Obsidian & Blood

  'Someone is summoning them,' Ceyaxochitl said. 'They can't be far from their creatures, or they'd lose their hold. Remove yourself from the scene, and there is a strong chance they won't follow.'

  'I see. Thank you,' I said. How in the Fifth World was I supposed to convince Neutemoc that he had to flee the city?

I went back to Neutemoc's house, to see about the wards – and because if I didn't go to him, he'd never know where I was. On my way there, I stopped by a street vendor to buy a chocolate, and sipped it while I walked. The pleasant, pungent taste of vanilla and spice soothed my nerves. In fact, all I could taste was the vanilla and spice, the chocolate being drowned underneath.

  I kept seeing the sheath on Eleuia, its straps cut by the rocks and the branches the body had bounced against. It had been of small use to her, in the end.

  I closed my eyes for a brief moment. I hadn't been paying enough attention to the sheath. Three straps, distributed evenly along the length of the blade. This wasn't a belt sheath: it was made to hide the knife against one's ankles or calves.

  Instants before she disappeared, Eleuia had been carrying that knife. But she had also been safe within her rooms, in the process of seducing Neutemoc. It didn't fit. If you intend to take a man into your bed, why would you need to keep your knife? Unless…

  The peyotl. I remembered Neutemoc's words on our first interview: She poured me a glass of frothy chocolate, with milk and maize gruel – good chocolate, too, very tasty. That's the last thing I remember clearly. Then the room was spinning, and…

  The room was spinning – not because of the beast of shadows, but because of the peyotl Eleuia had put into his chocolate. No wonder Neutemoc had been overturning the furniture by the time the guards had arrived: he must have been hallucinating, hardly aware of what he was doing.

  If she flirted with you, it's because you had something she wanted, Mahuizoh had said. She had wanted something out of him: his silence. And, if she could not get it by flirting – because Neutemoc was still a fundamentally honest man – then she'd make sure he didn't speak.

  It was a monstrous hypothesis. But it fit the facts, and the character of Eleuia, all too well.

  But why had she thought Neutemoc was a danger to her? What had made it so important to her, to the point of driving Mahuizoh, her steadfast lover and support, furious with jealousy?

  Neutemoc's words came back into my mind, with agonising clarity: She was cold when she first saw me. I had to remind her of the Chalca Wars before she'd pay attention to me.

  Neutemoc had to know something he hadn't told me yet. And it all dated back to the Chalca Wars.

  Suddenly all became clear. I was tired of running away; of reacting to events forced upon me by others. It was time to take my own initiatives. I had to get Neutemoc away from Tenochtitlan? Then we'd go together to see the battlefields of the wars, and the place where Eleuia had supposedly buried her dead child.

SIXTEEN

Setting Forth

'You're mad,' Neutemoc said, flatly. He was sitting in his room, on a reed mat, looking up at me as if I'd just offered him a chance to witness the birth of the Sun God.

  It wasn't wholly unexpected; but it still grated that he'd dismiss everything I said, as if I had no intrinsic value.

  'Look–' I started.

  'There's no 'look'. Do you seriously expect me to believe those lies about Eleuia?'

  'The peyotl was real.'

  'And the rest are your own delusions.' Neutemoc's voice was cold.

  That stung. But the conversation had been going on for a while, in much the same fashion, and I was beginning to see that I'd never convince Neutemoc of Eleuia's guilt. He might have accepted the fact that she might have had an ulterior motive for seducing him, but not that the motive was silencing him. That was too great a setback.

  But I'd thought of other arguments to convince him. 'Come into the courtyard, will you?'

  I'd already traced a quincunx on the ground. Neutemoc stared at it. 'There had better be a good reason,' he said, his face darkening.

  'It's not going to be long,' I snapped. 'Are you going to listen to anything I'm saying?'

  'I'm not sure,' he said. But he still let me put him in the centre of the quincunx. He did recoil when I dabbed my blood onto his forehead – a slight movement anyone who didn't know him would have missed – but he didn't say anything.

  When I finished casting the spell of true sight on him, he stiffened and stood still as the world went dark around him. I knew what he would be seeing: my blood pulsing at his feet and, behind the shadowy walls of his house, the creatures, frantically crowding to leach the magic from the wall.

  Even imagining them nauseated me. Whoever had made those things had a sick, sick sense of what constituted life, or a very good idea of what could frighten men.

  Neutemoc stood still. His lips moved, without sound. Then, in a heartbeat, he crossed the courtyard, and crouched by the wall. He watched them as he must have watched enemies before an ambush.

  'Those are the things that killed Quechomitl?' he asked.

  'Yes.'

  'How long have they been there?'

  I shrugged. 'Two days. The only reason they're not getting inside is because Mihmatini is frighteningly good at what she does.'