I'd intended to make clear to him that barging in with his criticism wasn't appreciated, but he took me seriously. Or, knowing him, perhaps he understood and didn't care. "There was a merchant involved, I understood."
I didn't bother to ask how he knew. It was either the blessing of Quetzalcoatl the Feathered Serpent, or his preternaturally excellent network of spies. "Yayauhqui."
"Yes, Yayauhqui. You didn't ask the right questions."
"What right questions?"
"I'm told your Fire Priest was wondering what deity Yayauhqui worshipped as a youth."
"I thought there might be something there." Even if there hadn't been.
"Perhaps," Nezahual-tzin said. "But that's not what matters. What matters is Yayauhqui himself."
"I don't see–"
"He was a member of the Imperial Family. A small and insignificant one: I doubt Moquihuix-tzin ever paid much attention to him. He was never a man to pay much attention to the small fish anyway."
"A member of–"
"You see why it's important," Nezahual-tzin said soberly.
"It could still be something else."
He shook his head. "You don't understand, Acatl-tzin. Tlatelolco will not forget. They'll never forget."
I looked at him curiously. Why such animosity? He had been barely a child at the time of the war that had cost our sister city their independence. "What makes you say that?"
"You have been to Tlatelolco."
"Only the marketplace," I said.
"You'll have missed the most important thing," Nezahual-tzin said. "Their Great Temple."
"What of it?"
"It's a ruin," Nezahual-tzin said. He sounded sad, or angry – I couldn't tell. "The limestone has cracked and dimmed; the frescoes have all but vanished. Not a human hand has touched it for eight years; not a single sacrifice has been offered there. To the gods, it might as well be dead."
"Why?" I asked, and thought of the answer before Nezahual-tzin could speak. "Tlatelolco worships within Tenochitlan's Sacred Precinct. Tlatelolcans shouldn't be allowed to repair something that has no use." The Great Temple: the focal point of worship, the pride of one's city – the beating heart, the entrails.
"And they pay tribute every eighty days; send men to keep the temple of Huitznahuac in good repair, and feathered costumes every year. That, on top of the exactions the Tenochca warriors committed within the city on the day of the battle."
"You weren't there," I said.
"My father was," Nezahual-tzin said. His eyes were brown again, but with a particular, distant glaze, as if he could actually see into the past. Knowing him, it might well be the case. "But for him, Moquihuix-tzin might well have succeeded in his bid to overthrow the Tenochca domination."
"I still don't see–"
"You don't know how the war started."
"Over his wife," I said, slowly. Teomitl's sister, the one Revered Speaker Moquihuix-tzin had neglected.
"No," Nezahual-tzin said. "It started because, when Moquihuixtzin's wife found refuge in Tenochtitlan after one too many nights of neglect, she brought word of a plot – an alliance between Tlatelolco and Culhuacan – both cities would regroup their armies, storm Tenochtitlan and send every man and woman of Tenochca blood soaring into the Heavens."
"That's–"
"Not something the Triple Alliance boasts of." Nezahual-tzin shrugged. "You can see how ill-informed it makes us seem. That it should take a woman to bring us word of what was right under our eyes."
I couldn't help it. "You don't like women, do you?"
"On the contrary," Nezahual-tzin said. "I think most people underestimate them, often unfortunately. Your sister, for instance, is worth perhaps more than all three High Priests combined, but there'll be few members of the clergy crowding to offer her any kind of official position. But never mind, that's not the point."
"I wish you would get to it," I said between clenched teeth.
Again, that graceful shrug, that mocking smile, and – hovering behind him in the afternoon light – the shadowy form of an emerald-green serpent, with a mane of black and red feathers, and eyes that glowed like pale stars. "Merely that Tlatelolcans plot. They've always been good at it, and they can hide their resentment for years if need be – waiting for the best moment to strike."
"You're generalising from one example," I said.
"Perhaps," Nezahual-tzin said. "But the evidence against your merchant Yayauhqui is exactly as slender as that against Xiloxoch."
"Then what do you want? That we should arrest him as well?" And spark off another war between Tlatelolco and Tenochtitlan?
"I want you to consider this, and to remember my warning. There are men you shouldn't cross, Acatl. Beware of Tlatelolcans, especially if they seem helpful."
He'd unnerved me more than he knew; or perhaps exactly as much as he'd intended to. "I'll keep it in mind."
"Good. Oh, and another thing," Nezahual-tzin said. "You'll want to keep an eye on your student – for his sake and yours."
"Why?" I said, feeling lectured enough for a lifetime. "You've in terfered quite enough in my affairs."
"Ah, but you didn't see."
"See what?"
"The warriors." Nezahual-tzin's voice was slow and gentle, like a mother pointing out a child's failures.
"What about them?"
He shook his head, almost sadly. "One of them started to remove his sandals. He only stopped because his companion gave him a warning glance."
"He started to remove–" I took in a deep, shaking breath. Only in the presence of the Revered Speaker, or of his representative, did one put aside one's sandals. "The army isn't satisfied with Tizoctzin. It's only normal they'd want to find someone else to worship – that's hardly his fault." Even to me, the words rang as hollow as rotten wood.
"Ah, but he didn't try very hard to stop them, either."
I remembered what Teomitl had said, when they'd both tried to bow down to him. Now is neither the time nor the place.
Now, no. But later, perhaps – once Tizoc-tzin was overthrown, and Teomitl himself crowned Revered Speaker?
When I came back, I found Teomitl still sitting on his reed-matand Mihmatini gathering up Nezahual-tzin's feather headdress and cloak. "Feeling better?" I asked.
Teomitl grimaced. "Not really. And you, Acatl-tzin?"
Every muscle in my body felt stretched and pounded, like maize in the mortar, and without the cane, I wouldn't have been able to stand up. "I've been better." I didn't say anything about Nezahual-tzin's warning; I wasn't sure why. A desire not to worry him – or perhaps a sign that I believed Nezahual-tzin far more than I should have?
I would watch, and wait, and the accusation would prove itself groundless, another of Nezahual-tzin's little games. Yes. It had to be. Teomitl wasn't a fool. He had to know open rebellion would throw the Mexica Empire into more disarray than it could bear.
He had to. "Mihmatini?" I asked.
She paused on her way to the entrance. "Yes?"