The Year's Best Science Fiction: Eighteenth Annual Collection

by Gardner Dozois

I remembered what had happened to those people—the ones Uncle Tlaloc had chosen to make an example of—and shuddered. There are worse fates than being slowly flayed alive.

  “Uncle-tzin, I swear to you that I hold nothing back. On my own grave I swear it.”

  Uncle was looking at me in a way that indicated that might not just be a metaphor. Then he leaned back, rested one hand on Death and the other on the Earth Monster and smiled in a way that was totally unsettling.

  “And I believe you, my boy. You swear you do not have this thing, whatever it is, and of course you would never lie to me.”

  “Of course not, Uncle,” I croaked.

  “So the matter is closed,” he said with the same terrifying geniality. “But, nephew …”

  “Yes, Uncle?”

  “If you do find this thing, you will tell your old uncle, will you not?”

  “Of course, Uncle. Absolutely.” He gestured at me and I backed away, still on my knees.

  I wandered the streets, examining the gathering clouds and play of light on the waters of the bay. There wasn’t any place I was going. There also wasn’t anybody I could talk to. People who seem to know anything about this mess keep ending up dead.

  On a busy corner an old man with the matted hair of a traditional priest was holding out a limp, obviously drugged, rattlesnake. When he saw me, he practically shoved it in my face.

  “For only one small gold coin,” he said in a voice that had been destroyed by years of exposure to sacred smokes, “I will let you pet the noble serpent who warns before striking, the brother to the Feathered Serpent who gave us our law and culture. It will bring you good luck.”

  The snake’s face was close to mine. Its mouth opened, and its fangs slipped out of their sheaths. All the while, its tail and rattle hung limp, probably because of the drug.

  “I don’t know, unwashed one,” I replied without slowing down. “Your friend looks like he may make an exception and rattle after he bites me.”

  “Blasphemer!” The old man screamed as walked away. “The Gods will punish you!”

  “I know, I know,” I said and turned away.

  The problem was, that I didn’t know. At least about just what it was that everyone seemed to think I had. I’m an axe, a sweeper, not a sneak-thief. And what is it that I could have slipped under my cloak and smuggled out of the Death Master’s, and to my apartment or some secret location? What could be that important? And why would it be on the body of a dead huetlacoatl?

  Or maybe it was in the body … .

  The thought was too disgusting to pursue. Besides, the hairs standing on the back of my neck told me that I was being pursued. The old geezer with groggy rattlesnake was still glaring at me. And his weren’t the only eyes on me. People on the street looked away when I looked at them, but I could tell that they were aware of me. Every window and corner made me nervous.

  I put my hand on the hilt of my sword. Somehow it did not make me feel secure.

  Suddenly, I felt the need to flee. There were too many people. I couldn’t sort out who—if anybody—I should be looking out for. I walked faster, until I was just short of a run.

  I glanced into some deserted alleys. Unfortunately, they were too deserted. Someone could be cornered, killed, left in a pile of garbage, and not be found for days, flayed by the rats and scavengers that feed off corpses.

  Then someone grabbed my sword arm. Something else struck the back of my head. Everything went white hot, then dead black.

  The sound of conch trumpets filled the air. It was the long, deep tone that announces the approach of a hurricane. Near the English Docks, the great statue of the Storm Goddess looked at me and licked her ragged, stone lips with a pink, fleshy tongue. The water withdrew, back toward the southern continent, leaving ships to sink into the muck on the seafloor. I ran toward higher ground.

  The city was deserted. The only signs of life were cages containing parrots that had been reduced to skeletons, and the ants that were picking away at the last remaining bits of meat. Was I asleep when the city was evacuated? No one was in the streets. Nothing moved except for the debris that flew about in the winds.

  The clouds boiled. There was a rumbling deep in the earth that echoed through my bones and across the sky. The wind grew stronger, making a noise like the mother of all disease spirits.

  Then it rained. The things that pelted me and the empty streets were not raindrops, but eggs. When they hit the ground, they cracked open, leaking a steaming purple fluid and revealing the tiny bodies of creatures that looked almost human.

  “Earthmonster, devour me!” I screamed.

  “Be calm, Lucky.” It was Mother Jaguar. “Things will be all right. Look.” She held out a polished obsidian mirror.

  I looked into it, and saw myself. My skin hung loosely around my face. Grabbing a handful, I tore it away. Underneath I had a huetlacoatl snout.

  “Face your destiny, Tworabbit,” said Toltectecuhrli, who was suddenly holding the mirror. As I looked into the mirror I was plunged into darkness. Pungent smoke curled up and I coughed at the vile snake scent.

  “He wakens,” came a voice from far, far away.

  Then the world reeled, the hood was yanked from my head, and I was blinking in the light.

  My first thought was that this wasn’t the doing of Threeflower’s husband. Then where I was actually sank in.

  The room was low, gloomy, and damp. The gas torches were turned too low for me to see the extent. The furniture was uncomfortably low as well. Uncomfortable for humans, at least. There were three men standing before me and one more crouched down in the background. Correction: There was one more something crouched down behind them, but it wasn’t human. It was a huetlacoatl, the first intelligent one I had ever seen—alive, that is.

  “We want the body,” one of the Speakers said abruptly.

  “What?”

  “The body of the slain one. We want the rest of it. Come. Do not waste the Great One’s time. Give it to us.” One of the other three had turned to the huetlacoatl and croaked and squeaked at it as if translating. I couldn’t see the huetlacoatl well enough to make out its expression and that was probably just as well.

  “You have the body,” I said.

  This was translated and produced a roar from the huetlacoatl.

  “All of it,” the Speaker cried. “We must have all of it.”

  “But it wasn’t sacrificed. It was all there.”

  “Lies!” the Speaker screamed. “You think you can lie to us because we do not torture like animals. But we will have the truth and we will have the treasures of the line, the rest of the Great One’s body.”

  I thought fast. Ninedeer had said that all the parts of the body were there. They must mean something else, something that was on the body. An insignia of rank perhaps. That made sense in light of Uncle Tlaloc’s comment about something being taken from the body. Some priests referred to the sacred objects they wore as part of themselves. And there were stories that the huetlacoatls adorned themselves with rare and costly jewels—as well as less pleasant things. The Speakers were notoriously hard to communicate with, but it made sense.

  “Describe this thing to me. The thing that was missing from the Great One’s body.”

  The translation produced another roar from the huetlacoatl and I thought the Speaker would explode, the way he turned red and puffed up. “The treasures of the line,” he screamed. “The things that make the Great Ones. We must have them now!”

  Treasures. Multiple. Then several things had been taken from the body. I tried to remember if there were any spots on the dead one’s cloak where something might have been torn off. Or perhaps they had been attached directly to the skin and that was why it had been cut up.

  The huetlacoatl spoke for the first time except in response to the translator: a long collection of hisses, squeaks, and squeals that ended with a clash of teeth like a gunshot. All three of the Speakers turned toward the creature and froze in identical postures, one foot in
front, bowing forward from the waist and the right fist pressed to the forehead.

  “We waste the Great One’s time,” the Speaker spat as he turned back to me. “If an animal you act, then an animal you shall be treated.”

  “We are civilized,” the Speaker snapped. “We do not offer ourselves in the marketplace for food.”

  I wondered just what it was the huetlacoatls were trading for—or what they thought they were trading for. “But it is meet that our enemies be hunted in a civilized manner, to expiate their crimes.” He gestured to the slaves holding my arms, turned and strode away with me being dragged after him.

  “There!” the Speaker gestured over a balcony and down to a courtyard below.

  At first I couldn’t see anything but a flagged stone yard with a water trough. Then there was a “wheeping” sound from beneath the balcony, and another, and another. Then four huetlacoatls came bounding into the court, wheeping and craning their necks to see what was on the balcony.

  There was nothing to give me scale, so it took me a minute to realize these huetlacoatls were smaller than usual. It took me a minute longer to infer from their clumsy movements and their tussling that these were immature huetlacoatls. As a group they were as cute as a nest of baby rattlesnakes. Only I didn’t think they had the high ethical standards of rattlesnakes. And I didn’t like the way they were looking up at me and wheeping expectantly.

  “We tie you by your arms,” the Speaker said. “Then we lower you down so the young can practice hunting. Just your feet and ankles and first, then your legs. So you may reconsider your theft from the Great Ones.”

  Well, at least I’ll be able to kick the little bastards’ teeth in. Not much comfort, but you take what you can find.

  The Speaker leaned close. “Only first we break your legs so you cannot hurt the little Great Ones.”

  I was digesting this information and trying desperately to come up with a plausible lie when a huetlacoatl whistled so high that it almost hurt. I managed to twist around in the slaves’ grip and see that a new group of humans had entered the room.

  There were six of them, cloaked in gray, with gray hoods drawn over the heads, and gray masks covering their faces. I’d never seen that outfit before, but I knew what it was. It was the closest thing to a uniform ever worn by the Emperor’s Shadow.

  There was a long palaver between the Speaker and one of the Shadows. I divided my attention between trying to overhear them and listening to the plaintive cries of the young huetlacoatls below me, who obviously weren’t used to waiting for their supper. Finally, after an extended, involved discussion, the adult huetlacoatl made a slashing gesture and a steamwhistle bellow. The Speakers bowed and stepped aside, letting the Emperor’s Shadow have me. Personally, I would have preferred the huetlacoatls, but my wishes didn’t count for a whore’s fart.

  Another hood, another journey, but this time I was awake. I know we walked for a ways, there was a boat ride across the bay, a slower, smellier ride through the city’s canals, and then more walking. No one spoke, and the ones who held me never loosened their grip.

  This time when the hood came off I was in a low-ceilinged room with stone beneath my feet. There was a single blinding light shining in my eyes. I squinted and tried to twist my head away but the ones behind me forced me to look straight ahead.

  “Young sir,” came a voice from the darkness, “you must learn to associate with more wholesome companions.” He hobbled into the light and I saw it was old Foureagle, the menagerie keeper. “If you consort with those who want to be huetlacoatls, evil will befall you.”

  “What about the company you keep? What’s a tender of caged beasts doing with the Emperor’s Shadow?” I remembered his remark about having seen the insides of a lot of people and tried not to show it.

  He smiled. “A man is many things. It not only keeps life interesting, but it is necessary in times such as these.” I decided I had liked the old man a lot better when we were sucking down pulque outside the menagerie. I also realized I had gone fishing for information on a very sensitive matter by questioning a high officer of the Emperor’s Shadow. Shit! One thing about my luck. It’s consistent.

  “But come, young sir, you do not seem pleased to see me.”

  “I think I’d be better off with the huetlacoatls.”

  Wrong answer. It made Foureagle frown and earned me a kidney punch from one of the Shadows. I sagged forward, retching.

  “These ones with their costumes and silly antics have no idea of what they are doing,” Foureagle said. “They’ve got it all wrong, dead wrong.”

  “They speak to the huetlacoatls well enough.”

  Foureagle snorted. “They speak as a dog speaks to its master. They sense emotion well enough but they understand only a little. The rest is deception. They deceive themselves and the huetlacoatls deceive and use them.”

  “Like you use the beasts in the menagerie?”

  “The relationship between man and beast can be understood,” he said, his eyes narrowed into slits, “but between man and these thinking, talking creatures? Where do we begin to know anything? How can we trust?”

  “You understand them.”

  He shrugged. “I know when they are afraid. Even if their language is mostly a mystery, the prattling of the Speakers is easy to understand. The huetlacoatls are upset and they are driven to the point of hysteria. The thing you took from the body was very important to them.” He smiled. “Important enough that the huetlacoatls brought the affair—forcefully—to the attention of the Emperor Himself. You were unwise to upset them so, young sir. If we cannot understand each other, we cannot trade, and the Emperor values the trade with the huetlacoatls very highly.”

  We were still in the intellectual fencing stage, which meant I would remain whole and functioning for a least another few minutes. What Foureagle said made sense. The huetlacoatls hadn’t been really upset until they recovered the body with whatever-it-was missing. Then it took time for the word to reach the capital and for the Emperor to turn his Shadow’s interest to this new case. All very logical, but I was damned if I could see how it helped me.

  “Uncle, I swear to you I took nothing from the body.”

  “So Ninedeer maintained,” the old man said, as if savoring a memory.

  I shook off the sudden chill down my spine. “If something was taken, it must have been by someone else. The sailor who found the body, for instance. Or the city guards who investigated it.”

  A gauntleted fist slammed into my face. I had to cough and hack to clear the blood so I could breathe.

  “These possibilities have been explored—thoroughly,” Foureagle said. “So we come to you by a process of, ah, ‘elimination.’”

  “But I took—” This time the blow was from the front and knocked the breath out of me. Somewhere off to one side there was the sudden odor of burning charcoal as someone lit a brazier. I twisted and gasped and knew this was only the bare beginning of what they’d do to me before I died.

  Unless …

  The Speakers kept referring to the missing thing as “part of” the huetlacoatl. The huetlacoatls themselves might have continued that use, but the Speakers would have known enough to employ human usage when questioning a human.

  Another blow to the face ended my speculation.

  “Uncle,” I gasped. “These things, how do they bear their young?”

  “Eh?” This wasn’t the way he expected the conversation to go. “Why, eggs, of course. Like crocodiles, or birds.”

  Shit! Another beautiful theory murdered by a gang of ugly facts.

  “Although,” Foureagle continued slowly, “not all of them lay the eggs in a nest. Some of them, like some snakes, hold the eggs in their bodies until the young hatch.” He looked at me sharply. “Like the huetlacoatls.”

  “And the one who died was female.” It wasn’t a question. “Toltectecuhtli keeps talking about a great joining of humans, English, and even huetlacoatls. To make that work he’s going to need som
ething like the Speakers.” The effort made me cough, which hurt my ribs even more. I wondered how many were broken.

  “Except they would be huetlacoatls raised among humans rather than the other way around,” the old man finished my thought. “Young sir, I believe you have it.” He smiled, and I felt the grip on my arms loosen imperceptibly. Then he frowned. “But it is still just a theory, of course. And it does not tell us where the eggs are.”

  “I think I know,” I said slowly. “Uncle, may I beg the boon of a handspan of days to find out?”

  Foureagle rubbed his chin. “I will give you one day,” he said.

  Considering the obvious alternative, I took it.

  One thing about being beaten up, it makes disguise easier—if you’re disguising yourself as a cripple, that is. And I was. Some artificial scars and pockmarks helped the effect. But the bruises on my face and the swollen eye were real. So were the limping, halting gait and the painful, gasping breath. The ragged tunic was my servant’s, but the sword underneath was mine.

  The public parts of the temple were easily accessible. There was no service tonight, but a fair number of pilgrims wandered the halls, pausing at small shrines to pray and make offerings. No guards, of course. One would have to be truly mad or very young and stupid to profane or steal from a temple, even a temple of such an odd religion.

  I hadn’t really seen much of the place the last time. It turned out the inside was just as gaudy and probably just as disturbing as the outside. “Probably” because the place was lit by torches rather than gas lamps and much of it was lost in the gloom.

  Now if I were a huetlacoatl egg, where would I be?

  Someplace secure, of course. Out of the way, yet an important place. A sacred place. Then I remembered the use the Frogs traditionally made of their temples that the Reed folk did not. If this place followed the custom, there would be a crypt beneath the structure, a place for the burial of kings. Or the birthplace of kings.

  The place had probably been a maze to begin with and the group’s alterations hadn’t improved that any. I drifted along the corridors, stopping at shrines to pay my respects and generally trying to look like I belonged.