“Azcatl? The Red Ant?” Vaughn almost laughed.
“I know. The myths don’t make much of him. All I know is the one about Quetzalcoatl bullying him to reveal where his grain store is. In real life, though, Azcatl’s not someone you want to mess with. All of them are like that. You just feel so
inferior
when they’re around. Particularly when it’s someone like Tzitzimitl, who couldn’t disguise her scorn for me.”
“You don’t think that’s just you? Your sparkling personality?”
“Could be,” said Stuart. “And in answer to your earlier question, they revealed themselves to me because I happened to be there and it was convenient. No other reason. I wasn’t specially selected or anything like that. Quetzalcoatl injured me and had a fit of guilt about that, and then saw a way I could be useful to him. I’m not useful to him any more, apparently, judging by the way he almost completely blanked me when we were up on the Great Speaker’s palace.”
“He had other things on his mind.”
“Maybe. I think...” Stuart hesitated. “I think, to them, humans are playthings, not much more. ‘As flies to wanton boys,’ et cetera.”
“Don’t recognise the quotation, but then I didn’t have a posh education like you.”
“Shakespeare. And we didn’t study him at ‘posh’ school, either. Too Christian. I sought out his work for myself when I was older. Complete, unexpurgated editions of the plays are hard to track down. I found one of the last ever Victorian ones, got it from a black-market dealer in Hull. Set me back a pretty penny, I can tell you.”
“We’re the gods’ pets, then, is that what you’re saying?”
“At best. We intrigue them, the way a strange species of animal – I don’t know, the duck-billed platypus for instance – intrigues zoologists. All said and done, it turns out we’re nothing more than a worthy project to them, a charity case. That’s how this whole Empire nonsense got started. The gods saw us, thought we were cute, adopted us and tried to make us better, more like them. And then it all went belly up, and this is the mess we’re left with, the aftermath of Quetzalcoatl and Tezcatlipoca’s big spat.”
“I don’t understand. So are the myths true or aren’t they?”
“I think they are, sort of, and also not. I think they’re versions of the truth which explain the gods’ behaviour, and the Great Speaker – Tezcatlipoca – has allowed them to become religious currency because it suits his ends. The creation story, for instance. It’s a way of telling us, reinforcing to us, that the gods made everything. They’re the ones responsible for the world and we owe them an unrepayable debt of gratitude for that. Of course, what they actually did was take a race at a pre-existing level of civilisation and develop it, mould it in their own image. They didn’t make the world, they remade it. And us with it.”
“It’s...” Vaughn moved her hands as though she were literally groping for words. “It’s hard to take in.”
“Tell me about it. Why do you think I was so spaced out when you first saw me in that cell? And I wasn’t even a believer in the first place, so I can’t begin to imagine the sort of effect this must be having on one of the faithful.”
“I’ve never completely been one of the faithful,” Vaughn protested. “I’ve had my doubts, now and then. The Empire just seemed... logical, and belief in the gods was an integral part of it. But now that I know what the gods are actually like, I’m not so sure about them.”
“Proof of faith has destroyed your faith.”
“Yeah, hilarious irony, right? It’s like that thing about how you should never meet your heroes. You’ll only be disappointed.”
“Idols with feet of clay,” said Stuart.
“So,” said Vaughn, after a pause, “next, I suppose, there’s going to be an attack on this place. The good gods versus the bad one.”
“‘Good’ is relative in this context, but yes, that sounds about right. They won’t do it by halves, either. Whatever Tezcatlipoca has up his sleeve by way of a defence, it had better be a decent one, for his sake.”
“Any idea how long before it all kicks off?”
“How would I know?”
“You’re the god expert.”
“Am not. But if pushed I’d say it won’t be long. Quetzalcoatl’s not one to hang about. Sometime today, for certain.”
“All the more reason for us to get out of here, and sharpish.”
“Quite. Getting caught up in the middle of a war between gods is not something any sane person would want.”
Something caught Vaughn’s eye – something passing by the alley’s mouth. She got to her feet and padded stealthily to peer out. Then she beckoned to Stuart and pointed.
He saw what she had seen, understood her meaning, and gave her a grinning thumbs-up.
T
HEY SHADOWED THE
priest and the acolyte for a couple of hundred yards until the perfect spot for an ambush presented itself. It was a garden of contemplation, a small oasis of tropical greenery amid the urban labyrinth, where a fountain tinkled and a colony of chattering capuchin monkeys fed on berries in the treetops. Moments after the priest and the acolyte entered the garden’s lush verdant haze, Stuart and Vaughn followed them in.
It was over quickly, with scarcely a sound. The acolyte put up more of a struggle than the priest, but then he was younger and fitter. Stuart had to subdue him with a chokehold. Vaughn made short work of the priest, coshing him with the pommel of her
macuahitl
.
They dragged the two unconscious bodies into the shrubbery and stripped them of their ceremonial garb. Then they changed out of their own clothes, Vaughn ordering Stuart not to peek at her in her underwear, on pain of death.
“Long as you promise not to do the same to me.”
“Like I give a shit.”
“You realise we’re committing hieratic fraud? A capital offence?”
“Again, like I give a shit.”
“Vaughn, you’re a changed woman.”
“Maybe. Now turn your back.”
When they had finished donning the priest’s and acolyte’s vestments, Stuart tore his shirt into strips, which they used to truss and gag the near-naked holy men. He reckoned, what with everything else that was going on, no one would miss these two for several hours.
“Still wish you’d agreed to killing them, though.”
“My plan, my rules,” said Vaughn. “I don’t hate the priesthood like you do. Besides, however careful we were, we might have got blood on the vestments. This way’s neater.”
Stuart adjusted the priestly headdress until it sat straight on his head. “Now, remember. Three paces behind me at all times. Mustn’t arouse suspicion, must we?”
“I’m a female acolyte. Of course I’m going to arouse suspicion.”
“Then try and walk more like a man.”
“I will if you do.”
“Oh, ha ha.”
They strode out from the garden, one behind the other, robes swishing behind them, and for a time it seemed as though it would be plain sailing. Nobody they came across ventured them a second glance. Priests and acolytes were a common sight in Tenochtitlan, even Caucasian ones, and besides, the city was now in a state of alert and had become a hive of frenetic activity. People were rushing to and fro on errands and urgent missions. Serpent Warriors were on the march, quickstepping in phalanxes towards various destinations. Some were making for the airfield, where a fleet of aerodisc gunships awaited. Others were on their way to man strategic positions on the outer walls, carrying with them lightning guns of a kind Stuart had never seen before, large-barrelled and bulkier than the average l-gun, closer in size to a conventional bazooka. Still others disappeared down stairwells that led to entrances to what must be underground bunkers. All of them were too intent on their business to spare a thought for much else.
Nevertheless, Stuart and Vaughn made sure to stay as inconspicuous as possible. They walked at a sedate priestly pace, even though they would rather have been hurrying. Their lack of ritual tattooing was another giveaway, so they kept their faces hidden by bending their heads low, in attitudes of pure piety.
When the huge trapezoid gateway came into view, Stuart dared to think they were going to make it after all. The gate was shut, of course, and guarded, but surely no Serpent Warrior would refuse a demand from a priest to open it. Freedom was just moments away.
“My good man,” Stuart said, gesturing loftily at the leader of the team of Serpents overseeing incomings and outgoings at the city’s sole public access point. “Captain...?”
“Ueman.”
“Captain Ueman. My associate and I wish to go outside. Kindly let us through.”
“Through to what, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“The harbour.”
“Again if you don’t mind my asking, why?”
“I’ll thank you to use my proper title when addressing me,” Stuart said with all the hieratic haughtiness he could muster.
“Your Holiness,” said Captain Ueman, “I mean no disrespect, but it’s an, ahem, unusual request. There’s nothing out there but boats and water. If you want to leave the city, surely a disc would be more convenient.”
“Such impertinence!” Stuart snapped. He was beginning to wonder whether he could pull this off. A couple of the other Serpents were looking with intense curiosity at Vaughn, who lowered her head even further and kept her robe gathered tight around her to disguise her figure. Her short choppy hair was at least vaguely masculine, even if the rest of her was distinctly not.
“How dare you presume to question me?” Stuart continued. Cowing the captain was perhaps his only hope. “I’ll have you know I’m here at the behest of the Great Speaker himself. You’re aware that we’re facing imminent enemy assault? I’ve been assigned the task of inspecting the harbour and seeing to it that all civilian personnel who’ve come by boat evacuate the area immediately.”
“That order’s already gone out. They’re all starting to head for the shore.”
“And I’m responsible for ensuring they all get well out of harm’s way. Now, which is worse, would you say? That I fail to do so and commit a dereliction of duty, or that I return to the Great Speaker and tell him that a certain Captain Ueman hindered me from performing my appointed task? Which do you think would make his Imperial Holiness angrier, and with whom?”
Ueman flinched. His cheeks paled a little. “It may not be safe out there. The attack could come at any minute. I’m only concerned about your welfare, Your Holiness.”
“I’ll take the risk. I can do no less, when the Great Speaker commands.”
Ueman was, against his better judgement, persuaded. He turned to his men and gave the order for the gate to be opened. One of the Serpent Warriors pressed a lever that triggered the release mechanism. Arm-thick bolts withdrew, a motor churned, a drive chain clanked and, with monumental slowness, the gate began to roll aside.
Stuart glimpsed lake. Seconds from now, he and Vaughn would be haring down to the harbour to bag a place aboard one of the handful of boats that had yet to unmoor and slip away from the quayside.
Then one of the Serpents who was squinting at Vaughn said, “Sir? This may sound strange but I’m pretty sure this acolyte’s a girl.”
There was no time to hesitate. Stuart grabbed Ueman and kicked his legs out from under him. As the Serpent captain collapsed, Stuart took possession of his
macuahitl
, yanking it from its scabbard. He slashed the shoulder strap of Ueman’s lightning gun and deprived him of that as well.
Vaughn, for her part, seized hold of the arm of the Serpent who had rumbled her. She twisted it round back against itself almost to dislocation point, so that the man was forced to double over. Then she kneed him three times in the face, relieved him of his l-gun, and let him fall.
The other Serpents were too startled to respond instantly. Members of the hieratic caste just weren’t prone to using violence, and especially not with such brisk, brutal efficiency. By the time they had their l-guns out, Stuart and Vaughn had the drop on them.
Their
guns were charged up and ready; the Serpents’ weren’t even primed.
“Choice,” Stuart told them. “Try to stop us leaving, and die. Let us go, and live.”
To emphasise the point, he pressed the barrel of his l-gun to the nape of Captain Ueman’s neck, between his helmet and his tunic collar. Vaughn, meanwhile, covered the other Serpents with her gun.
“Rush them, men,” Ueman said. “Your lives don’t matter and neither does mine. These are the fugitives we were told to look out for. You outnumber them. They can kill two of you at most before you reach them.
One
of you, if they shoot me first.”
There was logic in this, to a Serpent Warrior. Ueman’s men primed their guns and trained them on Stuart and Vaughn. Vaughn swung her gun this way and that. “Who wants it? None of you, not really. So back the fuck off.” But the Serpents weren’t deterred. They began to move in, and Stuart began to beat a retreat towards the still opening gate. Vaughn went with him, continuing to warn the Serpents off.
They were at the threshold of the gate, inches from making good their getaway, when a half-dozen armoured figures dropped from the sky.
Stuart’s first thought was that it had begun. Quetzalcoatl and the rest of the gods were had launched their invasion.
Then he realised that these suits of armour, although similar to the ones the gods had worn, were squarer, sharper, sleeker in many respects. They lacked wings like the ones he had seen on Itzpapalotl and Huitzilopochtli. Instead, they had sets of fins along the forearms and calves to lend them control and stability in flight. They were emblazoned with a snake emblem on the torso, and the helmets were also snakelike, the faceplates protruding to a pointed, reptilian tip and featuring bulging, yellow-tinted eyes. All of the suits were uniformly bright green, the green of a mamba’s skin, except for one which bore additional flashes of gold along the arms and around the collar.
The armoured Serpent Warriors – it was the only thing they could be – landed in a semicircle. The new arrivals’ l-guns were throbbing with charge and, moreover, bigger than the ones the two fugitives were carrying.
One of them – the gold flashes marked him out as the senior officer – put a hand to his helmet. The faceplate vanished, exactly as Stuart had seen the doors at the gods’ underground lair do. Beneath lay the less than amiable features of Colonel Tlanextic.