"Motive?" This time, the surprise sounded genuine, but I'd already seen what a good liar he was. "I don't see – you mean the death wasn't natural? I assumed–"
"You assumed wrong. Someone cursed Eptli, and he died."
Chipahua tore the cake into two neat pieces. "Curses are serious matters," he said.
"So is ascending into the Eagle or Jaguar Knights."
He wasn't looking at me anymore. "It takes more than four prisoners, as you well know."
"I'm not that familiar with army procedures," I said carefully, though in this particular case I did know. My elder brother was a Jaguar Knight.
"The Knights have to accept you as a brother." He shrugged. "I don't think either I or Eptli had much of a chance, to be honest."
"Why?"
"I'm a commoner," Chipahua said, simply.
"And Eptli wasn't?"
"Eptli's father was a commoner before the Revered Speaker elevated him. It gave Eptli a great deal of… arrogance?"
"Which was totally unjustified," the warrior on my left said.
I suspected arrogance was the wrong word. Warriors were arrogant as a way of life. There had to be more to explain why Eptli was so disliked.
"Commoners have ascended into the Jaguar Knights before," I said, thinking of my brother. We were the sons of a peasant family on the outskirts of Tenochtitlan; he'd risen through feats of arms, and I through the clergy.
Chipahua grimaced. "The new commander isn't as open as the previous one."
"Southern Hummingbird blind the Jaguar Commander," the right-hand warrior – Zacamayan – said. "We know your worth, as does everyone in the clan-unit." His accent and dress were those of an educated man: he was either a nobleman himself, or the son of an elevated commoner, afforded all the privileges of the nobility.
I ignored the interruption. "You want me to think you had no motive for killing Eptli," I said to Chipahua. "But taking a fourth captive brings other benefits besides entry into the Knighthoods." The haircut that marked them as veterans; distinctive insignia and cloaks; the right to more of the tribute, and the title which would give them the higher status they coveted.
"I won't deny that." Chipahua's face was blank. "If you're going by motive, then yes, I do have one, and a strong one. You'll know I wasn't the only one."
I refrained from glancing at his two supporters. "Giving me names to save yourself?"
Chipahua looked thoughtful for a moment. "You've talked to Coatl," he said finally.
I thought, uneasily, of the tone in Coatl's voice when he'd talked about Eptli. "He didn't approve of Eptli?"
"Eptli mocked the old. He rejected their authority – he said they were spent, and they had nothing more to teach us."
I winced. Given the little I'd seen of Coatl, I very much doubted he'd have liked that. Eptli was sounding more and more like a thoroughly disagreeable person.
Not that I was surprised. It was rarely the likeable men who were murdered. Murder – especially magical murder, with the lengthy preparations, the shedding of living blood and the calling on the power of the gods – required premeditation, and that in turn meant a strong motive. Few innocent men inspired such destructive passion.
"Very well. Do you have anything else to add?" This included the two warriors on either side of me, who watched me with undisguised hostility. Whatever Chipahua thought of priests, they didn't share that opinion.
"No," the left-hand one said.
"No," Zamacayan said. "But you should look elsewhere, Acatltzin." He put a slight pause after my name, as if he were adding the honorific only as an afterthought.
"I will give it some thought," I said as I rose. My cloak brushed against him for a bare moment – and I felt a palpable jolt of magic – a strong pulsing power that could only belong to Huitzilpochtli the Southern Hummingbird.
It might have been a ward: many warriors and noblemen had them – including my own student Teomitl. But the throbbing energy climbing up my arm was no standard ward. Zamacayan was either a magic-user, or he had access to one – not the tame priests at court or in the army, but someone prepared to cast a strong, elaborate spell.
I said nothing as the slave took me out of the house, and my priest started rowing us back to the temple. But I was preoccupied. Chipahua himself might have no knowledge of magic, and the two warriors no motive to kill Eptli – but put them together, and bind them with the strong comradeship that kept a unit together in the heat of battle…
"Acatl-tzin!"
I looked up, startled out of my reverie – and almost fell over when I saw Teomitl, leaning on the prow of a narrow-nosed boat. He'd discarded his regalia in favour of a mantle with a red brim, and a dark cape, though his face was still painted black and blue.
"How did you find me?" I started, but then saw the green glow of his patron goddess Jade Skirt etched in every feature of his face. I was on a boat, in the water that was Her province – of course She'd know where I was. I shifted conversation subjects. "What in the Fifth World are you doing here?"
"Telling you that you were right." Teomitl reached out, taking my hand to drag me into his own boat. "Come on, we'll go faster with this one. It's larger, and it's got the imperial insignia."
"Teomitl," I said, struggling not to capsize. "How about explanations?"
"Oh." He looked surprised for a moment. "It's the dead man."
"I shouldn't think he could get any deader," I said darkly, manoeuvring to bridge the gap between the two boats. Behind us, the traffic in the canal had completely jammed – and I guessed it was only the imperial crest that prevented people from screaming at us.
"You don't understand, Acatl-tzin." Teomitl steadied me as I set foot onto the floor of the boat. "Whatever he had, he's been passing it on to other people."
A contagious disease. In the palace. Where the rulers of the Triple Alliance were gathering for Tizoc-tzin's coronation; where the highest-ranking noblemen and priests would be discussing the coronation war and what it meant for the Mexica Empire.
I took a deep breath, but it didn't remove the leaden weight in my stomach. "Lead on," I said.
THREE
Further Victims
Teomitl took me to the same wing where we'd put Eptli's corpse earlier. The atmosphere was curiously subdued, with an over-abundance of black-garbed priests of Patecatl, and the blue and white cloaks that could only mark priests of Tlaloc the Storm Lord.
I wasn't that surprised: among His many attributes, the Storm Lord was responsible for the spreading of diseases – pouring them down from one of His jars as he poured rain and lightning upon the Fifth World.
Acamapichtli was waiting for us in front of a closed entrancecurtain. On the ground behind him was a half circle, inscribed with blood-glyphs. Even from a distance, I could feel the heat radiating from the tracings. Something large – perhaps even a man – had been sacrificed here.
"Is it that bad?" I asked. Teomitl's explanations had been confused: I gathered there had been at least one victim, but the sheer number of priests made me suspect it was somewhat worse.