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Praise for the OBSIDIAN & BLOOD series

“Part murder mystery, part well-researchedhistorical novel and part fantasy… The fantasyelement blends neatly with the other parts.4****.”

SFX Magazine

“From page one I was drawn into Acatl’sworld… a remarkable historically basedfantasy, using the myths and legends of theAztec people as a background to a twistingmurder mystery.”

Speculative Book Review

“A gripping mystery steeped in blood andancient Aztec magic. I was enthralled.”

Sean Williams

“I haven’t enjoyed a proper detective story thismuch in ages, and the rich setting, monstersand magic just added an extra layer of delight.”

David Devereux

“Both involving and well written. Acatldeserves to become as well known as thatother priestly investigator, Cadfael.”

Strange Horizons

“Political intrigue and rivalry among a complexpantheon of divinities drive this well-pacedmurder mystery set at the height of the AztecEmpire in the late 15th century. De Bodardincorporates historical fact with great ease.”

Publishers Weekly (starred review)

an excerpt fromMASTER OF THE HOUSE OF DARTS

Obsidian & Blood vol IIIby Aliette de Bodard

To be published November 2011(everywhere – US/UK/RoW)

by Angry Robot, in paperback andeBook formats.

UK ISBN: 978-0-85766-159-3US ISBN: 978-85766-160-9

eBOOK ISBN: 978-0-85766-131-961-6

Angry RobotAn imprint of the Osprey Group

Distributed in the US & Canadaby Random House

angryrobotbooks.com

Copyright © Aliette de Bodard 2011

All rights reserved. However, feel free to share this

sample chapter with anyone you wish. And if you

like this, go and buy Aliette’s heavenly books. And

if you love them, tell your friends too…

ONE

The Army’s Return

5

The day dawned clear and bright on the city: as theFifth Sun emerged from His night journey, He waswelcomed by the drumrolls and conch-blasts of Hispriests – a noise that reverberated in my small houseuntil it seemed to fill my lungs. I rolled to my feetfrom my sleeping mat, and made my daily offeringsof blood – both to Tonatiuth the Fifth Sun, and to mypatron Lord Death, the Fleshless One, ruler of theunderworld.

This done, I put on a simple grey cloak, andheaded to my temple – more for the sake of form,for I suspected I wouldn’t remain there long, not ifthe army were indeed coming back today.

As I walked, I felt the slight resistance to the air,the familiar nausea in my gut – a feeling that every-thing wasn’t quite right, that there was a gaping holebeneath the layers of reality that undercut the FifthWorld. I’d been living with it for over three months,ever since the previous Revered Speaker had died.His successor, Tizoc-tzin, had been crowned leader

5

of the Mexica Empire; but a Revered Speaker wasn’tconfirmed in the sight of the gods until his successfulcoronation war.

Today, I guessed, was the day I found out if thehole would ever close.

The Sacred Precinct, the religious heart ofTenochtitlan, was already bustling even at this earlyhour: groups of novice priests were sweeping thecourtyards of the temple complexes; pilgrims, fromnoblemen in magnificent cloaks to peasants in loin-cloths, brought offerings of incense andblood-stained grass-balls; and the murmur of thecrowd, from dozens of low-voiced conversations, en-folded me like a mother’s arms. But there wassomething more in the air – a tautness in the facesof the pilgrims, a palpable atmosphere of expectationshared by the cotton-draped matrons and the priestswith blood-matted hair.

The Temple for the Dead was but a short distancefrom my house, at the northern end of the SacredPrecinct. It was a low, sprawling complex with apyramid shrine at its centre, from which the smokeof copal incense was already rising like a prayer tothe Heavens. I wasn’t surprised to find my second-in-command, Ichtaca, in deep conversation withanother man in a light-blue cloak embroidered withseashells and frogs, and a headdress of heron feath-ers: Acamapichtli, High Priest of the Storm Lord.Together with Quenami, High Priest of the Mexicapatron god Southern Hummingbird, we formed thereligious head of the Empire. I didn’t get on with

6 MASTER OF THE HOUSE OF DARTS

Quenami, who was arrogant and condescending –and as to Acamapichtli… Not that I liked him anymore than Quenami, but we’d reached an uneasyunderstanding the year before.

“Acatl.” Acamapichtli looked amused, but then healways did. His gaze went up and down, taking inmy simple grey tunic.

He didn’t need to say anything, really. I couldhardly welcome back the Revered Speaker of theEmpire dressed like a low-ranking priest. “I’llchange,” I said, curtly. “I presume you’re not here toenquire after my health.”

For a moment, I thought he was going to play oneof his little games with me again – but then his lipstightened, and he simply said, “A messenger arrivedtwo days ago at the palace, and was welcomed withall due form by the She-Snake.”

“You know this–”“Through Quenami, of course. How else?”

Acamapichtli’s voice was sardonic. After the eventsof the previous year, we were both… in disgrace, Iguessed. Not that I’d ever been in much of a state ofgrace, but I’d spoken out against the election of thecurrent Revered Speaker, and Acamapichtli had plot-ted against him with foreigners, making us bothoutcasts at the current court. The She-Snake, whodeputised for the Revered Speaker, wouldn’t havewanted to countermand his master.

“And?” I asked. I wouldn’t have been surprised ifQuenami had given us only part of the information,to keep us as much in the dark as the pilgrims milling

ALIETTE DE BODARD 7

in the Sacred Precinct.“Other messengers went out yesterday morning,”

Acamapichtli said. “With drums and trumpets, andincense-burners.”

I let out a breath I hadn’t been conscious of hold-ing. “It’s a victory, then.”

Acamapichtli’s face was a careful blank. “Or con-sidered as such.”

What did he know that he wasn’t telling me? Itwould be just like him: serving his own interestsbest, playing a game of handing out and withholdinginformation like the master he was.

“You know it’s not a game.”Acamapichtli stared at me for a while, as if mulling

over some withering response. “And you take every-thing far too seriously, Acatl. As I said: the FifthWorld can survive.”

I had my doubts, especially given that the death ofthe previous Revered Speaker had resulted in city-wide chaos – which we’d survived only by a hair’sbreadth. “What else did Quenami tell you?”

Acamapichtli grimaced. “Quenami didn’t tell meanything. But I have… other sources. They’re sayingwe only won the coronation war because theRevered Speaker called it a victory.”

I fought the growing nausea in my gut. A corona-tion war was proof of the Revered Speaker’s valour,proving him worthy of the Southern Hummingbird’sfavour, and bringing enough sacrifices and treasuresfor the coronation ceremony itself. The godswouldn’t be pleased by Tizoc-tzin’s sleight of hand,


and I very much doubted they’d make their displeas-ure felt merely through angry words. “Andprisoners?”

“Forty or so,” Acamapichtli said.It was pitiful. Without enough human sacrifices,

how were we going to appease the Fifth Sun, orGrandmother Earth? How were we to have light,and maize in fertile fields? “I hope it suffices,” I said.

“I said it before: you worry too much. Come, now.Let’s welcome them home.”

I pressed my lips together to fight the nausea, andstole a glance at the sky above us: it was the clear,impossible blue of turquoise, with no clouds in sight.Calm Heavens, and no ill-omens. PerhapsAcamapichtli was right.

And perhaps I was going to grow fangs and turninto a coyote, too.

Sometime later, the Sacred Precinct was transformed– packed with a throng of people in their bestclothes, a riot of colours – of cotton, of cactus fibresand feathers, with circular feather insignias bobbingup and down as if stirred by an unseen breath.

Everyone was there: the officials who kept the cityrunning, accompanied by their wood-collared slaves;the matrons with their hair brought up in two horns,in the fashion of married women, carrying childrenon their shoulders; the peasants too old to go to war,bare-chested and tanned by the sun, wearing a singleornament of gold on their chests; the noblemen, re-splendent in their cotton clothes and standing with

ALIETTE DE BODARD 9

the ease and arrogance of those used to ceremony.I stood with the She-Snake, Quenami and

Acamapichtli at the foot of the Great Temple, sur-rounded by an entourage of noblemen and priests.Everyone’s earlobes still dripped with blood, and thecombined shimmer of magical protections was mak-ing my eyes hurt. I stole another glance at the sky –which remained stubbornly blue.

“There they are,” Quenami said.I could barely see over the heads of the crowd, but

Quenami was taller. A cry went up from the assem-bled throng, a litany repeated over and over until thewords merged with each other.

“O Mexica,O TexcocansO Tepanecs,People of the Eagle, People of the Jaguar,Our sons have come back as men!”

And then the crowd parted, and Tizoc-tzin wasstanding in front of us.

He wasn’t a tall man either, though he held him-self with the casual arrogance of warriors. Hishawkish face could not have been called handsome,even if he’d been in good health. As it was, his usu-ally sallow skin was so taut it was almosttransparent, and the shape of a skull glistened be-neath his cheeks.

So the war hadn’t improved him – I hid a grimace.We’d made the decision to heal him three months


ago, as High Priests; but clearly some things couldn’tbe healed.

Behind him was his war-council: two deputies, hisMaster of the House of Darkness, and his Master ofthe House of Darts – Teomitl, imperial prince and mystudent.

“She-Snake,” Tizoc-tzin said. “Priests.” He said thelast with a growl: he’d never been fond of the clergy,but lately his opposition had become palpable. “To-natiuh the Fifth Sun has taken us up, shown us theway to glory. Tezcatlipoca the Smoking Mirror hassmiled upon us, enfolded us in His hands.”

The She-Snake bowed, holding the positionslightly longer than necessary – he was a canny man,and knew how susceptible to flattery Tizoc-tzin was.“Be welcome, my Lord. You have graciously ap-proached your water, your high place ofTenochtitlan, you have come to your mat, yourthrone, which I have briefly kept for you. The roadshave been swept clean, the mats have been spreadout; come, enter into your palace, rest your wearylimbs.”

Tizoc-tzin’s face darkened, but he stuck to ritual,starting a lengthy hymn to the glory of the SouthernHummingbird.

I’d have been listening, even though I wasn’t par-ticularly fond of the Southern Hummingbird – awarrior god who had little time for the non-combat-ant clergy – but something caught my attention onthe edge of the crowd. A movement, in those massedcolours? No, that wasn’t it. Something else…

ALIETTE DE BODARD 11

The nausea in my gut flared again. Gently, care-fully, I reached out to my earlobes, and rubbed thescabs of my blood-offerings until they came loose.Blood spurted on my hands, warm with the promiseof magic.

My movements hadn’t been lost on everyone: mystudent Teomitl was staring at me intently under hisquetzal-feather headdress. He made a small, stabbinggesture with his hand, as if bringing down amacuahitl sword, and mouthed a question.

I shook my head. The spell I had in mind requireda quincunx traced on the ground – hardly appropri-ate, given the circumstances. I rubbed the blood onmy hands and said the prayers nevertheless:

“We all must dieWe all must go down into darknessLeaving behind the marigolds and the cedar treesNothing is hidden from Your gaze.”

The air seemed to grow thinner, and my nauseagot worse – but nothing else happened. The spellwasn’t working. I should have guessed. I’d made afool of myself for nothing.

Tizoc-tzin had finished speaking; now he took astep backwards, and said, “Welcome back your chil-dren made men, O Mexica.”

The war-council stepped aside as well, to revealthree rows of warriors in quilted cotton armour andcolourful cloaks, the feather insignia over their headsbobbing in the wind.


There were so few of them – so few warriors whohad taken prisoners. It looked like Acamapichtli’ssources were right: there couldn’t be more than fortyof them before us, and many of them were injured,their cloaks and quilted armour torn and bloody.Many of them were veterans, with the characteristicblack cloaks with a border of yellow eyes; many heldthemselves upright with a visible effort, the knucklesof their hands white, the muscles of their legs quiv-ering. Here and there, a younger face with achildhood-lock broke the monotony of the line.

“Beloved fathers, you have come at last, you have re-turned

To the place of high waters, the place where the serpentis crushed

Possessors of a heart, possessors of a face,Sons of jaguars and eagles…”

There was something… My gaze went left andright, and finally settled on a warrior in the frontrow, near the end of the line – not among theyoungest, but not grizzled either. He wore the orangeand black cloak of a four-captive warrior and the ob-sidian shards on his sword were chipped, some ofthem cleanly broken off at the base. His face waspaler than his neighbours, and his hands shook.

But it wasn’t that which had caught my attention:rather, it was the faint, pulsing aura around him, thedark shadows gathered over his face.

Magic. A curse – or something else?


The warrior was swaying, his face twisted in pain.It wouldn’t be long until–

“My Lord,” I said, urgently, my voice cuttingthrough Tizoc-tzin’s speech.

Tizoc-tzin threw me a murderous glance. Helooked as though he were going to go back to whathe was saying before. “My Lord,” I said. “We needto–”

The shadows grew deeper, and something seemedto leap from the air into the warrior’s face – his skindarkened for a bare moment, and his eyes openedwide, as if he had seen something utterly terrifying.And then they went expressionless and blank – ablankness I knew all too well.

He collapsed like a felled cactus: legs first, and thenthe torso, and finally the head, coming to rest on theground with a dull thud.

Teomitl moved fastest, heading towards the lineand flipping the body over onto its back – but evenbefore I saw the slack muscles and empty eyes, Iknew that the man was dead.

I made to move, but a hand on my shoulder re-strained me: Quenami, looking grimly serious. “Letgo,” I whispered, but he shook his head.

Ahead of us, two warriors were pulling the bodyof their comrade out of the crowd. Teomitl stood, un-certainly, eyeing Tizoc-tzin – who pulled himself upwith a quick shake of his head, and went on as ifnothing were wrong.

Something crossed Teomitl’s face – anger, con-


tempt? – but it was gone too fast – and, in any case,Tizoc-tzin was moving, his elaborate cape andfeather headdress hiding my student from sight.

“To the place where the eagle slays the serpentO Mexica, O Texcocans, O Tepanecs…”

Surely he couldn’t mean to…Behind me, Quenami was taking up the chant

again, his lean face suffused with his customary ar-rogance and a hint of contempt, as if I’d been utterlyunable to understand the stakes.

The other officials and the warriors had looked du-bious at first, but who could not be swayed by thewill of the Revered Speaker, and of the leader ofHigh Priests? They took up the hymn, hesitantly atfirst, then more fiercely.

“To the place of the waters, the island of the seven cavesYou come back, o beloved sons, o beloved fathers…”

“A man is dead,” I whispered as the hymn woundto a close, and Tizoc-tzin approached the warriors,bestowing on them, one by one, the ornate mantlesappropriate to their new status. “Do you think thisis a joke?”

Quenami smiled. “Yes. But the war has been won,Acatl. Shall we not celebrate, and laugh in the faceof Lord Death?”

Having met Him numerous times, I very muchdoubted Lord Death was going to care much either


way – He well knew that everyone came to Him inthe end, no matter what they did.

“It’s a lie,” I said, fiercely, but other hymns hadstarted, and Quenami wasn’t listening anymore.

The morning dragged on, interminable. There werechants, and intricate dances where sacred courtesansand warriors formally courted each other, remindingus of the eternal cycle of life and the order of theFifth World. There were drum beats and the distri-bution of maize flatbreads to the crowd, and songsand dances, and elaborate speeches by officials. Andthrough it all presided Tizoc-tzin, insufferably smug,as puffed up as if he’d been one of the captive-tak-ers.

I stood on the edge, mouthing the hymns with lit-tle conviction, my mind on the warrior and on hisfall. People did collapse naturally: from weak hearts,or pressure within the brain that couldn’t be re-lieved; reacting to something they’d eaten, or thesting of some insect. But there had been magicaround him, strong enough for me to feel it.

I doubted, very much, that it had been a naturaldeath.

After the ceremony, the officials of the city went intothe palace, where a formal banquet was served: elab-orate maize cakes, roast deer, white fish with redpepper and tomatoes, newts with sweet potatoes…Tizoc-tzin, as usual, ate behind a golden screen;Teomitl was sitting with the other members of the


war-council, around the reed mat of the highest-ranked, the closest one to the window and thehumid air of the gardens. Beside him was Mihmatini,my younger sister – as his wife, she should havebeen sitting at a separate mat, but she was alsoGuardian of the Sacred Precinct, agent of the Dualityin the Fifth World and keeper of the invisible bound-aries, enough to give a headache to any protocolmaster. Beneath her elaborate makeup, her eyeswere distant: she didn’t like banquets anymore thanI did, though she could hardly afford to ignore them.Between them was a thin line I could barely see – aremnant of a spell they’d done together, a magicwhich kept them tied even though the spell hadended.

Though Teomitl was obviously glad to see Mihma-tini, I could see him fidget even from where I satbetween Quenami and Acamapichtli, doing my bestto avoid speaking to either of them. I could feel hisimpatience – which mirrored my own.

Further down, several Jaguar Knights were sittingaround their own reed mats – among them was myelder brother Neutemoc, smiling gravely at somejoke of his neighbour. It looked as though the cam-paign had enabled him to re-establish ties with hiscomrades, and other things besides. He lookedplumper, and the jaguar body-suit no longer hungloosely on his slender frame: perhaps he was finallygetting over his wife’s death.

I let my gaze roam through the room, waiting forthe banquet to finish. Amidst the colourful costumes,


the faces flushed with warmth and the easy laughterthere was something else, the same undercurrent ofunease tightening in my belly. The atmosphere wastense: the laughing and smiling Jaguar Knights care-fully avoided looking at the golden screen, while thewarriors clustering around Tizoc-tzin – richly dressednoblemen, with barely a scar on their smooth legs –huddled together, talking as if they were in the midstof enemy territory.

All was not right with the world.As soon as the last course of the banquet was

served, I got up.“Leaving so soon?” Quenami asked.“I want to see the body,” I said.Quenami raised a perfectly-plucked eyebrow. “Al-

ways the High Priest, I see. Forget it, Acatl. The manhad a sunstroke.”

I shook my head. “Magical sunstrokes don’t exist,Quenami. Someone cast a spell on him.”

I expected Acamapichtli to say something, but hehad remained worryingly silent – as if lost inthought. Probably thinking of how he could turn thesituation to his advantage.

Quenami smiled. “Look at you. Such wonderfuldedication.” His voice took on a hard edge. “Never-theless… today we celebrate our victory, Acatl – thereturn of the army, and the confirmation of ourRevered Speaker. Tizoc-tzin needs his High Priestshere.”

An unmistakable, utterly unsubtle threat. But I’dhad enough. “This isn’t the confirmation,” I said. “As


you said – today we celebrate our victory. I don’tthink the absence of one person is going to make adifference.” Especially not one High Priest with du-bious loyalties, as far as Tizoc-tzin was concerned. “Idon’t stop being High Priest for the Dead when wecelebrate.”

Quenami made a slow, expansive gesture – one Iknew all too well, the one which suggested therewere going to be unpleasant consequences and thathe’d done all he could to warn me.

And, of course, the moment I had my back turned,he was going to go to his master and denounce us.

At least I knew where I stood with him.

The dead warrior had been taken deep within theImperial palace – on the outskirts of Tizoc-tzin’s pri-vate apartments. The sky above us had the uncannyblue of noon, with Tonatiuth the Fifth Sun at hishighest.

A slave took me to a small, dusty courtyard with adry well – I’d expected it to be deserted, but to mysurprise two people were waiting for me there. Thefirst was Teomitl, still in full finery, looking far olderthan his eighteen years. Next to him was a middle-aged man, whom I recognised as another member ofthe war-council. Though he wore rich finery, thelower part of his legs was uncovered, revealing skinpockmarked with whitish scars. He nodded curtly tome – as an equal to an equal.

“I didn’t see you leave,” I said to Teomitl.He grinned – fast and careless – before his face


arranged itself once more in a sober expression,more appropriate to the Master of the House ofDarts. “We were right behind you.”

“Tizoc-tzin–” I said, slowly.“Tizoc-tzin can say what he wants,” the other man

interrupted. “I have no intention of abandoning oneof my own warriors.”

“This is Coatl,” Teomitl said, shaking his head in adazzling movement of feathers. “Deputy for the Mas-ter of Raining Blood.”

And, as such, in command of one quarter of thearmy. “I see,” I said. I pulled open the entrance-cur-tain in a tinkle of bells, and slipped inside.

It was dark and cold, in spite of the noon hour: thebraziers hadn’t been lit, and the dead man lay hud-dled on the packed earth, abandoned like offal – anironic end for one who had worshippedHuitzilpochtli, our protector god: the eternallyyouthful and virile Southern Hummingbird.

Automatically, I whispered the words of a prayer,wishing his soul safe passage into the underworld,for his hadn’t been the glorious death of a warrior,the ascent into the Heaven of the Fifth Sun, butrather small and ignominious, a sickness thatdoomed him to the dark, to the dryness of Mictlan.

“You knew him,” I said to Coatl.He made a curious gesture – half-exasperation,

half-contempt. “Eptli. Yes. I knew him.”“Did he have any enemies?”“Eptli was one of the forty honoured warriors, out

of an army of eight thousand men. I’d say there


would be strong resentment against him.”“Yes,” I said. “But why single him out? Why not

any of the others?”Coatl spread his hands. “I knew Eptli because he

was under my orders, but no more than that. Hisclan-leader was responsible for his unit.”

There was something – not quite right in the toneof his voice, as if he was going to say more, but hadstopped himself just in time. What could it possiblybe?

Eptli had been a four-captive warrior: with this,his fifth capture, he could aspire to membership ofthe Jaguar or Eagle Knights, the prestigious elite ofthe army.

I was about to press Coatl further, when the en-trance-curtain tinkled again. I started – surelyTizoc-tzin wouldn’t search for us that soon – but in-stead a covered cage landed on the floor with a dullthud, startling whatever was inside so it gave a pierc-ing, instantly recognisable cry.

I knelt and lifted the cover – to stare into thebleary, murderous eyes of a huge white owl, wholooked as though only the wooden bars prevented itfrom terminally messing up my face. It screechedonce more, disdainfully.

Acamapichtli strode into the room, rubbing hishands together as if to wash away dust. “There yougo. Living blood. You can use it.” It wasn’t a ques-tion.

“We’re–”“–certainly not going to wait for Tizoc-tzin to find


us,” Acamapichtli finished. “He died of magic, didn’the? That’s something serious.”

“It might be,” I said, carefully. I searched for adiplomatic way to say the words on my mind, andgave up. “What in the Fifth World are you doinghere, Acamapichtli?”

“Why,” his smile was sarcastic. “The same thing asyou. Investigating a suspicious death.”

Which, in and of itself was suspicious. Was this an-other court intrigue? I’d have thought that with thedisaster of the previous one, Acamapichtli wouldhave known better than to try causing another. “Idon’t think curiosity is enough to justify your pres-ence here. Quenami made it quite clear we wereangering Tizoc-tzin.”

“You forget.” He smiled, revealing rows of black-ened teeth. “We’re in disgrace. It can’t really getworse.”

I rubbed the mark on the back of my hand: thewhitish trace of a fang, a reminder of a prison whereit had been a struggle to think, a struggle to evenbreathe – a cage of beaten earth and adobe whereTizoc-tzin’s enemies were reduced to drooling idiots.I’d spent only a few hours within, four months pre-viously, accused of treason by Quenami – a handyexcuse to keep me out of the way. I didn’t want togo back there. “With all respect… I think it can.”

Teomitl snorted. “You sound like an old couple.”He didn’t sound amused. “You have our permission.”His voice made it clear it was the imperial “we”, theone that put him on an almost equal footing with his


brother Tizoc-tzin. As Master of the House of Darts,he was not only responsible for the armouries andfor his quarter of the army, but also heir-designate –the one with the best chance of ascending to theGold-and-Turquoise Crown, should Tizoc-tzin die.

Which, Smoking Mirror willing, wouldn’t be hap-pening for quite some time yet. There had beenenough fire and blood in the streets with the deathof the previous Revered Speaker.

Acamapichtli bowed. “As you wish, my Lord.” Ofcourse, he knew the lay of the land.

Teomitl was looking at the dead warrior, with anexpression I couldn’t place. Regret? The dead manhadn’t perished in battle or on the sacrifice stone; hisfate would be the same as anyone else’s, the same asany priest or peasant: the long, winding road into theunderworld, until he reached the throne of LordDeath and found oblivion.

Coatl, more pragmatic than any of us, was alreadykneeling by the dead man’s side, examining himwith the expertise of a man who had seen the after-math of too many battles. “No wounds,” hemuttered, and set to removing the elaborate costumethe man had worn.

In the meantime, I took the cage with the owl toa corner of the room, next to one of the huge bra-ziers. Acamapichtli, I couldn’t help but notice, hadn’tbrought back anything of his own – but he waswatching the corpse as if considering his next bestmove.

I took one of my obsidian knives from my belt –


even in full regalia, I never neglected to arm myself– and glanced at the owl, which looked even moreill-tempered than before. Why in the Fifth Worldhadn’t Acamapichtli brought back spiders or rabbits?

Bracing myself, I opened the cage, grasped the owlby the head – and, ignoring the flurry of wings andclaws, slit its neck just above the line of my hands.

Blood pooled out, red and warm, staining the tipof the knife, spreading to my fingers. I set the knifeagainst the ground, and drew a quincunx: the five-armed cross, symbol of the Fifth World, of its centreand four points leading outwards – of the Fifth Age,and the four ages that had come before it. Then Ichanted a hymn to my patron god Mictlantecuhtli,Lord Death:

“All paths lead to YouTo the land of the Flensed, to the land of the FleshlessNo quetzal feathers, no scattered flowersJust songs dwindling, just trees witheringNoble or peasant, merchant or goldsmith,Death takes us all through four hundred pathsTo the mystery of Your presence.”

A veil shimmered and danced into existence; afaint green light that seemed to make the roomlarger. I felt as if I were standing on the verge of achasm – at the cenote north of the city, where glisten-ing waters turned into the river that separated theliving from the dead. A wind rose in the room, butthe tinkle of the bells on the entrance-curtain


seemed muffled and distant. The skin on my neckand wrists felt loose, and my bones ached within thedepths of my body as if I were already a dodderingold man. Gently, carefully, I turned back towards theroom – moving as through layers of cotton.

In the gloom, Teomitl shone with a bright greenlight the colour of jade – not surprising, as his patrongoddess was Chalchiuhtlicue, Jade Skirt, Goddess ofRivers and Streams. Acamapichtli was surroundedby the blue-and-white aura of his own patron god.Around Coatl and the dead warrior though, theroom pulsed with the same shadows I’d caught aglimpse of earlier. I saw faces, distorted in pain… andflailing arms and legs, all clinging to each other in anobscene tangle of limbs… and hands, their fingersengorged out of shape, and everything was merginginto a final, deep darkness which flowed over theface of the dead warrior and into his body, like bloodthrough veins.

It was like no curse or illness I had ever seen.I closed my eyes, and broke the quincunx by rub-

bing a foot against its boundary. “I’d step away fromthe body, if I were you,” I said.

Coatl leapt as if bitten by a snake. “You think it’scontagious?”

“It’s a possibility,” I said, carefully.Acamapichtli was leaning against the wall, his

hand wrapped around something I couldn’t see. An-other of his little amulets, no doubt: he was in thehabit of carving ivory and filling its grooves with theblood of sacrifices to make powerful charms. My


hand still bore a whitish mark where one of themhad touched me, the year before.

“So?” Teomitl asked.Coatl shook his head. He’d stepped away from

Eptli’s body, letting us see quite clearly that althoughthe warrior was covered with scars, there was indeedno wound whatsoever. Eptli had shaved his head, anodd affectation for a warrior, but it did mean wecould see there was no wound there either.

Not that it surprised me. “It’s some kind of illness,”I said. I thought of the shadows again, and shivered.“Brought on by magic.”

“Can you recognise the source?” Acamapichtliasked.

I shook my head. Every magical spell was thepower of a god, called down into the Fifth World bya devotee, and it should have had a signature asrecognisable as the light of Jade Skirt on Teomitl’sface. “It’s decaying.” I would have knelt by thecorpse, but what I’d seen of the light made me wary.“Breaking down into pieces, as if the Fifth World it-self were anathema to it.”

“That’s not magic,” Acamapichtli said, sharply.“Star-demons?” Coatl asked. The star-demons

were the enemies of the gods, destined to end theFifth World by consuming us all in a great earth-quake.

“I’ve seen star-demons,” I said, slowly – my handsseized up at the thought, even though the event hadbeen more than four months before. “This doesn’tlook anything like their handiwork.”


Acamapichtli’s grip on his amulet didn’t waver. Hiseyes were cruel; amused. “I’ve seen it before.”

“And?” Teomitl asked, when it was obviousAcamapichtli wasn’t going to add anything further.

Acamapichtli had a gesture halfway between ex-asperation and pity. “If I remembered, don’t youthink I’d be telling you?”

“No,” I said.Acamapichtli shook his head, as if to clear out a

persistent annoyance. “Let old grudges lie, Acatl.We’re allies in this.”

By necessity – and I still wasn’t sure why. “Whythe interest?” I asked.

The ghost of a smile. “Because I don’t think youunderstand Tizoc-tzin. When his banquet is over andhe wakes up and realises someone deliberatelyspoiled his wonderful ceremony, he is going to wantexplanations. And right now, neither of us can affordto fail at giving them.”

Footsteps echoed from the courtyard: the slow,steady march of guards. It looked as though our timealone with the corpse was drawing to a close. Ihoped it wasn’t Tizoc-tzin, but I didn’t think we’d beso lucky.

Before leaving, I took a last glance at the body,lying forlorn and abandoned in the middle of theroom, its rich clothes discarded at its side. One mo-ment honoured by the Revered Speaker himself, onthe verge of becoming a member of the elite – andthe next moment this: cooling flesh in a desertedroom, probed openly by strangers. From glory to


nothingness in just a few moments… a cause for re-gret, if there ever was one.

But then again, I was a priest for the Dead and Iknew we would all come to this… in the end.


“You mock me,” Tizoc-tzin said. His sallow face waspuckered in anger, making him seem even gaunterthan usual. “Leaving in the middle of the banquet,before the feast was over? One would think” hisvoice was low, malicious “that you didn’t care at allabout the fate of the Mexica Empire.”

“My Lord,” I said, stiffly. “I maintain the balanceof the Fifth World. The fate of the Mexica Empire isof paramount importance.”

Tizoc-tzin looked dubious. He had come with hissycophant Quenami and, rather to my surprise, witha priest of Patecatl, an elderly man who had slippedinto the room unobtrusively to take a look at thebody. I had warned him about the possible conta-gion, but he had only snorted and continued – as ifthe word of a youngster like me had no value.

“As to you…” He looked at Teomitl, his facecaught in an odd expression. They were brothers, yetthey couldn’t have been more different: there wasbad blood between them – had been for four

TWO

The Affairs of Warriors

29

months. “You ought to have known better.”“It’s important,” Teomitl said. “For Acatl-tzin, and

perhaps for me. He was a warrior.” Now that Teomitlwas Master of the House of Darts, he was most def-initely no longer my inferior, and didn’t have to addthe “tzin” honorific after my name. But he’d kept thehabit, all the same.

“And you’re Master of the House of Darts,” Tizoc-tzin said, curtly. “Head of the army, andheir-presumptive to the Mexica Empire. Do youknow what it looks like when you walk out in themidst of the celebrations for our safe return?”

I had to admit he had a point – for all his exaltedstatus, Teomitl had a tendency to behave as thoughhe were still a mere warrior in a regiment – just as I,when I made no effort, had a tendency to behave asa mere priest for the Dead.

Teomitl’s face darkened. “The coronation war wasa failure.”

Quenami winced, and next to me, Coatl looked asthough he would rather be anywhere else. It wasAcamapichtli who spoke up, his aristocratic facecreased in amusement. “You forget. We must appearstrong, especially in the present circumstances.”

Four months before, in the scrabble for the suc-cession, Tizoc-tzin’s court intrigues had led to thedeath of the entire council, and the intrusion of star-demons into the Sacred Precinct – and the GreatTemple’s altars had been slick with the blood of ourown noblemen. All in front of the foreign dignitariesgathered for the designation of Tizoc-tzin – dozens


of neighbouring city-states who had paid exorbitanttribute to Tenochtitlan, and dreamt of a day theycould cast us down into the mud.

Whatever angry words Teomitl might have hadwere cut short by the re-emergence of the priest ofPatecatl, who looked preoccupied. “This is no naturaldeath, my Lord.”

Tizoc-tzin looked from Acamapichtli to me – butit must have been clear we couldn’t have bribed thepriest. “What is it, then?”

“I don’t know,” the priest said, which wasn’t sur-prising. Patecatl was god of herbs and potions: Hewas powerless against spells. “It looks like a curse.”

Tizoc-tzin looked back at me, his lips tightening.“Someone did this, then. Someone cast a spell to killa man in the midst of the celebration.”

“It would seem so,” Acamapichtli said, with ameaningful look at me.

Tizoc-tzin threw him a suspicious glance, but moreas a matter of principle, it seemed. “There is a sor-cerer out there, seeking to destabilise the MexicaEmpire.”

I winced – and, under Quenami’s disapprovinggaze, did my very best to turn it into a cough. “MyLord, surely the people love you.”

“The Empire goes from coast to mountains, frommarshes to valleys. We have our enemies, only wait-ing for a moment of weakness to pounce.”

Tizoc-tzin had always had a slight tendency toparanoia; unfortunately, this had turned out to bejustified four months before, when his rashness had


got him killed at the same time as the council. I andthe other two High Priests had pooled our powers tobring him back from the threshold of the world be-yond, but he’d never been the same since. Ifanything, the paranoia had got worse. He saw assas-sins in every shadow, every canal bend, everycourtyard and in everyone bold enough, or fool-hardy enough, to approach him too closely.

The murder looked more like a case of personalvengeance than political intrigue – not that it wasmade more legitimate by that, of course. “I don’tthink–”

“Acatl never thinks.” Acamapichtli’s voice was dis-missive. “That’s always been his trouble. We’ll ofcourse investigate this as thoroughly as we can, myLord.”

As usual, I wasn’t sure whether to thankAcamapichtli or to strangle him. And, by the smuglook on his face, he knew my feelings all too well.

Tizoc-tzin frowned. At the point where his eye-brows met, I could see a thin white line: the arch ofa broken bone in the skull. His eyes were deeperthan they should have been, shadowed like emptysockets.

Southern Hummingbird blind me, we shouldnever have brought him back. No wonder the holein the Fifth World wouldn’t close: the dead weren’tmeant to rule the living, or to walk in sunlight.

“Very well,” Tizoc-tzin said. “I trust this will besolved quickly.”

And he swept away, without sparing us a further


glance. Quenami lingered behind, looking at us bothas if he might add something in his capacity as HighPriest of the Southern Hummingbird and our supe-rior, but then shook his head and followed hismaster. Teomitl, after talking briefly to Coatl, also left– presumably going back to the banquet. From thetense set of his shoulders, he didn’t look altogetherhappy about the situation.

Acamapichtli swore under his breath. “He’s notgetting better.”

“We didn’t have any choice,” I said, with a convic-tion I couldn’t feel. “We had to keep the Fifth Worldwhole.”

“Oh, it will work out, don’t worry. Perhaps not forus, though,” Acamapichtli added speculatively. Ididn’t like the tone of his voice – at a guess, he wasonce more trying to work out the best possibilitiesfor his own advancement.

I decided to take the fight to a terrain I was morefamiliar with. “Can you look into where you sawthat magic last?”

“What magic? Oh, the one on the corpse?”Acamapichtli shrugged. “Why not?”

“You don’t sound very enthusiastic,” Coatl inter-jected. He looked paler than he had at the beginningof our interview, and he was shaking. It was all due,however, to barely-contained anger rather than ill-health. “One of my warriors died. I’ll have justice forit.”

Acamapichtli appeared unfazed. “I usually leaveAcatl to deal with matters of justice,” he said mali-



ciously. “He’s got much more experience than I.”“Do you really think this is a good time for quar-

rels?” I asked.“Quarrels? We’re not quarrelling,” Acamapichtli

said. He threw his head back, and abruptly appearedto grow taller and larger, with a shimmering shadowover his face, and his voice echoing like the soundof thunder over a storm-tossed lake. “Trust me –when we quarrel, you’ll know.”

And he, too, swept away from the courtyard –leaving me alone with a corpse and an angry war-rior.

“What helpfulness,” I said. I could have donemuch the same trick, had I wished to, but it wouldhave been disrespectful to Lord Death: a waste of Hispower for nothing more than the posturing ofturkeys. I turned to Coatl. “You have my word,” Isaid. “By my face and by my heart, I’ll bring you jus-tice.”

Coatl grimaced, but said nothing. He couldn’t ac-cuse me of being an oath-breaker, but clearly hedidn’t trust priests anymore than he had to. A typicalwarrior. I suppressed a sigh and resumed the inter-view I’d started during the examination of the body.“You said you didn’t know much about Eptli. Areyou sure there isn’t anything you can tell me?”

Coatl spread his hands again… and then shook hishead, as if coming to a decision. “Teomitl-tzin wouldhave told you, in any case. There was – a problemwith Eptli.”

“A problem?”

“The warriors on that line were those who hadcaptured a prisoner unaided in the course of battle.”

“Yes,” I said. I couldn’t see what he was getting at.“Eptli…” Coatl shrugged. “Another warrior

claimed the same prisoner as Eptli. It happens, in thecourse of the battle. Things get a little frantic, youcan’t find any witnesses, and there you are with aprisoner and two men claiming him.”

“Doesn’t the prisoner know who captured him?”Coatl’s lips tightened. “You’ve never been on a

battlefield, have you? As I said: it’s fast and frantic,and all the warriors have painted faces and similarfeather-suits. Who’s to tell the difference betweenthem, unless they have standards of their own?Which,” he added, “neither Eptli nor the other pos-sessed.”

“And how do you resolve this, if there are no wit-nesses?” I asked.

“As you said: you ask the prisoner.” Coatl didn’tlook happy. “Ask other warriors of the unit to see ifyou can trace the troop movements and see who ismore likely to have been there at the crucial point.”He didn’t sound altogether pleased.

“You don’t like doing this?”He grimaced. “Discipline I can deal with. Warriors

should set a higher example than commoners, andif they go so far as to forget themselves, and steal orbetray, or retreat in battle, they only deserve whathappens to them. This…? The stakes are high, we’renot sure, and everything depends on our decision.”

“When you say ‘we’–?”


“The war-council handles all criminal matters con-nected to warriors while we’re out on a campaign.”I caught the implication: whoever the guilty partywas, they would likely be tried by the tribunal in thepalace, thus relieving him of his responsibilities.

I could have asked him if he thought he’d takenthe right decision, but there would have been nopoint. What we needed wasn’t the truth of what hadhappened on this battlefield, but evidence of some-one being a strong enough grudge to cast a curse onEptli. “The other warrior who claimed the prisoner–” I started.

“Chipahua? He wasn’t happy. Not at all.” Coatlseemed to realise the import of what he’d said. “Notthat he’d do anything. I’d be very much surprised.Chipahua has always abided by the rules.”

Clearly, he’d defend his warriors to the death, andI wasn’t sure I blamed him. Were our situations re-versed, I’d have done the same for my priests. “Whatkind of a warrior was he?”

“What do you want to know?”“Young or old?” I asked.“Middle-aged.” Chipahua grimaced again.“But he’d already taken a captive before.”“Four.”“Like Eptli.” And, like Eptli, he’d have stood on

the verge of admittance into the Jaguar or EagleKnights. Two warriors, vying for further status andprestige, and only one prisoner. It could definitelyget ugly fast.

“Look,” Coatl said, “as I said, I don’t like doing this.


Accusing people without proof.”I drew myself to my full height, letting him see my

oak-embroidered cloak, the polished skull-mask onmy face: the paraphernalia of a High Priest for theDead, one who patrolled the invisible boundaries,one who defended against magical incursions. “It’s aserious matter. Magical spells are one thing; spellscast under the Revered Speaker’s nose, so to speak…” I had no doubt Tizoc-tzin was going to holdAcamapichtli and I accountable for all of it. TheSouthern Hummingbird knew he needed little ex-cuse, those days.

Still, I stood by what I’d said a year ago. OurRevered Speaker might be a poor warrior with toomuch ambition, and didn’t have the stature to wearthe Turquoise and Gold Crown. But when the alter-native was star-demons loose in the palace – as we’dhad during the drawn-out change of ReveredSpeaker – I knew where I stood. I would preservethe balance and learn to live with my rancour.

Coatl’s face was expressionless. “As I said, you’llwant to talk to the commander of his unit.”

“I don’t think so,” I said, slowly. “There is some-thing more you’re not telling me, isn’t there?” Iknew the signs, had seen them too often. Coatl wasfar from the first uncooperative witness I had ques-tioned. In fact, for a member of the war-council, oneof the highest authorities in the army, he was sur-prisingly amiable. Then again… then again, hewasn’t a nobleman by birth – from his build and nu-merous scars, he had risen through the ranks to


attain his current position. His parents, just likemine, would have been peasants.

Coatl’s face twisted, becoming distant, expression-less, as if he were being careful not to display astrong emotion – hatred? I very much doubted it wasaffection. “Eptli could be… difficult to get on with.”

“I see. Anyone in particular he didn’t get on with?Apart from Chipahua, I presume.”

Coatl didn’t rise to the bait. “He got into a quarrelwith a merchant, three days out from Tenochtitlan.”

Merchants and warriors got on about as well aswarriors and priests – very seldom. “About the usualthings, I presume?” Though not as highly consideredas warriors, merchants were often more prosperous,and tended to displays of wealth the warriors foundobscene and undeserved. More than one merchanthad been beaten to death after returning from a trad-ing expedition with a few too many quetzal feathers,cacao pods or jewels.

“I don’t know.” Coatl sounded distinctly wearynow. “I’ve seen too many of those cases to tell themapart. The merchant was one of the advance spies,bringing us word of the situation in Metztitlan andof its weak points. He’d barely come into the en-campment when Eptli came along and startedinsulting him.”

“Was he hot-tempered?” I asked.“Eptli?” Coatl hesitated – deciding how much un-

truth he could get away with. “No,” he said,regretfully. “He was a cool-headed man.”

Hmm. Either Eptli hated all merchants, or there


was something particular about this one, somethingthat had caused him to lose his calm. I added this tothe growing list of problems to tackle.

“Where can I find Chipahua?” I asked. The warriorwho had vied with Eptli for the prisoner looked likethe most likely person to arrange a fatal accident. “Atthe feast?”

Coatl shook his head. “His rank isn’t high enoughfor him to attend the feast in the palace. You’ll findhim at his house.” He gave me an address in Cue-popan, one of the four districts of Tenochtitlan.

As I left, I could feel his eyes on the back of myneck. He was a singular man – few people had thecourage to stand up to an increasingly erratic Tizoc-tzin. I liked him, and I knew I shouldn’t have, for inall he had said to me, it had become clear he hadn’tcared much for Eptli, and perhaps even resented himfor taking away the glory of another, more worthywarrior. He had insisted on obtaining justice – butcould he have done otherwise, if he hoped to pre-tend innocence?

I took a boat from the temple’s dock to get toChipahua’s house. Like most of our crafts, it was asmall, sleek assemblage of reeds, with a simple friezeof spiders running along the prow. The priest whowas polling it through the canals was someone Ididn’t know: a young man barely into adolescence –probably a novice who had recently entered theclergy. He wielded the pole with the ease of someoneborn on the lake, effortlessly inserting us into the


dense traffic of the crowded canals and navigatingbetween ornate barges three times our size withouta second thought.

I sat at the back, wishing I’d thought to change outof my High Priest regalia. It would undoubtedly im-press a warrior more than a simple cloak, but the sunwas high in the sky and the cloth of the embroideredcape was already uncomfortably hot. Sweat randown my cheeks in rivulets, and the skull-maskwedged on my face kept being dislodged by the joltsof the boat as it turned into yet another canal.

Most boats were going the opposite way, their oarsand poles splashing into the water with the familiarrhythm of rowing. On the land adjoining the canal,a crowd walked in companionable silence: womenwith baskets of poultry and vegetables, and menbent forward against the band on their foreheadwhich supported the burden on their backs.

Chipahua’s house wasn’t far from the centre of thecity, on the edge of the noblemen’s quarter. Thebuildings here were lower, not having the twostoreys that only high-ranking noblemen were al-lowed, but they were brightly-painted adobe, notwattle and daub, and what they lacked in height,they made up with sheer scale. Every house wepassed seemed to sprawl interminably, their gatesopen to display their outer courtyards, every onemore magnificent than the last: a mass of high treesand vibrant frescoes, every building vying with itsneighbours with tasteful decoration reminding theviewer of their owner’s wealth.


At length, we stopped before a house that seemedalmost shabby compared to its neighbours: the out-side frieze was a simple portrait of Tezcatlipoca, theSmoking Mirror, god of war and fate, and the singleslave at the entrance wore a white loincloth with noinsignia or adornment.

He took me to his master without demur, leadingme through a courtyard with a well and two pinetrees, in which slave women wove cloth, keeping awary eye on the children, who were playing withdolls and wooden chariots. The rhythmic sound oftheir looms against the mortars followed us inside –though not the heat, thankfully.

The reception room was supported by columnspainted with ochre, and a single quetzal-feather fanseemed to be the only concession to the wealth andstatus of its owner.

Three warriors and three women were sitting atthe far end, gathered around the remains of a meal.When the entrance curtain tinkled, the warrior inthe centre looked up, straight at me, and gesturedfor the slave to bring me closer.

I’d expected him to remain seated, but to my sur-prise he rose and bowed to me. “Acatl-tzin. Do joinus.”

He knew my name, too, which was surprising.Warriors and priests seldom mingled, unless at court,but he wasn’t high enough in the hierarchy to be atcourt on a regular basis. I threw a glance at his com-panions, who appeared to have swallowed a liveember. Well, at least their reception wasn’t unex-


pected. “Chipahua, I presume?”He smiled. Like Eptli, he wasn’t a young man, and

battles had left their mark on him, not only in thelong scar that slashed his face from right cheek totemple, but also in the wariness with which he heldhimself. But the smile, spreading to every feature,made him seem almost boyish. “Honoured to meetyou, Acatl-tzin.” He pointed at the food, spread outon the mat before him. “Do eat with us.”

Most of the food was already gone, though themaize cakes and the fish in lime and spiced saucesmelled delicious – not fit for the meal of the ReveredSpeaker, but simple, robust fare such as I ate everyday. “I already ate,” I said, regretfully.

“A pity. I’d expected to have more time to idlychat,” Chipahua said. “But I very much doubt youcame all this way for my sake.”

I studied him, but his weathered face gave nothingaway. He had to know about Eptli, didn’t he?

“You know what happened.”Chipahua’s gaze didn’t waver. “Yes. Someone

fainted during the ceremony.”“Not fainted. Died.”“I see.” His lips tightened. “And once again we’re

not informed.”I felt obscurely embarrassed, even though none of

it was my fault. Chipahua smiled – but it was a smiletinged with anger. “What did you do with the body?”

“It’s still being examined in the palace. Why?”“Because he was one of us. He should be given a

proper funeral.”


“He’ll have one.” A wake, a pyre and a dog’s sac-rifice, and the hymns for the Dead – no more, no lessthan what any man was entitled to.

“I don’t think you understand,” Chipahua said. Hisgaze was still amused – but it was tinged with thecontempt of warriors for priests. “He was one of us.We will be at his funeral, and it will be done prop-erly.”

I acquiesced, rather than let myself be drawn intoa loaded discussion. “You haven’t asked me whichwarrior it was.”

Something passed in his gaze, too fast for me tograsp. “No. It doesn’t matter who he was.”

A lie. A good one, but still a lie. “The warrior wasEptli of the Atempan clan.”

One of the other warriors sniggered. “Got whatwas coming to him.”

“Zacayaman!” Chipahua said, sharply. “Be silent.The dead are owed respect.” But he didn’t sound asoutraged as he ought to have been.

“I’ve seen sadder reactions,” I said.Chipahua picked up a maize cake, and looked at

it as if it were a lump of jade. “If you’re here, youknow what happened. I can’t exactly be sad.”

“But you’re also the one with the strongest mo-tive.”

“Motive?” This time, the surprise sounded gen-uine, but I’d already seen what a good liar he was.“I don’t see…you mean the death wasn’t natural? Iassumed–”

“You assumed wrong. Someone cursed Eptli, and


he died.”Chipahua tore the cake into two neat pieces.

“Curses are serious matters,” he said.“So is ascending into the Eagle or Jaguar Knights.”He wasn’t looking at me anymore. “It takes more

than four prisoners, as you well know.”“I’m not that familiar with army procedures,” I

said carefully, though in this particular case I didknow. My elder brother was a Jaguar Knight.

“The Knights have to accept you as a brother.” Heshrugged. “I don’t think either I or Eptli had muchof a chance, to be honest.”

“Why?”“I’m a commoner,” Chipahua said, simply.“And Eptli wasn’t?”“Eptli’s father was a commoner before the

Revered Speaker elevated him. It gave Eptli a greatdeal of… arrogance?”

“Which was totally unjustified,” the warrior on myleft said.

I suspected arrogance was the wrong word. War-riors were arrogant as a way of life. There had to bemore to explain why Eptli was so disliked.

“Commoners have ascended into the JaguarKnights before,” I said, thinking of my brother. Wewere the sons of a peasant family on the outskirts ofTenochtitlan; he’d risen through feats of arms, and Ithrough the clergy.

Chipahua grimaced. “The new commander isn’t asopen as the previous one.”

“Southern Hummingbird blind the Jaguar Com-


mander,” the right-hand warrior – Zacamayan – said.“We know your worth, as does everyone in the clan-unit.” His accent and dress were those of an educatedman: he was either a nobleman himself, or the sonof an elevated commoner, afforded all the privilegesof the nobility.

I ignored the interruption. “You want me to thinkyou had no motive for killing Eptli,” I said toChipahua. “But taking a fourth captive brings otherbenefits besides entry into the Knighthoods.” Thehaircut that marked them as veterans; distinctive in-signia and cloaks; the right to more of the tribute,and the title which would give them the higher sta-tus they coveted.

“I won’t deny that.” Chipahua’s face was blank.“If you’re going by motive, then yes, I do have one,and a strong one. You’ll know I wasn’t the onlyone.”

I refrained from glancing at his two supporters.“Giving me names to save yourself?”

Chipahua looked thoughtful for a moment.“You’ve talked to Coatl,” he said finally.

I thought, uneasily, of the tone in Coatl’s voicewhen he’d talked about Eptli. “He didn’t approve ofEptli?”

“Eptli mocked the old. He rejected their authority– he said they were spent, and they had nothingmore to teach us.”

I winced. Given the little I’d seen of Coatl, I verymuch doubted he’d have liked that. Eptli was sound-ing more and more like a thoroughly disagreeable


person.Not that I was surprised. It was rarely the likeable

men who were murdered. Murder – especially mag-ical murder, with the lengthy preparations, theshedding of living blood and the calling on the powerof the gods – required premeditation, and that inturn meant a strong motive. Few innocent men in-spired such destructive passion.

“Very well. Do you have anything else to add?”This included the two warriors on either side of me,who watched me with undisguised hostility. What-ever Chipahua thought of priests, they didn’t sharethat opinion.

“No,” the left-hand one said.“No,” Zamacayan said. “But you should look else-

where, Acatl-tzin.” He put a slight pause after myname, as if he were adding the honorific only as anafterthought.

“I will give it some thought,” I said as I rose. Mycloak brushed against him for a bare moment – andI felt a palpable jolt of magic – a strong pulsing powerthat could only belong to Huitzilpochtli the SouthernHummingbird.

It might have been a ward: many warriors and no-blemen had them – including my own studentTeomitl. But the throbbing energy climbing up myarm was no standard ward. Zamacayan was either amagic-user, or he had access to one – not the tamepriests at court or in the army, but someone preparedto cast a strong, elaborate spell.

I said nothing as the slave took me out of the


house, and my priest started rowing us back to thetemple. But I was preoccupied. Chipahua himselfmight have no knowledge of magic, and the twowarriors no motive to kill Eptli – but put them to-gether, and bind them with the strong comradeshipthat kept a unit together in the heat of battle…

“Acatl-tzin!”I looked up, startled out of my reverie – and al-

most fell over when I saw Teomitl, leaning on theprow of a narrow-nosed boat. He’d discarded his re-galia in favour of a mantle with a red brim, and adark cape, though his face was still painted black andblue.

“How did you find me?” I started, but then sawthe green glow of his patron goddess Jade Skirtetched in every feature of his face. I was on a boat,in the water that was Her province – of course She’dknow where I was. I shifted conversation subjects.“What in the Fifth World are you doing here?”

“Telling you that you were right.” Teomitl reachedout, taking my hand to drag me into his own boat.“Come on, we’ll go faster with this one. It’s larger,and it’s got the imperial insignia.”

“Teomitl,” I said, struggling not to capsize. “Howabout explanations?”

“Oh.” He looked surprised for a moment. “It’s thedead man.”

“I shouldn’t think he could get any deader,” I saiddarkly, manoeuvring to bridge the gap between thetwo boats. Behind us, the traffic in the canal hadcompletely jammed – and I guessed it was only the


imperial crest that prevented people from screamingat us.

“You don’t understand, Acatl-tzin.” Teomitl stead-ied me as I set foot onto the floor of the boat.“Whatever he had, he’s been passing it on to otherpeople.”

A contagious disease. In the palace. Where therulers of the Triple Alliance were gathering for Tizoc-tzin’s coronation; where the highest-rankingnoblemen and priests would be discussing the coro-nation war and what it meant for the MexicaEmpire.

I took a deep breath, but it didn’t remove theleaden weight in my stomach. “Lead on,” I said.


MASTER OF THE HOUSEOF DARTSObsidian & Blood vol III

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