I didn't know how much I could trust him with any of the details on the epidemic, and in any case, it was better to be prudent. I took the first excuse that came to mind. 'If you'll excuse us,' I said to Nezahual-tzin. 'We have to look for a woman.'
'Women tend to be elusive,' Nezahual-tzin said, gravely. I remembered, too late, that he might be sixteen years old, and have the wisdom and grace of someone far older, but he didn't disdain the pleasures of the flesh, and his women's quarters already held dozens of concubines.
Teomitl glared at Nezahual-tzin. 'You don't know what you're talking about.'
His desire to oust Nezahual-tzin from his quarters was palpable, and at length Nezahual-tzin nodded. 'I see,' he said in a swish of feathers. 'I will leave you to your affairs while I attend to mine.'
I waited until he had left to look at Teomitl. 'We have a problem,' I said.
'A problem?'
Quickly, I outlined what Mihmatini had told me. Teomitl's face did not change during the recitation, save that it went paler and paler – and that a green light, like jade, like underwater algae, started playing on his features. 'Deliberate?'
'Insofar as I know, yes.'
'Then who?' The room was bathed in green shadows now; if the culprit had been there, he would have been blasted straight into Mictlan.
'I don't know.'
Teomitl grimaced. He looked disappointed – an expression which sent an odd pang through my chest, making me wish I'd been capable of removing it – but he soon rallied. 'So we're looking for enemies of the Mexica?'
I shook my head. 'Not only that. Enemies of your brother, quite possibly. Remember last year. Someone could well be a Mexica and love the Empire, and yet still want to depose Tizoc-tzin for personal gain.'
Teomitl snorted. 'You don't remove a Revered Speaker. You kill him.' I'd expected him to be outraged, or angry; but he was merely stating a fact all too well-known to him, as if he'd already brooded over this many times.
'Teomitl–' I said, suddenly frightened.
He grinned – careless, boyish again. 'Don't worry about me, Acatl-tzin. I'm not a fool. But the fact remains: what does our sorcerer hope to gain with this?'
'Weaken us,' I said, darkly. 'Perhaps even encourage a civil war.' We'd always stood united, but then again, all our Revered Speakers had had the favour of the Southern Hummingbird – their coronation wars a success, bodies piling at the foot of the Great Temple until the steps ran slick with blood.
Teomitl's face darkened – and, for a moment, he looked far too much like his brother. 'You go too far.'
I shook my head, ignoring the faint stirrings of unease. 'You've seen the banquet. We are divided. With enough panic, and enough fear… the gods only know what a sorcerer can achieve.'
And there was Tizoc-tzin – who had been dead, and who we had brought back to life. What kind of magical protection could a dead man afford us?
Teomitl said nothing.
'You must know the court. You must see the atmosphere.'
His hands were steady – almost too much – his face carefully guileless. 'I can look,' he said, finally. 'Does that mean we stop enquiring about Eptli's enemies?'
I thought of what Mihmatini had told me. 'Not necessarily. Whoever the culprit is, they must have hated Eptli – or what he represented.'
Teomitl grimaced. 'I did have some information, but…'
'What information?'
'The head of prisoners sent word,' Teomitl said. 'He said that a woman dressed like a sacred courtesan walked into their quarters, not long before the uproar of Eptli's death. She all but barged her way into Zoquitl's quarters, and they had a lengthy conversation.'
A courtesan? 'You don't know which kind?'
'Fairly high-up in their hierarchy, I should imagine, from what Cuixtli said. Why?'
'Xochiquetzal,' I said, curtly.
'Oh.'
Xochiquetzal, Goddess of Lust and Childbirth, had until recently been a resident of Tenochtitlan, granted asylum by the grace of the Duality – and of the previous Guardian, Ceyaxochitl. However, in the wake of Tizoc-tzin's ascent to power, She had been exiled from the city, partly in retaliation for her plot against the Southern Hummingbird a year before, and partly because Tizoc-tzin's paranoia wouldn't allow a scheming goddess to be within a stone's throw of him.
I hadn't approved. Like all gods – except Lord Death and the Feathered Serpent, who took no part in the intrigues of the Fifth World – Xochiquetzal was ruthless, and always plotting something. But risking Her anger and resentment wasn't wise.
'Does he know who she was?'
'He didn't remember her name. He thought it was something to do with flowers–' which didn't help, since half the women's names included precious stones or flowers 'and something else. Some kind of food – amaranth, maize?'
'I don't see–' I started, but the tinkle of the bells on the entrancecurtain cut me short.
'Xiloxoch,' Nezahual-tzin said, not even bothering with an apology or an introduction. 'xoch' was for flower; and 'xiloch' was tender maize.
'You were spying on us?' Teomitl asked, indignantly. 'You–' He stopped himself with an effort, remembering that he spoke to a superior and an ally. 'That's not honourable.'
'Honour will see us all dead,' Nezahual-tzin said, with that particular, distant serenity that was his hallmark. 'Let's be practical.'
