'Many of them will be innocent,' the She-Snake said, coldly. His gaze was turned downwards, to where Teomitl still knelt by the unconscious body. 'You can't just accuse whoever you want.'
'You dare question me?' Tizoc-tzin's voice rose to a shriek.
The She-Snake – who'd swum in the waters of politics from a young age – wasn't about to be defeated so easily. 'My Lord, I am your viceroy, keeping the order of the city just as you keep the order of the world outside. I would never countermand any of your orders, but the people might not understand what you're doing.'
'I fail to see where the problem is. They are plotting against the Empire.'
Did he even have any idea of how many practitioners of Tlaloc's magic there were in the city – not merely the powerful ones like Acamapichtli, but the hundreds of commoners, casting spells for small favours from the gods – curing minor ailments, improving the harvest, granting children to barren couples? 'My Lord,' I said.
Tizoc-tzin's head swung towards me – transfixing me with anger and contempt. 'Yes, priest?'
Southern Hummingbird blind me, why couldn't Acamapichtli be here? He'd have found smooth, convincing words that, if they hadn't calmed Tizoc-tzin, would at least have not angered him. But all that occurred to me in that frozen moment was the truth. 'Tlaloc is but a tool. It's highly likely the sorcerer has access to the magic of other gods. Tlaloc might not even be his favoured god.' Only the humble and weak spell-casters were restricted to the magic of a single deity: everyone else tended to cultivate the favours of one or two gods, and to call on the others as needed.
Tizoc-tzin's face contorted, and I realised I'd just given him more targets for his rage. 'I see. Good remark, priest. Round up all the sorcerers, then.'
'This is impossible,' the She-Snake said.
'Impossible.' Tizoc-tzin's voice was flat, as cutting as an obsidian blade. 'Impossible. I ought to have known I couldn't trust you.'
'We do seem to have trust issues,' the She-Snake said, gravely. He had guts, that much was certain – I just wasn't sure it would avail him of anything. Theoretically, the She-Snake couldn't be demoted, but it was merely a matter of it never happening before. The Revered Speaker, after all, named the She-Snake – why couldn't he cast him down?
'Don't play games with me.' Tizoc-tzin stared at the She-Snake; neither of them said anything for a while. The whole room held its trembling breath.
At length, the She-Snake nodded. 'My Lord,' he said, slowly. 'I will give orders to my men.' His face revealed nothing of what he felt, but his whole pose was tense.
'Good,' Tizoc-tzin said. He turned, taking us all in. 'Dismissed. We'll reconvene after the sorcerers have been questioned.'
As he swept out of the room with his escort, I chanced to catch a glimpse of a dignitary – a short man, almost dwarfed by the weight of his quail-feather headdress. His face was set in a scowl and he was staring at Tizoc-tzin's retreating back with withering anger – as if expressing all the contempt the She-Snake had felt, but not dared to make public.
'Who is that man?' I asked Nezahual-tzin, who was closest to me.
He frowned. 'The one with the greenstone and snail shell necklace, who looks as though he's swallowed something bad?'
'That one, yes.'
'I'm not that familiar with Mexica politics…' Nezahual-tzin's voice trailed off. 'Itamatl, if I'm not mistaken. Deputy for the Master of the Bowl of Fatigue.'
The fourth member of the war council, then: one of the cornerstones of the army, the one who guided the men through the fire and blood of battle. And he hated Tizoc-tzin that much? I wondered who he had supported in last year's power struggle. For all I knew, he had never expected Tizoc-tzin to become Revered Speaker. And yet… that he should show it openly, at a time like this? This was bad, very bad.
The room was empty of dignitaries now: the slaves were creeping back, and a few women – Pochtic's wives? – looking away from us. Nezahual-tzin threw them his most charming smile, but it seemed to make them even more frightened.
'Teomitl–' I started, but Nezahual-tzin was standing as still as a jaguar on the prowl, looking down at Teomitl.
My student hadn't said anything during the whole confrontation – which was uncharacteristic. Slowly, carefully, he gathered his rings from Pochtic's side – and slid them, one by one, back onto his fingers. His face was the exact double of the She-Snake's – that smooth lack of expression which hid inner turmoil.
His hands, as they manipulated the rings, were steady, but I knew him well enough to see the slight tremor, the almost imperceptible curving of the fingers – the trembling aura of magic around him, hinting at tossing waves, at stormy seas.
I'd seen him angry, in spurts of scalding wrath that never lasted – but this was something else. This was cold, deliberate rage, and I wasn't sure it would ever be extinguished.
It was dark when we came out, with a scattering of stars overhead – the eyes of demons over the Fifth World, contained only by the power of the Southern Hummingbird.
Tlaloc's magic. And the sacred courtesan served Xochiquetzal, who was as close to Tlaloc as goddesses went.
I didn't like this, not at all. I turned to Nezahual-tzin, and asked, 'The sacred courtesan. Xiloxoch.'
'Yes?' His eyes were on the stars. Could he discern his protector god among them – Quetzalcoatl the Feathered Serpent, Lord of the Morning Star?
'Can you find her?'
'Now?'
There was an itch in my shoulder blades, the hint of a lament in my ears. And, in spite of the precautions we'd taken, I wasn't altogether sure we'd done the right thing – were Teomitl and I immune to the sickness, or merely spreading it throughout the city? 'As soon as you can.'
'I'll talk to the leader of the prisoners again,' Teomitl said, brusquely. 'And send word if Pochtic wakes up.'
