"Particular?" Neutemoc looked at me as if I were mad. "No," he said. "She sewed them in that cloth, buried them, and carved the marker."

"That's all?" I asked. What was wrong with those bones?

Neutemoc said nothing for a while. "She went into a cave to say a prayer to the Duality," he said. "The same one where she gave birth."

"A cave?" I laid the bones down in the clothes. The uneasy feeling on my skin abated, but didn't cease. Nausea welled up in me, sharp, demanding a I struggled to focus through it.

A cave was a good shelter to give birth in with impunity, especially in this arid country. And praying to the Duality for a child wasn't extraordinary, since They watched over the souls of babies. But the Duality was worshipped in the open air, or on pyramid temples. I'd never heard of such a temple in a cave.

I took the baby's bones and wrapped them back into their cloth. "Can you take us to the cave?" I asked.

It was further away than Neutemoc remembered: we had to go down the hill to another one. Shelves of rock rose around us as we trudged on the steep path. The air was cold, crisp with a bitter tang that insinuated itself into my bones.

The cave had a small entrance, half-obscured by a fall of debris. Faded paint stretched on both sides, and traces that might have been bloody handprints, weathered away by the rain. A wet, pungent odour like that of a wild animal rose as I ducked under the stone ceiling.

Inside was only darkness, the sound of our own breathing a and, in the distance, the steady sound of dripping water. "Is anybody here?" I called.

No answer.

"Some place," Palli said behind me.

I paused for a moment to light a torch with some flint and dry kindling from Palli's ever-useful bag. The flame shone over moist rock walls, reflected in a thousand shards of light.

"It must have been abandoned some time ago," Neutemoc said, defiantly.

"If it ever drew large crowds," Ezamahual said. He sounded sceptical. "Everything looks faded here."

"I know," I said. I shone the torch towards the back: the cave narrowed into a rock corridor. Having no choice, I headed straight ahead.

My footsteps echoed under the stone ceiling: a deep, faraway sound, as if the place had been twice as deep. And as I made my way deeper into the cave, a sense of wrongness slowly crept up my spine. It was the same thing I'd felt when holding the baby's bones, but much, much stronger: a growing disquiet, an impression that the world around me wasn't as it seemed a a sense of a cold power coiling around me like the rings of a snake.

"Neutemoc," I whispered, but there was only silence, and the feeling of something immense, barely contained within the walls. Something that hadn't yet seen any of us; but that might, at any moment, turn its eyes our way.

"Acatl-tzin," Palli whispered, and I heard the same fear in his voice.

I reached towards the knife at my belt, with agonising slowness a and closed my hand on the hilt. The dreary, familiar emptiness of Mictlan rose: a welcome shield against whatever lay in the cave. It wasn't strong, and it waned with every passing moment. But it would have to do.

"Use your knives," I whispered to the two priests behind me. "Mictlan's magic will ward us."

Neither of the priests answered. I pushed ahead, stubbornly, and heard their footsteps behind me, more hesitant. They were falling behind.

The corridor ended in a circular place, filled with the sound of water dripping onto the rock. There was a pool at the centre, with barely enough water to reflect the light of my torch; and small tokens, scattered around the rim: dolls of brightly-coloured rags, fragments of chipped stones and seashells.

Offerings. This was a had been a a shrine, till not so long ago.

I shone my torch around the room: the paint had run, but frescoes still adorned the walls. The sense of disquiet, of wrongness, was rising, slowly drowning out Mictlan's rudimentary protection. I had no intention of remaining in that cave any longer than I had to. Close by, the frescoes were hard to identify. Characters in tones of ochre moved across a narration in smudged glyphs: fighting each other, or perhaps handing something to each other?

"What is this place?"

I started. I hadn't heard Neutemoc for so long that I'd almost forgotten that he was there. He stood by the pool, looking ill at ease. Neither his slave, Tepalotl, nor my two priests were anywhere to be seen.

"You should know," I said, more angrily than I'd intended to. "You took Eleuia here."

"No," Neutemoc said. He sounded angry as well. "I waited outside. I've never set foot in here."

"Well," I said sombrely, "the one thing we can be sure is that this isn't a shrine to the Duality." I held my torch up to the frescoes again, hoping for a clue, for anything that would allow us to get out of here and leave behind that great, sickening presence. But the glyphs were too smudged by the incessant fall of water, and the details of the frescoes similarly erased.

I walked away from the pool, fighting an urge to scratch myself to the blood.

The frescoes on the furthest wall were also badly damaged, but some details had survived better. One character appeared constantly in the vignettes: a being with dark skin, brandishing various objects: a fisherman's net, a rattle, and several bowls holding offerings.

I knelt by the oldest of the frescoes, peered at the details. The eyes were dark, accentuated by black marks, and a plume of heron feathers protruded from His head.

Tlaloc! Eleuia had given birth in a shrine to Tlaloc, God of Rain.

We met Palli, Ezamahual and Tepalotl halfway out: they had been unable to push past the sense of uneasiness. Tepalotl, being a slave, didn't look as though he cared much one way or the other; but my two priests were sheepish.

"We could have followed you, Acatl-tzin," Palli pointed out, once we were safely outside.

Ezamahual said nothing. He was clenching and unclenching his hand around his obsidian knife, frowning. "I scarcely feel anything," he said.

"The magic is here," I said, finally, not knowing what else I could tell him. "It takes some practise to open to it, that's all."

Ezamahual looked doubtful. "I suppose," he said.

"Acatl-tzin would know," Palli said, looking at his companion severely.

Ezamahual said nothing. I could tell he wasn't completely convinced. He should have had confidence in me, but I hadn't been capable of proving my abilities to him.

Huitzilpochtli curse me.

"It doesn't matter," I said. "We have what we need."

"We do?" Neutemoc asked, behind me. "I, for one, haven't understood anything."

I didn't react to his sarcasm. I weighed the baby's bones in my hands, thoughtfully. After the shrine, the small feeling of wrongness was almost restful. "Neither have I." But one thing was sure: the Storm Lord wasn't a god of childbirth. There had been no reason for Eleuia to go into that shrine to give birth unless something else was going on. "But I don't think Eleuia's true allegiance was to the Quetzal Flower."

"And that solves the matter for you?"

I shrugged. "If she was to become Consort of Xochiquetzal's husband, she couldn't afford the worship of another god." Hence the need to silence Neutemoc, who might remember the child; who might remember this place and cause someone else to realise what Eleuia had done.

Neutemoc said nothing, but he didn't look convinced. That wasn't what bothered me. The bones that I held in my hand, however... What kind of child had Eleuia given birth to?

It's dead, my conscience pointed out, reasonably. Whatever happened, she didn't carry it to term. But that wasn't enough to dispel my growing feeling I'd missed something.

SEVENTEEN.

Confrontations We came back to Tenochtitlan two days later, well after midday. Fog hung heavily over the canals and the streets, clinging in wisps to the houses even this late. The air was humid and sweltering. Overhead, there were no clouds, but the rain would not be long in coming.

I sent Palli and Ezamahual back to the temple; Neutemoc, his slave Tepalotl and I went back to Neutemoc's house.

Mihmatini was waiting for us in the courtyard, wearing a creased dress of cotton, embroidered with butterflies. Her face was as wan as the moon, and dark circles underlined her eyes. I had never seen her so tired.

"You shouldn't be up so early," I said.

She shook her head. "If I sleep, they'll eat the wards." She glanced at Neutemoc. "And your protection is almost gone. I need to renew that for you."

"I thought you and Ceyaxochitl had everything under control when we left?" I asked, slowly, afraid of what she would answer me.

Mihmatini gave me a tired smile. "They're either more powerful, or more numerous. Either way, I'm losing this battle."

"You can't stay here," I said to Neutemoc.

He shook his head, angrily. "And whose fault is that?"

"Neutemoc," Mihmatini said.

I bit back on a wounding retort. "Can we argue about responsibilities later? I need to get you and your household toa"

I contemplated the possibilities. Most temples weren't warded, except perhaps for the Great Temple. But half of that belonged to Tlaloc. And, given what we now knew of Eleuia's ties with that god, I wasn't eager to find refuge there.

"We'll go to the Duality House," I said, at last. "That's large enough to hold us all." At least, while I worked out what I did next. I'd have to go back to the Jaguar House, and ask Mahuizoh about Eleuia's ambitions.

"The Duality House?" Neutemoc asked, incredulous. "My whole household? Acatl, it's one thing to take me on a fruitless journeya"

I cut him off, with no effort to be civil. "That wasn't fruitless, unless you want to deny what happened in that so-called shrine to the Duality. And I'm not taking risks."

He stared at me: weary, cynical, angry. "Priests hide and run away. Warriors don't."

Warriors and priests. Why in the Fifth World did it always have to come to the same thing?

I'd had enough of that. I said, sharply, "You can stay here if that satisfies your pride. I'm not seeing Mihmatini and your children die like Quechomitl."

"He died because you involved him in this," Neutemoc snapped.

I shook my head. "He died because he defended you. That's all."

"He would have had no need to defend me if you hadn't interfered."

Interfered? I'd risked my career to prove him innocent, and that was all he could find to say to me? I said, "I wasn't the one who drove Huei against you. You did that yourself."

This, as I had expected, wounded him. His eyes narrowed; his muscles tensed, readying for a leap in my direction. I laid a hand on one of my obsidian knives, feeling the emptiness of Mictlan well up.

Mihmatini gave a snort of disgust, and stepped between both of us. "Enough. A pity Mother isn't here any more. You're behaving like children, both of you."

"Neutemoc," she said, firmly.

He turned to her. It must have been something in her voice, so reminiscent of Mother's flat, deadly tones. "Yes?"

"Come here. I'll renew the spell on you. And then we'll pack." She threw me an angry glance. "As to you... don't think I'm on your side, Acatl."

"You don't sound as if you are," I said, but she was already fussing around Neutemoc.

I almost went to lean against the wall, until I remembered the creatures, hungrily pressing themselves on the other side.

So I settled in the middle of the courtyard, watching Mihmatini draw a circle on the ground. I stood, trying to empty my mind of everything. But I couldn't. In the bag at my back were the baby's bones, so subtly, so incomprehensibly wrong. What had Eleuia tried to do with the baby a and was it for this failed attempt that she'd died?

We drew many curious glances as our small procession crossed the Sacred Precinct, heading towards the Duality House. Through the fog, I thought I caught a glimpse of Ichtaca in his headdress and spider-embroidered cloak, leading a handful of black-clad offering priests back to the temple for the Dead.

Getting inside the Duality House required some negotiation: the guards weren't willing to let in two dozen people. They sent for their superior a who turned out to be Yaotl, Ceyaxochitl's personal messenger. I wasn't sure whether his smug smile was an improvement on the situation. His eyes took in the slaves, Neutemoc, and Mihmatini, with Ollin sleeping in a wicker basket at her back, and four year-old Mazatl in her arms.

"I'm sure there's a good explanation for all of this," Yaotl said.

I wasn't in the mood to provide much of anything to anyone. "There is," I said. "I'll give it to you once we're inside."

"I suspect I'd rather have it now," Yaotl said.

I sighed. "Your walls are solidly warded. Is that good enough?"