Nezahual-tzin said. "Well, I don't know much more than what's already known at the House of Joy." He smiled disarmingly, but neither of us were fooled. "She chooses her mat-partners carefully, and she'll not bend for anyone."

"And would she say she was a devoted follower of Xochiquetzal?"

Nezahual-tzin's eyes rolled upwards again, revealing corneas as opalescent as mother-of-pearl. He was silent, for a while. He was – had always been – a good judge of character. "Her? She has her pick of Jaguar Knights and Eagle Knights, and even of Otomi shock troops. She should lack for nothing – but her chambers are simply decorated, and I've never seen anyone so bored with precious stones. So yes, I would think so. She's a priestess, not a greedy woman. She sees herself infused with the essence of the Quetzal Flower – invested with the mission to inflame lust in others."

I had feared so. "Do you know–" I started, but didn't get any further.

The entrance-curtain was slammed against the wall with such force that one of its bells flew off – and landed at Teomitl's feet with a discordant sound.

The She-Snake, the keeper of the palace order, stood framed in the entrance, his black-streaked face almost flush against the darkness. By his side was a group of guards dressed in black – even in the dark, I could see their shaking hands, their pale faces. Something was wrong, and every single one of them reeked of magic, an odour that slipped within my lungs like smoke, thick and acrid.

"Acatl," the She-Snake said. "Teomitl." He bowed a fraction, from equal to equal. "You have to come now."

"There's been another death?" I asked, my heart sinking. But why would everyone look in such disarray, if it was just one of the sick people who had died. "Tizoctzin?" I asked.

The She-Snake shook his head. "No. The war-council, Acatl. Someone has just made an attempt on the life of the Master of the House of Darkness."

EIGHT

Master of the House of Darkness

We followed the She-Snake to another part of the palace – less grand than the quarters of the imperial family, though still ostentatious enough, with rich frescoes of gods and warriors, and the smell of pine needles, a pleasant overlay over the harsher odour of copal incense wafting from the huge burners.

To Teomitl's dismay, Nezahual-tzin had fallen in with us, as if nothing were more natural. "Well, that's interesting," he said in a conversational tone.

Teomitl's eyes tightened. "This is a Mexica affair."

"You forget." Nezahual-tzin's broad face still bore that expression of distant amusement. "What strikes Tenochtitlan will strike its neighbours, too – and Texcoco is not just any neighbour, but part of the heart and soul of the Triple Alliance."

The courtyard we entered resembled Tizoc-tzin's private quarters in miniature: at the centre was a pyramid of limestone. Atop the stairway was a squat building, and on the platform that led up to it floated a round feather standard depicting a cactus with red fruit. The insignia was unfamiliar.

"Teomitl?" I asked, my face turned upwards.

My student shed Nezahual-tzin with the quickness and eagerness of a striking snake. "It's his insignia," he said. "Pochtic, Master of the House of Darkness, Lord of the Eagle Prickly Pear."