"You haven't told me how it went, with the She-Snake. After the trial."
"Oh." She paused. "Nothing much. I complained and the SheSnake notified me I was acting irresponsibly. We both know who put him up to this." She snorted. "If you ask me, Tizoc-tzin still sees me as a young, inexperienced girl."
Did he? It was his loss, then. Both Teomitl and I had got over that stage long ago.
I was watching Teomitl's face as she spoke, and saw the hands clench and the shadow of jade imprint itself over the features. "My brother is a fool." There was something in his voice: a harshness that hadn't been there before, as if being so close to death had stripped away the last of the pretence.
"Teomitl," I started, but at this moment the entrance-curtain was wrenched open – by one of Mihmatini's priests. "My Lady Guardian…"
"What is it?"
"There is a delegation in the courtyard, asking to see you and the High Priest for the Dead."
The delegation was, as I had suspected, mostly priests from my order, Ichtaca at their head. "Acatl-tzin." He looked relieved to see me. "When we didn't see you come back…"
I shook my head, obscurely ashamed. "I haven't abandoned you. It's just been – a busy day."
"He almost died," Mihmatini said, fiercely. "What is it?"
Ichtaca took a deep breath. "You have to come to the palace, now."
My heart sank. What had happened now? "Why?"
It was Palli, the round-faced offering priest, who spoke up. "The sickness is no longer contained, Acatl-tzin. It's–" he took a deep breath "it's got into one of the palace wings. There are dozens of dead people."
THIRTEEN
Sickness in Our Midst
The atmosphere in the palace was tense and fearful – even worse than four months before, when a star-demon had wreaked havoc in the courtyards, killing one councillor and carrying off the soul of a second. The first few courtyards we crossed seemed to be devoid of the She-Snake's black-clad guards, but as we went deeper – towards the affected wing – we saw more and more of them, and heard the growing clamour of the crowd.
"How bad is it?" I asked Ichtaca.
"Thirteen sick, two dead. And it's spreading." For once, he'd agreed to walk ahead of me, casting aside the etiquette which would have seen him defer to me as his superior. And a good thing: I was still weary and slow, limping through the courtyards with the help of Ceyaxochitl's cane, and of course I only had a vague idea of where we were going.
"And they don't know where it started?"
If Ichtaca had had less of a sense of decorum, he'd have thrown his hands up. "The priests of Huitzilpochtli are quite… competent."
"But not enough?" I guessed, shrewdly. They were Quenami's order, and Quenami had never had to handle a massive panic.
"You're assuming Quenami will be capable of something beyond court intrigue," Mihmatini said, curtly – she'd insisted on accompanying us, when it had become clear that the emergency concerned her as well.
"To be fair," Ichtaca said with a grimace, "I'm not sure we'd have handled it better. It's work for the clergy of Tlaloc."
Who inconveniently happened to be locked in cages, awaiting Tizoc-tzin's pleasure.
The courtyards we passed were all but deserted, the entrancecurtains closed with the finality of barricades. From time to time, a pale face would peek between the curtains – and withdraw just as fast, as if unable to meet our gaze.
Gradually, the noise grew: it was the priests of Huitzlipochtli arguing with burly warriors, trying to convince them they should stay inside, wait for the contagion to be ended.
"And when in the Fifth World do you think this is going to happen?" One of the warriors waved his macuahitl sword, threateningly; his companion laid a hand on his arm. "Let it go, Atl. You know priests are useless."
"I assure you–" the priest said in a quavering voice.
"Great work," Mihmatini muttered under her breath. I winced, but said nothing. Ichtaca likewise made no comment, but quickened his pace – forcing me to stay the same if I wanted to remain ahead of him.
There were more priests in the following courtyards, and the same total lack of mastery: they stood in doorways, arguing with irate warriors and noblemen – with mothers holding out wailing children, and old women who looked totally unfazed by any of their finery. As we neared the centre, it got worse and worse; the quarrels louder, the priests more numerous but equally ineffective, and the people milling outside, hoping to break the containment, becoming more and more dispersed.
And, in the last courtyard, there was a crowd – not densely packed, but at least a hundred people, mostly artisans, judging by their garb, and by the handful of feathers and precious stones scattered on the ground. From somewhere within the hubbub, I caught Quenami's raised voice: "You see, we have to–"
He didn't see. Like most artisans, they worked within the palace, but didn't sleep there. Their workshops were there – and, granted, their whole families had come with them, helping them glue feathers or mosaic beads, or sort out precious stones, but they certainly hadn't expected to be all but imprisoned in the palace.
Mihmatini was already pushing her way towards the centre, and Ichtaca and my priests followed in her wake, but the noise of the crowd was growing – a rolling wave of discontent that wouldn't be quelled by Quenami's words. It was going to burst.
Mihmatini had reached the centre. I caught angry words, presumably coming from one of the priests, and her own voice, raised to carry. "There is no cause for alarm…"
I was still lagging behind when it all broke down: one moment I was slowly making my way through a crowd of angry artisans, the next moment people were pressed against me, trying to hit me, to hit each other, anger palpable in the air. I couldn't see my priests, or Mihmatini, and the noise around me was only the wordless murmur of the crowd.
I tried to reach up with my one free hand, to slash my earlobes and whisper a prayer to Lord Death – which would have endowed me with the cold of the underworld, keeping the mob at bay, but they were too numerous, I couldn't…
Instead, I was all but carried by the crowd to the edge of the courtyard: it wasn't anger at the priests that drove them, but desire to leave the palace. I understood, but I couldn't not condone. For all we knew, several among them were already contaminated, carrying the sickness everywhere within the palace. They had to be stopped – and, indeed, the She-Snake's guards were already pulling up at the entrance to the courtyard, their uniforms a stark black against the adobe, their faces pale in the afternoon light – leeched of all colours, save the glint of their spears, the colours of their feather-shields.
The crowd in which I was caught wavered and came to a stop – and, for a bare moment, I dared to hope I might somehow slip away, turn back, and make my tottering way to Mihmatini and my priests – but then one artisan, more adventurous than one of his fellows, threw an adze at the leftmost guard.