Free Harbinger of the Storm by Aliette de Bodard Page A

spells.
    ”I assume there is an explanation for all this,” I said, slowly.
    But Acamapichtli was not going to let me play peacemaker. He lifted his chin in a supreme expression of offence. “I’m not obliged to provide any explanation.”
    I’d started by feeling angry at Teomitl for the wholly unsubtle approach, but by now I was beginning to understand how matters might have degenerated. Acamapichtli had a very easy way of grating on one’s nerves, and Southern Hummingbird blind me if I let him get away with it.
    ”As a matter of fact, you do have to explain things,” I said. “In the absence of goodwill from either you or Quenami, I’m the sole person responsible for the keeping of the boundaries. And anyone who has been in contact with Ocome could be the key to solving his murder.” A small, tentative way of soothing his wounded pride; I very much doubted it would be enough, and I was right.
    Acamapichtli wrapped himself in his cloak, and strode towards the exit, not looking at me or at Teomitl. “I owe no explanation to anyone, Acatl, and least of all to you .” He all but spat the name. “The Fifth World is far more resilient than you credit.”
    ”As you would know, having tried to unseat it,” I snapped, unable to contain myself.
    Acamapichtli’s gaze froze. I had gone too far. “I serve my god. I uphold the Fifth World’s law. You won’t accuse me of anything beyond that.”
    ”You’re not exactly making efforts to defend yourself.”
    ”An innocent man shouldn’t have to,” Acamapichtli said.
    This time, he was the one who went too far. “I don’t read minds. And there are no innocents. You’re all embroiled in one intrigue or another,” I said, more forcefully than I’d intended to. “Don’t you dare parade your purity before me.”
    ”And you your sickening self-righteousness.” Acamapichtli spat on the ground, without even a gesture asking for the forgiveness of the dead Revered Speaker, whose funeral room he had just soiled. “You’re no better than the rest of us, Acatl.”
    ”Of course he is,” Teomitl said, in the growing silence.
    I stood unmoving, trying not to give in to the wave of contempt and hatred which spread over me for this man, who was not even fit to wear the robes of the lowest priest in the service of Tlaloc, not even fit to sweep the floors of the Great Temple. But this was not the time for such divisions, not a time for quarrels, not the place. I couldn’t afford to be sucked into his game.
    My nails dug into my hands, sending spikes of pain up my arm. “If you persist in this obstruction, I’ll have no choice,” I said, more calmly.
    ”You have no choice,” Acamapichtli said.
    Other than letting him go? I didn’t think so. I went on, as if heedless of his words, “I’ll refer this to the She-Snake, as current head of the state, representative of the Southern Hummingbird amongst us.” I didn’t trust the She-Snake; but I’d already seen that he didn’t support Acamapichtli.
    Acamapichtli’s beady eyes widened slightly, but then he laughed. “Do try, Acatl, do try. I’ll enjoy seeing you making a fool of yourself.”
    Then he swept out, the curtain falling back over the entrance in a slow, almost peaceful tinkle of metal bells.
    And that might have been it, save that, in the brief moment before the curtain swept down, I caught a glimpse of the silhouette standing at the entrance, which slouched too much to be a guard, and was much too tall to be the She-Snake.
    ”Acatl-tzin,” Teomitl started.
    I lifted a hand to silence him. An uncomfortable few moments passed; and then the watcher outside grew bored of our inactivity. The entrance-curtain lifted again to admit Quenami in all the finery of his rank as High Priest of Huitzilpochtli, smiling as widely as a jaguar that has found prey.
    ”Acatl,” he said. “What a coincidence to find you here.”
    ”Indeed,” I said. And, tired of evasions, “how long have you been outside,