He screamed once and charged.
One of Kite’s men did not move at all. The other one did, but far too slowly, and they were still too close together when the madman struck.
The nearest of his victims was on the captain’s left. The sword flew from one hand to the other to be swung deftly into his opponent’s arm before the man had a chance to raise his own weapon. I heard the bone crack. The injured man shrieked and reeled aside. At the same time a kick took his neighbour, a sandalled foot catching him in the midriff while he was still backing away. He fell sprawling, and the last thing he would have seen as he stared helplessly up into the sky was the blades of the sword as they swept down towards his face. The otomi turned back towards the man with the broken arm and finished him off with a single slash.
The rest of us backed away instinctively. I looked out of the corner of my eye at my brother. I saw the way he held himself, with his knees flexed, his feet braced just so, his head thrust intently forward, and there came straight back to me the games he had loved playing as a boy, pretending to be a warrior in our parents’ courtyard. I knew he was preparing to spring.
It was suicide, and I could not let him do it.
I was slightly nearer to the enemy. Without knowing what I was doing, I leapt at him, howling, the sword raised in both hands as I swung it wildly. What had my brother’s advice been?
Just hit him with the bloody thing.
The captain smashed the weapon out of my hands with a blow that numbed my wrists and sent ripples of pain up into my shoulders. The force of the blow made me stagger and set him whirling in a half circle. He was facing away from me when he raked my left leg with the heel of his sandalled foot, driving it downwards in a backwards kick that peeled a strip of skin from knee to ankle and sent me crashing to the ground.
I fell at his feet, writhing in agony, my leg twisting itself uncontrollably as though trying to snatch itself from a fire. The only thing that stilled me was a foot planted heavily in my stomach, pinning me to the ground.
I struggled for a moment and lay still. My breath came in shallow gasps. I was faint and dizzy from shock and pain.
The temple blazed. The flames may have abated a little now, much of their fuel consumed, but the smell of wood-smoke and burned resin from the shrine’s store of incense hung thick and sweet in the air.
When I looked up, I saw the otomi’s face clearly, glistening in the orange light. His few teeth gleamed in his monstrous half-grin.
His horrible four-bladed club was poised over my face. Warm fluid dripped from it onto my forehead.
I could imagine him mulling over which bit of me to cut open first. However, he was not looking at me.
‘That’s right,’ he snarled. ‘Keep backing away. Further than that. Make it far enough and I might kill this piece of offal with one blow. Well, maybe just a couple!’
‘Let him go,’ my brother cried, his voice high-pitched with strain. ‘Let him go and we’ll forget we ever saw you.’
‘It’s too late for that,’ the captain rasped. The weapon in his hand twitched, spattering me with more fresh blood. ‘Do you think I’m interested in running away? You’re the Guardian of the Waterfront, aren’t you? Well, I’m looking forward to fighting you. It’s a long time since I took on anyone who was worth the trouble of killing. Ah... Not so fast!’
I flinched as the blades flashed by within a hair’s breadth of my nose. Then came a cackling laugh.
‘Nearly lost him then!’ the captain cried. ‘Now stand back if you don’t want his end to be any more horrible than it needs to be. I can crush his skull in my own time. If you rush me I’ll wind his guts three times around this club before you even get close! Now, I’ve been looking forward to this, Yaotl, so I do hope your brother doesn’t go and spoil it for all of us... Oh, here comes someone else. Well, I don’t think you need an introduction. You’ve met.’
My head snapped round to follow the captain’s glance.
I could just about make out, against the light of the burning temple, the shadowy figures of my brother, Handy and Quail. Something moved behind them; a fourth figure, shorter and slighter than any of them, mildly stooped and walking with a shuffling gait, which it interrupted every few steps by stopping and spinning around.
It was holding two things. Its right hand grasped an incense ladle, of the kind used by priests, a bowl full of hot coals and smoking copal resin. In its left was a pale object that I had seen before. The captain was correct: the newcomer and I had met, on the night when they had together attacked Handy’s house.
I stared fearfully at the strange figure as it stepped and twirled towards me. Its path took it past Lion, Handy and Quail, but none of them made any move to interfere. They seemed fascinated, like rabbits transfixed by a weasel.
I dared not speak. Do something, you fools,
