Master of the House of Darts (41 page)

"If we find him, we'll work out how to deal with him," I said. The truth was, I had no idea how you killed a ghost. I could banish them – but that just sent them back into the Heavens, ready to come back again.

Unless…

Every ghost disappeared before the throne of Lord Death – if it came to that, we might be able to do something.

Save that it was a favour, and I had no wish to incur more debts with my god.

"It might not work, Acatl-tzin."

"I–" Ichtaca looked at me, halfway between admiration and horror – not an expression I felt altogether comfortable with.

As usual, he'd managed to make his doubt evident while outwardly agreeing with me. I shrugged, and spread out my hands. "The boundaries have to be closed. That's our role. Do you have a better idea?"

Ichtaca looked dubious. "No," he said at last. "You're going to require the help of the order."

I smiled. "I wouldn't have had it any other way."

Mihmatini looked wistfully at her feet – where the pale trace of the thread tying her to Teomitl coiled on the ground. Then she sighed. "I have to come with you. I can help to make the spell stronger."

"Are you sure?"

"No," she said, curtly. "Don't ask, or I might just change my mind. I hope it's going to work, but it's really uncertain." Mihmatini pursed her lips. Clearly, she didn't much care for asking Nezahual-tzin's help once again. She looked back and forth, from Acamapichtli and Cozolli to me. "How come your order doesn't have a Consort anyway?" Mihmatini asked. "You seem to be the only exclusively male priesthood in the Empire."

Ichtaca jerked as if stung; I merely nodded, looking slightly away from her. Acamapichtli just looked smug. It was public knowledge, but still, never brought out in such an open fashion – like pointing out to an aged relative that they were senile. "There was… a problem with the Consort, a dozen years ago. She did – let's just say she got involved in activities she shouldn't have."

Meaning that she'd dabbled in the wrong kind of magics, made the wrong kind of alliances, and set herself to fold the entire Fifth World into Mictlan.

Mihmatini grimaced. "And she was killed? And the female priests?"

Ichtaca spoke, slowly, measuredly. "Not killed – exiled. And the corruption went deep into the clergy. It was, ah, cleaner to remove the branch than try to prune sprig by sprig."

Mihmatini grimaced. "I've heard it said you're sick people, but this is the first proof I had." She shook her head, as if removing water from her hair. "Never mind, that's all pretty unimportant right now. Acatl?"

I shrugged. "I don't have a better idea."

"If you need someone in the underworld and someone on the boundary, you'll need a gate into Mictlan. Opening one isn't cheap or easy," Ichtaca said.

"No, but we can manage." Provided nothing went wrong.

Ha ha. I knew the answer to that one, too.

Finding Nezahual-tzin turned out to be more difficult than we'd foreseen. He wasn't in his quarters, which lay empty and deserted, like those of the Revered Speaker. He wasn't in the steambath, or in the various Houses of Joy, and neither was he in the tribunal, listening to the various magistrates argue in search of truth.

I could tell Neutemoc was starting to get frustrated – no wonder, he was a warrior, and such footwork was merely the prelude to the fight – and even Mihmatini's temper was close to fraying. Acamapichtli, to my surprise, was more equable, in fact, he and his Consort were worryingly silent, following us with alert faces, their gazes moving, as if they could track dead spirits.

And perhaps they could, too. Knowing Acamapichtli, he wouldn't have chosen a weak or ineffective Consort.

The priests behind me, Palli and Matlaelel – who carried the supplies we'd need for the spell – didn't look enthusiastic, either.

"He didn't exit the palace," I said at last, as we looped through the same deserted courtyard for the fifth time. "The guards didn't see him."

Neutemoc grimaced. "I'm not convinced they'd have seen him."

"The Revered Speaker of Texcoco?" Mihmatini shook her head. "No, they'd have seen him. If only to warn Tizoc-tzin." She grimaced. "And with the number of people left…"

I said nothing. The atmosphere in the palace was somehow different – there were still people wandering the corridors, from magistrates to noblemen, from featherworkers to officials. But still…

Still, it was like a man with a removed heart – he might flop and writhe for a bare moment on the sacrificial altar, but there was no doubt that he was already dead.

Had Nezahual-tzin left the palace? He'd proved before that he came and went as he chose – sometimes in disguise, if there was need. He might have gone past the guards…

Something stopped me – a thought that slipped into the tangle of my mind like a sharpened knife. We were all acting as if the palace was impervious, and the guarded entrance was the only one – but the truth was, it wasn't anymore. Not if you could brave the power of Chalchiuhtlicue and enter the tunnel Teomitl had created – in the women's quarters.

And the gods knew Nezahual-tzin liked his women.

I bit back a curse. "Let's go."

"Where?" "Women's quarters. I'll explain later."

The women's quarters did not give off the same atmosphere as the rest of the palace: in the courtyards, life seemed to go on as it had always done, with the regular clacking of weaving looms as the girls learned to spin cotton and maguey fibre, and the subdued laughter of conversations drifting to us, about servants and men, and impending births. A woman I'd already seen, her belly heavy with child, was coming out of the steambath – walking slowly with her attendants, glaring at us for daring to impugn on her dominion.

As we entered one of the more secluded courtyards, Mihmatini's head came up, as if scenting the air. "You're right. He's here."

"You can feel his powers?" Neutemoc asked.

Mihmatini laughed, briefly. "No. I know what the place looks like when there is a man around. I always thought he had guts, but to use Tizoc-tzin's absence…"

"He's probably visiting relatives," I said, though I didn't really believe any of it.

Mihmatini walked to one of the closed entrance-curtains, and wrenched it open without ceremony. A jarring, discordant sound of bells accompanied her inwards – we could hear a woman's voice, arguing but growing fainter, and then another sound of bells, followed by Mihmatini's voice again.

Then silence.

Neutemoc and I looked at each other uncomfortably. "Maybe we shouldn't be here," Neutemoc said.

"I don't have a better plan," I said with a sigh. "But you can go home, you know."

He grinned – his face transfigured into that of a boy. "It's more interesting here."

The entrance-curtain tinkled again, letting through Mihmatini and Nezahual-tzin – who looked as though a jaguar cub had just pounced on him and settled down to maul him. "What is the meaning of this?"

"The meaning of this is that we get you out," Mihmatini said, with an expansive gesture of her hands. "And then, once you're safely out of here, we can worry about explaining to Tizoc-tzin what you were doing in the women's quarters."

"Nothing reprehensible," Nezahual-tzin protested – as smooth and arrogant as always.

"You can be sure Tizoc-tzin isn't going to swallow this," Mihmatini said, grimly amused. "Now–"

Something crossed the air, like the shimmering of a veil – everything seemed to ripple around us, as if we were underwater – and then it was gone, but the air was wrong.

Mihmatini stopped; Nezahual-tzin's eyes rolled up, showing the uncanny white of pearls. "Acatl…"

They came into the courtyard three at a time, fluid and inhuman – their bodies the black of a starless night, their faces both ageless and wrinkled, like those of drowned children; the hand at the end of their upraised tail twitching, moving and opening as if eager to rip out eyes – moving like lizards or salamanders. They fanned out, blocking both exits to the courtyard – I could see Neutemoc's lips moving, keeping track of them all, but there must have been more than a dozen of them already, watching us with white, filmy eyes – hunger and hatred in their gazes.

Ahuizotls.

Teomitl…

But the one who strode into the courtyard after them wasn't my student. Rather, it was Coatl, but he moved with a grace I'd never seen from the warrior.

"Coatl?"

His gaze moved from one end of the courtyard to another, watching us. "A warrior. A Guardian. And priests. Is that all the Mexica will field, to defend the Triple Alliance? Where are your She-Snake, your Revered Speaker – your Master of the House of Darts?"

Mihmatini's hand tightened around my wrist. "Acatl–"

He had died, and been brought back to life. That was what Palli had thought; what we had all thought. But what had come back – what had walked and talked, and smiled and wept – it hadn't been Coatl at all. It had been another soul. A dead soul trapped within Tlalocan.

"I know," I said. "Moquihuix-tzin!" I called.

He jerked, slightly, but his attention was still fixed on Nezahual-tzin.

Nezahual-tzin's opal-white eyes moved towards Coatl, steadily held his gaze. "I don't believe we've been introduced."

Coatl's broad, open face turned to look at him – the eyes were more deep-set than I remembered, and dark, as if he stood within a great shadow. "You wouldn't know me, pup."

Teomitl would have lashed out; Nezahual-tzin merely raised an eyebrow. "Pup? That's not setting up a felicitous acquaintance." His hand moved, to encompass the
ahuizotls
gathered in the courtyard. "Though those are hardly friendly."

"He's here to kill us, you fool," Mihmatini said. Power was flowing to her – ward upon ward to defend herself, an impregnable force against the
ahuizotls.

"Me as well?" Nezahual-tzin looked shocked – his eyes reverting, briefly, to their clear green-grey shades. "I haven't done anything to you that I would know of."

While they were arguing, I gestured to Palli and Matlaelel. We spread out in the courtyard, drawing obsidian knives from our belts, cutting deep into the palm of our hands – where the veins flowed all the way to the heart – and let the blood drip onto the ground, forming the first hints of a circle. I eyed the
ahuizotls
, which still hadn't moved. I didn't think it was going to last long.

"Whoever gets to Nezahual-tzin first–"

Mihmatini shook her head. "Drags him into Mictlan, yes. For that, we need your gate, Acatl."

"And you need to stay here," I said to Acamapichtli.

He snorted, like a Revered Speaker amused by a peasant's joke. "I had the general idea, don't worry. Now concentrate on your work, High Priest for the Dead."

"You know what they say about the taint of your ancestors," Coatl hissed. "It was your father who undid us – who sided with the Tenochcas instead of following the path of justice."

Nezahual-tzin laid a hand on his
macuahitl
sword – slowly, casually. Beside him, Neutemoc did the same. Acamapichtli and his Consort nodded at each other, and both simultaneously drew obsidian daggers.

"I believe," Nezahual-tzin said, slowly, carefully, "that this taint is washed away at birth. I certainly would hope the midwife acted suitably when I was born."

Coatl's face distorted in anger. "You – you mince words as if they meant anything. Will words bring back my people, pup? Will they invoke the dead back from the Fifth Sun's heaven; heal the raped women and all those taken slaves?"

"Your people? You're not Coatl, are you?" Nezahualtzin's eyes narrowed; the sword's wooden blade came up, its obsidian shards glinting in the sunlight; and he took a step in Coatl's direction.

"You waste my time." Coatl brought his hands together, and before we knew it the
ahuizotls
were flowing towards us, the hands on their tails going for our faces.

TWENTY-THREE

Blessings of Mictlan

I took a swipe at the first
ahuizotl
, sending it leaping back a few paces – but not slowing it down, as its legs bunched up for another assault.

I'd never liked the things – they might have been Teomitl's, but they were creepy, and that was saying a lot, since I knew most of the beasts that haunted each level of the underworld. But never mind that, my goal wasn't to kill them – with the power that coursed through Coatl, he could surely summon more with a mere snap of his fingers – but to complete the circle, and open the gate into Mictlan.

The
ahuizotl
leapt again – I ducked, feeling clumsy next to its fluid grace. Power shimmered in the air around me – and over me reared a huge shadow. I guessed that Nezahual-tzin was calling on his patron god, the Feathered Serpent Quetzalcoatl; I could also guess that Neutemoc, Mihmatini, Acamapichtli and Cozolli would be fighting the rush of
ahuizotls
. What I needed was…

I evaded another leap of the
ahuizotl
– the Duality curse me, the thing was fast – and glanced around the courtyard. The blood we'd already spread shone in the sunlight, bunched up in three bundles, nowhere near the circle we needed.

What we needed was…

A distraction.

I waved my knife at the
ahuizotl
– catching its attention, as well as that of two of its neighbours. As my gaze roved, I caught bits and pieces of the scene, what looked like Palli's flailing arms as he waved an obsidian dagger, and Matlaelel's face, as pale as muddy milk. Then I was diving for the entrance of the courtyard, but more of the beasts were flowing up, barring my passage, and at the last moment I altered my trajectory, crashing into the entrance-curtain. The bells danced above me, their voices shrill and unpleasant; a prelude to the rough, jarring sound the three
ahuizotls
made as they tore through the cotton.

Having little choice, I retreated deeper into the shadows, holding my knife like a shield.

The room smelled of copal incense and food gone stale – hints of cold maize porridge, of amaranth seeds and the faint memory of spices. And I knew there had been someone – two women. "I apologise, but–"