Extepan gave an emphatic nod. Maxixca scuttled from sight.
All eyes turned upwards rather than to the east. Nothing could be seen except the snow swirling down out of the darkening grey sky. Long seconds passed, filled only with the sound of the wind and the soft battering of snowflakes on my face.
I was about to look away when the sky flashed alight. Seamless and sinuous, a rippling bolt of orange-red light split the gloom like a fiery rope held between heaven and earth and shaken by an invisible hand. Wavering and dancing, a brilliant blood-orange, it was the only colour and brightness in a world of grey, the only thing that seemed alive. Yes, it was a living thing, a celestial snake striking down at the earth with all the ferocity it could muster. I became aware of a distant fierce crackling, then a low rumble, as of thunder.
The beam flashed out as abruptly as it had come, leaving a golden after-image in my eyes. The crackling sound had also ceased, but I could still hear the rumbling, and I knew it meant utter destruction.
Even through the snow and the darkness I could see a red glow lighting up the eastern horizon.
Moments later, Maxixca emerged from the trailer.
He marched over to Extepan and saluted.
‘Direct hit,’ he announced proudly. ‘Rzhev no longer exists.’
Seven
On Christmas Day, I entered Moscow with Extepan at the head of a column which crossed a wide bridge over the frozen Moscow river. I was appropriately dressed in black.
Extepan had originally hoped to receive the surrender from Tsar Mikhail himself, but there was only an assemblage of grim-faced generals and a few representatives of the Duma waiting for us in Red Square. The Aztec ultimatum had been rejected after the destruction of Rzhev, and Extepan’s attempts to arrange a temporary truce so that negotiations could continue were thwarted because of the threat that the Russians might launch their bombs on targets in Western Europe. Apparently Maxixca, who favoured further action, had appealed directly to Tenochtitlan, and orders were received from the imperial palace that the war should continue until there was an unconditional surrender. And so the beam weapon, fired from an orbiting satellite, had been used on a second Russian city, Ekaterinberg in the Urals, to which the Tsar and his government had removed some weeks before. My cousin Margaret and their three children were also with him.
The weapon was capable of delivering a concentrated burst of solar energy over a radius of several miles for up to twenty seconds. Nothing – bricks, concrete or metal – could withstand the blast, and deep craters were all that remained afterwards, the bedrock fused to a magma which would take months to cool. Margaret and her family were annihilated in an instant.
It was a grey, bitter day, and even the gaudy onion domes of St Basil’s Cathedral could do nothing to dispel the bleakness of the occasion. I remember wondering if what I had seen inside the Quetzalcoatl structure was in any way connected with the beam weapon. Perhaps the obsidian mirror had been a prototype, perhaps some sort of lens to focus the sun’s rays – a thing of utter blackness to turn light into fiery death. The grim symmetry seemed appropriate.
I found it impossible to blame Extepan for what had happened; on the contrary, I felt a curious kinship with him. We were both united in grief at the loss of someone close to us, Precious Cloud and Margaret, both dead before their time. Only Maxixca looked properly triumphant, as well he might. Moscow, and the rest of Russia, had surrendered without further resistance after the destruction of Ekaterinberg, and now the Aztecs controlled Eurasia from Portugal to the Alaskan Strait.
PART FOUR
He Who Speaks
One
The February wind drove banks of cloud out over the North Sea. Damp with drizzle, it tugged at the collar of my raincoat and tossed my hair about my face. With Extepan beside me, I crunched along the pebble beach.
A few yards behind us, Mia followed, Cuauhtemoc tucked inside her cloak, securely held in a papoose. Down at the sea, Richard and Xochinenen were hurling pebbles into the ragged waves.
‘It’s good to get away,’ Extepan remarked in English. ‘I am glad we came here.’
‘Despite the weather?’ I said.
‘Because of it,’ he replied. ‘Compared to Russia, this is nothing. I like your English wind and rain. It blusters and dampens, but there is no real malice in it.’
‘I wouldn’t be too sure of that. Ever hear of pneumonia?’
He looked at me. ‘Do you want to turn back?’
‘No, no, I’m fine.’
Dipping and rising in the wind, a floater passed by overhead. Guards patrolled the foreshore and the wooded dunes beyond the beach, ensuring that no one disturbed us.
It was only a fortnight since Extepan had returned from Moscow, leaving Maxixca in charge of mopping-up operations there. Chicomeztli had suggested a long weekend at Sandringham as a break from his duties, and Extepan already looked more rested. We had come to the beach at Richard’s insistence.
‘Look at those two,’ I remarked.
Down at the sea’s edge, Xochinenen was retreating from Richard’s attempts to splash her.
‘I think Richard is proud he is to be a father,’ Extepan observed.
Xochinenen had borne her father’s death with great fortitude and seemed closer than ever to Richard. She had announced her pregnancy on Extepan’s return from Moscow. Richard himself was thrilled, as was the populace at large. In a curious way, the public announcement of the pregnancy had severed my final ties of responsibility towards him. As a prospective father, he was now his own man, and even if he could never be expected to act as a fully mature adult, I knew I had to let him make his own decisions, as far as he was able, for better or worse.
The drizzle intensified, and Extepan motioned for a guard to come forward with an umbrella for Mia. She had returned from Tenochtitlan soon after Precious Cloud’s death, and had immediately taken over the care of Cuauhtemoc. It was as if she had never been away, as if Precious Cloud had never existed, and Cuauhtemoc was her own and Extepan’s.
Quickening his stride, Extepan headed towards the wooded dunes to seek shelter from the rain. I kept abreast of him, sensing that he wanted to speak privately with me. We drew ahead of the others.
‘Catherine,’ he said, the moment we were out of earshot, ‘I’ve been intending to talk to you about the immediate future.’
I scrambled up the dunes in his wake. ‘Oh?’
‘I shall have to leave London soon,’ he announced. ‘My father has summoned me to Tenochtitlan, and afterwards there will be new duties for me elsewhere. I shall not be returning.’
Although I had anticipated this since his success in Russia, it was still a surprise to hear it. A surprise and something of a disappointment.
‘Iztacaxayauh will be appointed to my post here,’ he said. ‘He’s a good man and he will look after the interests of your people.’
I had no quibble with this: Iztacaxayauh struck me as a moderate, and he was infinitely preferable to someone like Maxixca.
‘When will you be leaving?’ I asked.
‘Soon. Chicomeztli, Mia and, of course, my son will be accompanying me. I’d like you to come too.’
He had paused under the shelter of a tree. I peered at him, then turned away.
‘My father has asked to meet you. He says it would be a great honour for him. I would very much like you to meet him.’