In fact, it almost looked like the last time, save that the man in the centre – Pochtic – looked quite past any kind of help. Death had relaxed the muscles, so that the small obsidian dagger in his hand now lay half-across the stones of the floor. Like Acamapichtli, he'd used it to brutal efficiency – not slashing across his wrists, but digging deep inside to reach the arteries. The blood had spurted in great gouts, staining the floor underneath, but I could feel no magic, no latent power within. Either he'd offered it to a god as he died – which would have been odd, as he'd stated quite clearly the god he worshipped was Tezcatlipoca, the Smoking Mirror, a god of war who preferred human hearts as sacrificial offerings, and not something as cowardly as the slitting of wrists. Or…
Or something else had been wrong with him. He could already have pledged himself as a sacrifice, been a dead man walking, like the council two months ago – a sacrifice in abeyance, payment for a task already performed.
One thing was sure: his death wasn't making our Revered Speaker any happier. "I want to know who did this." Tizoc-tzin's face was livid. "I want them arrested, and punished – wood or stone, it wouldn't matter. I want them gone."
The wood of executioners' maces, the stones cast at adulterers and murderers.
The She-Snake was kneeling on the ground, his gaze fixed on the body. I'd expected to see Teomitl, but he still wasn't there. What in the Fifth World was he up to? Too much, I guessed. "By the looks of it, my Lord, I would say there aren't many people to punish," the She-Snake said.
"What do you mean?"
The She-Snake saw me approaching, and threw me a glance that was almost apologetic. "It was by his own hand."
There was silence. "Coward," Tizoc-tzin said, voicing what everyone thought.
I knelt by Pochtic's side, looking at the body. Neat cuts, without any flinching. I hadn't thought anyone could do that, but it certainly couldn't have happened in a fight. Nevertheless… there were ways and means to force compliance. But no, I couldn't feel any magic in the room.
No… not quite. There was something: a thin thread of brown and a reddish-yellow colour, a twin invocation to Grandmother Earth and Tonatiuh the Fifth Sun. Odd. Joint magics were so rare as to be…
Wait a moment. I stared at the face for a while, but saw nothing but the slackness of death. His earlobes, like mine, were covered in scar tissue from his many blood offerings, and there were more scars under the lip, but nothing…
Gently, I tipped the head towards me – the rigidity of Xolotl's passage hadn't yet settled in, and I managed to open the mouth. The light of braziers glimmered on the congealed saliva within the palate, but the bulk of the cavity was occupied by the tongue, which had swollen to more than twice its normal size. My fingers caught on the raised trace of a wound: it had been a single hole at one point, but repeated passages of some foreign object had enlarged the wound to a gaping hole–
Penance. And a rather extreme form. If he had been a priest, it would have been normal, but he had been a warrior and an official. Which left the other explanation.
I got up, brushing dust from my cloak, and turned around, taking in the scene. The brazier was piled with resinous wood, and the air still smelled faintly – not only of the acridity of copal incense, but also of a more unfamiliar mixture.
"He saw a calendar priest, to speak to Tlazolteotl," I said, aloud.
"To confess his cowardice." Tizoc-tzin's voice was scornful.
Nezahual-tzin – who hadn't said anything so far – looked sceptical. I felt much the same. Confession to Tlazolteotl, the Eater of Filth, served but one purpose: to void the justice of the Fifth World, by cleansing away the impurities of sin.
"There are more pressing matters. Such as conspiracies within the palace."
And the plague within the palace didn't matter, perhaps?
"My Lord…" The Sne-Snake said cautiously, like a man crossing a bridge of frayed ropes. "Nothing so far has suggested that there is a conspiracy."
"I can feel it," Tizoc-tzin hissed. "And so can he." He stabbed a finger in my direction.
Every single pair of eyes – from the She-Snake to the councilmen – turned in my direction, making me wish I could open a portal and disappear into Mictlan. "I'm not sure what you mean," I said, cautiously.
"You've been investigating. Tracking down the enemies of the Mexica Empire."
Well, lost for lost… I found my voice from the faraway place where it had fled. "Pochtic took a bribe, my Lord. So did Coatl."
There was a pause. "Ridiculous. You're mistaken, priest."
"Those are serious accusations," the She-Snake said, gravely. "But it's not the first time they have been made, which I suppose lends them some credence. Nevertheless – I fail to see what this has got to do with anything."
I had to admit he had a point – the Duality curse me if I could see what the bribe had to do with anything, either.
A tinkle of bells: the entrance-curtain was lifted by a pale hand, and, to my utter surprise, Coatl entered, leaning on a cane and looking none too steady. He was followed by two of my priests, Palli, and a younger offering priest, Matlaelel.
Ichtaca, who had been looking at the frescoes and muttering to himself – a sure sign that he had found something wrong – nodded to me when Coatl entered.
"My Lord," Coatl said, bowing to Tizoc-tzin – and then to everyone else in turn. "I was informed of what happened."
"You were sick," the She-Snake said.
Coatl nodded. "Until I was cured." He was thinner than I remembered, his rich cotton cloak hanging loose on his shoulders, his hands shaking on the cane, showing the translucent shape of bones. In fact…
I looked from Tizoc-tzin to him – pale faces, with the cast of the skull barely hidden under the stretched skin; the eyes shadowed, almost subsumed; the fingers almost too thin and sharp to be normal; leeched of colour like bleached bones.
In fact…
He looked as though he'd risen from the dead – which ought to be impossible. "What do you remember?" I asked.
"Nothing."
I continued to stare at him, until he finally gave in. "There was a dog, howling in the wilderness – if he caught me, I would be gone forever…" Every word seemed to come with difficulty, dragged from weak lungs, or a crushed throat. "And canals in sunlight, but I couldn't reach them, there was no time…" He stopped, then. "Why are you asking me this?"
I shook my head. "I need to know–"
"What we need to know is the truth." The She-Snake's voice was as cutting as broken obsidian. "Did you take a bribe, Coatl?"
"A bribe?" he sounded sincerely surprised. Either he was a better actor than I suspected, or he was telling the truth. "No. I've never taken a bribe in my life." Again, the ring of truth – an answer coming neither too quickly nor too slowly, without perceptible hesitation, or the lifeless tone of things learned by rote.
His gaze was on Pochtic – not on Tizoc-tzin or any of the other officials. "He's dead." He sounded utterly surprised. Had the healing – whatever it was – affected his memory?