The Demon of the Air by Simon Levack

Author:Simon Levack
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2012-01-24T16:00:00+00:00

Many years ago, the defeated side would have lost much more than the game. Their captain, at least, would have been bundled up the steps of the nearest pyramid, where the last thing he saw on Earth would have been the black face of the priest who took his heart out.

I lived in more civilized times, when the losing team merely had to be hustled out of the ball court and got away as fast as possible to avoid being torn apart by a furious crowd of disappointed gamblers. Theoretically the winners had the right to pillage the losers’ clothing and possessions and the onlookers’ as well, but in practice that was the least of anybody’s worries.

There was no point running after the boy. If I was lucky, I would find him later, trampled to death by the stampeding crowd, who otherwise would sweep him along with them. At moments like this the restraint we Aztecs habitually imposed on ourselves was abandoned, replaced by the ugly ferocity that so terrified our enemies. As the only spectator with no stake in the game, I kept my place until the last of the crowd had gone and the dust they had stirred up had begun to settle, only cringing slightly when two sandaled warriors trod on my legs in their haste to get after the losing team.

I stood up and looked into the court. The winners were still there, looking, if anything, even more bemused than their opponents had.

“Congratulations,” I called out.

One of the players—the captain, I supposed—looked up at me imploringly.

“Look, we’re really sorry. We didn’t mean it to happen.”

I had gathered up my cloak and was about to leave, but now I paused. “What are you talking about?”

“You must have lost a fortune. But it wasn’t us, not really. It was the gods—it was Tezcatlipoca.”

The dust made me sneeze. “Don’t worry about it. I didn’t—”

“And that other lot,” one of the other players added, ignoring me. “They shouldn’t have put so much topspin on the ball, in that last rally. How were we to know where it was going to end up?”

“And the ball was harder than usual.”

There was a note of genuine fear in their voices. Perhaps they were afraid of what would happen when the crowd gave up its pursuit of their opponents and came back for the men who had actually knocked the ball through the ring, but I guessed it was more than that. A god—almost certainly the Smoking Mirror—had touched their lives and probably changed them forever. I knew how they felt. He had intervened in mine enough times, seldom to the good, but I doubted that I had felt more desperate and afraid than they did.

“It was a fluke. We’re professionals, you know. We were going for a points win.”

“Come on, let’s get out of here.” The captain looked up at me again. “You can keep your clothes. You can even have your stake back, if you want.”

“I didn’t have a bet,” I replied.

“You didn’t?” He looked relieved.

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