'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
'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
