Despite the restraining hands of the nurses, he thrust out an arm.
His knuckles were cracked and oozing lymph, the back of his hand an open sore filled with pale pus. Because I knew there was nothing else I could do, I reached out both hands and grasped his.
He crushed my fingers in his palm, never taking his eyes off me. The texture of his skin was wet and yielding, yet there was great strength in his grasp, a strength of rage and desperation. I made no attempt to withdraw my hand until he released it.
‘Next time you come I’ll let you see my war wounds.’
He slumped back on the pillow.
The doctor led me away to the broken sound of his laughter.
I was sitting in the light from my desk-lamp, completing my report for the day, when Chicomeztli arrived.
‘We have found a local supplier,’ he announced. ‘They have stocks of—’ He thrust a piece of paper in front of me to spare himself a struggle with the brand-names. ‘About three months’ supply of each.’
‘Excellent. When can they deliver?’
‘Within forty-eight hours.’
‘Even better. But I want you to send someone around there and pick up some emergency stock. I want it delivered tonight.’
Chicomeztli nodded. ‘Anything else?’
‘I think that will do for now.’
He gave a cheery salute, and went out.
I put down my pen and stretched. Then I rose and went over to the window.
We were staying in Jesmond Dene Hall, which had a good view out over the city. Like most industrial cities in the Midlands and North, Newcastle had suffered badly from aerial bombardment during the invasion, and tracts of the city looked derelict. Yet the people I had met since my arrival were generally positive and practically minded: given the means, I was sure they would swiftly rebuild what had been destroyed. This was also true for the rest of the country. All that was needed were the raw materials.
The sun was finally setting on the long summer evening. Returning to my desk, I scanned my report on the hospital visit. It would be sent direct to Extepan, the latest of many. Would any action be taken? Perhaps Extepan was merely indulging me and had no intention of treating them seriously. Perhaps he thought I was just burying my grief for Alex in a nationwide crusade. Perhaps he was right – but this wasn’t the whole story. The crusade, if that’s what it was, was something I took seriously.
The desk console held a computer terminal, and in my jacket pocket was the disk. I had carried it with me ever since leaving London, but I hadn’t once tried to summon up ALEX, despite ample opportunities, and the ever-present sense of the real Alex’s loss. Chicomeztli gave me plenty of privacy, being much occupied with arranging my itinerary and responding to demands for emergency supplies of food and medicines wherever I discovered a need. My respect and even liking for him had grown enormously during our travels. In many ways he was the perfect companion: cheerful, efficient, attentive, yet demanding nothing of me.
I took out the disk and contemplated the screen in front of me. It would be a simple matter to slot it into the machine and bring ALEX to life. And yet I hesitated. I was afraid to hear the sound of his voice again for fear that it would make all the pain of his loss return.
The phone bleeped, startling me. Hastily I pocketed the disk and picked up the receiver.
‘Hello?’
‘Your Highness?’
The tone was tentative but also teasing. It was Extepan.
I switched to visual. He was sitting in his office, dressed in full uniform.
‘How did you know I was here?’
‘Chicomeztli keeps me informed of your progress, as you would expect. You look well, Catherine.’
‘It’s all the fresh northern air I’ve been getting lately.’
We hadn’t spoken since I left London late in January. I had wanted to get away from everything connected with the capital for a while.
‘Have you been getting all my reports?’ I asked.
‘Most certainly. They’re extremely thorough.’
‘You mean relentless in all their detailing of everything that’s wrong.’
He smiled. ‘I expected no less.’
‘It’s bad here. Do you know they’ve got an outbreak of the New Indies pox? It’s disgraceful.’
Extepan held up a binder, which I saw held my reports.
‘Many of your recommendations are already being acted upon,’ he said. ‘Even as we speak, a bill is being debated in your parliament to provide emergency relief throughout the United Kingdom.’
I eyed him. He was as bright and companionable as ever.
‘No doubt Kenneth Parkhouse will be eager to hug all the credit.’
Extepan looked surprised. ‘Your tour of the country has been widely publicized.’
‘I didn’t mean that. I’m not doing this to improve my image.’
‘I know, I know,’ he said hastily. ‘As long as it achieves the ends you wanted, does it matter?’
I considered, then said, ‘I just don’t like that man, that’s all.’
He was still smiling. ‘You seem more your old self.’
‘Bloody-minded and argumentative, you mean?’
A laugh. ‘Yes, that’s part of it. We’ve all missed you here.’
So strong was my desire for a complete change that I had studiously avoided all gossip about London during my travels. I was tempted to ask after Richard and Victoria, but restrained myself. I wasn’t ready yet to plunge back into their world.
‘Is this purely a social call?’ I asked.
‘Not entirely,’ he replied, ‘though I’m pleased to find you in such good spirits. Has it been worth it, Catherine?’
‘Yes,’ I said emphatically.
‘I hope it’s helped you overcome your grief.’
Even an indirect mention of Alex brought back all the pain and anger I still felt. I fought the urge to reply that he was responsible for it.
‘That wasn’t the only reason I did it.’
‘Of course not. But I was wondering if you might now contemplate the idea of returning to London.’
Since January, I had travelled from Cornwall to Northumberland, visiting parts of the country I had scarcely known existed before. I knew I had done all I could for the time being, yet I was reluctant to give up the freedom and purposefulness I had felt. And reluctant to confront London and all the memories of Alex associated with it.
Extepan obviously sensed this.
‘We have a very important visitor arriving soon,’ he said.
‘Oh?’ I didn’t bite further, though I was curious.
‘My great-uncle,’ Extepan said. ‘Tetzahuitl.’
‘The cihuacoatl?’
‘None other.’
The cihuacoatl – a title which translated as Woman Snake, though it was a male office – was second in eminence only to the tlatoani himself. And Tetzahuitl’s renown was almost as great as Motecuhzoma’s.
‘When’s he coming?’ I asked.
‘Within a matter of days. I’ve only just received confirmation.’
Was I ready for London again? Could I afford to miss meeting a man almost as powerful and influential as the emperor himself?
‘I’d very much like you to be here when he arrives,’ Extepan said.
‘Why?’
‘Apart from anything else, he might consider your absence an insult.’
So now we had come to it. ‘And we can’t have that, can we?’
‘I’m asking you, Catherine.’
‘And if I refuse?’
‘What do you want of me?’ he said in exasperation. ‘Do I have to plead? Beg? Send an armed escort to bring you back?’
‘You’d do that?’
He looked at me for a long time, both serious and wry.
‘If it was necessary, I might.’