'See, the province of Cuahacan hasn't delivered their tribute of jaguar pelts,' Manatzpa was saying.
'I think it was waived this year,' Echichilli said, his wrinkled face creased in thought. 'Let me see…' He reached for some of the other papers in the pile, and stopped when I entered in a tinkle of bells. 'Acatl-tzin?'
He looked up when I came in, genuinely surprised. 'Acatl-tzin?'
'We need your help,' I said.
'Our help?' Manatzpa sounded sceptical.
'I know who poisoned Ceyaxochitl.'
'That's a grave accusation,' Echichilli said. 'Do you have evidence?'
'Yes.' I outlined, briefly, what had led us to this.
When I finished, Echichilli did not look satisfied. 'It's scant. Too scant.'
'The Guardian was poisoned,' I said.
'But if you're wrong… It will mean war with Texcoco.'
'I know.' I wanted to scream, but I had more decorum than that. 'But we can't let that kind of thing go unpunished. Otherwise, who knows what else might happen?'
Echichilli looked at Manatzpa for a while. At length, the younger councillor set aside his writing reed. 'I think it's enough,' he said. 'It's a presumption, to be sure, but we can find a way to apologise if it doesn't turn out the right way. The presence of a strong sorcerer inside the palace at this juncture is enough to be suspicious.'
'You were always good with words.' Echichilli sounded sad. 'See how we can tear ourselves apart.'
'I wasn't the one who started.' Manatzpa sounded angry. He rose, wrapping his cloak around his shoulders. 'I'll go with you, Acatl-tzin.'
He and Echichilli both looked polished and clean, their ornaments from embroidered cloaks to feather- headdresses impeccable, suited to attending the imperial presence. Manatzpa himself would be all but useless in a fight, merely giving us his support, but little else.
I needed Teomitl. 'We'll need to collect someone first,' I said.
The palace was a big place, and it seemed even bigger when searching for someone. We headed straight to Teomitl's rooms, a small courtyard by the side of where Tizoc-tzin was holding court, where the entrance-curtain fluttered orange in the breeze, the same colour as Teomitl's cloak. Unlike Tizoc-tzin's, the room was on the ground floor, but then, Teomitl had never cared overmuch about pomp. He applied his own exacting standards to himself, and the opinions of his peers mattered little to him.
At least, that was what I'd thought before Tizoc-tzin started teaching him.
'Teomitl?'
No answer came from within. I'd expected guards, or at the very least a slave, but nothing moved beyond the curtain. I debated whether to enter, and finally settled for silently drawing the curtain aside, to make sure that Teomitl was not sleeping inside.
I had been in the courtyard outside those rooms, but in the year I'd taught him Teomitl had never invited me inside. The room was decorated with rich frescoes in vivid colours, depicting our ancestors in Aztlan, the fabled heartland of Huitzilpochtli's strength. Fish and leaping frogs filled water as clear as that of a spring, and little figures withdrew nets under the gaze of the god and of His mother Coatlicue, a wizened, harsh-looking woman wearing a dress of woven rattlesnakes, her large breasts obscured by a necklace of human hands and hearts.
The furniture, however, was at odds with the wealth of the decoration. A single, thin reed mat lay in the furthest corner, turned yellow by age. A stone box, a shallow vessel in the shape of an eagle, a three-legged clay pot with a chipped rim and two worn wicker chests completed the furniture. It would have seemed almost unlived in, save for the three grass balls pierced through with bloody thorns.
Carefully, I released the curtain; I couldn't help feeling embarrassed at discovering more of Teomitl's intimacy that he'd ever revealed to me.
Well, he was not here, that was certain. Where in the Fifth World could he have hidden himself?
I cast a hesitant glance towards the south, where the red-tinged silhouette of Tizoc-tzin's chambers towered over Teomitl's small courtyard. Could he be at Court with his brother? If that was the case, we were lost. I couldn't risk coming back, not on such stakes.
The hollow in my stomach wouldn't close, an unwelcome reminder of how anchorless the Fifth World had become with the death of the Revered Speaker.
Manatzpa had been waiting politely for me at the entrance to the courtyard. He bent his head towards the sky, where the sun was climbing into its apex, a graceful way of suggesting we needed to hurry without actually saying the words.
We walked out again, and attempted to locate the youths of imperial blood.
I found them lounging at the exit of steam-baths, lazing in courtyards over
At length, a fist of ice closing around my heart, I headed back towards the entrance, Manatzpa in tow.
As I passed the House of Animals, I caught a glimpse of orange in the darkness.
I slid inside, unsure whether I had truly seen anything. The House of Animals spread over several gigantic courtyards, cages of woven reeds held rare or beautiful animals, from emerald-green quetzal birds to the graceful, lethal jaguars; from web-footed capybaras munching on palm leaves to huge, slumbering armadillos curled against the bars.
The flash of orange came again, in the direction of the aviary, where the Revered Speaker kept the birds with precious plumage that could be turned into feather regalia. I crossed the arcades of a gallery, and found myself facing a couple of quetzal birds and, through the bars of their cage, Teomitl, who stood watching them with the intentness of a warrior on a reconnaissance mission.
'Acatl-tzin?' He sounded shocked and not altogether pleased. But our grievances could wait.
