Harbinger of the Storm - By Aliette De Bodard Page 0,18
clung tight to his body. No doubt he was the council’s leader in magic, if not in politics.
Tizoc-tzin was still nowhere to be see, but furthest away from the entrance was the She-Snake, engaged in what looked like a heated debate with his neighbour, a middle-aged man with a round face and traits reminiscent of an older Teomitl.
Quenami released the entrance-curtain. Whatever I thought about the son of a dog, I had to at least admit that his sense of timing was impeccable. The bells jangled and jarred against each other, and every gaze in the room turned towards us.
”Ah, the High Priests,” the She-Snake said. He gestured towards us. “Why don’t you sit down and join us?”
”I think not.” Quenami’s voice was as cutting as cold obsidian. “We’re not here to pour chillies on the fire.”
”Are you not?” The She-Snake’s voice was measured and pleasant, much in the same way that the song of an ahuizotl waterbeast was pleasant; a prelude to being dragged down, drowned and torn apart. “You’re not part of this council, Quenami.”
Quenami did not give ground. “I stand for Huitzilpochtli, and you would do well to remember it.”
The She-Snake raised an eyebrow. “So do I. Have you forgotten? In the absence of the Revered Speaker, the She-Snake is the ruler of the land. If it helps make the point, I’ll start eating behind a golden screen, and forbid any man to look me in the eye. Though I’d prefer not, it would be unseemly.”
During his speech, I’d been surreptitiously looking at the council, trying to gauge their mood. They sat unmoving, their gazes alternating between the She-Snake and Quenami. The overall atmosphere was tense, far too tense. Several of them were sweating, as if in fear for their lives. No wonder, with a summoner of star-demons loose in the palace.
Quenami glared at the She-Snake, obviously preparing a withering response. “Look,” I started, at the same time as the She-Snake’s neighbour, the round-faced man, got up.
”I don’t think this petty quarrel is the reason you came here,” he said, and he was looking straight at me. Now that my attention was focused on him, I could remember seeing him several times at Court. His name was Manatzpa, a brother of Axayacatl-tzin’s father, making him therefore Teomitl’s and Tizoc-tzin’s uncle. He was Master of the Worm on the Maize Blade, among his duties was the collection of the tribute from the conquered provinces.
I shook my head. “I came with questions. As you all know, there has been a death in the palace tonight.”
Several members shifted uncomfortably. Manatzpa nodded. “Ocome. Not a popular man.”
”I take it you didn’t like him?” I asked him, bluntly. He sounded congenial enough, and I doubted he’d be vexed by my honesty.
”None of us did. But I, no.” Manatzpa smiled. “You’ll discover soon enough that I threatened to dismiss him from the council.”
”Something you had no right to do.” Quenami’s face was filled with self-righteous outrage.
”Oh, Quenami,” the She-Snake said with a shake of his head. “You’re far too concerned with propriety.”
”Propriety?” Quenami drew himself to his full height. “You speak of the rites of Huitzilpochtli? They have kept us alive. They have allowed us to survive She of the Silver Bells, and a century of migration in the marshes. They will allow us to survive those shadowed days, if we’re willing to follow them.”
More than a few council members looked embarrassed. Quenami, as subtly as ever, had reminded them that, in the first days of the Mexica Empire, the Revered Speaker had chosen his heir before his death, and the council’s role had only been to approve that choice. By that logic, Tizoc-tzin should have been elected Revered Speaker without much fuss. But, over the years, the councilmen had gained influence and prerogatives, and now they would not be content with merely confirming Axayacatl-tzin’s opinion.
Well, at least I knew exactly where Quenami stood. Not that I was surprised, since Tizoc-tzin had appointed him in the first place.
Manatzpa’s face had turned smooth, unreadable. “Believe me, the last thing we want is chaos, Quenami-tzin.” He turned again towards me. “Acatl-tzin, I imagine you still have questions?”
If glances could kill, Quenami would have struck me dead on the spot. Then again, the man had asked me to come with him, so he had only himself to blame.
”Yes. You said you had tried to get Ocome dismissed from the council. Why?”
”Oh, come, Acatl.” Manatzpa smiled. “By now, you must know what Ocome was like. He was