same natural authority, and the tendency to want everyone to fall in line – too much hanging around Ceyaxochitl's former acquaintances, I guessed. 'Fine,' I said with a sigh. 'Go see Ichtaca – he and my clergy will give you help with this.'
Mihmatini shook her head a fraction – placated, but not enough, I guessed. 'You look healthy,' she said, grudgingly. She closed her eyes, and I felt a spike of power enter the room: the soft, reassuring radiance of the Duality. 'I can't see any sickness clinging to you or Teomitl. But all the same – you need to be more careful of what you do.'
'We weren't the only ones around the dead warrior,' Teomitl said.
'No, but that doesn't mean you can afford to ignore your protections. Epidemics are propagated by people who feel fine – who don't imagine for a minute that they could be carrying the sickness.'
'You don't know what the vector is,' I said. 'It might not even be people.'
'No, but I'd rather be careful.'
Neutemoc cleared his throat. 'If you children are done with preening…'
'You–' Mihmatini said, shaking her head in the pretence of being angry. But we all knew she wasn't – at least, not seriously.
Afterwards, Teomitl and I sat in the courtyard, watching Metzli the moon pass overheard. The night was winding to a close, though the raucous sounds of banquets still made their way to our ears: flutes and drums, and the steady drone of elders' speeches – and the smell of fried maize, of amaranth and chillies, a distant memory of what we'd consumed.
'What now?' Teomitl asked.
'Get some sleep, I guess.' Neutemoc had agreed to lend us a room for the night, though he hadn't been happy.
Teomitl leaned further against the lone pine tree, watching the stars glittering overhead. 'Acamapichtli–'
'If we get an early start tomorrow, he probably won't have time to catch up.' I didn't mention my other fear: that the reason he hadn't caught up with us yet was that he was busy with the epidemic – and that something else might have come up, in the hours we'd been away.
FIVE
The night was short – too short, in fact. I woke up in a room I didn't recognise – and it took me a moment to remember I was in Neutemoc's house, and not in a room belonging to some parishioner, or in some quarters of the palace unknown to me. I made my devotions, drawing my worship-thorns through my ears to greet the Fifth Sun, and to honour my patron Mictlantecuhtli, Lord Death.
From outside came the familiar rhythm of pestle striking mortar – and another sound I couldn't quite place, a dull knock of wood on wood – but no, not quite either. I got up, and followed it to the courtyard – where I found Neutemoc and Teomitl sparring together. Their
'Men,' Mihmatini said, with a snort. She'd raised her hair in the fashion of married women, piling it above her head to form two slight horns; but her dress still marked her as a Guardian. 'They're going to be at it for a while. Come on, let's get breakfast.'
'I don't think–' I started.
'There's always time.'
I didn't agree – I kept having this vision of the blue and white cloaks of Tlaloc's priests overrunning the courtyard, demanding to speak to us, to put every single one of us into enforced containment. By now, Acamapichtli was going to be in full flow – and knowing him and his natural antagonism for warriors, he would want to add Neutemoc's household to his list of potential sickness carriers.
But Mihmatini looked in a mood to make water flow uphill, so I merely followed her into the reception room, where I hastily swallowed a bowl of maize porridge, before pronouncing myself ready to leave.
By that time, Teomitl and Neutemoc had come back. Teomitl grabbed a handful of maize flatbreads, folded them deftly into a small package, and nodded. 'We need to go,' he said to Mihmatini.
'Why?'
Teomitl shook his head. 'I'll tell you at the palace.'
'You'd better.' Mihmatini grumbled, but she made no further objection.
No, that was left to Neutemoc.
As we left the courtyard, neither Teomitl nor I paid attention to him, beyond a simple goodbye gesture – and we all but jumped when he said, 'Acatl.'
I turned. He wore a simple feather headdress, the plumes falling down on the nape of his neck; and the sunlight emphasized the small wrinkles at the corner of his eyes, making him older than he seemed, like some kind of family patriarch. 'You're going to warn us.'
Neutemoc didn't have much of a sense of humour, especially for grave matters. 'Yes, I am.'
'Go ahead. I'm listening.'
He looked surprised. Did he expect me to ignore him? I would have, a year before. But things had changed, and he had to know that. 'Look, Acatl. You're not in the army, so you don't have much information on how it's going.'
'I am, though,' Teomitl said.
Neutemoc stubbornly avoided his gaze. 'The army is losing faith with Tizoc-tzin. The deaths of the council a few months ago were bad enough, but the campaign was just one series of setbacks after the other. Some of the higher-level warriors are still with him, some others are wavering. And some never had faith at all.'
I didn't ask him which of those categories he fitted into; neither, I noticed, did Teomitl. 'And now the death of the warrior and a prisoner… it's a lot. You're going to have touchy people, and not only among the warriors.'
'The merchants?' I asked. They preceded the armies on campaigns, and followed them, too, gathering
