Aztlan: The Courts of Heaven Read Online Free Page A

standards of some arcane point system, that he was finally elevated to the level of the nobility. Of course, that was just a story. But if it had any truth to it, it could have explained his sympathy for me.
    “Here we are,” said my driver, a police officer from District Seven.
    Putting my memory of the nobleman aside, I peered out my window at his house. It stood at the top of a long green slope, a brilliant, white-marble structure so massive that it seemed to bear the weight of the sky.
    Of course, it no longer belonged to the elder Xochipilli, except maybe in the most poetic sense. He had died a couple of cycles earlier of a massive brain hemorrhage, leaving his only heir the owner of all he possessed—including the Eagles.
    “Some place,” said my driver.
    “Some place,” I agreed.
    We pulled into its stone courtyard, in the center of which rose a three-tiered fountain. Its cascades glittered playfully in the sunlight, each of its basins encrusted with enough turquoises and fire opals to pay my rent for the next thirteen cycles.
    The carriage negotiated a path around the fountain and stopped by the front doors. They were taller than I was by half, made of dark oak bound with copper. Round, white columns rose on either side of them like the legs of gigantic sentinels.
    Yes, it was some place all right.
    As I got out of the carriage, the door on the right opened outward, propelled by a slave in the traditional ocher-colored livery of House Xochipilli.
    “Welcome,” said the slave, a young man with carefully clipped hair and a broad smile.
    “Thanks,” I said. “I’m here to see—”
    “My master, of course. He is expecting you.” He gestured inside. “Come. I’ll show you to his study.”
    I followed the slave through the dark marble foyer, up a majestic set of stairs, and into a long, airy gallery with tall windows on either side. At the far end of the room stood a carved wooden table surrounded by six matching chairs.
    Mictlan Xochipilli was sitting at the table bent over a portable Mirror unit, his startlingly blue quetzal-feather earring dangling over the keyboard. He didn’t look up until his slave announced my presence. Then he stood, took a moment to run his hands over the rich, green fabric of his tunic, and finally met me with his eyes.
    “Colhua,” he said. “Please, join me.”
    I negotiated the length of the gallery. As I got close to Xochipilli, he extended his hand.
    I grasped it and said, “Thank you for agreeing to see me, Your Excellence.”
    “Anything to help,” said Xochipilli. Light glinted off the elaborate gold pendant on his chest. He seemed to notice the cut under my eye but he didn’t say anything about it. “It’s a bad thing, what’s happened to Coyotl.”
    “Not too bad, we hope. If you don’t mind, I would like to ask you some questions.”
    “Whatever you like,” said the nobleman. But he didn’t invite me to sit down anywhere, so I knew my conversation with him was going to be a short one.
    At first, I asked him the same questions I had asked Ichtaca and the Eagles—about Coyotl’s finances, friends, and health. Not that I expected Xochipilli to know the answers better than anyone else. After all, he and Coyotl would hardly have buzzed each other on a daily basis.
    Then I got to the questions the nobleman could answer better than others. “As far as you know,” I asked, “was Coyotl happy with his place on the Eagles?”
    “Happy?” Xochipilli echoed. “I have no reason to believe otherwise. Why do you ask?”
    I didn’t feel compelled to tell him about the Rabbit Run bag I’d found. Noblemen were notorious for talking too much, and I wanted to keep that evidence to myself for a while.
    “You have a new coach,” I said, “a new attack scheme. Sometimes star players balk at those kinds of changes.”
    He shrugged. “As far as I know, Coyotl has the utmost respect for his coach. In fact, when I mentioned to him that I was considering hiring