House of Reeds

aviary. The locals eat a lot of skomsh…it's just like chicken.' Felix swallowed a laugh, catching the tense expression on her commander's face. 'The streets are worse – they use electric trolleys with overhead power lines on all the avenues wide enough for one of our shuttles to touch down. Parks look like our best bet. Smith made sure the hotels he picked are across the street from a nice one. Not too many trees, mostly ornamental shrubs and fountains.'

Susan felt combat tires rattle across recessed tracks as they bounced through an intersection. Neon lights over the storefronts reflected from the bracelets on her wrist. 'Local situation? How do they feel about the Empire?'

'Hard to tell.' Felix shrugged. 'Smith-tzin says the local holovee is filled with all kinds of the-Empire-is-our-friend propaganda. But on the street, you can tell they don't like us much. They do like our quills, though. All the merchants I've dealt with were pretty friendly. It's hard to read their faces. But no one's taken a shot at us yet.'

Kosho nodded absently. The sitrep reports forwarded from battle group command related much the same thing. 'An undercurrent of resentment exists in the population,' they said. 'But no open violence.' I think… the Chu-sa is a little jumpy about Villeneuve's extravagance. He is French. The real issues here are more immediate – and far more routine than an officers' plot.

'Everyone needs to take care, Heicho. Pass the word around to the squad leaders and petty officers to go ones-and-fours when ship's personnel are groundside. And armed.' She turned her attention on the Marine, eyes sharp with an orange glow from the sodium lights passing overhead. 'But if anyone goes rabbit on me and shoots someone – even a local! – then I will put them out the lock myself.'

'Aye, aye!' Felix shifted in her seat uncomfortably. The Sho-sa seemed worked up tonight and nervous officers made her uneasy. 'Something specific security detail should watch out for?'

'No.' Kosho stared out the window again. The crowds on the sidewalks ignored the rain, letting the steady downpour sluice the day's dust from their scales. In the misty night, with the glare of neon in her eyes, they could have been any Saturday-night crowd along the Ginza or around the Tlatelolco. 'I suspect I'm worrying for no reason, but everyone's to be on best behavior. No exceptions!'

'Oooh, native tribesmen!' Tezozуmoc laughed gaily, barely able to stand. His cloak covered with jadeite lozenges was disconcertingly heavy. He kept listing to one side and having to right himself. His blood buzzed with a delicious tide of oliohuiqui and 'little guardian of dreams.''Legate, which province do these fellows come from?'

Petrel, his hand raised in preparation for formally introducing the prince to the commander of the 416th Imperial Arrow Knight regiment (motorized), halted abruptly, and then turned towards Tezozуmoc with a perfectly still face. 'Your pardon, mi'lord?'

The prince could see the older man was nonplussed. Tezozуmoc could see furtive, hasty thoughts flitting behind the cultured face. Doesn't the Prince Imperial recognize fellow Imperial officers? Even his putative commander in the 416th? Even though – the prince felt cold anger welling in his churning stomach – this same officer has refused this same prince an actual command? Who has slighted this same prince by shunting him into a useless assignment?

'These black fellows.' The prince cheerily waved a mostly full bottle of Char-odei vodka at the middle officer, a full colonel, who was indeed of Mixtec extraction and therefore possessed of dark, almost chocolatl-colored skin. 'Him! Are these some of the…the Misa-whatever-dai…the barbarians you've been bending my ear about?'

'Tlacateccatl Yacatolli is an Imperial Arrow Knight, mi'lord.' Petrel's white eyebrows stiffened and Tezozуmoc fought to keep a huge bellyful of laughter from bursting out. The old man looked like an owl! The Legate's perfectly groomed face was growing pink around the edges. Oh oh. The prince felt even giddier. He's getting angry! Soon some of those gelled hairs will be out of place!

The colonel, for his part, had grown dangerously still. Tezozуmoc peered at him, a little nauseous at the chance to twit the stone-faced Arrow Knight. Oh oh, he can't say anything to me! Not the Son of the Light of Heaven, the Prince Imperial! No no. Not in front of so many barbarians and civilians and other witnesses. But I can say whatever I want!

'Yack-a-toll-ee. Doesn't that mean snot in our language? What does it mean in his?'

The colonel twitched, fists clenching. The prince stared at the man's shoulders in delight. The carefully tailored fabric was stretching as every muscle in the man's upper body stiffened in rage. Will he burst right out of his uniform? Is he wearing underwear? Did he bring any spare? I think he only has one dress uniform, poor bean eater.

Legate Petrel stepped between the two men, looking down at Tezozуmoc with narrowed eyes. The older man had recovered his composure, though the prince could see tiny lines of strain around his eyes. 'Mi'lord, perhaps you would care to sit and eat? There is a salon where you and your companions can take your ease, out of the press of the crowd?'

'Of course! My feet hurt – your floor is too hard.' Tezozуmoc stamped his sandals, making the golden scales covering them clatter on the hardwood parquet. The hall would serve for dancing, eventually, when the buffet tables were cleared away. 'Good night, chief of the snots!'

The prince waved at the colonel, who was watching him with slitted, furious eyes from behind a wall of his subordinates. The other Mixtec officers were trying to calm Yacatolli down.

Stupid name for a military officer, Tezozуmoc thought, swinging the weighted cape carelessly over his shoulder. Out of the corner of his eye, the prince caught a glimpse of the shorter of his bodyguards ducking aside. Hand-sized jade lozenges whipped past the Skawtsman's face. He should change it to something that doesn't make everyone snicker. Perhaps I should submit an official memo of recommendation.

'Are there buttered shrimps dusted with chili powder?' Tezozуmoc asked the Legate, following the older man towards a doorway opening off the crowded, sweltering hall. The prince's voice was entirely amiable. 'I like those very much.'

Petrel nodded, but did not look back, pushing open the doors to an well-furnished room with a bar, overstuffed chairs and a permanent aroma of burned broadleaf tabac and fine liquor. 'Of course, mi'lord. I will let the cook know.'

Tezozуmoc threw himself down in the largest chair, heaved a sigh of relief and then stared quizzically up at his host. 'You don't look like a bird. You should change your name too.'

The rest of his new friends piled into the room, making the two bodyguards wince with their usual ruckus of noise, banging about, shrieking and general merriment. The Army officers began looting the liquor cabinet.

The prince, seeing no one was paying attention to him for the moment, let out a long, shuddering sigh. His stomach burned, molten stones churning against his intestines. So many officials and lords and officers. Tezozуmoc closed his eyes tight, feigning weariness, squeezing back tears of frustration. By Christ Sacrifice, I hate this. I hate them – all of them – and I hate having to wear this stupid costume.

The hatred he'd seen flashing in Yacatolli's face, at least, had been a welcome change from the usual pity, or curiosity, or contempt. The prince raised his head, wondering if there was any liquor to be had. 'Geema, be a dear heart and share some of that wicked-looking red liquid with your poor old prince, will you?'

Parker drained his glass. 'Boss…are you sure you need to talk to this guy?'

'Yes.' Gretchen tried not to sigh and loosened the shawl around her shoulders. The great hall was just getting hotter and closer as more people crowded in. The Jehanan musicians were still playing, but their beautiful efforts were drowned out by drunken voices. 'Look, Parker, I know we're supposed to be here on 'vacation' and technically I don't have to report to anyone. Not the attachй, not Professor SГє. But we're going to be traipsing all over the north-country, trying to find this…place. I would rather play by the rules, if we can. Mrs. Petrel said…don't make a face like that!'

The pilot removed the tabac from his mouth and flicked the butt into a nearby planter. After entering the hall they'd tried to reach the banquet tables, but a near-solid wall of Imperial military uniforms blocked any access. The infantry officers were making a serious dent in the Legation catering budget. Then Gretchen had tried to find the hostess, but moving in the crowd was nearly impossible, so the press of humanity had thrown them up in a little