Obsidian & Blood (98 page)

  Teomitl shrugged, though he looked unhappy. 

  "I know it's hard, but things will sort themselves out. Don't let that get to you." "I know, but…" 

  "Come here."

  I left the two lovers locked in an embrace and turned to face my brother.

  Neutemoc looked better than before the army had left: a little less gaunt, a little more smiling, his broad face almost back to its boyish look, though his eyes would always give the lie to that. He'd gone through too much to pretend everything was fine. "Acatl." 

  The children had risen, and were waiting, warily, for the adults to finish greeting one another: Necalli, the only one of Neutemoc's children to be educated in the House of Youth, was calm and dignified, almost more like a priest-in-training than a boisterous warrior, and he'd obviously passed on some of that attitude to his younger sister, Mazatl, who stood quivering with impatience but not moving. I couldn't see Ollin, Neutemoc's youngest son, but I presumed he'd be sleeping with the female slave who nursed him. 

  "You look better," I said.

  "I'd be surprised." Neutemoc gestured towards the mat, on which was spread the evening meal: white fish with red pepper, and sweet potatoes baked in honey. "You, on the other hand, look–" 

  "–regal. I know." I made a brief, stabbing gesture. "I didn't think up the regalia."

  Neutemoc's lips twitched into a smile. "You look like a proper High Priest, is what I wanted to say. Come on, sit down." 

  I hugged the children first. Mazatl was all but leaping up and down. "Uncle Acatl, Uncle Acatl! Can I try on the mask?" 

  I shook my head. "It's the god's face. I don't think He meant it to be a toy."

  Mazatl's face fell. "Can I touch it?" she asked and squealed when her hand met the smooth surface of bone.

  "You're such a kid," Necalli said, but Mazatl didn't react to his jibe. 

  "Children," Neutemoc said, firmly. "Your uncle, your aunt and I have to talk. Be quiet, please."

  They fell silent instantly. Neutemoc's authority had always been strong, and with his wife gone, it had grown stronger. Mihmatini and I had both urged him to take another spouse – it wasn't healthy, to have a household run only by a man – but he wouldn't hear of it. 

  Teomitl, who'd finished embracing Mihmatini, sat down, and removed his feather headdress – casually putting it down on the ground, within reach of the children. He glanced at Mazatl with a smile and a nod – she extended a trembling hand, and touched the feathers as if they might bite. I wasn't altogether sure she needed the encouragement: she was wilder than Mihmatini at her age, and undisciplined girls would have a hard time later on in school. 

  "I presume this isn't a courtesy visit?" Mihmatini asked.

  I grimaced. "Partly. I was intending to visit Neutemoc anyway to have news from the war, but I wasn't intending things to turn out quite the way they have." 

  Mihmatini nodded. "Teomitl told me earlier."

  "Earlier?"

  Teomitl looked sheepish – a rare enough occurrence. "I went and apprised her of the situation while you were out in the city."

  "You could have told me," I said. I understood: she was his wife, and he hadn't had intimacy with her for months – and, for a bare moment, the endless cycle of rituals and ceremonies that made up his life had been torn apart, leaving him free to move as he wished. But still… she was my sister, too.

  Neutemoc picked a frog from the plate in front of him, and ate it in a single gulp, as if not paying attention. "The story is making the rounds of all the regiments by now, in any case. There weren't many warriors singled out for promotions this year, and for one of them to die… You won't keep it a secret." 

  No, but Tizoc-tzin would try, all the same.

  Beside me, Teomitl turned his head to stare at Neutemoc with a particular intensity. "My brother will do as he wishes." 

  "I have no doubt," Neutemoc said, soberly. He didn't sound pleased, either. Was he among those who had lost trust in Tizoctzin? How far did the division in the army go?

  "Anyway," Neutemoc said. "If you'll permit me this–" Teomitl nodded, curtly, as one equal to another, "you do know none of this is about you. You're not your brother."

  Teomitl looked, for a moment, as if he'd swallowed something sour – but only for a moment, and then the familiar, dazzling smile was back on his face. "Let's focus on the matter at hand," he said. "About Eptli–"

  "He was just a warrior," Mihmatini interjected. "Aren't you two supposed to have better things to do with your time than investigate every single thing that goes wrong in the palace?" 

  "It's not small," I said, slowly. "And it might concern you, as well. Eptli's death has started an epidemic."

  "Epidemic." Her face had gone flat. "And exactly when was your little cabal planning to inform me of this insignificant fact?" 

  She was going too far. She was right in that I should have informed her, but I'd barely found out about the epidemic myself. "Look. I was expecting to spend the entire day dealing with the politics of the confirmation ceremony, which would have been more restful than this mess. I can't be expected to send messengers all over Tenochtitlan to anyone who might happen to have a stake in this. Besides, Acamapichtli is the one handling the situation at the moment," I said, with a touch of malice. Acamapichtli hadn't had to deal with Mihmatini since she'd become Guardian. 

  "Right." Mihmatini had a dangerous gleam in her eyes, one I recognised from our childhood – when she'd rowed the boat to the Floating Gardens on her own, after Neutemoc and I had both refused to accompany her. "I'll go see Acamapichtli, then. Don't think this absolves you of responsibility."

  I forced myself to drag the conversation onto more neutral ground: better have the investigation-related questions solved first, and then we could move on to a more relaxed dinner. "Neutemoc – did you know anything about Eptli?"

  Neutemoc shrugged. He sipped at his cup of cactus juice, thoughtfully. "Not our clan. But still, rumours can fly far, the encampment." He wrinkled his eyes, as if considering a particularly knotty problem. "Eptli. Eptli's father was of the Pochtlan
calpulli
clan." 

  "The Pochtlan clan? But that's…"

  "Merchants and messengers. Yes." Neutemoc said. "Hence Eptli's tendency to lord it over merchants."

  "That's unusual," I said, finally. "A merchant, becoming a warrior." Merchants, like artisans, were a world apart. Unlike warriors, who could come from any strata of the society, the occupation of merchant was hereditary, a merchant's trade being taken up by his sons or close relatives upon his death. The merchants were tightknit to the point of obsession, holding their lavish feasts within their blank-faced compounds and seldom mingling with the rest of the populace.

  "It happens," Neutemoc said. "But, yes, it's unusual." 

  "He had a hard time, in his training?"

  "I don't know," Neutemoc said. His eyes looked away from me – almost ashamed. "Warriors aren't gentle."

  And they would have mocked him, for not following the path of his family; for the blood he couldn't deny or purge from his veins. What a lovely little family the army was.

  I knew a little of how things worked – and I could guess how it would have turned out. Eptli would have sought to outdo the warriors in arrogance and fanaticism, and leapt at any chance to mock his shameful heritage. "That's why he got into the shouting match with the Tlatelolco merchant?"

  "I wasn't present at the time," Neutemoc said, "so I can't help you there. But I wouldn't be surprised. Eptli was proud to be a warrior and working for the greater good of the army; he couldn't see that it's more than warriors who ensure the success of the Triple Alliance." He said this without irony, although less than a year ago he'd thought warriors were the beginning and the end of the Fifth World.

  "He wasn't liked, then," I said.

  "No." Teomitl's voice was dry. "Some arrogance is expected, but Eptli took it too far."

  "It was justified, to some extent," Neutemoc said. "He captured one prisoner in each campaign he took part in."

  I recalled the warrior's face – not that of a youth, barely out of training. "He entered the ranks old, then."

  Neutemoc grimaced. "I think there were some – issues with his family. His father wasn't in favour of his becoming a warrior."

  "Not surprising. But why did he want to become a warrior?" That was the real question – why turn his back on his father's trade, why run the risk of ridicule? Warriors had status and prestige, but so did merchants, in their fashion.

  "I don't know," Neutemoc said. "As I said – Eptli was acidic, and not pleasant to be around. I can find better company."

  Could he, I wondered. Could he turn back time and get back to the easy camaraderie he'd shared with his companions before his disgrace? "I see. Anything else?"

  "People he had quarrels with?" Teomitl suggested. "Other than Chipahua." He tugged at his feather headdress, absent-mindedly. Mazatl tugged back with an impish grin on her face.

  "Hmm. The merchant, but you know that already. And Chipahua – they never liked each other, those two…" Neutemoc pursed his lips, looking uncannily like a younger version of Father. "I can't think of anyone else. You'll find most warriors knew Eptli, and disliked him, but I don't think anyone would be crazy enough to start an epidemic just to kill him."

  Mihmatini had been fidgeting for a while. At last she spoke up. "I don't think you have the right set of priorities, Acatl. Finding out who killed him is important, yes, but we need something else first. We need to know when and how he was contaminated, in order to stop the epidemic."

  "You think it's deliberate?" I said. I had a hard time believing that.

  "No. It looks like an accident. Not everyone is fluent with magic, especially not large spells like those. Anything that touches the integrity of the three souls needs to be powerful, and power can easily overstep the mark." 

  "It's a costly accident," I said.

  "Precisely. That's why we need to find out what spell was used, and how it was cast. You can solve the murder afterwards. We need to prevent deaths."

  "I can do both," I said. "If we find who was responsible…"

  Mihmatini's gaze could have cut obsidian. "You don't understand. You need to flip your way of thinking. The contagion first, the culprit last. Otherwise…"

  "I know." Gods, when had my sister turned into Ceyaxochitl, her predecessor as Guardian? She had the same natural authority, and the tendency to want everyone to fall in line – too much hanging around Ceyaxochitl's former acquaintances, I guessed. "Fine," I said with a sigh. "Go see Ichtaca – he and my clergy will give you help with this."

  Mihmatini shook her head a fraction – placated, but not enough, I guessed. "You look healthy," she said, grudgingly. She closed her eyes, and I felt a spike of power enter the room: the soft, reassuring radiance of the Duality. "I can't see any sickness clinging to you or Teomitl. But all the same – you need to be more careful of what you do."

  "We weren't the only ones around the dead warrior," Teomitl said.

  "No, but that doesn't mean you can afford to ignore your protections. Epidemics are propagated by people who feel fine – who don't imagine for a minute that they could be carrying the sickness." 

  "You don't know what the vector is," I said. "It might not even be people." 

  "No, but I'd rather be careful."

  Neutemoc cleared his throat. "If you children are done with preening…"

  "You–" Mihmatini said, shaking her head in the pretence of being angry. But we all knew she wasn't – at least, not seriously. 

  Afterwards, Teomitl and I sat in the courtyard, watching Metzli the moon pass overheard. The night was winding to a close, though the raucous sounds of banquets still made their way to our ears: flutes and drums, and the steady drone of elders' speeches – and the smell of fried maize, of amaranth and chillies, a distant memory of what we'd consumed. 

  "What now?" Teomitl asked.

  "Get some sleep, I guess." Neutemoc had agreed to lend us a room for the night, though he hadn't been happy.

  Teomitl leaned further against the lone pine tree, watching the stars glittering overhead. "Acamapichtli–"

  "If we get an early start tomorrow, he probably won't have time to catch up." I didn't mention my other fear: that the reason he hadn't caught up with us yet was that he was busy with the epidemic – and that something else might have come up, in the hours we'd been away.

 

 

The night was short – too short, in fact. I woke up in a room I didn't recognise – and it took me a moment to remember I was in Neutemoc's house, and not in a room belonging to some parishioner, or in some quarters of the palace unknown to me. I made my devotions, drawing my worship-thorns through my ears to greet the Fifth Sun, and to honour my patron Mictlantecuhtli, Lord Death. 

  From outside came the familiar rhythm of pestle striking mortar – and another sound I couldn't quite place, a dull knock of wood on wood – but no, not quite either. I got up, and followed it to the courtyard – where I found Neutemoc and Teomitl sparring together. Their
macuahitl
swords, lengths of wood with embedded obsidian shards, were the ones making that odd noise, every time they crossed.

  "Men," Mihmatini said, with a snort. She'd raised her hair in the fashion of married women, piling it above her head to form two slight horns; but her dress still marked her as a Guardian. "They're going to be at it for a while. Come on, let's get breakfast." 

  "I don't think–" I started. 

  "There's always time."