Harbinger of the Storm - By Aliette De Bodard Page 0,89
my chest.
“Think on what you have seen, Acatl. Think on what and whom you believe in.”
The Southern Hummingbird blind me, this looked to be the worst in a series of bad days.
I made my offerings of blood to the Fifth Sun and to my patron Mictlantecuhtli, then strode into the courtyard, determined to find Nezahual-tzin, locate Xahuia and put an end to the whole sordid business before the council started to vote.
However, I had not expected Quenami, who, by the looks of him, had been sitting under the pine tree in my courtyard for a while. “Ah, Acatl,” he said. “We need to talk.”
I raised an eyebrow. “That sounds ominous.”
Quenami shook his head, annoyed. “Between High Priests, that is.” As usual, he made me want to hit something.
”Have you decided to play your part in the order of the Fifth World, then?” I asked, unable to restrain myself. “That would be novel indeed.”
”Oh, Acatl.” Quenami shook his head, a little sadly. “Such lack of tact. You are so unsuited for the Court. “
”Perhaps,” I said. “But I don’t intend to shy away from my responsibilities.”
”I’m glad,” Quenami said.
He seemed a little too eager, a little too easily contemptuous? Something seemed to have changed in him, as in Tizoc-tzin. Perhaps Teomitl was right; perhaps they had pushed back a star-demon, and were waiting for its inevitable return.
Still, they were both planning something. Something large and spectacular, and unpleasant, and I didn’t know what.
”What do you want, Quenami?” I asked. The time for subtlety was past, if there had ever been one.
”Merely to know how your investigation was progressing.” He smiled again a little too broadly. “And if there was any help I could offer you.”
”I don’t think so.”
”You’d reject a held-out hand?” He frowned. I felt as if he were playing his part not for my benefit, but for that of some other observer, as if he was doing this only so he could say he had gone through the proper procedures.
”I have enough allies combing the palace and the city.” Not effectively or with tangible results, but he didn’t need to know that.
”I see.” His eyes were dark, narrowed slits. “I see. You are… peculiar, Acatl.”
”I’m flattered,” I said dryly.
He went on, oblivious, “Alone at Court, you stand for the Fifth World, for the continued balance that keeps us whole. Most people are not so self-effacing.”
My hands had started to clench into fists; I controlled them with an effort. Compliments had never been Quenami’s strength, if he was being so lavish, he wanted something from me.
But I couldn’t see what.
”You’re unwavering. Dutiful, a loyal servant of the Fifth World.”
”I’m sure you have better things to do than sing my praises,” I said.
He shook his head. “Don’t be so modest. Things are changing at Court, Acatl, and we need people like you at the centre, who will hold to their convictions no matter what. Loyal servants of the Mexica Empire.”
There it was, the true sting. “Loyal,” I said flatly.
”Aren’t you?”
”Of course I am.” I said, carefully detaching every word, “I served the previous Revered Speaker, and I will serve the new one, when he is elected. But I won’t play in your powergames, Quenami.”
”No.” He sounded almost regretful. “You’re much too wise for that. But you’ll continue your investigation, won’t you?”
”Someone,” I said, barely keeping the irritation from my voice, “is summoning star-demons. I don’t intend to sit still while they do.” No matter what Tizoc-tzin or Quenami said.
”I see.” Why did he look so pleased all of a sudden?
I decided to hit him where it hurt. “What does tar mean to you, Quenami?”
It was a spear thrown in the dark, but somehow it connected. I saw his face tighten, as if at some deeply unpleasant memory. “Nothing,” he said, and that was the worst lie I’d heard him utter. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Oh, but he had, and we both knew it. “Tar protects against water,” I said, aloud. “It’s connected with boats and sacrifices.”
His face, which had begun to relax, tightened again at the mention of sacrifice. Sadly, it wasn’t exactly surprising. Palli had already told me that someone had died in Axayacatl’s room. “A councilman went missing,” I went on, slowly. “Pezotic. I’m starting to wonder if he’s alive at all, Quenami.”
His face shifted again. How I wished I could read his expressions, but he had a tight control on them. “What wild tales you spin, Acatl.”