Great Speaker’s palace.”
“He had other things on his mind.”
“Maybe. I think…” Stuart hesitated. “I think, to them, humans are playthings, not much more. ‘As flies to wanton boys,’ et cetera.”
“Don’t recognise the quotation, but then I didn’t have a posh education like you.”
“Shakespeare. And we didn’t study him at ‘posh’ school, either. Too Christian. I sought out his work for myself when I was older. Complete, unexpurgated editions of the plays are hard to track down. I found one of the last ever Victorian ones, got it from a black-market dealer in Hull. Set me back a pretty penny, I can tell you.”
“We’re the gods’ pets, then, is that what you’re saying?”
“At best. We intrigue them, the way a strange species of animal — I don’t know, the duck-billed platypus for instance — intrigues zoologists. All said and done, it turns out we’re nothing more than a worthy project to them, a charity case. That’s how this whole Empire nonsense got started. The gods saw us, thought we were cute, adopted us and tried to make us better, more like them. And then it all went belly up, and this is the mess we’re left with, the aftermath of Quetzalcoatl and Tezcatlipoca’s big spat.”
“I don’t understand. So are the myths true or aren’t they?”
“I think they are, sort of, and also not. I think they’re versions of the truth which explain the gods’ behaviour, and the Great Speaker — Tezcatlipoca — has allowed them to become religious currency because it suits his ends. The creation story, for instance. It’s a way of telling us, reinforcing to us, that the gods made everything. They’re the ones responsible for the world and we owe them an unrepayable debt of gratitude for that. Of course, what they actually did was take a race at a pre-existing level of civilisation and develop it, mould it in their own image. They didn’t make the world, they remade it. And us with it.”
“It’s…” Vaughn moved her hands as though she were literally groping for words. “It’s hard to take in.”
“Tell me about it. Why do you think I was so spaced out when you first saw me in that cell? And I wasn’t even a believer in the first place, so I can’t begin to imagine the sort of effect this must be having on one of the faithful.”
“I’ve never completely been one of the faithful,” Vaughn protested. “I’ve had my doubts, now and then. The Empire just seemed… logical, and belief in the gods was an integral part of it. But now that I know what the gods are actually like, I’m not so sure about them.”
“Proof of faith has destroyed your faith.”
“Yeah, hilarious irony, right? It’s like that thing about how you should never meet your heroes. You’ll only be disappointed.”
“Idols with feet of clay,” said Stuart.
“So,” said Vaughn, after a pause, “next, I suppose, there’s going to be an attack on this place. The good gods versus the bad one.”
“‘Good’ is relative in this context, but yes, that sounds about right. They won’t do it by halves, either. Whatever Tezcatlipoca has up his sleeve by way of a defence, it had better be a decent one, for his sake.”
“Any idea how long before it all kicks off?”
“How would I know?”
“You’re the god expert.”
“Am not. But if pushed I’d say it won’t be long. Quetzalcoatl’s not one to hang about. Sometime today, for certain.”
“All the more reason for us to get out of here, and sharpish.”
“Quite. Getting caught up in the middle of a war between gods is not something any sane person would want.”
Something caught Vaughn’s eye — something passing by the alley’s mouth. She got to her feet and padded stealthily to peer out. Then she beckoned to Stuart and pointed.
He saw what she had seen, understood her meaning, and gave her a grinning thumbs-up.
They shadowed the priest and the acolyte for a couple of hundred yards until the perfect spot for an ambush presented itself. It was a garden of contemplation, a small oasis of tropical greenery amid the urban labyrinth, where a fountain tinkled and a colony of chattering capuchin monkeys fed on berries in the treetops. Moments after the priest and the acolyte entered the garden’s lush verdant haze, Stuart and Vaughn followed them in.
It was over quickly, with scarcely a sound. The acolyte put up more of a struggle than the priest, but then he was younger and fitter. Stuart had to subdue him with a chokehold. Vaughn made short work of the priest, coshing him with the pommel of her macuahitl.
They dragged the two unconscious bodies into the shrubbery and stripped them of their ceremonial garb. Then they changed out of their own clothes, Vaughn ordering Stuart not to peek at her in her underwear, on pain of death.
“Long as you promise not to do the same to me.”
“Like I give a shit.”
“You realise we’re committing hieratic fraud? A capital offence?”
“Again, like I give a shit.”
“Vaughn, you’re a changed woman.”
“Maybe. Now turn your back.”
When they had finished donning the priest’s and acolyte’s vestments, Stuart tore his shirt into strips, which they used to truss and gag the near-naked holy men. He reckoned, what with everything else that was going on, no one would miss these two for several hours.
“Still wish you’d agreed to killing them, though.”
“My plan, my rules,” said Vaughn. “I don’t hate the priesthood like you do. Besides, however careful we were, we might have got blood on the vestments. This way’s neater.”
Stuart adjusted the priestly headdress until it sat straight on his head. “Now, remember. Three paces behind me at all times. Mustn’t arouse suspicion, must we?”
“I’m a female acolyte. Of course I’m going to arouse suspicion.”
“Then try and walk more like a man.”
“I will if you do.”
“Oh, ha ha.”
They strode out from the garden, one behind the other, robes swishing behind them, and for a time it seemed as though it would be plain sailing. Nobody they came across ventured them a second glance. Priests and acolytes were a common sight in Tenochtitlan, even Caucasian ones, and besides, the city was now in a state of alert and had become a hive of frenetic activity. People were rushing to and fro on errands and urgent missions. Serpent Warriors were on the march, quickstepping in phalanxes towards various destinations. Some were making for the airfield, where a fleet of aerodisc gunships awaited. Others were on their way to man strategic positions on the outer walls, carrying with them lightning guns of a kind Stuart had never seen before, large-barrelled and bulkier than the average l-gun, closer in size to a conventional bazooka. Still others disappeared down stairwells that led to entrances to what must be underground bunkers. All of them were too intent on their business to spare a thought for much else.
Nevertheless, Stuart and Vaughn made sure to stay as inconspicuous as possible. They walked at a sedate priestly pace, even though they would rather have been hurrying. Their lack of ritual tattooing was another giveaway, so they kept their faces hidden by bending their heads low, in attitudes of pure piety.
When the huge trapezoid gateway came into view, Stuart dared to think they were going to make it after all. The gate was shut, of course, and guarded, but surely no Serpent Warrior would refuse a demand from a priest to open it. Freedom was just moments away.
“My good man,” Stuart said, gesturing loftily at the leader of the team of Serpents overseeing incomings and outgoings at the city’s sole public access point. “Captain…?”
“Ueman.”
“Captain Ueman. My associate and I wish to go outside. Kindly let us through.”
“Through to what, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“The harbour.”
“Again if you don’t mind my asking, why?”
