The perfectly plucked eyebrows knitted again. “Why is this commoner boy here?”
His other interrogators drew nearer, both of them. Involuntarily, he coiled, drawing his folded knees closer to his body, readying for the worst. The previous bout of careless bravery melted in the flickering darkness. The man from the tunnel and the boat was not a person to play games with. And neither was the elderly noble, another evidently stone-hard person, even if better mannered, judging by the previous questioning, which didn’t progress far before the royal fowl burst upon them with her prettily spoken complaints. But was the other calmecac boy right about that one being a whiny thing!
“This man here.” A light nod of the dignified head indicated Miztli’s kidnapper, standing there tense and ill at ease. “He was with Teconal’s men when this boy was caught sniffing around. They wanted to kill him, but Nexcoatl,” another nod acknowledged curtly both the commoner’s humble presence and his contribution, “heard the boy saying something about the Palace and weaponry, using your name, oh Revered Princess.” A brief lift of the cloaked shoulders. “He thought that maybe the boy was sent by someone. Maybe by your revered brother himself, to deliver you a message.”
The clearness of her forehead marred with creases aplenty. “My brother wouldn’t send a barefoot beaten commoner.” Then the displeased gaze focused on him. “Who sent you, boy? What did they ask you to tell me?”
He tried to think fast, knowing that his bluff would be exposed now, this time for certain. What to tell? The brother, who was her brother? The boy Chantli was talking about. Oh yes, she said that the boy was telling her about that noble fowl, claiming that this sister of his was no whiny doll. Or whiny genitalia, for that matter, a better fitting term in his private opinion. He said that her husband treated her badly and that it would end up in war, and then Axolin said that it wouldn’t. Oh, but what was this boy’s name? It was something… something…
“Tell the Revered Empress what she wants to know,” growled his kidnapper, drawing yet closer, threatening. “Be quick about it!”
The elderly man frowned but stayed where he was.
“Don’t be afraid, boy,” added the woman coldly, not very convincing in her words. It was as though she was reciting a phrase with no meaning. “Hurry up and tell us.”
He tried to slam his mind into working, which against his efforts went uncomfortably blank, the wave of helplessness spilling, threatening to drown the rest of his thoughts. If he didn’t say something now, he would be done for. The royal woman would leave in anger, turning her back on the killing that would undoubtedly ensue, letting the smuggler drag him out and onto the lake, just like he intended to do in the first place, to feed the fish and those terrible spiny monsters ahuitzotls, to let them tear his flesh with their terrible claws, to have his eyes and his teeth and his fingernails devoured, just like the priest in the temple told them while chastening them, scolding them for messing with mystical creatures…
Ahuitzotl! But wasn’t this the name Chantli bragged and Necalli grew angry with?
“He won’t tell,” observed the royal woman, pursing her lips while straightening up resolutely, drawing away a pace. Her face was pouting rather than angry. “Do something. Make him talk.” Another petulant demand. It was as though she was asking for a meal to arrive warm and in time.
The man from the wharves gave the elderly dignitary a questioning look, as though asking for permission. The older man’s eyes clouded with indecision.
“If you would like to be escorted back to the Palace, Revered Princess,” he said slowly, deliberately, as though weighing his words, “I’ll send you word the moment this boy tells us what he knows.”
That did it. He felt the cold wave rising in his chest, threatening to drown him.
“Ahuitzotl,” he said hoarsely, pleased to hear his voice ringing with enough clarity, with no coughing and choking accompanying it, not like during the previous interrogation. “Ahuitzotl, the boy. He sent me. He… he wanted me to find his sister…”
This time, their eyes pierced him, openly startled, even those of his abductor. Mere slits in the storminess of their faces, they now widened disproportionally, gaping. Miztli tried to stifle a hysterical giggle. But were they looking quite silly!
The royal woman came back to her senses first. “My brother Ahuitzotl,” she repeated, as though not entirely sure of her hearing abilities. “The boy Ahuitzotl?”
Miztli just nodded, afraid to open his mouth in case the wild laughter would burst out, unrestrained. His stomach hurt from the necessity of holding it all in.
“Why would he do this?” demanded the elderly noble, somewhat indignantly, as though offended.
“It’s just like the wild thing to do that,” said the woman suddenly, a smile transforming her face back into a beautiful mask, warm and enticing. “He would think of just this sort of a messenger, the wild boy that he is.” Coming closer, she knelt beside Miztli, the odor of her perfume powerful, penetrating even his clogged nostrils. Not a very pleasant smell, nauseatingly strong. “What did he ask you to tell me?”
This time, he didn’t need to think hard. Under no immediate threat, he found it easier to search through his memory, which was always good, praised, even lauded. One of the reasons Father sent him to the Great Capital to learn the intricate craft of their family trade. He always remembered things.
“He is angry with your husband, who doesn’t treat you well. He said you were sending messages.” Another quick search through his memory produced more results. “He said it’ll come to war if the Tlatelolco ruler doesn’t start treating you well.”
Her face lit like a torch wrapped in a too well-oiled piece of cloth. “He said all that? Oh!” The delicate palms shot up, pressed against the chiseled cheeks. “Was he repeating his older brother’s words? Was he acting on his behalf?”
What older brother? wondered Miztli, not curious in the least.
“Yes.” He tried to nod reassuringly, his neck stiff and hurting.
“Oh, I knew it!” Her hands flew up again, this time to sway in the air like two elegant birds, sparkling jewelry. “My brother did not forsake me. He cares for my wellbeing and he will stand up for me.” She looked up, beaming. “See, Honorable Uncle? He did pay heed. He did! Oh, what would have I done without you and your kindness?”
The recipient of the excited tirade was still frowning. “I don’t understand,” he said slowly, his eyes narrow, boring into Miztli, penetrating. “Why would Axayacatl act in such a twisted, intricate way?”
Miztli felt his back breaking in a cold sweat. But why should the perceptive old man be there at all? Why wasn’t he enjoying a good night’s sleep as of now?
“He must have his reasons to go about it in such a roundabout way,” went on the woman excitedly, waving her hands in the air again. “He is a wise ruler. He wouldn’t wish to cause a war between two sister-altepetls, but he wouldn’t leave his sister and his baby nephew in need, neglected, and alone. He is a good man!”
The smuggler at the doorway muttered something inaudible.
“What else did he ask you to tell me?” Her eyes were upon him again, bright with excitement.
Perturbed, Miztli tried to shift into a better position, wishing the other two men would scatter away for good. Didn’t they have something better to do with their night? This woman was so gullible, so ready to believe anything he said! For the first time, he wondered what her true plight was. A spoiled royal fowl, according to the calmecac boy, or truly a woman in need?
“He was very concerned… concerned with your wellbeing.” The exhaustion was creeping back in, enveloping him in its agonizing grip. But did his body hurt everywhere! He tried to make his eyes focus, her face dancing before his eyes, drawing away, then coming back, nauseating him.
“Untie this boy and have a healer see him.” Apparently, she was standing again, straight-backed and imperial, her voice ringing with its initial coldness, uncompromising. “By the break of dawn, I’ll s
end someone to fetch him, or maybe I’ll pass through your house myself, Honorable Uncle, on my way to watch the contest.” She paused momentarily. “It’ll be held by the Great Plaza, when the sun is midway toward its highest.”
“Teconal would have it this way,” muttered the elder, as though transferring his anger to a more appropriate object. “I told your husband it wasn’t wise to hold such a contest at such times. Certainly not as a large-scale event, with many hundreds of young warriors, the best of the Tlatelolco fighting force.” Another pause. “Your revered brother won’t be happy to hear about it. Let’s hope he doesn’t.”
“Or maybe it’s for the best that he does.” The woman’s face twisted in no prettily coy, petulant manner like before. “Maybe my brother should be made aware of what is happening, of the poor advice my husband is enjoying these days. Maybe Tenochtitlan should issue an advice of its own, make its closest of neighbors understand.”
To shut his eyes against his growing nausea didn’t help. It made the uneven swaying yet worse. He clasped his lips tight, not opposed to vomiting all over this place or these people, yet not in front of her.
“Do as I say about my little brother’s strange choice of a messenger.” Her voice was drawing away along with the blurring silhouette of her cloak, now just a shapeless shimmering form. “That Ahuitzotl bears watching, the fierce little thing. The most unyielding, stubborn child, but now I see that he does care about his family. I shall send him the nicest of presents. What shall it be?”
The darkness swallowed her words, along with the presence of the elderly man and the second most flaming torch. In the suddenly deepening dim, Miztli’s sense of security evaporated all at once. Pressing against the wall, he watched his abductor nearing at a slow, deliberate pace, shaking his head, deep in thought. When he finally halted, his frown was meditative, not especially ominous.
“You are the luckiest thing I ever met,” said the man finally. “Wonder what she intends to do with you.” Another heartbeat of contemplative pondering and the massive shoulders lifted in a shrug. “I won’t be untying you as yet. Not the wild thing that you are. But if I have to,” the threatening scowl was back, thousand folds more menacing, “you better not do anything stupid, boy. If I cut you instead of your ties, it’ll be your fault. And be sure that I won’t be sorry for making any such mistake.”
Chapter 14
The heavy odor of the lake was all around, splashing occasionally, murmuring in no calming way. Necalli clenched the side of the boat, careful not to upset the overloaded vessel. It was sitting so low! The tips of his fingers felt the touch of the muddy water, shrinking away from it, not welcoming the recollection – the even hum, the rustling of the reeds.
Well, at least no reeds surrounded them now, but who knew if the Spiny Monster favored the shallow vegetated parts or just happened to be passing through the marsh as they were invading its privacy with their stupid yelling and fighting. He shuddered at the mere memory, then pulled his palm back, away from the unwelcome touch. No, he didn’t wish to find out what the favorite habitat of the water monsters was. If he could help it, he would not learn a thing about ahuitzotls and their habits at all.
The girl by his side stirred, another heap of limbs, along with those of the others, all crammed in the smelly space of the leaking bark, except Patli, still in charge of the paddle and hence perching at the edge of the elevated plank, struggling with the crude piece of wood, trying to navigate the laughable shell, hopefully toward Tenochtitlan and not into the open waters of the Great Lake. It lurched mildly, bumping against yet another obstacle. Axolin cursed loudly.
“Careful!”
Necalli made an effort to keep his mouth shut, not willing to contribute. The telpochcalli boy did his best, and he wasn’t that bad, even though one wouldn’t hesitate switching this one for his workshop peer. Was that Miztli boy still alive somewhere?
Chantli maintained that he was, but the stubborn girl’s conviction was based on slim evidence, herself nearly being killed or at least beaten badly, but for their timely interruption! His stomach constricted once again, with anger this time, so painfully he fought the urge to double over. That sensation of the training sword – just a club really, with no obsidian spikes to make it into a cutting weapon – making such a disgustingly wet, cracking sound when it landed upon the back of that man’s head. He had swung it without thinking, running pell-mell and with not much care, anxious to reach Chantli and the royal boy, their whimpering and cries making his flesh crawl. No, he didn’t stop to prepare or plan. And neither did Axolin, a good loyal friend that he was, ready with his knife, the best in their class concerning this weaponry. Still, the real thing was nothing like the tales and the lessons.
He shuddered, reliving the sensation, that dreadful recoil that his arms absorbed, and the sound of the wet thud as the inert body hit the ground, the realized connection between these two. It had made him nauseated and it had taken him a heartbeat or more to come out of the dazed stupor. Oh, but for Axolin attacking the second man, the one who tried to hit him with the torch he held, he would have been done for, maybe. An unwelcome realization. It took him another precious heartbeat to crush his would-be sword against yet another leaping form.
Fastening his grip on the greasy side of the boat, he struggled to straighten up without treading on too many limbs or causing them to overturn for good, remembering how they had run pell-mell, eager to reach their only means of escape, that smallish canoe Patli had spotted concealed between the reeds. Chantli had wanted to sniff around some more, claiming that Miztli might have been held somewhere there after all. Unimpressed with the beating she had just taken at the hands of the vile criminals, the insistent thing just wouldn’t give up. Miztli was alive and kidnapped, she maintained stubbornly, oblivious of reason. If not here, then somewhere there in Tlatelolco, held by those who took part in the filthy politics and the game the vile Tlatelolco nobility was playing.
That much she understood while eavesdropping before getting caught or while being interrogated, she claimed. These men complained of other spies sent by the elder called Tepecocatzin, the man Ahuitzotl hurried to identify as one of these same important Tlatelolcans, an adviser, a person bidden in Tlatelolco Palace and at home there and around its ruler. The same man who was bringing messages from the Tenochtitlan Emperor’s sister, a spoiled crybaby fowl according to Axolin, but an innocent victim according to her youngest of siblings, if not her powerful emperor-brother. It was evident that Tenochtitlan’s ruler wasn’t impressed with persistent complaints his homesick, or just an overindulgent sister, was flooding him with, as no hostile action or any other problematic behavior toward the smaller island-city was reported. Nothing of the sort. Even though, upon reflection, Necalli remembered that about a market interval ago, some of Tenochtitlan’s young hotheads were reported to harass Tlatelolcan noble fowls, or so the officially lodged complaint had it. There was some fuss about it and some agitation, with the youths being disciplined, and his calmecac fellow pupils occupied for some time with speculating on what kind of harassment it was and how far these youths got with those girls.
However, besides this incident, nothing changed in Tenochtitlan-Tlatelolco relations, and the imperial sister’s nagging remained unnoticed, or rather, unaddressed. To the boy Ahuitzotl’s chagrin, apparently. But did the little bugger keep grumbling about it! While Chantli kept carping on the whereabouts of her workshop family member or whatever, claiming that when the smugglers who caught them talked about little brats spying around, they were talking about no one else but him, the commoner with his spectacular name, and it was their duty to find and save him, no one’s but theirs.
So much concluded from a few heartbeats of eavesdropping and a question or two while being slapped by the vile criminals. Necalli could do nothing but snort. A pity these chatty criminals didn’t give out the exact description of the place where this same Miztli boy was being held, plus the best routes to get there. Over his initial shock and bus
y propelling their rescued back into the darkness and the more remote parts of the tiny island, he, Necalli, didn’t hesitate to sound the most acid remarks. But wasn’t she capable of thinking sensibly? They couldn’t help the workshop boy but by informing the authorities maybe, asking for help. It was the stupidest thing she proposed, to cross the causeway on a wild rescue mission, knowing neither their destination nor their aim. The workshop boy might be alive somewhere, maybe – not a likely possibility judging by the swiftness and the ruthlessness of the tunnel’s masters – but even if so, he would be guarded; otherwise, he would have managed to escape by now, and anyway, they simply didn’t know where to look. Was she proposing to wander Tlatelolco warehouses or the wharves, asking the same people who had just beaten her in order to make her tell them what she knew before killing her?
At this point, Axolin was snorting loudly, struggling with the small fishing boat that they had run into while fleeing here before, a boat Patli was already sitting at, eager to paddle away and with no delays, a cowardly piece of dog meat that he was. Such an opposite to her and her reckless courage!
Piling into the crowded vessel, trying to make it remain stable despite its sides sinking almost to their edges, he found himself encircling her shoulders again, propelling her into the boat, making her settle there, protective. The leaking canoe was ripe for overturning straight away into the claws of the water monster, maybe. Still, her warmth and her scent, something faint but sweetish, something belonging to her, kept distracting, making him feel lightheaded, inappropriately cheerful. Let useless Patli struggle with rowing, navigating their overloaded vessel in the clumsiest of ways. He could feel Axolin’s sandaled foot pressing against his side, another limb, probably that of the boy Ahuitzotl, sticking into his ribs. Impatiently, he shoved them away, careful not to upset their only means of escape.