Simon Levack - The Demon of the Air

During my brief absence Handy seemed to have become a member of the household, running some of the errands that would otherwise have been mine. He had a stolid, reliable air that my master seemed to like. He was not afraid of the steward: although I had been confined to my room since my return and strictly forbidden from going anywhere, he had made a point of seeking me out, despite the Prick’s warning not to come near me. He had been anxious to explain that he had had no idea the steward would come for him the day he found me at his house.

“His Lordship had some message he wanted got to Shining Light, and I’m the only one he trusts to carry them …”

“All right, what happened wasn’t your fault,” I had said absently. “The messages were for Shining Light, then? How did you get them to him?”

“I didn’t give them to him in person. I left them at his house.”

That was convenient, I had thought: it meant Lily was still the only person who was in touch with her son or his kidnappers.

When I had asked Handy what had become of Storm and my brother, he had answered me with a grin. “Don’t worry. Star took care of them.”

“What do you mean?”

“While the steward was occupied with you, she hid them both in the same maize bin.”

That was when I had smiled, for the first time in what had seemed like an age, at the image of Lion spitting husks and oaths as heemerged from a dusty wooden bin, to the sound of Star’s helpless laughter.

“Who will be there?” my master mused. “Oh, everyone. All the chief merchants, of course, the Governor of Tlatelolco, his deputy, and a lot of the high officials-including your brother, Yaotl. They always make a point of inviting the Guardian of the Waterfront.”

I wondered whether my master had any idea how deeply Lion hated him. “Everyone always makes a point of inviting my brother everywhere. He probably hasn’t paid for a meal since he was appointed to his rank, unless he was giving a banquet himself.” I turned to Handy. “Look, all this means is that Lily and Kindly are desperate to repair the damage Shining Light’s done to their family name, not to mention their parish. When the Chief Minister politely suggested holding a feast, even at three days’ notice, they weren’t in a position to argue. They’ve probably lavished their last wealth on it, and the place will still be full of people who are ready to kill them. If you want my advice, don’t eat anything, and drink all the chocolate you can hold to keep yourself alert.”

My master smiled benignly. Either he approved of my advice or he really was looking forward to the evening.

“A shield flower, my Lord. A stick flower, my Lord.”

“Thank you,” the Chief Minister replied graciously, as well he might since the man offering the gifts was no servant but, as was customary at a feast, a seasoned warrior. Holding his tobacco bowl delicately by its rim, my master passed it back to Handy before taking the flowers. The vast yellow sunflower he held in his left hand, like a shield, while the spray of frangipani was known as the “stick flower” because it was taken in the right like a weapon.

“Lovely,” he murmured, sniffing contentedly at the frangipani as he joined the throng in the courtyard.

The veterans ignored Handy and me, looking straight through us at their next honored guests as we hastened in our master’s footsteps.

Lily had filled her house with a scintillating crowd. Gold, jade and amber lip-plugs flashed as their wearers turned to speak to new arrivals. Red, yellow, blue and above all green feathers nodded in time to words spoken in muted, well-bred voices. Capes of every color-blue here, tawny there, carmine there-billowed against each other. These were the great of Tlatelolco, and not a few of Tenochtitlan’s finest as well: merchants, able for once to show off their wealth, and warriors, here to remind the merchants that they could take that wealth off them whenever they chose.

Ostensibly, Handy and I were there to attend to our master’s wishes, in case he was tempted by some tidbit. I was more interested in the guests, though. It was easier to look at their feet than their faces, and my eyes roamed the freshly strewn earth on the floor in the hope of seeing, among the calloused, sandaled feet of the merchants and the warriors and their cloaks’ embroidered borders, a more delicate ankle, the hem of a skirt or the tasseled fringe of a woman’s mantle.

In fact there were several women among the guests. Some were merchants’ wives, accompanying their husbands or standing in for them, and some were there in their own right, as directors of the marketplace. Whenever I furtively raised my glance from their feet to their faces, however, I was disappointed. There was no sign of Lily among them.

I had tried to plan what I would say to her if we met, but the words would not come. From my master’s point of view it scarcely mattered: if she saw me here then, hopefully, she would tell Nimble and then Young Warrior would come after me, and that was all his Lordship wanted. But what did I want?

I imagined myself accusing her of letting my enemy into her house to try to kill me, reproaching her for betraying me, demanding to know whether the night we had spent together had meant anything or nothing. I pictured the hurt in her eyes, her head turned quickly away to hide it, the silver streaks in her hair catching the light.

Then I pictured her looking at me blankly, curling her lip in indifference or amused contempt, or laughing out loud.

“You’re a fool, Yaotl,” I told myself.

“You’ve got that bloody right,” rasped a voice I knew very well indeed. “Come here!”

A hand like an alligator’s jaws clamped itself on my arm. “Now you can stand still for a moment. I’m tired of wandering around after you.”

“Hello, brother,” I sighed. “I didn’t recognize you dressed up like that.”

Lion was his old self again. His cloak was brand new, the cloth still a little stiff and dyed a yellow even brighter than the sunflower in his left hand. His freshly trimmed hair was bound up immaculately and a splendid plug of green stone shaped like an eagle and set in gold jutted from his lower lip. His expression was ferocious.

“Don’t try to be funny. What are you doing here?”

“You’ll have to let go of my arm,” I pointed out. “It doesn’t belong to either of us.”

After a brief glance at my master, Lion did as I suggested. “I assume you’re here under orders? Still looking for your master’s precious sorcerers?”

“Of course.”

My brother snorted derisively. “What does old Black Feathers expect to learn from this lot? No one ever says anything useful at parties like this. I don’t know why anyone bothers with them-they always make me want to throw up!”

His vehemence surprised me, but it was easy to forget that for all his status as a great warrior Lion had been born in the same room as I had, and unlike me he had not been schooled alongside nobles in the Priest House. Lion’s home, as the midwife would have told him the day he was born, was on the battlefield, not in some merchant’s courtyard making small talk about the price of cacao and how hard it was to get a cook who knew anything about armadillos.

“Well,” I said, “it looks as if your hosts agree with you, since neither Kindly nor Lily seems to be here.”

“He’ll be preparing for the sacrifice,” Lion reminded me. “Either that, or he’s already too drunk to care. As for her, someone told me she’d been taken ill and had retired to the women’s rooms. Maybe she heard you were coming!”

“You still haven’t told me what you’re doing here.”

“I heard old Black Feathers would be here.” The way he spat the name out left me in no doubt about his feelings. “I’ve a score to settle with that bastard, after what he made me and my men do in Coyoacan.”