of the army?
'No,' I said. 'We have more important things to do than this.' And, to Xiloxoch: 'I'm pretty sure you can find your own way to the military courts.'
Her smile was wide and dazzling. 'Of course. Don't worry about me, Acatl-tzin.'
After she'd left, Teomitl turned to me, his face creased in puzzlement. 'We could have–'
'No,' I said. 'She brought nothing but groundless accusations. I'm not about to give her the pleasure of our approval. Let her face the magistrates on her own terms.'
'It's a serious matter.'
'You've said it yourself: you noticed nothing.'
'Yes, but I'm a fool when it comes to matters like this.'
I shook my head. 'It's not good enough, don't you see? We serve justice; not whims based on scant evidence.' Otherwise we would not be much better than Tizoc-tzin.
Teomitl's face took on some of the harshness of jade again, but it was soon gone. 'Fine. I suppose you're right. But if it's not true, then what was she was doing in Zoquitl's room?'
I had a fair idea of what she could have been doing in Zoquitl's rooms – what sacred courtesans did best. She was a servant of the Flower Quetzal, goddess of Lust and Childbirth, and sleeping with a promised sacrifice would not only enable her to honour her goddess, but might also leech potency from the Southern Hummingbird. It was small – one sacrifice out of forty – but the Flower Quetzal would have gladly counted it a victory.
Unless She had more extreme plans? Unless She was once more Tlaloc's ally, seeking retribution on the Fifth World?
'What now?' Teomitl asked, impatiently.
There was something going on – someone undermining the Mexica Empire or Tizoc-tzin's leadership. It could have been Tlatelolco; it could have been Xochiquetzal's followers, but it could also come from inside.
Pochtic had seen his assailant and recognised him, which in turn meant that he had known him. And I didn't think that could apply to either the Tlatelolcan merchant or the sacred courtesan. But Itamatl – the fourth member of the war-council, who had displayed such hatred for Tizoc-tzin… that was a strong possibility.
'There's a man we have to see.'
• • • •
We stopped by the kitchens first, to get some flatbreads and fried newts. As we ate, I asked Teomitl about Itamatl.
'Honest man,' he said with a shrug.
'He doesn't seem to like Tizoc-tzin all that much.'
Teomitl grimaced. He looked distinctly uncomfortable, which was unusual for him. 'Itamatl had an elder brother who was on the council.'
I winced. 'So he's dead?'
'And bound to the Southern Hummingbird, like the rest of the council.'
And, of course, it had been because of Tizoc-tzin, and because of his fanatic drive to become Revered Speaker, that the council had died – or, more accurately, had been sacrificed to buy the Southern Hummingbird's favour. 'And Itamatl?'
Teomitl wouldn't look at me. 'Itamatl was very fond of his brother. But Acatl-tzin, you can't possibly think–'
'I don't think. I just follow what I see.' Open hostility to Tizocztin, and a motive for wanting the Revered Speaker cast down, denied the Gold and Turquoise Crown Itamatl's brother had died for… 'And I can't exempt anyone from suspicion.'
Teomitl snorted. 'You might as well suspect me.'
'Of dubious loyalties to Tizoc-tzin?' The words were out of my mouth before I could think, but Teomitl said nothing. He merely watched his fried frog, as if he could order it out of his sight.
'You have to wait,' I said, slowly. 'Otherwise…'
'I know.' He bit his lips. 'I've seen the star-demons, remember. I know you made the right decision, Acatl- tzin. But, still…'
I said nothing. He needed time for things to sink in. He would see the truth of it soon enough.
Itamatl's quarters were not far from Pochtic's – in the same grand and ostentatious part of the palace. They looked much the same: a squat pyramid of limestone with more unfamiliar insignia – that of the Master of the Bowl of Fatigue, I presumed, and the lesser ones, the one with the coyote underneath the red sun, had to be for Itamatl's war prowess.
There were no slaves, no servants to block our way; and the antechamber was similarly devoid of people. From inside, beyond the simple black and red entrance curtain, came rustling noises, like someone turning the pages of a codex with great speed.
Teomitl pulled the curtain open with his customary energy, sending all the bells into a frenzy of ringing – but it was not enough advance warning for the man inside – who rose from his crouch near the brazier with wads of paper still in his hands, and an expression of anger slowly stealing across his face. 'What is the meaning of this – oh, I might have known. Good afternoon, Teomitl.' He still appeared angry.
'Burning papers?' Teomitl asked.
Itamatl shook his head. He wore nothing but a simple cotton loincloth – no warrior finery here, as if he were uncomfortable with it. But he addressed Teomitl as an equal. 'Time to get rid of the old, I should think.'
'The old order?' I asked.
Itamatl put the papers down. I caught a glimpse of elaborate drawings – warriors striking at each other, elaborate representations of army units, with their feather insignia and shields. 'The remnants of our old wars. Might as well not keep them.' He appeared utterly unashamed; at ease. 'Especially given how they turned out.'
'Be careful what you say,' Teomitl said.
'You know what I'm going to say.'
'Yes. And I'll listen as a friend, but I am also Master of the House of Darts.'
