The Demon of the Air Read Online Free PDF Page A

all the varied ways in which we had sent men, women and sometimes children to the gods, and realized that Handy had been right: I never had seen one go the way today’s had. It was not just how the man had died or his strange, prophetic-sounding words. There had been something unreal in the way he and his master had behaved throughout the day—from the slave’s appearance as a wasted, spindly-limbed freak to the merchant’s disappearance—which made me think each of them had been acting a part. But I could not see how I could have foretold what finally happened.
    So my master had nothing to reproach me with. I told myself this as I scurried fretfully through the few streets leading from the marketplace to his house. I was muttering it under my breath, hoping to convince myself that the Chief Minister might see it the same way, when I turned into the path bordering the canal that ran by his house and bounced off a large man hurrying in the opposite direction.
    â€œOut of the way, you clumsy … !”
    â€œSorry,” I began, before another voice, one that I knew only too well, interrupted both of us.
    â€œYaotl! There you are, you termite! We’ve been looking all over the city for you!”
    Disbelief and a renewed sense of life’s unfairness made me groan. I looked again at the large man, noting the cudgel in his paws, and at his fellows, who looked as if they had been hewn from lumps of granite, and finally at the man in their midst, the owner of the familiar voice, no less fearsome than his escort.
    He wore a yellow cloak with a red border, flowing about his calves as only the best cotton could, and tubular plugs in his ears. White ribbons bound his hair firmly at the nape of his neck. His body was stained black, like a priest’s. Yellow sandals with oversized straps adorned his feet. His appearance would have told anyone what he was: a distinguished warrior whose achievements had been rewarded by high office. A knowledgeable observer would have known that he was one of the Constables, who kept the peace in the city by executing those whom the judges had condemned. He might have been able to name the man’s office— Atenpanecatl, Guardian of the Waterfront. He would certainly have known that this official’s escort
would be only too happy to use their cudgels at their leader’s whim.
    I needed no observer to tell me any of that, however. I would have known it without seeing the cloak or the ornaments or the bodyguards. As much as I might wish to, I could scarcely fail to recognize my own brother.
    â€œMamiztli,” I responded coolly, with his bodyguards glaring down at me and no doubt wondering whether they were supposed to bow before me or bash me over the head. “This is a rare honor. Since when have the Constables handed messages to the Chief Minister’s slave in person?”
    My brother’s name suited him. It meant “Mountain Lion.”
    â€œMore honor than you think, brother,” Lion assured me. “It’s not Lord Feathered in Black we’ve come for. It’s you.”
    â€œIt will have to wait.” I glanced warily up at his escort. “I can’t keep the Chief Minister waiting, you know that.”
    â€œOh yes you can. It is not I that wants to see you.”
    â€œThen who … ?” But I knew the answer, and the knowledge was like a cold claw suddenly twisting my entrails. What man’s summons could take precedence over the Chief Minister’s?
    â€œWhy, the Emperor, of course. Congratulations, brother! You’ve succeeded in attracting the attention of Lord Montezuma!”

5
    L ion and I grew up in Toltenco, at the edge of the rushes at the southern limit of the city. Our house had two rooms and a little walled yard with a dome-shaped bathhouse. The walls were daubed with mud and whitewashed until they gleamed, and roofed over with thatch so old you could no longer see it for moss. We