"Well, it's not that." Teomitl hesitated. "There was someone who didn't agree with this, originally."
"On the war-council?" I asked.
"Yes. Itamatl. He's the deputy for the Master of the Bowl of Fatigue. He was sceptical at first, and argued against the evidence. But not for long."
That didn't sound much like a divided war-council, no matter how I turned it.
"We need more evidence," I said.
"I should say we've got more than enough here," Teomitl said, sombrely.
"That's not what I meant."
I needed to see how ordinary warriors had considered Eptli. I needed inside information, but Teomitl would be useless on this one: like Coatl, he moved in spheres that were too exalted to pay attention to the common soldiers. What I needed was someone lower down the hierarchy.
I needed–
Tlaloc's Lightning strike me, I needed my brother.
I had caught a glimpse of Neutemoc at the banquet, so I knew that not only had he come home safe, but also that he had gained from the campaign. But the formalised banquet hadn't left me time to have a quiet chat with him, and I had been looking forward to visiting him.
I just hadn't intended that my visit – the first for months – to come with strings attached: the last thing we needed was for my High Priest business to interfere in our fragile and budding relationship.
FOUR
Brother and Sister
First, we needed to make it out of the palace – preferably without running into Acamapichtli and his absurd notions of quarantine again.
Luckily, the priest who'd brought us into the prisoners' quarters had vanished, and his replacement at Zoquitl's door was more interested in doing his job as a guard than checking on our departure.
"We'll run into priests," I said as we exited the prisoners' quarters. "The palace was overrun by those sons of a dog."
Teomitl shook his head. "Not if we take the least-travelled paths. Come on, Acatl-tzin!"
Of course, he had all but grown up there in the early years of his brother's reign and he knew the place like the back of his hand. He took a turn left, and then a dizzying succession of turns through ornate courtyards where slaves brought chocolate to reclining nobles – until the crowds thinned, the frescoes faded into paleness and the courtyards became dusty, deserted squares, with their vibrant mosaics eaten away by years of winds.
"The quarters of Chilmapopoca," Teomitl said, laconically. "My brother Axayacatl's favourite son. He died of a wasting sickness when he was barely seven years old."
It smelled of death and neglect, and of a sadness deeper than I could express in words. I shivered and walked faster, hoping to leave the place soon.
And then we were walking past the women's quarters: highpitched voices and the familiar clacking sound of weaving looms echoed past us – the guard in the She-Snake's uniform gave Teomitl a brief nod, and waved us on.
"Are you sure?"
Teomitl's face was lit in a mischievous smile. "Remember three months ago, when that concubine blasted her way out of the palace?"
The scar on the back of my hand ached. The previous year, in the chaos that had followed the previous Revered Speaker's death, we'd uncovered a sorcerer working for foreigners. In his deaththroes, he had opened up a passageway, allowing his employer to escape into the city.
"It was supposed to be sealed up."
"It was," Teomitl said. "But I got them to make me a key."
The women looked away as we walked past, though not all of them. Some were smiling at Teomitl – whether because he was an attractive youth or because his uniform marked him as Master of the House of Darts, I didn't know. But Teomitl, lost in his current task, didn't even appear to notice them.
As for me… I'd been sworn to the gods since I was old enough to walk; and the women didn't even raise the ghost of a desire in me. A goddess had once accused me of being less than human, but she'd been wrong. I saw them as people – not for what they could bring me in bed, or the status they symbolised, but merely as the other half of the duality that kept the balance of the world.
At length, we reached another courtyard, which was entirely deserted. Teomitl breathed a sigh. "Good. I hate throwing women out of here. They always make such a fuss."
The building at the back of the courtyard was a low, one-storey structure, an incongruity in a palace that almost always had the coveted two floors. Columns supported its roof, creating a pleasant patio for summertime, though we were barely out of winter and most trees were bare.
In the centre was a patch of clearer adobe, clear of all frescoes: Teomitl reached out for it, and I felt more than saw the discharge of magic leap to his hand, the jade-green glow characteristic of his goddess. The adobe lit up from within, as if exhaling radiance – and then it seemed to sink back onto itself, receding until it revealed a darker entrance. The air smelled of that peculiar sharp smell before the rain.
"It's not the same passageway, is it?" I asked. The one I remembered all too well had torn through the neighbouring quarters: looking through it had merely revealed a succession of courtyards and quarters.
Teomitl grimaced. "I… used an opening in the wards, to keep it simple. Come on, Acatl-tzin."
He laid his hand on my shoulder as I entered, and a tingle went up my arm – like a mild sting by an insect, moments before it started itching.
That feeling, too, I knew – not the exact same one, but close enough. "Your shortcut is through Tlalocan." Tlalocan, the land of the Blessed Drowned; the territory of Tlaloc and his wife Chalchiuhtlicue, Jade Skirt, Teomitl's patron goddess. A land anathema to me, the power of which ate away at my body and my magical ability.
"Yes." Teomitl said.
"Do you have any idea–"
"–how dangerous it is? Please, Acatl-tzin, I don't need a lecture."
That wasn't what I'd wanted to say. If he'd cast the spell and the Fifth World had still failed to collapse on us, then he'd got the tunnel contained. And he hadn't breached any boundaries – strictly speaking, the breach had been made by the original creator of the passageway. Sophistry, but the gods that guarded the boundaries, such as the Wind of Knives and the Curved Obsidian Blade, thrived on such rules.
"You have a passageway into the palace," I said, following him through the tunnel. It was dark and damp, and reminded me of too many unpleasant things – I knew too well the tightening in my chest, the growing dizziness, the gradually blurring field of vision. "Do you have any idea what Tizoc-tzin would do if he found out?"
I guessed more than saw him grin in the darkness. "Unpleasant things," he said. "My brother's paranoia hasn't improved." He sounded cold. His relations with his brother had always been as complex as mine with my own brother, but they hadn't been good for a while.
The pressure against my chest grew worse as we went deeper – the tunnel was dark and murky, as if we were at the very bottom of Lake Texcoco, and there were things moving in the darkness, shadows that would vanish as soon as I focused on them. The air smelled of mould and mud, and greenish light played on the back of my hands and on Teomitl's clothes, washing everything into monochrome insignificance.