Serpent and Storm (14 page)

But here, with the ballcourt representing the world, perhaps the ball represented something else.

“The ball,” he said to Whiskers-of-Rat. “What does it mean to you?”

“It's the sun, of course,” said Whiskers-of-Rat. “Bringing life to the world, making the crops grow. As the ball moves throughout the ballcourt, it is like the sun giving life to everything on earth.”

“And the center?”

“Where you score,” said the guide. He laughed. “The priests would probably tell you different, but for the people, really, the end result of the game is what's important, not what all the pieces represent.”

That made sense. When people came to Sky Knife for advice, they didn't want to know about symbols or gods. They just wanted to know how to make things better—they wanted to solve their problems. The mumbo-jumbo was good enough for priests, but no one else wanted—and, truth be told, probably
needed
—to know about it in detail.

Dark Lightning jogged back over. “We'll probably practice for the entire afternoon, but I can sit out for a while now that we've had a bit of a go-round to begin with. It's bad luck to start a practice without everyone.”

Sky Knife nodded. It was important to keep good luck around and bad luck away.

“Can we go somewhere and talk for a few minutes?” he asked the ballplayer. “Jaguar's Daughter seems to think someone killed her husband. What do you think of that?”

“Kill the king?” Dark Lightning picked up a towel and wiped his face. He pulled the leather thong out and let his hair fall around his face. “I don't know. It's not as if this city lets the king have his way much of the time. He does the ceremonial stuff, of course, and entertains all the foreign dignitaries. But it's the bureaucrats who run this city.”

Dark Lightning led Sky Knife to a bench in the building where the ballplayers' equipment was stored. He threw the clothes and towels from the bench onto the dusty floor and sat down. Sky Knife sat next to him.

“I suppose,” said Dark Lightning, “that Grasping Fire might have a reason. After all, if the child dies as well, he will be king. And with Amaranth's help, the merger of their respective bureaucracies along with the kingship would make him very powerful. Perhaps more powerful than any Teotihuacano king since Forked-Tongue Serpent, the very first. The one who began construction of the pyramids.”

“Why would Amaranth help him? He didn't seem pleased with her yesterday.”

Dark Lightning frowned. “Their affair has been no secret. Not to us in the family, anyway. Her husband died a few years ago, so she's free to choose a lover if she wants one. Grasping Fire has seemed happy to oblige.”

Sky Knife leaned back against the cool stone wall. “And that would put Amaranth in Jaguar's Daughter's place?”

“No. I doubt he'd actually marry her. Traditionally, a Jaguar's Daughter has to be a virgin when she marries the king. But their relationship would mean she'd have a hold on him that other administrators wouldn't.”

“What do you mean, a Jaguar's Daughter?”

Dark Lightning threw his towel across the room. “It's a title,” he said. “When a woman becomes the wife of a king, she gives up her name, her identity, her people, and becomes protected by the Spotted Jaguar. He adopts her so that she can bear kings of men rather than ordinary mortals like the rest of us. No child of a Jaguar's Daughter can be sacrificed, or play the ballgame, or become a priest of the Storm God. They look to the owl for guidance and always keep one of his feathers close at hand.”

“So someone has to die for them when they ascend to their mat. Like Deer for Black Coyote.”

“Exactly.”

Sky Knife tapped his fingers against his thighs. “That gives Grasping Fire a reason to kill his brother. But surely others might benefit from a king's death. Your sister, perhaps.”

Dark Lightning sat up straight and stared down his long nose at Sky Knife. “My sister would do no such thing. If we were back home, I might understand why you'd say that because she would rule in her son's place until he was of age. But here, the Corn Priest and Talking Storm will have most of the responsibility until Black Coyote grows up.”

“You don't approve.”

Dark Lightning stood and paced the room like a cat prowling. His hands were clasped behind his back and the muscles on his arms stood out.

“Of course I don't approve,” he said. “I like this city—don't get me wrong. After coming here I could never go back home or live anywhere else. But my sister should rule in her son's place. It is her right.”

Dark Lightning kicked a pile of balls and they bounced all over the room. In the enclosed space, the dull thuds of balls hitting walls and floor sounded like distant thunder. “I've got to go,” said Dark Lightning. “Is there anything else?”

“One thing,” said Sky Knife. “How do you suppose the king died?”

“Ask Grasping Fire or Talking Storm,” said Dark Lightning. “They were with him. I was playing the game.”

“On the king's team?”

“Of course.”

Sky Knife stood. “Thank you for your time,” he said. “I'll see you later in the palace.”

Dark Lightning nodded and went out to the ballcourt. Whiskers-of-Rat, who had waited patiently just outside the door, popped his nose in.

“Learn anything?” he asked.

“I'm not sure,” said Sky Knife. “We'll see.”

Whiskers-of-Rat rolled his eyes. “Forgive me, Lord Priest, but you are a strange one. Asking questions of people, walking around the city—whatever for? Is it not enough merely to see the greatness of the Center of the World, eh?”

“Jaguar's Daughter asked me to find out what happened to her husband,” said Sky Knife. “She doesn't believe his death was a natural one.”

Whiskers-of-Rat giggled, surprising Sky Knife. Out of someone as tall as Whiskers-of-Rat, Sky Knife would have expected a deeper laugh, but Whiskers-of-Rat was definitely giggling. “So that's why you've been so keen to see everything and ask all these questions. Lord Priest, it is an honor to be your guide. But why do you not just ask the gods to tell you what happened to the king?”

Sky Knife sighed. “Sometimes, it's not that easy.”

Whiskers-of-Rat shrugged. “Well, you would know.”

Sky Knife laughed and shook his head. “Let's go,” he said.

Whiskers-of-Rat bobbed his head and started for the street. Sky Knife followed him, wondering if it wasn't time to talk to Grasping Fire again.

The afternoon sun was hidden behind clouds and Sky Knife shivered. Perhaps Grasping Fire would have to wait until after more practical matters had been taken care of.

“Wait,” he said to Whiskers-of-Rat when they reached the street. “How about some shopping? I could use a shirt.”

13

Whiskers-of-Rat clapped his hands together. “Of course,” said the guide. He took a closer look at Sky Knife. “Actually, you should have more than just a shirt—I mean, you
are
the king's relative as well as the High Priest of your city. Yet you have no jewelry, no finery at all.”

Sky Knife shrugged. “I have what I need,” he said. “What I need for the ceremonies I conduct is at home.”

Whiskers-of-Rat shook his head. “Not a priestly attitude at all, my friend—not in this city. If you are going to be in Teotihuacan as a visiting dignitary who is related to the king, you should look more like it.”

“Maybe,” said Sky Knife. “But it seems to me the less power someone has, the more anxious they are to look powerful. I prefer not to bother when there is no need.”

Whiskers-of-Rat stared at Sky Knife. Sky Knife could swear the other man's nose was twitching.

“What?” asked Sky Knife.

“Well,” said Whiskers-of-Rat. “It's just that I've never met a priest like you. Still, I think you're wrong. You do have a need to look powerful—won't you be at the king's ascension?”

Whiskers-of-Rat had a point. If Sky Knife planned to be at the ceremonies surrounding Black Coyote's ascension to the mat of rulership, he would have to dress appropriately. Which was another problem.

“I didn't bring much with me to exchange for clothes or jewelry,” said Sky Knife. “Perhaps enough to get something for my wife later, but not enough for what I'd need.”

“No problem,” said Whiskers-of-Rat. “I can arrange it. Come with me.”

Sky Knife followed Whiskers-of-Rat down the central avenue toward the market. But Whiskers-of-Rat passed the market without turning. Sky Knife almost asked where they were going, but Whiskers-of-Rat had not led him astray yet. He waited to see where his guide would take him.

Suddenly, Whiskers-of-Rat stopped. Sky Knife stumbled, trying not to run into the other man. “What's wrong?” he asked.

“There she is,” whispered the guide.

“Who?”

“Her,”
insisted Whiskers-of-Rat. The guide stood as if rooted to the spot. The throngs of people in the street swirled around him.

Sky Knife scanned the crowd to see if he could spot the woman who had captured the guide's attention.

A woman in a long purple dress that left her shoulders and arms bare strolled toward them. Strands of cowrie shells hung around her neck and encircled her wrists and ankles. A beaded leather belt was tied around her waist.

But all that Sky Knife took in at a glance. What caught his attention was her hair. It had been plaited into dozens of braids that were piled on her head with jade hairpins. A few braids draped down from the pins to touch her left ear. Sky Knife had never seen a hairstyle like it. It was different, but appealing.

“Lady,” said Whiskers-of-Rat as the woman got closer. “You are indeed beautiful.”

The woman laughed. “You flatter me, as always.” The woman looked over at Sky Knife. “Who's your friend?”

“Uh,” said Whiskers-of-Rat.

“Good afternoon. I'm Sky Knife from Tikal,” said Sky Knife when the guide did not continue with something more coherent.

The woman frowned slightly. “I remember you. You were at the ballgame yesterday.” She sidled up to Sky Knife and stared at him through long black lashes. Sky Knife blushed and stepped back. “You controlled the crowd when no one else could. How long will you be in our city?”

“Oh, I don't know,” said Sky Knife. “As long as I need to. It's very impressive. Um, can I ask your name?”

The woman laughed. “I'm Dancing Bear. I'm in the service of the Masked One, in the temple on the large pyramid.” The woman ran a hand down Sky Knife's arm. He leaned away from her.

“You're a priestess?” he asked. Something about the woman's gaze was familiar. “I remember,” he said. “You sat in front of us.”

“Yes,” she said. “I did. And yes, I am a priestess. I was dedicated to the service of our goddess on my tenth birthday, and since then, I have been hers. And though you didn't say so, I see you're a priest.”

“Yes,” said Sky Knife. “You must know a lot about my people and our customs.”

Dancing Bear took hold of Sky Knife's elbow and leaned close to him. She laughed again. Her laugh was bright and bubbly like clear water in a swift-flowing stream. It was as beautiful as she was. “Oh, no, not really. Should I?”

“I suppose not,” said Sky Knife, annoyed. When Dancing Bear laughed again, the sound grated against his ears. She mocked him. Sky Knife looked away toward the passing crowd, eager to leave this woman behind. Dancing Bear dropped her hold on his elbow and Sky Knife gratefully stepped away.

“Perhaps you will accompany us for a short time,” said Whiskers-of-Rat. “We need to find Sky Knife warmer clothes and jewelry to fit his station.”

Sky Knife almost blurted out that he didn't want to go anywhere with this woman, but he held his tongue. He didn't like that the women of this city were determined to stand close to him or touch him. It was just their custom, he knew, but it was hard for Sky Knife to focus on what he was doing when Dancing Bear stood only inches from him, her chest almost touching his.

“Let's go,” said Dancing Bear. She grabbed Sky Knife's hand. “Although I'd hate to see him hidden under
too
much clothing.” Dancing Bear squeezed his hand and winked.

Sky Knife froze. When a Mayan woman winked at a man, it meant only one thing—she was engaged to him and wanted to show her affection in an acceptable manner. Since she could not do so by touching him, a wink sufficed, and was more than enough to drive most Mayan men crazy with desire.

Sky Knife's shock turned into anger. He had accepted a lot of different customs over the past day without comment, but this was it. Sky Knife stepped back from the priestess. “If we're going, we should go now,” he said.

“No problem,” said Whiskers-of-Rat. “I have a friend who will help.”

“A friend?” asked Sky Knife. “I thought we'd go to the market.”

“No, no, neither of us can afford the market prices for such things,” said Whiskers-of-Rat. “Come on.”

Whiskers-of-Rat took off down the street again. Sky Knife made sure to be on the opposite side of the guide from the priestess.

Dancing Bear, however, was not to be put off. She dropped back behind Whiskers-of-Rat and came up to walk beside Sky Knife. She took his hand again, but Sky Knife pulled away.

“What's the matter?” asked Dancing Bear.

Sky Knife stopped, trusting Whiskers-of-Rat not to leave him behind. “Priestess, your manner is entirely too…” Now that he'd started, Sky Knife didn't have the words to complete his thought in the Teotihuacano language.
“Friendly,”
he finished in Mayan. “A Mayan woman would be ashamed to behave so even with her husband if they were in public.”

Dancing Bear tossed her head and the loose braids flopped to cover her right ear. She answered him in his own language. “I can't help that your customs are different. I've been to one of your cities and I was appalled at the priestesses there—condemned to a life without ever knowing a lover.”