Obsidian & Blood (23 page)

  In the Imperial Palace, I headed straight for the military court, and asked for Magistrate Pinahui-tzin.

  The clerk snorted in amusement. "He's taking a pause in the garden."

  Pinahui-tzin was sitting in the garden of the military court, watching the water rise and fall out of a conch-shaped fountain. At the back of the garden was an aviary: huge wicker cages held parrots, eagles, and quetzal birds, their emerald feathers shimmering in the sunlight.

  "Ah. The young priest," Pinahui-tzin said, when we arrived. "I was waiting for you." He rose, leaning on his cane, and turned to greet us.

  "Those would be your witnesses?" he asked, looking at Mihmatini and Quechomitl.

  I nodded. "I have evidence of someone else's guilt."

  "Someone you should have arrested," Pinahui-tzin said.

  Why was everybody reproaching me for the same reason? "I can't. She's given her life to the gods."

  Pinahui-tzin made no commentary. "Let me hear the evidence," he said. "As quickly as you can. Your brother is already inside the Courts."

  I had thought it might be the case: that High Priest Acamapichtli wouldn't want to wait to convict Neutemoc.

  When I was finished, Pinahui-tzin pursed his lips. "Scant," he said. "Scant. But it will have to do, young man." He scrutinised me in silence. His eyebrows went up, in what I hoped was a show of appreciation. "Come."

  The last time I'd tried to find the Imperial Audience, I had roamed the palace, asking the people I met the way. Pinahui-tzin, on the other hand, knew where he was going. His cane tapped regularly against the stone floor, as we walked through corridors filled with officials in feather regalia, towards the inside of the palace. Every courtyard we crossed was a marvel: ornate fountains, fabulous plants from cacao trees to vanilla orchids, and animals ranging from caged jaguars to the web-footed capybaras. All the wonders of the steamy south, enclosed in the sandstone mass of the palace like a stone set within an exquisite piece of jewellery.

  Finally, we reached the gates of the Imperial Courts. No guards waited on either side of the entrance-curtain. But this was only the antechamber: the closed audiences would be taking place deeper within the Courts.

  Inside was a wide, airy room, where clerks hurried from dais to dais, carrying piles of codices from magistrate to magistrate. One of the courts was hearing two prisoners, but the rest were still reviewing evidence: the magistrates on the dais thoughtfully tapping their writing-reeds against the papers they were holding, or making annotations in the margins.

  Pinahui-tzin walked straight to the end of the room, where a curtain of turquoise cotton marked the start of the area reserved to the Emperor's close staff. The curtain was closed, and two guards stood on either side. But they let us through when Pinahui-tzin marched on them with his cane pointed like a sword at the level of the lead guard's chest. There was, nonetheless, a moment of hesitation on their part – and that was how I knew that Pinahui-tzin's influence stopped at getting us into the Imperial Audience. 

  Behind the curtain was a small antechamber where we divested ourselves of our sandals, for one went barefoot in the presence of the Revered Speaker, or of his substitute. A sizeable pile of sandals – mostly gilded, luxurious affairs – indicated we weren't the only ones to attend.

  Then I pulled open the next turquoise curtain in a crystalline tinkle of bells, and we entered the heart of the Imperial Courts.

 

The room was much smaller than the first one, but it was crammed full of people. Underlying the hubbub were sounds from the Imperial Gardens, which lay on the far side: quetzal birds calling to each other, the grunt of capybaras digging into the earth. The air smelled of copal incense and honey.

  In the centre of the room stood Neutemoc, his shoulders sagging, deep circles under his eyes. Two Imperial guards flanked him, though there was no need: he would never seek to escape. 

  On the dais facing him were three people, easily recognisable. On the left was the old High Priest of Huitzilpochtli, Ocelocueitl, wearing a luxurious feathered headdress, and with huge plumes hanging from his belt, spreading like the wings of a hummingbird. On the right, Acamapichtli, High Priest of Tlaloc, with a crown of heron feathers, the area around his eyes blackened to give an unsettling impression. And, in the centre, sat Tizoc-tzin, Master of the House of Darts, brother of Revered Speaker Axayacatl-tzin: a man in his mid-twenties, dressed soberly in a tunic of deep blue, and with a look of utter boredom on his sallow face.

  The rest of the crowd, standing on the edges of the room, was mostly noblemen, no doubt of the Revered Speaker's close family: a dazzling array of vibrantly-coloured cloaks, and of painted faces under feather-headdresses, saturated with the magic of protective spells. 

  Tizoc-tzin's gaze turned to me as I entered, his face lighting up at the prospect of a distraction, in a way that was hauntingly familiar. His gaze moved from Pinahui-tzin to me. "Well, well," he said, in the sudden silence. "You bring exalted company, Pinahui. Our High Priest for the Dead, no less."

  I walked to the centre of the room, close enough that I could have touched the first of Neutemoc's guards. Ignoring the shocked look that spread on my brother's face, I bowed low. "Your Excellency." 

  Tizoc-tzin made a dismissive gesture. "Let's not stand on ceremony. I have not yet had the pleasure of your presence at court." 

  I said, carefully. "My Fire Priest represents me at the Imperial Court. I am confident that he can speak in my name and in the best interest of my order."

  I felt, suddenly, as if I stood on the edge of a chasm – a coldness creeping into my back worse than what I felt when summoning the Wind of Knives. With a word, Tizoc-tzin could send me to the farthest edges of the Mexica Empire, or elevate me to the highest echelons. He could topple our temple, or make it immensely rich. 

  "What an event, then, to see you here." Tizoc-tzin's voice was still bored, but I wasn't fooled: he was toying with me, relieving his annoyance at being stuck between the two High Priests. "To what do we owe this visit?"

  Acamapichtli was the one who spoke, in a low, angry voice. "My Lord, he's come to defend his brother the traitor."

  Neutemoc shook his head, but didn't audibly protest. He looked barely able to stand, let alone mount a coherent defence. 

  Anger flared within me, a sharp feeling that cut off my breath for a moment. Neutemoc and I might not be speaking to each other, but The Duality curse me if I let a worthless priest condemn him on false grounds. "Your Excellency," I said. "I was in charge of the investigation."

  Acamapichtli shifted on his dais. "No longer." His voice was malicious.

  I snapped, "No one relieved me of my functions. And a good thing, too. Otherwise we'd still have a beast of shadows loose in Tenochtitlan." 

  That got Tizoc-tzin's attention. "A beast of Mictlan?" 

  "Yes."

  "I was given to understand this man's nahual had abducted Priestess Eleuia."

  I shook my head, and gestured at Mihmatini. "It was a beast of shadows. And I can prove that Neutemoc did not summon it." 

  "Lies," Acamapichtli hissed.

  Tizoc-tzin's gaze moved from him to me, and then to the old priest of Huitzilpochtli, who was blinking, still trying to understand what was going on. "We'll listen, priest," he said, and the hostile accent on the word "priest" was unmistakable. Why did Tizoc-tzin hate the clergy so much?

  I held out the jade pendant. "This belonged to Priestess Eleuia." 

  Tizoc-tzin reached out, cradled it in the palm of his hand. "Jade," he said. "Blackened by Mictlan's touch."

  He surprised me. With his apparent hatred of priests, I had assumed he'd know little about magic. Clearly, he'd taken care to inform himself on his enemies.

  "Yes," I said. "By a beast of shadows. I tracked it to one of Moyotlan's Floating Gardens, and killed it."

  Ocelocueitl spoke up. "A good thing. Mictlan's intrusions are always dangerous."

  "Yes," Tizoc-tzin said, a tad impatiently. "I assume your wounds date from this point."

  "Not entirely," I confessed. I feared Neutemoc's reaction, but it was necessary if I wanted to set him free. "I accessed the beast's memories, and found out the identity of its summoner." 

  For the first time, High Priest Acamapichtli looked uncertain. His gaze searched Neutemoc's face, trying to see a sorcerer in my brother's wan features. "Well?" Acamapichtli barked. "Out with it! Who harmed Priestess Eleuia?"

  They all spoke of her, I noticed, as if she were already dead.

  "Neutemoc had nothing to do with this," I said, carefully. "The culprit…" I closed my eyes. Neutemoc was going to kill me. "The culprit was his wife, Huei."

  In the shocked silence that filled the room, Mihmatini's voice resonated like a trumpet calling the warriors to battle. "I will bear witness to that. The slaves and I saw the Wind of Knives come to kill Huei for her transgression."

  Neutemoc's face had turned the colour of muddy milk. A hiss came from his mouth: my name, repeated over and over. "Acatl… Acatl…" His hands clenched and unclenched, as if to squeeze my heart into nothingness. "Acatl…"

  "I see," Tizoc-tzin said. His gaze was on Neutemoc, lightly interested, like a man watching dissected insects writhe. "I see." 

  "He lies," Acamapichtli whispered. "He wants to save his brother, whatever the cost."

  Tizoc-tzin's lips compressed into a thin line. "Be silent," he said to Acamapichtli, who immediately stopped speaking. "You lied to me. You spoke of nahual magic. You said this man's culpability was beyond doubt."

  "There was nahual magic," Acamapichtli said, softly. His eyes shone with hatred, most of it directed at me. "He brings no solid evidence, my Lord. The testimony of his own sister and of her slaves. A jade pendant that might not even be Eleuia's – some leftover from his temple, maybe."

  Mihmatini's face had whitened. I could tell she ached to fling an accusation into Acamapichtli's face. I laid a hand on her shoulder, squeezed hard. "Don't," I whispered. Acamapichtli would destroy her, as casually as he was destroying Neutemoc.

  Acamapichtli was still going on. "He spins a fanciful tale of Mictlan's beasts, but he's a skilful man. As for his wounds… there are many ways to wound oneself."

  Watching him, I remembered why I hated high-ranking priests: the perfidious insinuations, the sly smile on their faces as they attempted to lead you astray. Acamapichtli would do anything to enforce his power, even flout justice.

  I laid a hand on one of my obsidian knives, felt the power of Mictlan pulse deep within the blade. The emptiness that filled me took away my fear; took away everything but my anger. "Go to Moyotlan, to the Floating Gardens," I said, softly, "and see the three peasants with their hearts missing. Ask them if the beast was real." 

  Acamapichtli wasn't about to give up so easily. "Words," he said. "Easy, cheap things, Acatl."

  "No more than those you used to convict my brother," I snapped. "Do you want evidence? I can summon the Wind of Knives here, in this chamber, to give it to you. Will you accuse Him of being my accomplice?"

  "You won't frighten me," Acamapichtli said, his face white with anger. 

  "Enough," Tizoc-tzin said. He was lounging on the dais, rubbing his fingers on Eleuia's jade pendant, an amused smile on his face. "It's unseemly for priests to argue."

  An easy accusation: priests were supposed to be dignified at all times – a feat neither of us had mastered.

  "You will go to be examined by a priest of Patecatl," Tizoc-tzin said. "He will ascertain the nature of your wounds. And we'll arrest the real summoner."

  "Huei wasn't the only one involved," I said. "She only executed orders. Someone else gave her the knowledge, and that someone else is now holding Priestess Eleuia."
  Tizoc-tzin did not move. "Who?"

  "I do not know," I said, cautiously. Neutemoc's face had turned whiter.

  "We'll interrogate the woman, Huei, and find out."

  "I'm afraid," I said, carefully stepping away from Neutemoc, "that this isn't going to be possible."

  Tizoc-tzin's face darkened. "You're telling me what I can or cannot do?"

  I mentally reviewed several ways of speaking the next sentence. But I could find none that would spare me Neutemoc's anger. "She gave herself up as a sacrifice to Chalchiutlicue."

  Tizoc-tzin said nothing. His anger at being thwarted by the gods was palpable. But not so palpable as Neutemoc's towards me. 

  "You let her?" Neutemoc growled. "Acatl? You let her do – this folly?" 

  Although it cost me much, I refrained from pointing out that Huei's little games had almost ended his life.

  Tizoc-tzin watched us, again with that lightly interested expression, as if we were a spectacle to be enjoyed. "I see," he said, finally. "How convenient for her. Acamapichtli!"

  "Yes, my lord?" the High Priest of Tlaloc asked with false meekness. 

  "Chalchiutlicue is your god's wife, isn't She? I'm sure you can arrange matters."

  Acamapichtli shook his head with malicious glee. "Alas," he said, "the Storm Lord and His wife are separate. I have no influence over Her."

  Tizoc-tzin snorted, sceptically. "Attempt something, will you?" He turned to me. "I will await the results of your examination before I rule on this case."

  I bowed, inwardly relieved that Neutemoc would have some time to calm down before we met again.

• • • •

It took time, more time than I had thought. After the priest of Patecatl was done with me, we had to wait until Tizoc-tzin's men came back with the bodies of the three dead peasants. Then the priest had to make a long, convoluted report to Tizoc-tzin.