I glanced past her, towards what had been her sister-in-law’s prison. ‘Then why that?’
Butterfly tossed her head. ‘She found out about me and Idle. Bound to, once we were all living together in such a small space. She went hysterical. Maybe it was knowing I was getting what she wanted, and with her husband! She threatened to go back to Angry and tell him everything! We weren’t going to let that happen, were we? And then when the suit got damaged and we needed a featherworker to mend it — well, it was the obvious thing to do.’
I had been wrong about looking into this woman’s eyes, I realized. There was nothing in them that gave me any clue as to how immurement, extortion, mutilation and murder had ever become the obvious thing to do.
Perhaps it had been just as I had said. She was a practical girl.
I turned back to Angry. ‘You saw the scratches on Idle’s face, and you guessed from that that she’d put up a fight. I suppose that helped convince you she was alive, didn’t it? That they hadn’t just poisoned her or knocked her over the head.’
‘It wouldn’t have mattered,’ he mumbled. ‘I’d have done anything if I thought I might get her back. You can understand that, can’t you?’
I sighed. ‘So you mended the costume. But it still went wrong, didn’t it?’
‘It wasn’t my fault!’ the man cried, ridiculously defensive. ‘I did my bit! The bastard came and picked it up and that was that — he even bloody well thanked me! I should have got her back then. He told me he’d send her, as soon as he got home. I believed him!’
‘I know.’ I looked down, unable to meet the broken old man’s eyes. I forgot how he had threatened me earlier. I just prayed silently to the gods to preserve me from ever being that desperate. ‘But he never got home, did he? And the next thing you heard was this rumour that Skinny had been found dead, and there was no sign of the costume.’
‘But she didn’t kill him?’ Lion asked. He had come to stand next to me and was looking at Butterfly with an expression of mystified awe. I guessed he had never met anyone like her before.
‘No,’ I said. ‘She’d no reason to. Quite the opposite: she needed him alive, to keep up the pretence of his being Skinny. And anyway, they were lovers. She’s in mourning — look at her hair — and it’s not for her husband.’
‘So who did it?’ my brother demanded. ‘And what for?’
Angry kept his face hidden behind his fingers. They trembled slightly. Enclosed in his own world of remorse and grief, he seemed oblivious to what we were saying. It was Butterflywho responded to Lion’s question, letting out a little gasp and looking sharply from him to me and back again.
What had Montezuma said to me? The thief wore the costume because he wanted to. The raiment of the god has power of its own. The man who wears it takes the form of the god, and his attributes. He becomes the god.
It’s like an idol, someone else had said. It should be prayed to.
‘He would keep wearing the bloody thing,’ I muttered.
‘Who?’
‘Idle, of course. That’s why he died.’ I turned towards the doorway leading out of the courtyard. ‘Let’s go, shall we? It’s nearly noon. I want to get that costume back to Montezuma before my master turns the Otomies loose again!’
‘Hang on!’ cried Lion. ‘What do I do with this lot? What about the boy? What about …?’
From behind my brother’s back came an animal noise.
Lion stiffened. It took him a moment to turn around; about as long as it took me to look over his shoulder and work out what was happening, and almost long enough for it all to be over.
Angry had freed himself. Where he had found the strength, and what combination of pain and fury had released it in him, I could only guess, but his guards were on their knees, clutching their brows and looking dazed. The featherworker had banged their heads together and launched himself at Butterfly
The men guarding her took a moment to take in what was happening: the big man rushing towards them with murder in his eyes. Then they both let their captive go, and she ran. She dashed towards the interior of the house, the room where Marigold had been held, or rather the mass of rubble and broken timbers that was all that remained of it. Seeing there was no escape that way, she checked herself, and turned.
Angry crashed into her guards. Still bemused, they madeonly a half — hearted effort to stop him, and he knocked them aside as if they were children. As they staggered away from them he seemed to stumble, but when he straightened up there was a piece of masonry in his hand, a large flat stone.
Butterfly waited for him. The last expression I saw on her face was oddly calm, serene even, and a slight, knowing smile played across her lips.
Lion was moving by the time Angry hit her, but too late, and nowhere near fast enough. I took one step, and stopped because I had heard the blow, and from the sound of it there was going to be nothing for me to do.
Nothing for anyone, except the vultures and coyotes.
4
‘We have to go,’ I said gently.
I had rarely seen my brother at a loss, but he seemed so now, as he surveyed the scene. In front of him lay a once beautiful woman, her face mercifully turned away as her blood soaked into the dust around her, while a broken, weeping old man huddled nearby with his nephew kneeling by him, a consoling hand resting vainly on his uncle’s shoulder. A moan from somewhere behind us may have meant that the maimed girl Lion had dragged from her cell had broken her silence, or it may just have been one of his men nursing a sore head; I did not bother to look.
‘We can’t do any more here,’ I added. ‘Leave a couple of men to look after Angry and his daughter. That’s all they’ll need: they aren’t going anywhere. Bring the rest.’ I stepped over to the boy. ‘You too, Crayfish. We may need you.’
He looked fearfully up at me, and then turned to my son, as if he expected him to intercede for him. ‘But I don’t know anything about this costume!’
Nimble answered before I could speak. ‘I think my father knows that,’ he said sympathetically, ‘but he thinks you can help. It’s for your uncle’s sake, as much as anybody’s.’ He extended a hand. Crayfish looked at it for a long time, but at last he took it, and let my son help him up.
‘Lion!’ I called out. ‘Come on!’
My brother roused himself from his reverie then. ‘Let me get my men together,’ he muttered. ‘Where are we going, anyway?’
‘Amantlan.’
‘It was those Morning Glory seeds,’ I explained. ‘I should have remembered what that stuff is like, back from when I was a priest. Morning Glory, sacred mushrooms — the food of the gods, and others like them — peyote buttons, water lilies — all these things, they don’t just open up the world of dreams to you when you’re asleep. Sometimes they send you visions when you’re awake, and change the way things that are happening to you seem, so you have to sort out what’s real from what isn’t, or at least what belongs here on the Earth from what belongs in the heavens.’
Lion, Nimble, Crayfish and I were in Lion’s canoe. The boy sat in sullen silence between my brother and me, where we had taken the precaution of putting him, although I was sure he would not try to run away One of my brother’s bodyguards propelled us with firm, sure strokes of his paddle, and the rest of his men rode in boats ahead and behind. The little flotilla churned up the surface of the canal as it sped long, sending waves slapping against the banks to splash the occasional passer-by on the canal path. I did not hear any complaints about a soaked cloak or breechcloth: one look at our escort would have been enough to quell any protest.