I cursed under my breath, consigning politics and politicians to the depths of Mictlan. 'Where is the audience?' I asked.
'Closed audience,' the clerk said. He laid his writing reed on top of his maguey-fibre paper, and looked at me. 'No one comes in.'
'But I'm in charge of the investigation,' I protested.
'Not any more, it would seem,' the clerk said. He might have been sorry, though it was hard to tell. I wanted to scream, to tear something, anything to lessen the growing feeling of frustration in my chest.
'An important case?' the old magistrate asked. Beneath the rheumy veil, his gaze was still sharp.
I didn't want to discuss the details of the inquiry with a stranger. 'Very important,' I said.
He tapped his cane against the stone floor, in a gesture eerily reminiscent of Ceyaxochitl. 'Supernatural case, eh? That's why you'd be involved. Though the High Priest…' He looked at me again. 'I'm not without influence myself,' he said.
Hardly daring to hope, I asked, 'Can you get me into the Imperial Audience?'
He coughed. 'No,' he said. 'I won't waste my influence on a guilty man.'
'I don't know whether he's guilty. There's barely enough evidence,' I said, a hollow growing in my heart. I didn't know what to think any more. I had few leads, and every time I seized hold of one, things seemed to become worse.
'That's not what I heard,' the magistrate said. 'It seems to be damaging, the situation they've found him in.'
'Yes, but I don't…' I started, then caught myself. Whatever I admitted to couldn't make things worse. 'He's my brother. I can't let him fall because of politics.'
The old magistrate watched me, as unmoving as the statues of the gods in the temple. 'The Emperor's Justice is swift,' the old magistrate said. 'But not that swift. It will take at least another three days of audiences for the Revered Speaker's representatives to reach a decision. If you have any evidence, you may bring it to me. Ask for Pinahui-tzin.'
'What kind of evidence?' I asked.
'Proof of his innocence, or of someone else's guilt,' Pinahui-tzin said.
'In a bare handful of days?' It was hope, of a kind, but barely within my reach, unless Chicomecoatl, Seven Serpent, saw fit to bless me with Her luck.
Pinahui-tzin rapped his cane on the floor: a parent scolding a disobedient child. 'I'm no maker of miracles, young man. I offer you a chance. Whether you take it is your own problem.'
I nodded. I had no real choice. But I prayed that Pinahui-tzin was right, and that Neutemoc would survive a few more days.
Otherwise I couldn't see myself telling the news to Huei, or to Mihmatini.
I did try to locate the Imperial Audience, but Pinahui-tzin had been right: the guards wouldn't let anyone in, not even me.
The Duality curse politics and politicians. If Neutemoc was innocent–
You don't know that, my inner voice pointed out to me.
No, I didn't. But let oblivion take me if I allowed Neutemoc to die because of priestly politics.
I left the Imperial Palace in a sour mood, and headed back to my temple. In front of the Jaguar House, the dance had ended and the dancers had left. The scruffy slave was still there, though the two guards at the entrance pretended not to see him.
After my first aborted attempt at the House, I hadn't come back – if I thought about it, more out of fear than out of genuine reasons. But time was growing short for Neutemoc. Already the sun was low in the sky, and night would soon fall.
I walked straight to one of the guards and bowed to him.
He was dressed in full Jaguar regalia, in a uniform even more sumptuous than Neutemoc's. The jaguar skin covering him had no visible seams: it wrapped around him tightly, the jaguar's skin fitting tightly around his own head. A plume of red, emerald-green and blue feathers protruded from between the jaguar's ears; and his face between the jaguar's jaws was painted in an intricate red pattern. In one of his hands, the knight held a spear; in the other a shield covered with red feathers. He looked at me, puzzled, as if an insect had suddenly elected to speak to him.
Sometimes, I remembered why I hated warriors, and Jaguar and Eagle Knights worst of all. 'I want to speak to a Jaguar Knight,' I said.
The guard shook his head, and subtly moved to bar my way. Nothing unexpected, sadly. 'Your kind isn't allowed in here.'
'I know,' I said, exasperated by the thoughtless slight. Only Jaguar Knights could enter the House. 'But you can at least tell me whether he's here.'
The guard looked thoughtful, probably deciding whether I would leave faster if he answered me than if he didn't.
'His name is Mahuizoh,' I snapped. 'I don't know his calpulli.' From the corner of my eye, I saw the ill- kempt slave was leaning forward, suddenly interested.
The guard shrugged. 'We have several of those.'
'I know.' Two, according to Teomitl's research. 'Unfortunately…' I started, and realised that admitting to lack of knowledge would allow him to dismiss me. 'He has a sister in the girls' calmecac.'
'Mahuizoh of the Coatlan calpulli?' the slave said, his mouth yawning wide open. Half his teeth were missing – knocked out, by the jagged looks of the remains – and the others were stained as black as dried blood. He breathed into my face the rankness of someone who hadn't washed body or teeth for several days. I recoiled.
The guard slammed his spear on the ground. 'Huacqui. Be silent.'
The slave smiled. 'I don't see why I should. The mighty Mahuizoh got me thrown out of the Brotherhood, didn't he?'
'Be silent,' the guard said, raising his spear, but Huacqui leapt back, with more agility than I would have credited him with.
