'On three sides,' I corrected, distractedly. 'To rebuild the tumbled one, you do need three people. One in the Fifth World, one in the underworld. And one astride the wall.'
Mihmatini's gaze was harsh. 'Why do I get the feeling you're going to be the one astride the wall?'
'Look, that's not what matters.'
'What about the Heavens?' the Consort Cozolli asked. 'They're also open.'
'Symbolically, it's a single boundary,' I said gently. 'Between the Fifth World and the world above, the world below. All you need is one person outside that boundary.'
'Hmm.' She didn't appear wholly convinced, but I was.
'We need a third person. Mihmatini–'
She shook her head. 'I stand for all gods, and none. I can't complete your triad.'
Then – I looked at Cozolli – she was only a Consort, and was symbolically tied to Tlaloc through her worship of Chalchiutlicue. No, she wouldn't do either. 'Then it'll have to be Quenami. ' I stopped, then, thinking of someone else who stood for a god – who might as well be High Priest, given his close relation to his patron. 'The breath of sickness in the Fifth World,' I said. 'Death astride the wall. And the breath of life in the underworld.'
The breath of life. The wind, Ehecatl-Quetzalcoatl, the Feathered Serpent. 'Nezahual-tzin.' Mihmatini's voice was grim. 'Fine – if he hasn't run away as well. And what about our troublesome ghost?'
'If we find him, we'll work out how to deal with him,' I said. The truth was, I had no idea how you killed a ghost. I could banish them – but that just sent them back into the Heavens, ready to come back again.
Unless…
Every ghost disappeared before the throne of Lord Death – if it came to that, we might be able to do something.
Save that it was a favour, and I had no wish to incur more debts with my god.
'It might not work, Acatl-tzin.'
'I…' Ichtaca looked at me, halfway between admiration and horror – not an expression I felt altogether comfortable with.
As usual, he'd managed to make his doubt evident while outwardly agreeing with me. I shrugged, and spread out my hands. 'The boundaries have to be closed. That's our role. Do you have a better idea?'
Ichtaca looked dubious. 'No,' he said at last. 'You're going to require the help of the order.'
I smiled. 'I wouldn't have had it any other way.'
Mihmatini looked wistfully at her feet – where the pale trace of the thread tying her to Teomitl coiled on the ground. Then she sighed. 'I have to come with you. I can help to make the spell stronger.'
'Are you sure?'
'No,' she said, curtly. 'Don't ask, or I might just change my mind. I hope it's going to work, but it's really uncertain.' Mihmatini pursed her lips. Clearly, she didn't much care for asking Nezahual-tzin's help once again. She looked back and forth, from Acamapichtli and Cozolli to me. 'How come your order doesn't have a Consort anyway?' Mihmatini asked. 'You seem to be the only exclusively male priesthood in the Empire.'
Ichtaca jerked as if stung; I merely nodded, looking slightly away from her. Acamapichtli just looked smug. It was public knowledge, but still, never brought out in such an open fashion – like pointing out to an aged relative that they were senile. 'There was… a problem with the Consort, a dozen years ago. She did – let's just say she got involved in activities she shouldn't have.'
Meaning that she'd dabbled in the wrong kind of magics, made the wrong kind of alliances, and set herself to fold the entire Fifth World into Mictlan.
Mihmatini grimaced. 'And she was killed? And the female priests?'
Ichtaca spoke, slowly, measuredly. 'Not killed – exiled. And the corruption went deep into the clergy. It was, ah, cleaner to remove the branch than try to prune sprig by sprig.'
Mihmatini grimaced. 'I've heard it say you're sick people, but this is the first proof I had.' She shook her head, as if removing water from her hair. 'Never mind, that's all pretty unimportant right now. Acatl?'
I shrugged. 'I don't have a better idea.'
'If you need someone in the underworld and someone on the boundary, you'll need a gate into Mictlan. Opening one isn't cheap or easy,' Ichtaca said.
'No, but we can manage.' Provided nothing went wrong.
Ha ha. I knew the answer to that one, too.
Finding Nezahual-tzin turned out to be more difficult than we'd foreseen. He wasn't in his quarters, which lay empty and deserted, like those of the Revered Speaker. He wasn't in the steambath, or in the various Houses of Joy, and neither was he in the tribunal, listening to the various magistrates argue in search of truth.
I could tell Neutemoc was starting to get frustrated – no wonder, he was a warrior, and such footwork was merely the prelude to the fight – and even Mihmatini's temper was close to fraying. Acamapichtli, to my surprise, was more equable, in fact, he and his Consort were worryingly silent, following us with alert faces, their gazes moving, as if they could track dead spirits.
And perhaps they could, too. Knowing Acamapichtli, he wouldn't have chosen a weak or ineffective Consort.
The priests behind me, Palli and Matlaelel – who carried the supplies we'd need for the spell – didn't look enthusiastic, either.
'He didn't exit the palace,' I said at last, as we looped through the same deserted courtyard for the fifth time. 'The guards didn't see him.'
Neutemoc grimaced. 'I'm not convinced they'd have seen him.'
'The Revered Speaker of Texcoco?' Mihmatini shook her head. 'No, they'd have seen him. If only to warn Tizoc-tzin.' She grimaced. 'And with the number of people left…'
I said nothing. The atmosphere in the palace was somehow different – there were still people wandering the corridors, from magistrates to noblemen, from feather-workers to officials. But still…
