"The novice priests have come back from the marketplace. I think there's something outside you need to see."

"Why?" I asked.

"Your brother has been formally charged with the murder of Priestess Eleuia. He's on display in front of the Imperial Palace now, awaiting trial."

In a heartbeat, I was up on my feet, and running out of the shrine.

FIVE.

The Caged Man It was past midday, and the usual throng filled the plaza of the Sacred Precinct. I had to elbow my way through the press of pilgrims and priests to make my way to the Northern Gate and the Tepeyaca causeway. What I had intended as a rush slowed down to a painful crawl.

As always when I passed nearby, I found my gaze drawn to the Great Temple. It was hard to ignore it: the bulk of its double pyramid towered over all the other temples. Celebrants were crowding on its platform.

Even from afar, it was easy to see the way of things. The right half of the platform, devoted to the God of War, Huitzilpochtli, was awash with noblemen, and the blood of numerous sacrifices had made the sacred vessels overflow. The left half of the platform, the temple to Tlaloc, God of Rain, was almost empty, with perhaps half a dozen priests shedding their blood.

Things change, the Quetzal Flower had said. People believe in war and in the sun, more than they believe in rain or in love. And we a the old ones, the gods of the Earth and of the Corn, We who were here first, who watched over your first steps a We fade.

As always, that sight inspired a complex mixture of feelings. My parents had both been peasants: but the true glory of life, they had always told me, lay in war. And wasn't it fitting that the God of War should reign supreme over the Fifth World? Yet I had chosen the path of a humble priesthood over that of the warrior, leaving the glory to my brother. Had it truly been the best choice I could make?

Enough. I couldn't afford melancholy at a time like this.

I tore my gaze away from the Great Temple. Unfortunately, I did so too late to avoid crashing into a group of priests flanking a sacrificial victim: a man with a chalk-whitened face, lips painted in grey. "Sorry."

The victim looked at me with a touch of annoyance, angry at being impeded on his way to a glorious death. The priests just nodded, as one craftsman to another. I resumed my crawl towards the exit.

Outside the Serpent Wall which framed the Sacred Precinct, it was easier to breathe: a clear area had been left between the wall and the first adobe houses. I ran east along the Serpent Wall, towards the Imperial Palace.

Emperor Axayacatl-tzin had built this massive, two-storey building on his accession: a sprawling mass of courtyards, gardens, tribute storehouses and noblemen's apartments, it extended over half the length of the eastern Serpent Wall. The Palace not only housed the Emperor and the high-ranking noblemen of the Mexica Empire, but also the tribunals for freemen, warriors and non-warrior noblemen.

A short flight of polished limestone steps led up to one of the entrances. To the right of the steps was a small platform where the prisoners waited for their trial, crouching in low wooden cages. Neutemoc was in the first of those, still wearing his Jaguar regalia. His bloodshot eyes suggested he hadn't slept much in the previous night.

When I approached, he started to straighten up and almost banged his head against the ceiling of his cage. Something fluttered in my chest, some obscure guilt for failing him.

"Brother," he said.

I'd expected him to be furious, but he was obviously too weary for that. "Hello, Neutemoc. What are you doing here?"

He snorted. "Do I look as if I know?"

My eyes scanned the platform behind him. I finally saw Yaotl, coming towards me at a leisurely pace, smiling ironically, Huitzilpochtli blind the man. Ceyaxochitl was behind, deep in conversation with a magistrate and a priest I didn't recognise.

"I'll be back," I said, and climbed on the platform to meet Yaotl.

"Acatl," he said, bowing slightly.

I did not bother with pleasantries. "What's the meaning of this?" I didn't wait for him to answer, either. "You tell me I am in charge of this, you tell me I should get some sleep, and the moment I leave you start indicting him!"

Yaotl nodded. "Not much choice."

"Choice?" I looked at the priest with Ceyaxochitl. His blue-streaked face was unfamiliar; but his cloak was finest cotton, embroidered with frogs and sea-shells.

A priest of Tlaloc, God of Rain. And if he was not high in the hierarchy, he was close to someone who was. "I'm not sure Ia"

"I think you do," Yaotl said.

Ceyaxochitl bowed to the priest and to the magistrate. The magistrate headed back into the Imperial Palace, while the priest walked away, back towards the Sacred Precinct.

A priest of Tlaloc. Even if Huitzilpochtli was now the only guardian god of the Mexica Empire, the priests of the Storm Lord still wielded considerable political power.

"Politics." The word left a sour taste in my mouth. "Someone wants a culprit?"

Yaotl nodded. "It has to be solved, and fast."

I watched Ceyaxochitl walk towards me. "That priest forced you to do this?" I asked.

She had the grace to look embarrassed, but not for long. "I'm a Guardian, Acatl. I don't make the laws."

"You promiseda" I started, and realised how childish I sounded.

I settled for "Neutemoc can't be charged. He's innocent."

"You can't know that."

Sometimes, I hated her shrewdness.

"He's still entitled to a trial, Acatl." Ceyaxochitl leant on her cane, looking old and frail in the sunlight. Healing Emperor Axayacatltzin must have been sapping her energy. And yet she'd still stayed up last night to help me. "It's not over yet."

I turned, briefly, in Neutemoc's direction: sitting in his cage with his knees drawn together, he was the living image of the defeated warrior. "It's late for him," I said. "Very late. What's to say the magistrate won't have the same attitude as you?"

"He wouldn't dare," Ceyaxochitl said. "Penalties for corruption are severe."

She was deluding herself. If she, the Guardian of the Sacred Precinct, had given in to pressure, why should a mere magistrate resist? But I didn't say that. I simply asked, "Who's the priest?"

"His name is Nezahual. But he speaks for his master: Acamapichtli, High Priest of Tlaloc."

I'd thought so. "Acamapichtli wants a conviction?"

Ceyaxochitl shook her head. "He wants revenge, Acatl."

I mulled on this for a while. "He supported Eleuia's nomination as Consort, I presume." Politics. A word that could only be spat. Priests should serve the gods, not indulge in base power-grabbing.

It was a useless fight: every priest cherished the hope of serving at the Imperial Palace. I'd seen that, all too well, back in calmecac school; it had been one of the reasons why I'd turned my back on the most prestigious priesthoods, those of Huitzilpochtli or the Storm Lord, and chosen to make a living as a priest for the Dead, beholden to no one but grieving families.

Ceyaxochitl was watching Neutemoc. "High Priest Acamapichtli had an interest in her. He doesn't like losing pawns."

For some reason, Teomitl's face came back to me, shining with admiration for Eleuia. "I hope his interest was only political," I said, darkly. "She looked as if she was drawing attention, and not because of her talents."

"For some of them, at any rate," Yaotl said, with an amused smile. "You forget that she served the Goddess of Lust."

My fingers clenched of their own accord. "I don't find this funny."

"A shame," Yaotl said.

Ceyaxochitl banged her cane on the platform. I winced. Below the platform, a few passers-by had gathered to watch us: Eagle Knights in their feather uniforms, artisans carrying birds' cages and bars of silver, housewives with their ceramic wares on their back. "Enough, both of you," she said. "Acatl, I apologise for the discomfort, but I had no choice. And neither have you."

"It doesn't mean I'll bow down meekly," I snapped.

Her gaze was wryly amused. "I didn't expect you would. Have you made progress?"

She meant well, but I still didn't feel I could share information with her. "Yes."

Her lips tightened. "I see. We'll leave you to it, then."

"Stay out of it," I said, as calmly as I could. "No more interference."

"I can't promise that. I'm not the mistress of High Priest Acamapichtli," Ceyaxochitl said, clambering down from the platform. "You're intelligent enough to realise I cannot."

Yes. I didn't like it, but it was a given that once the High Priest of Tlaloc had started interfering, he wouldn't stop. If I wanted Neutemoc to have a fair trial, I needed to act quickly. I approached his cage, and knelt to peer through the bars.

"No improvement planned on my situation, I take it," Neutemoc said.

I sighed. "No. Not in the immediate future. How are you feeling?" "You have some nerve," Neutemoc said. "You're the one outside, asking the questions."

"Yes," I said. "And I'm not the one who had a long-lasting affair with a priestess, not to mention a child."

"We didn'ta" Neutemoc started, then fell silent.

"Neutemoc?" I asked.

His eyes gazed beyond me, towards the throng in front of the palace. After a moment's hesitation, I turned, and saw a tall woman making her way straight towards us, carrying a baby in a shawl tied around her chest.

Huei, and Neutemoc's youngest child, Ollin, born this last dry season. This was obviously not the moment to broach the subject of illegitimate children.

Huei walked towards the platform as if fighting her way through a press of warriors. She wore a long, flowing tunic with an elaborate pattern of glyphs, and a skirt the colour of jade.

Her hair was brushed in the fashion of married women, in two braids, with the two ends of the braids raised to form two tufts on either side of her forehead, like small horns. Her face was grim, every step deliberate. Neutemoc was clearly going to have an unpleasant moment.

"I think I'll leave," I said.

Neutemoc's gaze didn't move, but his lips tightened. I couldn't tell if he was ashamed, or simply embarrassed. "Please, Acatl."

"It's private," I said. But Huei was already close enough to hear us.

"No," she said. "It's not private. Not once you're arrested and exposed like a common criminal."

Uh-oh. She was really furious, though I couldn't blame her.

"Huei," Neutemoc said.

Her gaze swept him, up and down. "What in the Fifth World did you think you were doing?"