Tezozуmoc turned back to Dawd, his fury draining away as the puzzled Skawtsman watched. "I walked out onto the shooting pitch," he continued, as if nothing had happened, "and tried to stand as steadily as I could. You're allowed sixteen rounds at ten, twenty and fifty meters. I took every one. Emptied my ammunition clips and walked to the next marker. Then I did the same with the rifle. By the time I reached the sword-dojo, I wasn't even aware of the hour of the day. The only thing in the whole world was a cord-wrapped sword hilt and the face of the slave they'd put into the dueling square with me."
A gust of wind rattled the goblets, making Tezozуmoc glance away for an instant. He remembered the bottle of vodka in his hand and took another long swallow.
"An officer is expected to dispatch his opponent with finesse, Sergeant." Tezozуmoc grimaced, weighing the half-empty bottle in his hand. "But in the end, all that matters is your ability to spill the teoatl tlachinolli – the divine liquid, the burnt things – for the Empire. The sword-sacrifices at Chapultepec are not diseased or starved or beaten before being put into the square. Do not think they are unskilled men! Their patron saint is Tlahuicole of legend, a captive so valorous the Emperor Moctezuma spared his life again and again, yet the noble Tlaxcalan demanded to be sent to the gladiatorial stone that he might die properly, as befitted one taken prisoner. The man I faced believed implicitly in his divine duty. What could I do but hope to be worthy of him?"
Grimacing, the prince tossed the empty bottle carelessly away. Colmuir almost lunged to catch the unexpected missile, but controlled himself. There was a crashing sound as the heavy imported glass shattered a window, and the sound of scattering feet as the servants fled.
"I am indifferent with the sword," Tezozуmoc allowed, shaking his head in remembered wonder. "But that morning – the last day of my life, I thought – I strove to be worthy of a nameless, unknown slave who had volunteered to serve the gods, to serve me by testing my skill with the sacred blade. We fenced – there was a blur of steel – and then he happened to block a kesa giri cut I'd thrown at his shoulder edge-on with his katana."
The prince snapped his fingers sharply, startling Dawd. "His blade shattered – broke like cheap glass – and I'd thrust and pierced his heart before I realized what had happened. That much of my training had taken hold.
"Then I was an officer and they put a red mantle over my shoulders and named me Cuahyahcatl as if I'd taken a hundred captives and a dozen towns. All for killing one pious man on a square of sand. An aerocar from the palace came to take me home. Later, I received my letter of commission in the 416th – in this very regiment – yet no orders came for me to take a duty posting. Nothing but staff work in the capital, until this assignment to Jagan." A wry smile twisted Tezozуmoc's lips. "And here? Here I command a single Cuauhhuehueh" – he inclined his head towards Colmuir – "and a doughty Tequihuah" – he nodded to Dawd – "for the first time."
The prince caught Dawd's eye, a bitter look marring his handsome features.
"But you are still wondering about the pistol and the rifle. An officer must shoot twelve of sixteen to pass. Perhaps…perhaps you are even wondering how a katana of superior manufacture – do not believe the teomicqui are provided with dross! – could break at my weak blow?" Tezozуmoc spread his hands and the expression on his face made Dawd's heart quail. "Never have I seen those weapons – that magnificent pistol, exemplary rifle or shinken again. Never. They were taken away, where by tradition they should have been mine.
"But then," he said, face turning sad, "my father and my mother should have greeted me when I emerged from the dojo; a man at last, a warrior of the Empire. But they were not there. Nor were my brothers. No one was, only a palace driver waiting to take me away in an unmarked aerocar."
Dawd stared at the prince, wondering what, if anything, he could say. Colmuir coughed politely, drawing Tezozуmoc's attention.
"Mi'lord, you'll not be wanting to try this gun out then, I expect?"
The prince shook his head, staring blankly at the sky. "No. Come fetch me when it is time to leave. I will be upstairs."
Dawd followed Tezozуmoc to the master suite, searched the room, bathroom and closets carefully before letting the prince enter, then closed the door quietly. After a few moments, he moved across the hallway and took up an overwatch position behind a massive marble bathtub the viscount had decided to use as an ornamental table, and clicked his comm thread alive.
"Master Sergeant?"
"Aye, lad. I hear you." Colmuir sounded subdued. "Lovely story t' brighten up a morning isn't it?"
"Had you heard it before?" Dawd didn't bother to suppress his curiosity. "Did his father order him passed out of Chapultepec?"
"Ah, now lad, tha' is dangerous business, wanting to poke about in the lives of the Imperial Family. Some things are best left alone." Colmuir clicked his teeth together, a pitying tone coming into his voice. "But I've heard a bit, here and there. I asked around you know, when I was assigned to watch the wee lad. No one would say much, but still…you've seen him hold a gun; like a sack of apples and his eyes closed half th' time!"
"Master Sergeant, for the love of the Revealed Heart of Jesus, who gave up his life to sustain the world, will you tell me what happened?"
"He passed, is what happened," Colmuir replied, a little put out. "He shot his twelves of sixteen at range and killed that poor teomicqui and walked off th' dojo sand white as an Aberdeen-man in winter, he did."
"What?" Dawd looked around in the hallway, startled by the sound of his own voice. "What about the weapons? Were they rigged? Where did they come from? Why did his family stay away?"
"No idea, Sergeant, no idea. First I've ever heard of those details – but then only the lad would know those things, wouldn't he?" Colmuir's voice turned brisk. "But back to business – this hunting trip will prove purely interesting if he won't carry a gun – one of us will have to carry it for him and then be bleedin' quick if one of these wasps jumps out at us."
Dawd rubbed his face, feeling a little ill.
"Now I've given the matter some thought, my lad, and I'll walk with him in the high brush. You now, you will be piloting the aerocar with luncheon and drinks and what not and I'd be very appreciative if you'd bring along that bleedin' huge Whipsaw of yours. I have a most depressing feeling we will need its services."
"Master Sergeant! I should walk point for him, not you! I'm the junior man -"
"My responsibility, Dawd, my responsibility. Nor will I shirk. You just be quick with that cannon when th' time comes."
A Nondescript House Parus
"I have a private comm call to the Cornuelle on intercept," Lachlan announced. "The Legation naval attachй is calling Chu-sa Hadeishi directly."
"Show me," the old Mйxica woman growled, sitting up from her bed. A v-pane ready to display voice analysis and a running transcript appeared on her panel. The hour felt late and cold, even in the humid Parusian night. Itzpalicue rubbed her eyes and pinched a maguey thorn from her sleeve. "Where's the visual?"
"Voice-only call, mi'lady." Lachlan didn't sound apologetic, he sounded exhausted. "The call is on a cross-link from a native cell network."
"Where are you intercepting? Can you get me a delay?"
Lachlan's image shook his head. "We're tapping the call directly from the Cornuelle. We could override local comm on the ship, but their bridge crew is sure to notice."
Itzpalicue grimaced, head cocked to one side, listening. The sound of aerocar fans was loud, and then the voice of a Fleet ensign said, "Connecting now."