”I thought you couldn’t dismiss anyone,” I said, very slowly. But it was Quenami who had told us that. Quenami, who wasn’t a member of the council, who interfered where he wasn’t needed.
”There are exceptions. What he did was unforgivable.”
Manatzpa shook his head. “You know it wasn’t.”
”Wasn’t it?” Echichilli looked him in the eye, until Manatzpa’s glance slid away, towards the painted floor at our feet.
”What in the Fifth World are you talking about?”
Manatzpa shrugged, but the taut set of his shoulders made it all too clear how angry he was. “Pezotic was worse than Ocome – or more honest, depending on how you view matters. He couldn’t stomach the threats, the constant intimidations.”
”He ran away?” I asked. It seemed too simple, too innocent. Or was I becoming as paranoid as Tizoc?
”Yes,” Echichilli said. “Rather than face his responsibilities.” It had the ring of absolute truth – no evasion, no attempt to look aside, or to look me too much in the eye – a simple fact, and one that both saddened and angered him. “I had thought him a better man.”
”He was a clever man.” Manatzpa’s voice was bitter. “He knew where this would lead us.”
Echichilli said nothing. Both he and Manatzpa looked drained, their skin as paper-thin and as dry as that of corpses, their stances slightly too aggressive. I assumed there had been further threats, further attempts to bring them to support one candidate or another. But that was one area I couldn’t help with. My hands were full enough as it was.
I thought again on what Xahuia had told me – the priest’s name branded into my mind. I could assume it was bluff and go question him, but I would have to get out of the palace and back to the Wind Tower, and this would take me time, time I might not have. Ceyaxochitl’s removal suggested that the summoner of the star-demons was readying himself for another strike.
So, start out by assuming Xahuia had told the truth; and I couldn’t imagine she’d tell a lie, not on something so easily verifiable. Assume she had got Ocome’s promise that he would shift sides to hers, without revealing to anyone where he truly stood.
Then the one person who stood to lose the most was the one whose side Ocome had supported, Tizoc-tzin, the heir-designate.
Unfortunately, he was also the man who had threatened to have me dismissed from the court altogether. And, without his brother Teomitl to stand for me, any audience I sought would end in disaster.
But still, he might well be behind it all, and I couldn’t stand by while he swept to power under the cloak of Axayacatltzin’s approval.
How would I face Ceyaxochitl, if she ever recovered?
What I needed was an ally, or at any rate someone who made sure that I came out of Tizoc-tzin’s chambers without losing anything. Manatzpa was not nearly powerful enough; it had to be one of the other contenders for the turquoise-andgold crown.
My heart was not up to asking Xahuia or Acamapichtli. Given how my last interview with the High Priest of the Storm Lord had ended, pacifying him would be nigh impossible.
The She-Snake, then.
I headed towards the She-Snake’s quarters. They were in a courtyard symmetrical to the imperial chambers, on the other side of the palace – as befitted the symmetrical roles of the Revered Speaker and the She-Snake.
Unfortunately, when I arrived there, the She-Snake had left for his evening devotions. I asked when he would be back, and was met only with a shrug.
”I wouldn’t bother, if I were you.”
I turned, slowly. Acamapichtli was standing behind me in the courtyard, dwarfed by his headdress of heron feathers. “Why?” I asked. The last time I had seen him had been his argument with Teomitl, which had ended with his walking out of the room. He seemed calmer now, although he still appeared tense.
He made a quick stab of veined hands. “He won’t see you. He doesn’t receive anyone but his followers.”
”And you don’t count yourself as such.”
Acamapichtli rolled his eyes upwards. “That much should be obvious.”
”Which side are you on, Acamapichtli?”
”I don’t think I’m obliged to say that to you.”
”It might demonstrate goodwill,” I said, a little sarcastically.
His eyes narrowed. “I’ll admit I was wrong to leave yesterday. But I didn’t have to answer those questions, especially not in the way your student asked them.”
His admission was bald, made without a trace of shame, and it was like a blow to the solar plexus. Out of all the people I’d expected an apology from, he was the last.
Since I remained silent, he went on, “I’m not trying to overthrow the Fifth World. I never was.”
”You act oddly for someone who isn’t.”
“Allow me a little mystery.” His voice was sarcastic.
“This isn’t the time for that.”
”What do you want to know?” He drew himself up, wrapping his blue cloak around him. “That I’m ambitious and do things for my own benefit? That is true. That I don’t approve of Tizoc-tzin or the She-Snake?” The way he spat the words left little doubt as to what he thought of them.
”I can’t take your words on this,” I said.
”Then take my acts.”
”Fine,” I said. “Then tell me about the envoys.”
He smiled, and bowed, a little ironically. “Perhaps you could call them mine. I wouldn’t swear to anything before any god or any human court, of course.”
I fought to keep my fists from clenching. “Suppose they were yours. Why would they come back so regularly?”
”He was a man who needed watching.”
”Even if he wasn’t yours?”
”Especially if he wasn’t mine,” Acamapichtli said. “You seem to overestimate the council, Acatl. They might have responsibilities and grand-sounding names, but in the end, they’re nothing more than men too old to go to war.”
”Tizoc-tzin isn’t old,” I said. And Teomitl, if he became Master of the House of Darts, wouldn’t be either.
He tapped his head with a finger. “Not old in body. Old where it matters. They don’t like risks anymore. They don’t throw the bean and wager on the outcome. They want safety, at any cost. One way or another, they were all like Ocome, and they knew it. They all watched him, to determine what they should do.” His voice was far too bitter for a simple statement, as if he’d gone against them, and found them lacking. What had happened?
”They weren’t anxious for whatever gamble you had in mind?” I asked, not bothering to disguise my hostility.
”My own business,” Acamapichtli said, a tad acidly. “But it doesn’t have anything to do with his death. I’ll swear it on any god you want.”
“You’re easy with your promises. For all I know–”
”For all you know, even Tizoc-tzin might be implicated.” His voice was mocking.
”And you don’t think he is?” That surprised me.
”Tizoc-tzin is a weak fool, but he’s too much like you. He wants stability under the blessing of the Southern Hummingbird, with magic kept to the world of the gods. He would never summon any creatures, or anything that might look like a spell.” He spat on the ground. “Fool. As if others wouldn’t feel free to use magic.”
I decided not to react to the obvious insult, to focus on the information he had just given me. “You seem very sure.”
Acamapichtli laughed, a wholly unpleasant sound. “Remember last year, Acatl. Remember how much he hated the lot of us, standing before him. That’s how much trust he puts in magic.”
A year ago, I had appeared before Tizoc-tzin to bargain for my brother’s life, and I had almost failed to walk out of the Imperial Courts. What Acamapichtli wasn’t saying was that he had been the one trying to convict my brother; and that Tizoctzin, seeing this as a quarrel between High Priests, had taken hours of convincing that either of us was saying anything of value. “That was a year ago,” I said, slowly. “People change.”
”That’s Tizoc-tzin’s failure.” Acamapichtli’s lips compressed to a thin line. “He can’t change.”
”I can’t just take your word,” I said. But in truth, he was so obviously hostile to Tizoc-tzin I couldn’t see why he would lie to me about this.
”Think about it. You’re a smart man.” His voice made it clear he didn’t believe a word of it. But still…
He’d been walking back to the council rooms; I’d followed him through several courtyards, half-fascinated, half-horrified by his spiteful allegations. The palace was preparing for the night. The magistrates were heading out of the courts, back to their own houses; the warriors were in finery, ready to attend feasts.
”I don’t think you quite understand what the Fifth World is, either you or him.” Acamapichtli’s voice was quieter. “You think of it like Mictlan, a static universe where change would be deadly. But we change every day, and we endure. Worshippers shed their blood, and the Southern Hummingbird wraps us in His embrace. We will endure.”
I wished I could be so convinced. “Last year…”
Acamapichtli shrugged. “Tlaloc attempted to wrest power from Huitzilpochtli. One more wave in a storm-tossed lake. It’s not because of that boats will sink.”
”And you truly think the situation is the same here?” I couldn’t quite keep the anger from my voice. “People have died–”
”One, so far.”
I cut him. “There was another murder attempt.”
He looked so genuinely surprised it was hard to believe it an act. “The Guardian Ceyaxochitl was poisoned.”
His face did not move, but I could have sworn his skin was slightly paler. “I see. It still doesn’t prove anything. People have died in successions before, Acatl. You may not like it, but it’s the way things work.”
”You’re right,” I said. “I don’t like it.” I’d almost preferred him when he was hostile, and not trying to reason with me. Every one of his words made me feel soiled.
We walked the rest of the way to the council rooms in silence. It was empty now; but Quenami was still in the courtyard, his head cocked as he stared at the sky.
He turned when he heard us. “What a coincidence.”
I no longer believed in his “coincidences”, which came too conveniently for him. Either he was good at turning the situation whichever way he wanted, or his spy network was much, much better than I had thought. Either way, not a pleasant thought.
”I have been to see the Guardian,” he said. “You were right.” His tone said, subtly, that he had not quite believed me before.
”And?” I asked, more acidly than I’d have wanted. “Any thoughts you’d care to share?”
Even without a spell of true sight on me, I could feel the strength of his wards, the slight heat that emanated from him.
”Poison,” he said.
”What a feat of observation,” I said, echoing Yaotl’s muted sarcasm of the day before. “And what else?”
His face shifted, halfway to an awkwardness I’d never seen in him. He had been brash before, always in control; now it looked as though he was staring at some profoundly unpalatable meal. “I’m no maker of miracles.”
”You are–” High Priest of Huitzilpochtli, the strongest among us, the one for feats of valour, and turning the impossible commonplace.
”I know what I am.” His voice was as cutting as obsidian shards.
”Representative of the sun, of the light within us,” I said, not without bitterness. “Of what keeps us all alive.”
”He’s powerless.” Acamapichtli’s voice was filled with malicious amusement.
”He can’t be–” I started, and then saw Quenami’s face, and it was as if someone had sunk a knife into my gut.
”The sun is strong at its zenith, but at dawn and at dusk its light is all but useless. So it is with Huitzilpochtli.” Quenami sounded as if he were giving a lecture, save that the smugness had been scoured from his voice. “Now is dusk, the time of coyotes and jaguars.”
The time of Tezcatlipoca the Smoking Mirror, of Coyolxauhqui of the Silver Bells. “I still don’t see how the god can be powerless,” I said. “We see evidence of His presence every day above us.”
”Tonatiuh the Fifth Sun is still here,” Quenami said. “But Huitzilpochtli has retreated to the heart of his strength, bracing Himself for our defence.”
He sounded as though he only believed half of it, and that was more frightening than His previous arrogance had been. What would we do, if the Southern Hummingbird could not protect us against His sister.
”The heart of his strength,” Acamapichtli said, thoughtfully. “The heartland.”
Quenami grimaced. “Yes.”
The heartland. Aztlan, the White Place, where our seven ancestors had emerged from their caves into the burning light of day, and where the Southern Hummingbird had promised them they would crush the world under their sandaled feet if they followed Him. Our place of birth, our place of origin.
”Why the curiosity?” I asked.
”Nothing.” Acamapichtli made a dismissive gesture. “Just making sure what help we could expect.”
For all His reassurances, I didn’t like Acamapichtli’s probing: the heartland was also where Huitzilpochtli was, diminished and less powerful than his usual.
The perfect time to put an end to the reign of a god.
Quenami made a dismissive gesture. “The Southern Hummingbird will be here when He is needed, Acamapichtli, you can be sure of it.”
Acamapichtli bowed, but his gaze was mocking. “As you wish. Meanwhile–”
”Meanwhile, we keep this palace warded.” Quenami’s voice was firm. “We make sure everyone is safe.”
”Safe?” I all but choked on the word. “This is the second murder, Quenami. I’d say it proves beyond a doubt that we can’t keep ourselves safe.”
”Not so fast, Acatl. The first murder was a star-demon, but the second attempt… I grieve for Ceyaxochitl-tzin, believe me, but this was purely mundane.”
Mundane – this was how he would dismiss her? “She had found a devotee of the Silver Bells,” I snapped.
”Still mundane.” Acamapichtli sounded angry, as if he couldn’t believe my foolishness. But I wasn’t able to let
him
cow me into silence.
”Heavily linked to the first,” I said. “Enough to make it necessary to hunt down whoever is summoning the star-demons.”
”And we will,” Quenami said.
”I’ve already said it, you put far little trust in our resilience,”
Acamapichtli said. “We have always endured. We will this time, too.”