Simon Levack - The Demon of the Air

I looked at him in alarm. “You’re never planning to …”

“I just want to keep my eye on him, that’s all. If it was your masterwho got those sorcerers out of the prison and then lost them, then I want to be there when he finds them again. I want to make sure at least one of them gets back to Montezuma alive, to tell him exactly what his Chief Minister’s been up to!”

I groaned. “Oh, no, Lion, don’t …”

“So, Yaotl, you’re going to have to make your mind up, aren’t you? Are you with me and the Emperor-or your master?”

I was spared the need to answer by a disturbance in the crowd around us. I turned quickly, half expecting to see Lily emerging into the courtyard to greet her guests, but it was only a server, bearing a bowl of steaming chocolate. Others followed him, carrying gourds and gourd rests and stirring sticks, and suddenly the air was filled with the smell of chocolate and nutmeg and an appreciative silence.

After the chocolate came the sacrifices; then the warriors danced.

As night fell, to the mournful sound of conch-shell trumpets from the tops of the pyramids, the Food of the Gods was served: little mushrooms coated in honey to disguise their bitter taste. After that, there would be no other food till morning, and no need for any, although the chocolate would continue being whisked and poured.

The Governor of Tlatelolco came first into the courtyard, followed by his deputy, the other dignitaries including my master and my brother, the mighty warriors-Shorn Ones and Otomies-and last of all the veterans, the masters of youth, the eagle and the ocelot warriors. As the musicians struck up their song and the dancers shuffled into their places, some already had a detached, faraway look that showed the mushrooms were taking effect.

Fueled by chocolate and mushrooms, most of the dancers would keep going all night. In their own minds, each one would be a proud, graceful, sinuous youth dancing on air to music made by gods. None would see himself staggering drunkenly about, hear himself giggling inanely or notice that none of his neighbors seemed to be following the same tune as he was. I was relieved when my master fell out before the dancing began, to retire indoors to the comfort of a reed mat and whatever magical dreams the gods sent his way.

The merchants did not dance. They sat at the edges of the courtyard, looking on and conversing quietly among themselves. Aroundthem were spread the presents they would give out later, to any of their guests still capable of recognizing them: still more flowers and smoking-tubes, feathers, paper garlands, turquoise mosaics and cloth treated with mica to make it shine.

It occurred to me that, if I ran away now, probably nobody would miss me before the morning. But where would I go? I had asked myself this question before and failed to find an answer. There was nowhere I could think of making a home other than Mexico, and nowhere in Mexico would be safe for long once my master woke up and found I had deserted him a second time. And those two images of Lily’s face, the one shocked and hurt by my words, the other indifferent, still haunted me, and would go on doing so until I found out which was real.

Besides, with the merchants lining its perimeter and the dancers gyrating in its center, there was no straight way across the courtyard to the street. It was going to be difficult enough finding my way to the women’s rooms. I had to slip through whatever gaps I could find, trying to blend into the background as well as my bizarre costume would allow, and hoping that Kindly, at least, would not see me walking right in front of him.

Half blind as he was, he probably would not have recognized me if one of the dancers had not wandered into my path, forcing me to step quickly aside and put my foot in the middle of the neatly ordered display in front of him.

“I’m sorry Excuse me,” I blurted unthinkingly.

“Hello, Yaotl,” the familiar old cracked voice responded. He had recognized my voice and I had no choice but to return his greeting.

“Kindly. You’re not drinking tonight, then?”

Twilight gave his filmy eyes a pale gleam.

“At my own banquet?” He sounded shocked. “How could I? Besides, I have to sacrifice at midnight-need a clear head for that. And before you ask, I’m not on the mushrooms either. Bloody things give me the runs.”

So he and I were probably the only completely sober people in the house.

“If you were looking for my daughter,” he went on, “I shouldn’t bother. She won’t see you.”

I looked toward the women’s rooms. They were dark, but who might be stirring in there? “I’d rather like her to tell me that herself.”

“A man going into the women’s rooms, uninvited? In the middle of a feast? And a slave, to boot? Unheard of!” He did not raise his voice, but there was an edge to it that told me I would get no closer to Lily before I was stopped. I remembered the burly warriors who had been recruited as servers for the evening. Part of the reason they were there was to break up any mushroom-induced fights among the guests, and any of them would have been more than equal to the task of subduing one scrawny slave.

His tone softened a little as he asked: “Why did you come here, Yaotl?”

“To ask your daughter to help us find Curling Mist,” I said, and then added, “and to ask her why she helped him when he tried to kill me.”

“And would you believe her if she said she did not?”

“I don’t know I think that’s why I have to ask.”

His answer seemed to come from a long way away “No one in this house bears you any ill will.”

I glanced down at him again, but he was not looking at me any more.

“Please don’t try to see my daughter.” His eyes were fixed on her doorway. “It would only distress her further, and there is nothing she can tell you-believe me.” He looked up again and smiled weakly. “Besides, she’s still in semi-mourning. Do you know she can only wash her hair once every eighty days until Shining Light returns? She won’t want to be seen by anybody right now!”

“All right.” I turned to go.

The old man’s dry, cackling laugh surprised me. “Oh, Yaotl, don’t sulk! Look, I have a present for you.”

“Save it,” I said dismissively, with a look that took in all the riches spread around him. “I’m a slave, remember? You need this to buy off your friends, the warriors.”

“No I don’t! This stuff is a token. They expect us to lay it out here just to show we haven’t forgotten who’s in charge. When the warriors really want something from us, they ask for it in advance and we give it in private. Look-you should take something. The rest ofthem will just pillage it otherwise, and when they get it home they’ll have no idea where it came from or why they took it. So why not? These feathers, now-they’re my family’s particular speciality. Why not take a bunch?”

Against my will I found myself accepting the bundle of long red feathers that he pressed into my hand.

“They’re very soft.” I felt I had to say something about them. “What are they, red spoonbill?”

“No, scarlet macaw.” He grinned up at me, as proud as a small boy who had just caught a frog. “They’re good, though, aren’t they? Where do you think they came from?”

“I don’t know.” I wanted to give the feathers back, but the moment for doing that had passed as quickly as it had come. “Somewhere in the far South-that’s where these birds live, isn’t it?”

Kindly chuckled. “Nearly. That was where we got the idea, but we grow them ourselves.”

I had a wild vision of a family sustaining itself on feathers sprouting from its members’ own rumps, until I realized what it was Kindly had meant.