'Something?'
There was a faint, growing light at his feet – wisps of yellow radiance which slowly gathered themselves, until a thread of light shone on the floor, snaking through the courtyard, under the pillars of the buildings – losing itself in the darkness.
The thread which tied him to Mihmatini; except that I had never seen it so bright. 'Mihmatini?' I asked.
'She's in trouble,' Teomitl said. He was out, and running before I could even so much as finish my sentence, and, since he was the one with the link to her, I had to run after him.
I'd thought we would be going to the Duality House, but to my surprise Teomitl headed straight for the low building which hosted the courts of justice.
At this late hour, it was almost deserted – the wide airy room filled only with a few stragglers, trials that had dragged on too long, with clerks furiously drawing glyphs on papers, as if their speed could somehow expedite the magistrates' work.
Teomitl rushed through the room as if it were completely empty – passing dangerously close to a couple of artisans with wooden cangues around their necks. I followed at a more sedate pace – mostly because I was out of breath, not being as young as him.
I couldn't see Mihmatini anywhere – or the courtesan Xiloxoch, for that matter. What kind of trouble would my sister get into?
Teomitl was headed towards the back of the room, where an entrance-curtain of turquoise cotton marked the entrance of the noblemen's sections – which hosted both the Court of Appeals, and the Imperial Audience, that only met every thirteen days.
My work those days seldom took me into the courts, but I still had eyes, and could make out the pile of sandals near the entrancecurtain. It was an Imperial Audience today – reserved for grave crimes which touched on the security of the Empire.
And my sister was inside, and in danger.
A cold hand seemed to have closed around my heart. Surely it couldn't be…? Surely she was safe from Tizoc-tzin, if anyone was safe…?
Teomitl had stopped at the door, and all but tore off his sandals. I did likewise, my hands shaking on the cotton straps – trying to make out where the luminous thread was going.
The room beyond the curtain was much like the previous one: wide and airy, supported by painted pillars – and with a hint of the gardens through the back, a scent of muddy earth, a faint, raucous cry of quetzal birds seeking each other through the wooden bars of their cages.
It was packed full, as usual: almost every official in the palace seemed to have decided to attend, creating a riot of coloured cotton suits, of feather headdresses and jaguar pelts – of protective magical lattices, which hissed and faded when they met another incompatible magic.
Through the crowd, I could barely see the centre, but it seemed like some kind of hearing was going on – I caught Tizoc-tzin's voice, raised in anger, and another voice – a familiar one…
It wasn't Mihmatini's, but it was familiar all the same. Surely it couldn't be…?
Teomitl pushed his way through the crowd with the same determination he'd have used to ram a spear into a chest. I pushed ahead, oblivious of who I cast aside, of the angry voices that followed our passage, the buzzing of flies in my ears – that voice, it had to be…
'I've said it before: there is no plot against you, my Lord.'
And, finally, the crowd parted, and I saw…
Tizoc-tzin, sitting on the high-backed seat of the Revered Speaker – his sallow face distorted in the familiar expressions of fear and anger.
I caught a bare glimpse of the judges to his side: two noblemen I vaguely recognised, and the familiar black-clad countenance of the She-Snake.
But, in the centre – in the centre was Acamapichtli, High Priest of Tlaloc, his clothes torn and bedraggled, looking almost vulnerable – save for his face. He'd raised it towards the judges' dais, looking the Revered Speaker and the other dignitaries in the eye – a forbidden act, sheer defiance that was going to cost him dearly once his hearing was over.
Teomitl had stopped, his gaze going from Tizoc-tzin to Acamapichtli – the greenish cast of his skin receding to show normal colours once more, his eyes the bewildered ones of a boy. He looked right and left, and finally caught sight of Mihmatini, who was standing a few paces away with the slave Yaotl by her side, her face clenched in anger. But she didn't seem to be in any kind of danger.
'What is the meaning of this?' he asked to Tizoc-tzin.
'This isn't your province,' Tizoc-tzin said. His gaze moved from Teomitl to me – and in the depths of his eyes I saw only the magic of the underworld, calling out to me with the soothing song of the Dead.
Shuddering, I tore my gaze away from Tizoc-tzin. 'My Lord,' I said. 'Grave accusations have been made–'
'I know.' Tizoc-tzin waved a dismissive hand. 'Don't worry, priest. They are being taken care of.'
'I don't understand,' I said. I swept an eye around the room, which was utterly silent. No one moved – save for the She-Snake, and in his smooth, round face I saw the first stirrings of anger. 'Why–?'
'Isn't it obvious?' Tizoc-tzin asked. He laughed, and I heard the breath rattling in his lungs – such a beautiful sound, like the wheeze of funeral rattles. 'Tlaloc's magic has been spilling out into the Fifth World – into the heart and entrails of my palace, priest!'
'I still don't see–' I said, though in reality it was all too clear. But I wanted him to say it, nevertheless.
Tizoc-tzin waved a hand towards Acamapichtli. 'Isn't it obvious? The Storm Lord's emissary is here. It's him we should beware of, him we should cut open, him we should…' His voice dipped, and I couldn't hear the rest.
Acamapichtli hadn't moved. At length, he straightened up – slowly, stately, with that infuriating, effortless arrogance. 'Will that be all, my Lord? I have the feeling we have explored the question quite thoroughly.' I could have cheered.
