But it was his companion who caught my gaze, and held it. He was much taller, as rake-thin as a pole, his face crossed by a single black stripe. His right foot trailed slightly behind him, to a rhythm as erratic as a dying man's heartbeat.

"You haven't met my son, Zamayan," Xahuia said, but I was barely listening.

The stripe and the foot were enough clues of the god the man served. Even without those I could not have mistaken him for a mere slave, for magic hung thick and strong around him, an angry, pulsing network of grey and black as deep as night, and the smell of blood wafted from him, as strong as that of an altar.

He was a servant of the Smoking Mirror, the lame god of sorcerers and dark magic, He who delighted in souring men's fates.

And not just any servant, but someone so wreathed in power that summoning a star-demon would have been a trifle.

SEVEN.

The High Priests I must have said something a even if I had no memory of anything besides standing frozen in the courtyard a for Xahuia's son moved away from me, leaving me facing the sorcerer.

He inclined his head. "The High Priest for the Dead. I have heard much about you."

"I, on the other hand, have heard nothing about you." His hands shimmered in the heat, shifting colours between dark brown and red. The strong tang of blood wafted from his clothes, as if even washing could not remove it anymore.

He bowed, as he would before a king. "My name is Nettoni. I am but a humble servant of My Lady."

I did not need to look behind me to know Xahuia would be smiling. "I have no doubt that you serve well." Sweat was running down the nape of my neck. Nettoni meant nothing more than "mirror", and it was what he had fashioned himself into, the living image of his god in the Fifth World, a vessel most suited for receiving His powers. The blood that hung around him would be that of a hundred sacrifices and, unhampered by any of our scruples, he would use pieces of human corpses for curses, raid the tombs of women that died in childbirth for their nails and the locks of their hair, and breathe in the power of those touched by the gods.

"I take it you are from Texcoco as well."

"It is my honour." Nettoni smiled. His teeth were black, shining like polished obsidian. "Now, if you will excuse me, My Lady and I have business."

I did not need to be told twice. I made my exit as fast as I could without seeming churlish, and I could feel his eyes a and hers a following me all the way out of the women's quarters.

Ceyaxochitl might have been able to fight him; I could not. Even rested and refreshed, and even with the whole of my order behind me, I would not be able to even dent his protection. Nettoni had accrued enough power to leave us looking like ineffectual fools.

And, if Ceyaxochitl, agent of the Duality on earth and vessel for Their power, was his only adversary, wouldn't he want to remove her from the board?

I'd said it to Teomitl already, but now I really hoped that Xahuia was not the culprit. Together with Nettoni, they made a formidable team, one it would take all our forces to defeat.

And, so far, for forces, we had two high priests more obsessed with placing their own pawns than with the approaching star-demons and a distant She-Snake, whose guards could barely maintain the order in the palace.

Not to mention a dying Guardian.

The day felt markedly darker as I made my way deeper into the palace.

Palli's messenger found me in the kitchens, where I was examining some of the maize porridge Ceyaxochitl had consumed.

"Acatl-tzin?" It was Ezamahual, a lean, dour-faced novice priest, a son of peasants who moved through the vast rooms as though he trespassed.

"Here," I said.

The porridge was set in a beautiful blue-and-black ceramic bowl, with golden trimmings. Clearly, Quenami had spared no expense. A brief invocation to Xolotl, Bearer of the Dead, had confirmed that, sadly, it was as innocuous as it was beautiful. Whatever Ceyaxochitl had been poisoned with, it wasn't that.

Ezamahual bowed. "Palli sent me to tell you the ritual is almost complete."

I looked up from the courtyard. The sky was still the brilliant blue of late afternoon. "Tonight, then," I said. Passages into the underworld took place at sunset or at night, when the Fifth Sun itself was underground. "Tell him I'll be there. I have a few things to take care of first."

The first thing I took care of was dinner. I'd had a sparse lunch, but given how long the night was going to be, I didn't hesitate to ask the kitchen slaves for the best they had. I consumed a whole fish with crushed calabash-seeds, and a handful of maize cakes.

Then I went back to the council room, where I found Manatzpa in discussion with the old man Echichilli, the magician of the council. Their servants lounged nearby on a stone bench, watching the courtyard, bored.

"Ah, Acatl-tzin," Manatzpa said. "We have taken the security measures you asked for."

I stilled the shaking of my hands. "I fear it's too late for that."

"Oh?" His eyebrows rose.

"We have no Guardian at present." I thought I could say this with the same calm I'd pronounced the previous sentence; that Xahuia and Nettoni together would have drained me of all fears. But my voice still shook.

Manatzpa's face darkened. "What happened?"

"Poison," I said, curtly.

"Is she..." He paused, letting me fill in the rest.

"Not dead," I said. "But very ill."

"It's dangerous business," Echichilli said, querulously. "The world has changed too much. The young just don't remember how fragile the balance is."

"Did she come to see you yesterday?" I liked Manatzpa, but that did not mean I was going to act as a fool where he was concerned.

"He and the rest of the council." His voice was thoughtful. "She asked us many questions. A canny one, that Guardian. Her heart and soul were in the right place. A pity."

Not so much a pity as a crime, and one that I was going to make sure was punished. "I see." I remembered the question I'd failed to ask Quenami. "Does the name Pezotic mean anything to either of you?"

They shared a glance, a distinctly uncomfortable one. For the first time, Echichilli looked angry, a slight tightening of his wrinkled, sun-tanned face, but an expression that was almost shocking coming from him.

"Yes," Echichilli said, looking me in the eye all the while. "He had a disagreement."

"With whom?" I asked. Manatzpa, too, looked distinctly exasperated, as if some boundary had been breached. What bees' nest had I sunk my hands into?

Echichilli shook his head. "With the council. He was dismissed."

"I thought you couldn't dismiss anyone," I said, very slowly. But it was Quenami who had told us that. Quenami, who wasn't a member of the council, who interfered where he wasn't needed.

"There are exceptions. What he did was unforgivable."

Manatzpa shook his head. "You know it wasn't."

"Wasn't it?" Echichilli looked him in the eye, until Manatzpa's glance slid away, towards the painted floor at our feet.

"What in the Fifth World are you talking about?"

Manatzpa shrugged, but the taut set of his shoulders made it all too clear how angry he was. "Pezotic was worse than Ocome a or more honest, depending on how you view matters. He couldn't stomach the threats, the constant intimidations."

"He ran away?" I asked. It seemed too simple, too innocent. Or was I becoming as paranoid as Tizoc?

"Yes," Echichilli said. "Rather than face his responsibilities." It had the ring of absolute truth a no evasion, no attempt to look aside, or to look me too much in the eye a a simple fact, and one that both saddened and angered him. "I had thought him a better man."

"He was a clever man." Manatzpa's voice was bitter. "He knew where this would lead us."

Echichilli said nothing. Both he and Manatzpa looked drained, their skin as paper-thin and as dry as that of corpses, their stances slightly too aggressive. I assumed there had been further threats, further attempts to bring them to support one candidate or another. But that was one area I couldn't help with. My hands were full enough as it was.

I thought again on what Xahuia had told me a the priest's name branded into my mind. I could assume it was bluff and go question him, but I would have to get out of the palace and back to the Wind Tower, and this would take me time, time I might not have. Ceyaxochitl's removal suggested that the summoner of the star-demons was readying himself for another strike.

So, start out by assuming Xahuia had told the truth; and I couldn't imagine she'd tell a lie, not on something so easily verifiable. Assume she had got Ocome's promise that he would shift sides to hers, without revealing to anyone where he truly stood.

Then the one person who stood to lose the most was the one whose side Ocome had supported, Tizoc-tzin, the heir-designate.

Unfortunately, he was also the man who had threatened to have me dismissed from the court altogether. And, without his brother Teomitl to stand for me, any audience I sought would end in disaster.

But still, he might well be behind it all, and I couldn't stand by while he swept to power under the cloak of Axayacatl-tzin's approval.

How would I face Ceyaxochitl, if she ever recovered?

What I needed was an ally, or at any rate someone who made sure that I came out of Tizoc-tzin's chambers without losing anything. Manatzpa was not nearly powerful enough; it had to be one of the other contenders for the turquoise-and-gold crown.

My heart was not up to asking Xahuia or Acamapichtli. Given how my last interview with the High Priest of the Storm Lord had ended, pacifying him would be nigh impossible.

The She-Snake, then.

I headed towards the She-Snake's quarters. They were in a courtyard symmetrical to the imperial chambers, on the other side of the palace a as befitted the symmetrical roles of the Revered Speaker and the She-Snake.

Unfortunately, when I arrived there, the She-Snake had left for his evening devotions. I asked when he would be back, and was met only with a shrug.

"I wouldn't bother, if I were you."

I turned, slowly. Acamapichtli was standing behind me in the courtyard, dwarfed by his headdress of heron feathers. "Why?" I asked. The last time I had seen him had been his argument with Teomitl, which had ended with his walking out of the room. He seemed calmer now, although he still appeared tense.

He made a quick stab of veined hands. "He won't see you. He doesn't receive anyone but his followers."

"And you don't count yourself as such."

Acamapichtli rolled his eyes upwards. "That much should be obvious."

"Which side are you on, Acamapichtli?"

"I don't think I'm obliged to say that to you."

"It might demonstrate goodwill," I said, a little sarcastically.

His eyes narrowed. "I'll admit I was wrong to leave yesterday. But I didn't have to answer those questions, especially not in the way your student asked them."

His admission was bald, made without a trace of shame, and it was like a blow to the solar plexus. Out of all the people I'd expected an apology from, he was the last.

Since I remained silent, he went on, "I'm not trying to overthrow the Fifth World. I never was."

"You act oddly for someone who isn't."

"Allow me a little mystery." His voice was sarcastic.