Xiloxoch said, 'Tizoctzin isn't eternal.'
I surely hoped so – no one was, even those returned from the world of the gods – but… I watched her face, the carefully blank expression. Something wasn't quite right. 'Are you saying he's vulnerable to the plague, like everyone else?'
Her eyes narrowed – a fraction too long – before she shook her head. 'Just that he's mortal, like the rest of us. You, of all people, should know.'
I did know – all too well. But that wasn't the point. She'd said that he wasn't eternal with a definite tone – as if Tizoc-tzin's death were weeks or days away, not years ahead of us.
As if… 'Where is Teomitl?' I asked. The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them.
Xiloxoch shook her head. 'Teomitl? I don't know, Acatl-tzin. I haven't seen him since the tribunal.' And her voice sounded utterly sincere – curious, even, I could see her mind working, wondering how she could take the best advantage of this.
'You haven't,' I said, flatly. Then who had Teomitl teamed up with? What in the gods' name did he think he was doing?
Xiloxoch smiled. 'No. Did you have any other questions, Acatl-tzin?'
I didn't. I toyed with seizing her, there and then, but whatever was going on was obviously bigger than a single courtesan; if I'd started to arrest everyone who seemed to have a connection with the plague, I'd never have stopped.
'Till we meet again.' Her voice was low, mocking, as she walked away.
I stood for a while, breathing in the atmosphere of the courtyard, which was as thick as tar, and filled my lungs with hot, dusty wind. The feeling of being observed and weighed had diminished, but only because I was protected. Something – something was wrong here. And either Xiloxoch or Pochtic – or both – had known it.
I walked among the prisoners until I found Cuixtli, the Mextitlan man who had given us Xiloxoch's name. He was sitting cross-legged on the ground, in an attitude of meditation, hands outstretched, eyes open but looking at nothing in the Fifth World.
Cuixtli didn't look up as I approached, but when my skin brushed a little too close to him, the magic of my protections hissed like a snake about to strike, and Cuixtli shook his head, annoyed. His eyes slowly focused on me. 'Priest.'
'I have this privilege, yes.'
'Why are you here?' Cuixtli unfolded his lanky body, and stood, looking up at the sky. The Fifth Sun had set, and only a glimmer of His light remained in the world; in the courtyard, servants moved to light up the braziers, filling the air with the scent of smoke. 'Why are any of you here?'
I shrugged. 'We're trying to help you. Find out what's going on.'
His smile was pitying. 'You help yourself, priest. I – or the others for that matter – have no interest in solving mysteries.'
Of course not – to one who would be with the Fifth Sun soon, honoured as a god, why should any of the Fifth World matter? 'I'm not sure,' I said, slowly. 'Something is wrong in this courtyard, You might not be safe here.'
'Do Mexica not respect those who offer their lives?'
'I don't know.' As Teomitl had said, they were the worthiest men – the ones selfless and brave enough to give their lives for the continuation of the Fifth World. And yet – yet they were captured foreigners, not from Tenochtitlan, not even from Tlatelolco. Many would see them as nothing more than tools, faceless sacrifices, living witnesses to the greatness and glory of the Mexica Empire. 'The Duality curse me, I don't know. Why were they here, Cuixtli?'
His face was contemplative. 'The official and the courtesan?' He pursed his lips. 'Much for the same reason, I should imagine.'
'What, to gather Zoquitl's things?'
'The official obsessively searched every corner of this courtyard for something he wouldn't name. But I think he was checking spells.'
Spells. Spells to do what? 'What do you mean?' I asked, as a fist of ice tightened around my heart.
'You are High Priest, are you not? One of the three who determine the destiny of your Empire, of your Alliance.'
If only. 'Perhaps.'
'Then you should see it.' He rose, fluid and silent, almost inhuman, like a bird gliding through the air – and before I could stop him he had laid his hand on mine, at the level of the scars from my blood offerings. When he touched me, they pulsed, and my skin crinkled and reddened like copper in the fire. But there was no pain. Only a distant hiss in my ears, and then the sense of the world falling away from me, as I stood high above the earth, held by some impossibly distant star, except I hadn't moved, I was still standing in the courtyard, still looking at the adobe walls with their rich frescoes, the gods shifting and turning until even I could no longer recognise them – their coloured faces merging with one another's, the rich backgrounds running like raindrops until the walls were once more blank, leaving nothing but a couple of glyphs, stark red against the paleness of the adobe.
A pyramid temple, with flames coming out of its shrine; a slave's wooden collar and paper clothes; a heart struck in four bleeding pieces…
And it all shone green, the green of algae, of jade – the same light that filled Teomitl's eyes from corner to corner when he got angry.
Jade Skirt's magic.
My hand hadn't left the cane; but I held it so tight my fingers hurt. 'How long has that been in the courtyard?'
Cuixtli shrugged. 'I don't know.'
'But you could see it.'
'No.' He smiled. 'I can see
