Ichtaca was still in the courtyard, his rotund face thoughtful – battling with some decision, I could tell, but I didn't know which one.
The slave, Quechomitl, shrugged. "Men in their prime," he said. "Strong ones."
"You're sure they were men?" That eliminated Priestess Zollin, but not the Jaguar Knight, Mahuizoh.
Quechomitl nodded, obviously annoyed at my lack of trust. Well, it was mutual.
"There are complications," I said to Mihmatini, as we walked towards the temple exit, Ichtaca still trailing behind us. "The Emperor won't attend the audience."
"Then who will?"
"The High Priests," I said, grimly. "One of whom will be busy trying to condemn Neutemoc."
"Great," Mihmatini said. "Neutemoc always did have a talent for making enemies. So what do you plan on doing?"
"I think you're mistaken," a voice said, behind me. Ichtaca.
Surprised, I turned to face him. "What are you talking about?"
"The Imperial Audience," Ichtaca said, shaking his head. He was angry, I realised, though I didn't know why. "If the Emperor is unable to take his responsibilities, it's not the High Priests who will replace him."
"I was told–"
"Whoever told you was either lying or misinformed," Ichtaca said.
I didn't judge it pertinent to mention Yaotl's name. The two of them had long been locked in a battle of wills – possibly because Yaotl was a foreigner, and because Ichtaca was unwilling to admit that anything good could come from outside the Mexica Empire.
"Someone has to take charge of the hearings," I said.
Ichtaca nodded. "Someone will. The Master of the House of Darts, Tizoc-tzin."
The Revered Speaker's brother, and also the heir-apparent: the one who had the strongest chance of being elected to head the Mexica Empire, if the Revered Speaker died.
"Tizoc-tzin has his moods," Ichtaca went on. "But he doesn't like the clergy, and I don't think he'll want to favour any of the High Priests."
"How do you know?" I asked. I didn't want to point out the corollary to his portrayal of Tizoc-tzin: a man who didn't like the clergy would have no reason to favour any High Priest over any other – not even the High Priest for the Dead over the High Priest of Tlaloc. Our arguments would have to be very compelling.
Ichtaca smiled, grimly amused. "I attend court, most days."
"Why?"
"Because this temple couldn't survive without Imperial patronage."
The reproach in his tone was audible. "Because I don't attend, you mean?"
He shrugged. "Someone has to," he said. "If you won't, then I will."
But he was still reproaching me. "You're a better politician than me," I said, finally, knowing it was true. I couldn't manoeuvre through the maze of the Imperial Court. I neither had the capacities nor the heart to do so. If I did go to court, the Imperial patronage for our temple would soon wither. Ichtaca said nothing.
"We'll discuss this later," I said.
"As you wish." He bowed, though his anger was still palpable. "But I thought you might want the warning."
It was a welcome one, and I couldn't resent him for it, though I had the feeling some old grievance had just been laid out in the open. I would have to deal with Ichtaca at some point. "Yes," I said. "Thank you."
He bowed, low. "Pleased to have been of service."
"What was that all about?" Mihmatini asked, as we exited the temple.
"I don't know," I said, truthfully. "Come on. Let's go."
The crowd in the Sacred Precinct was dense: we had to fight our way past pilgrims and priests. The slave Quechomitl opened a path through the crowd for my sister with his arms, but let it close before I could follow. Clearly, he did not like me.
In the Imperial Palace, I headed straight for the military court, and asked for Magistrate Pinahui-tzin.
The clerk snorted in amusement. "He's taking a pause in the garden."
Pinahui-tzin was sitting in the garden of the military court, watching the water rise and fall out of a conch-shaped fountain. At the back of the garden was an aviary: huge wicker cages held parrots, eagles, and quetzal birds, their emerald feathers shimmering in the sunlight.
"Ah. The young priest," Pinahui-tzin said, when we arrived. "I was waiting for you." He rose, leaning on his cane, and turned to greet us.
"Those would be your witnesses?" he asked, looking at Mihmatini and Quechomitl.
I nodded. "I have evidence of someone else's guilt."
"Someone you should have arrested," Pinahui-tzin said.
Why was everybody reproaching me for the same reason? "I can't. She's given her life to the gods."
Pinahui-tzin made no commentary. "Let me hear the evidence," he said. "As quickly as you can. Your brother is already inside the Courts."
I had thought it might be the case: that High Priest Acamapichtli wouldn't want to wait to convict Neutemoc.
When I was finished, Pinahui-tzin pursed his lips. "Scant," he said. "Scant. But it will have to do, young man." He scrutinised me in silence. His eyebrows went up, in what I hoped was a show of appreciation. "Come."
The last time I'd tried to find the Imperial Audience, I had roamed the palace, asking the people I met the way. Pinahui-tzin, on the other hand, knew where he was going. His cane tapped regularly against the stone floor, as we walked through corridors filled with officials in feather regalia, towards the inside of the palace. Every courtyard we crossed was a marveclass="underline" ornate fountains, fabulous plants from cacao trees to vanilla orchids, and animals ranging from caged jaguars to the web-footed capybaras. All the wonders of the steamy south, enclosed in the sandstone mass of the palace like a stone set within an exquisite piece of jewellery.
Finally, we reached the gates of the Imperial Courts. No guards waited on either side of the entrance-curtain. But this was only the antechamber: the closed audiences would be taking place deeper within the Courts.
Inside was a wide, airy room, where clerks hurried from dais to dais, carrying piles of codices from magistrate to magistrate. One of the courts was hearing two prisoners, but the rest were still reviewing evidence: the magistrates on the dais thoughtfully tapping their writing-reeds against the papers they were holding, or making annotations in the margins.
Pinahui-tzin walked straight to the end of the room, where a curtain of turquoise cotton marked the start of the area reserved to the Emperor's close staff. The curtain was closed, and two guards stood on either side. But they let us through when Pinahui-tzin marched on them with his cane pointed like a sword at the level of the lead guard's chest. There was, nonetheless, a moment of hesitation on their part – and that was how I knew that Pinahui-tzin's influence stopped at getting us into the Imperial Audience.
Behind the curtain was a small antechamber where we divested ourselves of our sandals, for one went barefoot in the presence of the Revered Speaker, or of his substitute. A sizeable pile of sandals – mostly gilded, luxurious affairs – indicated we weren't the only ones to attend.