And if we didn't have it anymore, he'd be the first to trample us into the ground. But, all the same – lying, especially in such an impassioned speech, would have cost him a great deal of energy, enough for the strain of it to be visible. Perhaps he was telling the truth, as much as I disliked the possibility.
'You'll want to stay in Tlatelolco,' I said, finally. 'It's not over yet.'
Yayauhqui's lips stretched again in that smile that wasn't quite one. 'Of course. It's never over.'
SIX
The afternoon was well advanced by the time I walked back into the Sacred Precinct; the incense smoke rising up from the dozens of temple made the orange mass of the sun waver and shimmer, as if through a heat haze.
I thought about Eptli as I walked, chewing on a tamale – I'd yielded to temptation, and purchased one from the old woman seller. The taste of chillies and spiced meat was a welcoming heat in my stomach.
He hadn't been liked. Possibly, he hadn't ever fitted in: to the warriors, he would be the merchant's son, and to the merchants, the man who mocked them relentlessly. In his pursuit for glory, he seemed to have made enemies – many of them, from his rival, Chipahua, to the merchant Yayauhqui.
The merchant worried me, for all his sincerity. His defence – that he wouldn't seek to damage the Triple Alliance, for it would be sealing his own doom – rang true, and yet…
And yet, a man like that would have no scruples. The kind of man who could disguise themselves and pass as a foreigner – gossiping and trading, all the while hiding that they were advance observers for the approaching army – why stop the game, when they got home?
Out of principle… but Yayauhqui hadn't looked as if he had much of that.
Still in a thoughtful mood, I walked through the northern gate into the hubbub of the religious centre, and went straight to my temple, which was but a short distance from the gate.
I'd expected a normal day – a dead body carried through the gates, grieving families talking to priests, examinations in quiet rooms… But instead, it was chaos: the temple's small courtyard was flooded with supplicants – from peasants in loincloths carrying baskets of ripe corn kernels, to officials with jewellery and caged animals. The combined noise was overpowering, and I only caught fragments as I elbowed my way through the crowd – about reassurances, and dreams, and portents which seemed to herald the end of the Mexica Empire.
I remembered, grimly, what Neutemoc had told me – that no matter how well Tizoc-tzin hid the warrior's death, news of it would travel through the city like wildfire. He had no idea it would be that bad.
At the foot of the stairs leading up to Lord Death's shrine, I found Ichtaca waiting for me – while two harried offering priests made efforts to channel the flow of supplicants into separate rooms, where they could deal with them one by one.
Ichtaca wasn't alone, though. Beside him stood two priests in blue and white cloaks, the hems embroidered with a border of frogs and seashells.
Of course. I'd known what I was getting into, walking back to the temple, but then again, I couldn't run forever.
The leftmost priest, a pudgy man with a blue-streaked face, was mildly familiar: his name was Tapalcayotl, and he was Acamapichtli's second-in-command. 'Acatl-tzin,' he said, bowing to me. 'Acamapichtli-tzin has requested your presence at the palace.'
It was couched politely, but the meaning was unmistakable. 'I see,' I said. 'I'll consult with my priests first.'
Tapalcayotl looked as if he might protest, and then obviously thought better of it. Like his master, he was acutely aware of social divisions.
I drew Ichtaca apart, careful to stand at a distance, since we still didn't know how the illness was passed on. 'What is going on?'
'I don't know yet,' Ichtaca said. He grimaced. 'Your sister took half the priests and went to do a ritual to protect us against sickness. It's a good idea–'
'But it leaves us short,' I said.
'It's just a bad time,' Ichtaca said. 'The disastrous coronation war and the death of a warrior…' He sighed, not looking altogether reassured. 'We'll weather it, I'm sure. We have the Southern Hummingbird's favour.'
We might have; after all, Huitzilpochtli was the one who had given us the right to bring Tizoc-tzin from the dead. But He was a capricious god, and he only favoured the successful in war. I grimaced. 'We'll see how things work out. Can you–'
He made a dismissive gesture. 'Don't worry. We've had to deal with worse during the great famine. This is nothing.'
I hesitated – but I needed to ask, all the same. I couldn't manage an investigation on my own. 'I need you to find out one thing for me.'
His face didn't move. 'Of course. What is it?'
'There is a merchant named Yayauhqui in Tlatelolco. He used to serve a god in his youth. Can you find out which one?'
'Consider it done, Acatl-tzin,' Ichtaca nodded. 'And–'
'And you hold up here,' I said, bleakly. 'Acamapichtli, Mihmatini and I will see what we can do about the epidemic.'
Ichtaca looked reassured by the idea of so many high-ranking priests taking care of the problem. I hoped he was right; on my side, I felt as though I was making frustratingly little progress.
We walked back the way I had come, the two priests of Tlaloc on either side of me, looking for all the world like an escort – or an arrest squad, I thought, bleakly. Acamapichtli, among other things, was vindictive, and he wouldn't have appreciated our little escapade.
