"You're mad."
"Desperate," Teomitl said. "It's not the same."
"Fine." I said it more acidly than I meant it. "But you can't count on me."
His gesture was dismissive – as if he'd never counted on me at all. How dare he?
"I have all I need here."
"You have a wife." Again, more acidly than I meant to. "Do you think she would approve?"
For the first time, I saw doubt in his face – swiftly quashed. "She's Guardian. She knows that I only act in the best interests of the balance."
"If you say so. Do tell her that – because I most certainly won't." And I could guess how Mihmatini would react – enough to make sure I was some distance away when she got the news.
Again, that small, dismissive gesture – a curt brush off, a judgment that I could offer nothing of value. "You've made your position clear. Will that be all, Acatl-tzin?"
He stood, just a few paces from me, decked with finery fit for a Revered Speaker; escorted by warriors in his own house, doing the Duality knew what with his magical practitioners. I wanted to scream at him not to do anything foolish – not to break us more than we already were, to pay attention to the magical currents he so casually ripped through – but, as he had said, I had already made my position clear.
I could have asked him what the priest had said, but then I would have been party to his violation of the divine secrets.
"No," I said. "You're right. There is nothing more I can do here."
I did go to see Mihmatini – after dropping off Palli at my temple. I had no idea what he'd seen or heard while I was away, but he wouldn't stop shivering, and every time his eyes strayed to the ground he would give a little start, as if waking from a nightmare.
I found the Duality House much like the air before a storm: very little activity, but every gesture charged with a meaning and import I couldn't decipher – and, throughout, a leaden weight, a sense of something large and unpleasant about to happen, lodged in my throat and chest. Mihmatini was in her rooms with Yaotl. She was staring at a divination book, impatiently turning pages as if each of the hollow-eyed deities had offended her.
"Acatl." She looked up, a smile starting to tease the corners of her eyes, and then her face fell. "You haven't found him."
I took the coward's way out, and said nothing; it must have been answer enough for her. "You look tired," I said, sitting by her side.
She waved a hand – in a gesture eerily reminiscent of Teomitl. "I've been busy." She stabbed the paper. "I have to do something, or I'll burst. So I've been looking into matters. It's not good, Acatl." "Not good?" I hadn't thought my stomach could be colder.
"Chalchiuhtlicue's power has been increasing these past weeks," Mihmatini said. "It is the Ceasing of the Waters: a time for propitious sacrifices."
"You think–"
"Something is going to happen. Something bad."
"The prisoners," I said.
"The She-Snake moved them to different quarters; we've warded them pretty tightly." Mihmatini puffed her cheeks, thoughtfully. "I don't think they'll go that way. It's like water – they'll find the path of least resistance."
Which, by definition, we wouldn't have considered. Great.
Mihmatini tapped the book again. "I just wish – there's something about this that should be obvious."
"The date?" I asked, a tad too sceptically.
"Most priests consider dates important. And I'm pretty sure most High Priests, too."
"What can I say; I've never been a good candidate for the position."
"We'd got that," Yaotl said – mocking and sarcastic, as always.
Mihmatini looked up again, frowned. "You're the one who looks tired. Don't get me started again on the skeletal look."
It was a running joke between us – usually when I hadn't got enough sleep or food: I was High Priest of Mictlantecuhtli, not Lord Death himself.
I could just shake my head, pretext fatigue after the illness – and take the coward's way out. It would be so easy – just a few words, a nod in the right place…
And I'd never dare to look her in the face again, if I did that.
"I found Teomitl."
In the silence that followed, you could have heard maize bloom.
Mihmatini's face had gone as flat as polished obsidian. "And it didn't occur to you to tell me before?"
"I'm telling you now." If you'd told me, a year ago, that Yaotl, always so ready with a jest, would be coming to my rescue…
"Where is he?"
I picked my words carefully. "There are some things you need to hear first."
"No. I need to see him first," Mihmatini said.
"Look," I said, slowly, aware that every new word was another weapon I handed her. "You know he's never liked Tizoc-tzin – and with the failure of the coronation war…"
Mihmatini's face had gone as brittle as obsidian. "He wouldn't. Teomitl wouldn't…"
I spread my hands, wishing I could make another answer – heard her breathe, slow and even, her face growing more still and unmoving each time, as if someone were leeching all humanity from her. "Where is he?" she said at length.
"A house in Zoquipan," I said. Mihmatini was still watching me, with an odd expression in her eyes – anger, tenderness? Something halfway between the two. "Look." I took a deep breath. "Promise me something?"
She cocked her head, like a bird about to fly – an eagle, not a timid sparrow or a harmless turkey. "It depends."
"Take Yaotl," I said. "And two priests."
"Why?" And then she worked it out. "Acatl, you're a fool. He wouldn't harm me."
"He wouldn't, no," I said, finally – though he had changed much. "But he's not alone in this." The old woman, whoever she was, the warriors of his entourage, and whoever else in court might be supporting this little power-grab, or whatever else he might have planned.
The Duality curse me, I should have asked him for more information – no, I couldn't have done that, not manipulating my own student into admitting the truth.
Mihmatini folded the calendar, carefully. "Right. I'll see him," she said. She took a deep breath and for a moment, an achingly familiar moment, she seemed to loom larger, her arms spread wide enough to hold the Fifth World – no longer my younger sister, but a reflection of the gods she served – a living reminder of her predecessor Ceyaxochitl, who had been small and frail, except in moments such as these.
It wasn't until Mihmatini took a step forward that I became aware of the burning sensation in my throat. Ceyaxochitl had been dead a few months, and grief still caught me at odd times, hooking me like a barbed spear. "Be careful," I said.
"Thank you for the advice, but I don't think I need it," Mihmatini said. She cast a glance around the room and picked up a vivid blue shawl, which she held against her chest, thoughtfully, then folded it back again on top of the reed chest. "Let's go."
Yaotl followed his mistress out of the room without demur – which left me alone in my sister's deserted apartments, with a folded calendar and nothing useful to do.