THIRTEEN

Master of the House of Darts

 
 

Tizoc-tzin’s quarters were, surprisingly, almost deserted, compared to what I had seen last time. A handful of richly-attired warriors lounged on the platform outside, and the inner chambers held only the remnants of a feast, the smell of rich food turning sour in the gold and silver vessels.

It smelled of neglect, and of fear, like the house of an old man facing Lord Death at the end of a long sickness. I half-expected to find a corpse somewhere; but the only occupant of the room was Tizoc-tzin, still sitting behind his polished screen.

He looked furious, his face pale and set, his hands clenched around a feather-fan as if he could grind it into dust.

”They haven’t bared their feet,” he snapped to the warriors behind us.

”My Lord–” The lead warrior sounded embarrassed, and perhaps a little contemptuous. I couldn’t be sure.

”You’re not Revered Speaker.” Teomitl’s voice held the edge of broken obsidian.

Tizoc-tzin’s gaze moved to him. His eyes were deep-set in the paleness of his face, as dark and as bruised as those of a corpse. “And you’re not Master of the House of Darts.” His tone implied Teomitl would never be so, not as long as he had a voice.

Teomitl shrugged. “That’s your threat?”

Tizoc-tzin smiled, uncovering a row of blackened teeth. “I can think of others. For now, I’ll settle for explanations.” He jerked his chin at me, in a movement so convulsive and unnatural that I took a step backward. “Try voicing them, priest.” The contempt in his voice could have frozen Lake Texcoco.

I took a deep breath, composing myself. Tizoc-tzin was right. Teomitl wasn’t Master of the House of Darts, Keeper of the Bowl of Fatigue, or Cutter of Men – he had no title, no official recognition save for his imperial blood, and the Revered Speaker had had dozens of brothers who had not amounted to anything. He couldn’t defend us. No one could.

”There was need.” I pitched my voice as low as I could, grave and determined. “The stars are shining in the sky, my Lord, and the demons walk in daylight, in the Jaguar House. They’d have overwhelmed us. We needed…” I tasted bile in my throat, swallowed. “We needed the protection of the Duality.”

Where was Quenami? As High Priest of the Southern Hummingbird, he would have understood, at least, though he might still have disavowed me if it suited him.

”And so you thought of a ritual? How clever.”

”The Duality takes no human sacrifices.”

”Of course They don’t.” Tizoc-tzin moved back, so that his face was wreathed in shadows. “I’ve warned you before. I’ve warned you about her.”

I guessed more than saw Teomitl put a hand on Mihmatini’s shoulder, preventing her from speaking out. In the dimness of Tizoc-tzin’s rooms, she still shone with the light of the ritual, and the thin, radiant thread curled on the ground between them, visible to all.

”Well, priest?”

I could think of no answer that wouldn’t be an insult. “You did warn me,” I said, cautiously. “But the ritual required both of them.” I didn’t tell him what else we’d done, it would take a while to fully invest Mihmatini as agent of the Duality, and the later he found out about this the better off we’d be.

”You lie!” The feather-fan trembled in Tizoc-tzin’s hands. “I’ve seen you, priest. I know what you are, you and your kind – always hungry for power, always grabbing for more. Linking them together, parading them both in this palace, like a warrior and his courtesan, you spoiled him, too, took his potential and wasted it and turned it against this Court…” He was almost weeping now, the words tumbling atop each other, as fast and chaotic as waves on a stormy lake.

Teomitl’s face twisted; the light of his patron goddess Chalchiuhtlicue, which had been surrounding him, died away. “I’m not against you, brother.”

Tizoc-tzin raised his gaze to look at him, and I had never seen anything so frightening as the hunger spread on his features, hollowing his cheeks and his neck, pushing the eyes further back into his dark sockets. “I am the one,” he whispered. “The one Axayacatl promised the Empire to. Fit to rule, to bring us the spoils of war and the tributes of provinces. He promised me. You know this. You know I’ll do the right things.”

”I’m not against you,” Teomitl repeated. “I never was.” His eyes glimmered in the dim light. It was Mihmatini, now, who had a hand extended, wrapped around his shoulder. “Brother…”

I had never seen him weep before.

Tizoc-tzin held Teomitl’s gaze for a long while. He breathed in frantically, as if air had gone missing. At last he appeared to compose himself, and said in a much cooler voice, “Of course. Blood stands by blood.”

”Always,” Teomitl said.

I didn’t like the sudden coolness, or the way his gaze moved around the room, transfixing all of us. We had seen him lose face and heart, reduced to an incoherent, weeping wreck of a man. Knowing him, he would never forgive us. Teomitl was family, but Mihmatini and I…

I could tell by Mihmatini’s taut pose that her thoughts ran close to mine.

”Then set her aside.” Tizoc-tzin’s gaze was malicious. Mihmatini’s hand tightened around Teomitl’s shoulder, hard enough to bruise.

Teomitl’s face was set. “That has never been a possibility.”

”Who do you think you’re convincing?” Tizoc-tzin laughed, a joyless sound that would have frightened even Lord Death. “She will forever be a peasant’s daughter. You are imperial blood. You will be Master of the House of Darts. Do you think it’s so easy to renounce your rank?”

”Perhaps, when I see what it’s made of you. Look at you, brother. Look at you.” Teomitl’s voice was almost a cry. “You’re a warrior and you cower in your own rooms.”

”I’m not a warrior.” Tizoc-tzin’s voice was quiet, an admission of defeat. I looked up, caught Mihmatini’s eye. There had to be a way we could make a graceful exit, before either of them remembered we were there. They were both behaving as if they were alone, baring more of their hearts and faces than I wanted to see.

Unfortunately, Tizoc-tzin caught my movement. “I’m not a warrior,” he repeated, “but I’m not about to forget how your priest behaved.”

”He’s not mine,” Teomitl said stiffly, and then realised what he had done – openly admitted I was not under his protection. He opened his mouth to speak again, but I shook my head to silence him. Tizoc-tzin would have attacked me, one way or another.

”Then he can speak for himself.”

”What do you want to hear?” I asked. I hadn’t meant to be so insolent, but I couldn’t quite contain myself. He was behaving like an intoxicated jaguar, clawing at everything before his eyes – his own brother, my sister… “I can’t offer anything but the truth.”

”I’ve already heard your ‘truth’.” Tizoc-tzin waved a pale hand. “I have no interest in that.”

”Then what else do you want to hear?” I wasn’t quite sure I could contain myself. “My Lord, we have star-demons waiting for a lapse on our part, ritual or not. We need a new Revered Speaker.”

His face twisted, in what might have been pain. “And you’ll have one.”

How had he changed, so quickly? The man who had screamed at me and accused me of nepotism had shrunk to this… this wasted thing crouching in the shadows, this living corpse whose every protestation of life rang false.

But he still had claws. He could still see me thrown out of Court, if the fancy took him.

He appeared to focus his attention on the ground, for the moment. “I admit I may have erred in ignoring the stardemons. Or, at the least, being unable to foresee what kind of carnage you’d wreak in the palace during your investigation.”

The admission of weakness was surprising; the sting in the words that followed was not. “I’ve told you before,” I said, unable to contain myself. “Someone is summoning star-demons, and they’ll go on summoning them until they are stopped.”

”Someone.” His gaze rose, transfixed me, gaunt and dark, like the depths of Mictlan itself. “Who?”

If only I knew. But why was he so interested, all of a sudden? I couldn’t understand what had changed. “That’s why I’m investigating,” I said, cautiously. “Your brother’s wife Xahuia might have had something to do with it.”

Or, at the very least, she would have ideas. I had little doubt she’d had spies all over the palace. But, if she was the guilty party, which sorcerer had she suborned? She needed to cast a spell within the palace where she no longer was; and her own sorcerer lay dead. I made a note to ask Palli about the women’s quarters, to see if they could find anything in there that might be of use.

”Xahuia…” Tizoc-tzin rolled the word in his mouth, as if breathing in its taste. “She destroyed most of the women’s quarters in her escape.”

”Yes,” I said, not knowing what else to say.

”I see.” Tizoc-tzin’s voice was distant again. “Whoever it is, they seek to undermine us, to make us as nothing. Never forget that they are dangerous, Acatl-tzin.”

It was dishonest, it was disloyal, but I couldn’t help compare this nervous man who presumed to give me curt orders as if he were Revered Speaker already to Axayacatl-tzin’s graceful thanks and amused humility, his deep understanding of the rituals that had shaped his life. The Duality curse me, I just couldn’t do otherwise. Manatzpa-tzin, for all his faults, had had the most accurate judgment of him, Tizoc-tzin didn’t have the stature of a Revered Speaker.

”I will not forget,” I said.

”Good.” He nodded, as abruptly as a disjointed sacrifice. “Sometimes, better to take them dead than to run the risk of coming to further harm.”

Surely he was not suggesting. “My Lord… ” We would never find out the ramifications of the summoning that way, if we killed on sight.

”You heard what I said.” He nodded – again, that movement so abrupt it seemed barely human. “Who else is involved?”

My lips formed the answer though my mind was elsewhere. “Councilman Manatzpa-tzin knew, but he is dead.”

”How convenient.”

No, not convenient. He had been killed for it, and so had Echichilli, because they had known something.

I had to ask, the Storm Lord blind me. Even if he arrested me for that, I was High Priest for the Dead, and it was my duty. No, it was my duty as a mortal of the Fifth World. “Echichilli died because of what he called duty,” I said, carefully. “We thought that you might have an idea…” I let the sentence trail, braced myself for further abuse.

But Tizoc-tzin merely shook his head. “He wasn’t a supporter of mine.”

He had been a supporter of Axayacatl-tzin, though, hadn’t he? Wouldn’t he at least support the former Revered Speaker’s choice of heir. “He did serve your brother,” I said.

”He never liked me.” Tizoc-tzin’s voice was bitter. “Never mind, priest. This isn’t something I can help you with.”

”And Ocome?”

”Ocome. He was mine indeed. A poor kind of supporter, truth be told, bending to whoever shone brightest. Not a great loss.”

I took in a deep breath, and said, “Xahuia claimed she had turned him to her side.”

Something flashed in his gaze, a light in the hollows – anger, rage, guilt?

”Perhaps. I wouldn’t have known.” I could have detected the lie, even in a worse state than I currently was.

”There have been three deaths. One of the dead men had betrayed his allegiance to you,” I said. “Another was neutral, and the third was your deadliest enemy.”

”You accuse me?” There was something niggling at me, coiled at the back of my mind like a snake. Something obviously wrong, other than the sick fear, other than the diminishing of his whole being, But, try as I might…

”All we want is answers,” Teomitl said, a little too hastily. “Brother, please. Crimes cannot go unpunished.”

Tizoc-tzin’s face was a death-mask. “Crimes? I am the Master of the House of Darts, priest. I answer to no one – certainly not to the priests who swarm around this court like flies, polluting us with their pretences of humility.”

”You can at least explain to us…”

”Get out.” Tizoc-tzin’s voice was bright and false, with the same edge as a chipped blade. “I don’t have to explain myself. Get out before I have you arrested, all of you.”

I didn’t need to be told twice. I carefully retreated, pushing Mihmatini ahead of me. Teomitl remained for a while, staring at Tizoc-tzin with pity on his face.

It wasn’t until he joined us outside that I realised what had been staring me in the face all along. It was almost evening, the sky was pink and red, but the stars were already out, visible through the dome of the Duality’s protection. “Star-demons,” I said.

”What?” Mihmatini asked.

”He reeked of magic, as if he’d brushed one recently.”

”That would explain his state,” Teomitl said, curtly. “A narrow brush with death…”

It could have been that, a perfectly plausible explanation. But there was an equally plausible one, that he smelled of them only because he had consorted with them, and that the whole thing was a feint to purge the council, force them into a vote from which he would emerge the victor.

Storm Lord blind me, was that what we were facing?

 

I left the two of them in Teomitl’s room, impressing upon him to bring Mihmatini home, trying not to think of that thread stretching all the way across the city, laid over the buildings and the canals, a trail everyone would be able to see. So much for discretion. Then again, I had known about this when we had first set out to do the spell, so it wasn’t as if I could complain.

Then I went to check on Palli.

I found him sitting on the entrance platform of the Revered Speaker’s rooms, looking despondent. “Acatl-tzin,” he said.

I handed him one of the maize flatbreads I’d taken from a nobleman’s kitchen. “Here, have some food. I take it the search isn’t progressing.”

Palli took the flatbread, but did not bite into it. “It’s worse than that,” he said. “We’ve checked almost everywhere, Acatl-tzin. The storerooms, the treasury, the armouries, the tribunals…”

”The women’s quarters?” I asked, thinking of Xahuia.

Palli smiled, briefly. “Those, too. But it’s useless. There is nothing that looks even remotely like a summoning place.”

”You haven’t finished,” I said, trying to be encouraging. In truth, I wasn’t feeling optimistic. If Palli thought there was nothing, then it was likely to be the case.

Palli’s eyes drifted into the courtyard, staring at the beaten earth. It was almost dark, now “It’s just a handful of rooms, and they’re used by everyone. If there was a summoning…”

”I see,” I said. I tried to hide my disappointment. There must be some place they had missed, some obvious location…

But, with so many people helping out, I doubted it was the case. Which left me with a problem – how in the Fifth World were the star-demons getting past the palace wards?

I mulled the problem over as I walked out of the palace, but could find no satisfying solution. With a sigh, I headed back to the Duality House.

After all the animation of Mihmatini’s designation, it seemed oddly deserted, as if night had robbed it of all vitality. Only a few priests were there, kneeling in the dust to beseech the Duality’s favour for the Empire and the Fifth World. I found Ichtaca where I had left him, watching Ceyaxochitl’s corpse. His face lit up when he saw me. “Acatl-tzin. I see you’re still–”

”Alive? I guess.” He had seen me taken away by Tizoc-tzin’s guards; no wonder he’d worried.

I sighed. Now that I was back in a familiar setting, all the fatigue of the previous days was making itself felt; the lack of sleep over the previous night, the barely-healed wounds on my chest, the hasty meals – all of it came like a blow.

Ichtaca pulled himself straighter. “I’ve received word from the temple, while you were out. There is something you need to know about the order of the deaths.”

”The… order?” It hadn’t occurred to me that there was something to check there.

”We checked the records. They only give the days of the religious calendar, but we can work out the correspondence with the year count.”

He made it sound easy, but it was far from it. The religious calendar was two hundred and sixty days, while the year count followed the sun’s cycle. They overlapped, but working out dates from one to the other required patience and a talent for mathematics.

Ichtaca was pursing his lips, as he often did when contemplating a difficult problem. “The date of birth of Ocome-tzin was the Second Day of the Ceasing of Waters, that of Echichilli-tzin the Fifteenth day of the Ceasing of Waters, and Manatzpa-tzin was born on the Third Day of The Flaying of Men. All those dates are in the first or second month of the calendar.”

”Coincidence?”

”I don’t think so.” Ichtaca rose, bowing to Ceyaxochitl’s corpse, and turned to face me. “Or, if it is, too much of one. I took the liberty of checking the names of those councilmen I did know. Their dates of birth are all posterior to the dead ones.”

”Said otherwise, they’re dying by chronological order.” I bit my lip. As Ichtaca had said, too much of a coincidence. It might explain why Echichilli had known his death was coming. But why?

The year had started on the day Two Rain, a time of unpredictability, a time of divine caprices. It was heading towards its end on the day Two House, and the nemontemi – the five empty days – a fearful time during which children were hidden out of sight, and pregnant women locked in granaries for fear that…

For fear that they would turn into star-demons. Oh no. “They’re trying to hasten the end of the year, aren’t they.”

It wasn’t a question, and Ichtaca did not treat it as such. “That seems a likely explanation. The five empty days would suit them.”

These weren’t just random summonings then, but I had been suspecting that for a while. This was organised, meticulously so, part of a ritual from beginning to end.

”This isn’t good.” I breathed in, trying to still the frantic beating of my heart. “If I give you the names of all the councilmen, can you work out who comes next in the order of deaths?”

”Yes,” Ichtaca said. “But–”

”I know. It takes time. You’ve already done a great deal of work.”

”I do my duty, Acatl-tzin. As we all do. I will have all the offering priests we can spare doing calculations. That’s the most I can do. The novices don’t know enough about the calendars. I wish the calendar priests were available, but they’re overworked as it is, planning the funeral and the coronation.”

”I see. Thank you.” I gave him all the names of the council; they were not that many of them, and I had interviewed all of them.

Something occurred to me as I was about to walk out: the tar Palli had found in the Imperial Chambers. “Ichtaca?”

”Yes?”

”What does tar evoke to you? Magically speaking.”

He looked thoughtful for a while. “Tar? It’s not a common ingredient.”

”No,” I said. “But I have reasons to think it was used in a ritual in the palace. Something large.”

”Tar is thick, and chokes. It can’t be washed away with water.”

”The Storm Lord?” I asked. Acamapichtli was away from Court, trying to make us forget he had supported Xahuia. But he could have done something beforehand. “Dying of the water, but not of it.” The oldest rite, asking for His blessing on the crops.

”The Storm Lord’s sacrifices tend to use rubber,” Ichtaca said. “I suppose they might turn to tar, if rubber wasn’t available.” But he didn’t sound convinced.

I thanked him, and walked out onto the Sacred Precinct in my bleakest mood yet. It didn’t seem like Tizoc-tzin was to blame, after all. If he truly wanted to become Revered Speaker, then he would not have any interest in hastening the end of the world.

On the other hand, he was acting most suspiciously. What was he not telling us?

Or was there some other purpose to the order of the deaths, something I hadn’t seen?