Harbinger of the Storm - By Aliette De Bodard Page 0,21

see if the other councilmen will speak with me now?”

Several hours later, I had not learnt much more. Most of the council members were of the same mould as Manatzpa, men of imperial blood bypassed by the succession and either proud of or resigned to their subservient roles.

Of the frightened ones, the only thing I was able to find out was that there had indeed been threats. The same envoys, perhaps, though they wouldn’t admit to anything. Except for Manatzpa and the old magician, they seemed in fear for their lives. Hardly surprising, when one has enjoyed all their lives the riches and privileges of power without responsibility, to suddenly face that much danger must have been sobering.

The old magician was much calmer, and even his protective spells were nowhere as powerful I’d originally thought, mainly for protection against human attacks, nothing that would stand against a star-demon or other creature.

”I grow weary of the strife,” he said to me, bending to lift his bowl of chocolate.

”It’s not really going to get better as time passes,” I said.

He shook his head, a little sadly. “No. Men have always loved power. I’ve seen many things in my years, Acatl-tzin.”

His name was Echichilli, and he was Master of Raining Blood, keeper of the rites and ceremonies, another watcher who made sure the balance was respected. He was a risen noble – a man who had joined the council on battle prowess and not birth – and he insisted on calling me by the honorific “tzin”, even though he was my superior both in position and in years. In many ways, he reminded me of my old mentor, a man long since dead. In other circumstances, I might have been glad to call him a friend.

”I need to know what’s happening,” I said.

He merely shook his head again. “The Turquoise-and-Gold Crown is a powerful lure, and there are many factions.”

”One of them killed Ocome.”

He closed his eyes for a brief moment and his face pulled up in genuine grief. “I know. But I can’t help you there, Acatl-tzin.”

”Can’t,” I said, “because you don’t know, or because you don’t want to?”

He looked at me, thoughtful. “He bent the way of the wind, and made many enemies. His death isn’t surprising.” And that was all he would say, no matter how hard I pressed him.

It was predictable, but neither Quenami nor the She-Snake were of much use – beyond the latter’s oral confirmation that he was indeed setting himself up as a potential candidate for the Turquoise-and-Gold Crown, an admission made with a shrug of his shoulders, looking me in the eye as if it was the most natural thing.

As to his quarrel with Ocome, the She-Snake admitted it in much the same careless fashion, in such an uninvolved way that, in spite of knowing how good an actor he was, I still found it very hard to believe he cared about Ocome at all – about his vote, or indeed about the man. It was as if Ocome had been too small, too petty to even register in the SheSnake’s field of view.

By the time I wrapped up the last abortive interview, evening had fallen. The stars shone in the sky, larger and more luminous than the night before, an unwelcome reminder of the chaos and devastation that would lie ahead if we didn’t act soon.

After a brief and very much belated meal, I was speaking with Manatzpa about possible security measures, up to and including the use of Duality spells, when the noise of a commotion reached us, loud voices and angry tones, coming from one of the nearby courtyards. Given the funereal quiet of the palace, that was surprising…

”Acatl-tzin,” Manatzpa said, his voice cutting through my thoughts. “You’ll want to head over there.”

”I don’t understand…”

And then I caught a familiar voice, raised in withering anger.

Teomitl.

What in the Fifth World had he got himself embroiled into this time?

He was easy enough to find: the noise came from the Imperial Chambers, at the entrance of which had gathered a crowd of curious onlookers; noblemen made idle by the absence of the court, wearing all their jade and feather finery, a mass of protective spells jostling each other on the narrow adobe staircase leading up to the terrace.

The She-Snake and his guards were pushing them back, attempting to maintain order within the palace, but curiosity was the worst emotion to hold at bay.

Snatches of the argument drifted my way, “…as weak as a dog…”, “deceived