Aztec Century (7 page)

‘Do you think she loved him?’

He eyed me. ‘You are very direct, for the daughter of a king.’

‘It’s my nature. It used to drive my father to distraction.’

He sipped his drink. ‘Yes, I am certain she did, in her way. And certainly my father never loved anyone as he loved her.’

‘Have you ever visited Spain?’

‘Many times. It’s a country where I always feel at home. But I’m Mexicatl, not Spanish.’

‘But an outsider too?’

‘No,’ he said firmly.

‘You said you were perceived differently. Because your mother was Castilian.’

‘I was speaking only as far as my immediate family is concerned. Perhaps only Maxixca. Of course, I should not be telling you this, since you have declared yourself my enemy. And I should not speak ill of Maxixca when he is not here to defend himself.’

‘Has he gone away?’

‘He is in the north, inspecting our troops. Military matters are what engage his interests most. He has little time for the niceties of diplomacy.’

This confirmed what I already knew from ALEX. Maxixca had apparently been sent north to reorganize the garrisons along Hadrian’s Wall. Scotland remained free of Aztec occupation as part of the truce, but there had been raids across the border on Berwick and Carlisle by English refugee forces and Scottish sympathizers.

‘Are you anticipating problems in the north?’ I asked.

He set his glass aside. ‘All border regions must be adequately defended. It is a simple matter of prudence. But you must forgive me. I have spoken a great deal of my affairs. What did you wish to see me about?’

‘I think,’ I said, ‘you’ve already addressed my concerns.’

‘I’m cold,’ Victoria murmured, huddling deeper into the fur collar of her overcoat.

I stood with her beside the hovercar, a Cockerell Silver Sceptre, watching as Extepan and his retinue lit candles and burnt incense sticks around the tombstones. All day there had been feasts and celebrations at the complex to mark the Day of the Dead, and now we had come to that part of Highgate cemetery reserved for the graves of Aztec soldiers killed during the invasion.

Whole families had turned out for the occasion, and Aztec children were draping the tombstones with flowers, ribbons and skull-headed dolls made of pink marzipan. Adults and children alike were dressed in their finery, the men sporting colourful cloaks, the women embroidered shawls. They carried feathered banners, rattles and bouquets. There was much chatter and laughter, and a general air of festivity which seemed incongruous beneath the darkening grey November sky.

A chill easterly breeze was blowing, and my feet were beginning to tingle with the cold.

‘Let’s walk,’ I said to Victoria, taking her arm and heading off towards the older part of the cemetery, retreating from a garish alien enclave to the sober world of our own dead.

Aztec security guards shadowed us at a distance as we walked past the cluttered ranks of overgrown headstones.

‘I think it’s positively ghoulish,’ Victoria remarked, ‘the way they bring their children to the cemetery. To see them running around the graves, laughing and chattering, as if it were a party.’

‘It’s certainly different,’ I said.

Victoria shuddered. ‘I wish we were back at the complex. Why did you agree to come, Kate?’

I had no easy answer for her. ‘Extepan invited us, didn’t he? This is an important day for them, and I thought I’d be courteous, just for once. Remember also that Father always used to say it’s important to understand your adversary.’

Victoria didn’t pursue this. And I knew I was being hypocritical, having only accepted Extepan’s invitation when he had guaranteed that our attendance would not be made public. It was true that I hoped to understand the Aztecs better, the better to fight them; but a purely ceremonial occasion such as this was hardly likely to provide me with useful ammunition against them. Our motives for doing things are often as much personal as strategic, and it was not the last time I would compromise myself through sheer wilfulness. I had, in fact, been feeling restricted and even bored at the complex. Apart from my secret work with Bevan on ALEX, there was little for me to do. In addition, the results of the general election were due today, and I wanted to escape all talk and television coverage of it.

We stopped by the big marble tombstone of the entrepreneur Karl Marx, which provided some shelter from the wind.

‘I’ve been wanting to talk to you,’ I said. ‘About Richard. We need to advise him on his future.’

I was aware that I should have discussed this with Victoria long before, but she had seemed so nervous and vulnerable since our capture that I hadn’t wanted to put any pressure on her.

‘I hardly ever see him,’ she responded. ‘I think he spends most of his days in his games room, playing Serpents and Scorpions.’

Serpents and Scorpions was a popular video game, Richard’s latest enthusiasm.

‘I think we should be doing everything we can to persuade him not to take the crown,’ I said.

Victoria tugged her gloves tighter, not looking at me.

‘What do you think?’ I said.

‘I’m not sure.’

‘Of what?’

‘Of what we should do, Kate. Perhaps it’s better if we do nothing.’

‘What do you mean?’

She wouldn’t meet my eyes. ‘It’s not really our decision, is it? It’s up to the people.’

‘The people?’ I said contemptuously. ‘Do you really think they have a say in the affairs of state under present conditions?’

‘According to the polls, most of them want Richard to become king.’

‘Which polls? Do you mean the ones on the BBC or in the newspapers? Don’t you know they’re all under Aztec control, or at least censorship? What do we know about what the people really want?’

Victoria looked uncomfortable. ‘I don’t want to argue with you, Kate. You understand politics better than I do. All I know is that Richard is popular with the people. We all are. You saw how they waved and shouted at us during Father’s funeral.’

The November sky was darkening rapidly now, the breeze carrying drops of rain.

‘So you think he should accept the crown?’ I said.

‘It would cheer the people up. It’s what they want. I can’t see what harm it would do.’

‘It would turn Richard into a puppet of the Aztecs.’

‘Isn’t he one already? Aren’t we all? It’s not as if we have any real power or freedom. And the new civilian government’s going to be approving it as well, aren’t they?’

Victoria was diffident in the face of my vehemence, but I wasn’t being entirely candid with her. According to ALEX, over eighty per cent of the people were indeed in favour of Richard being crowned, and there appeared to be no ulterior motive on the Aztecs’ part, aside from the obvious one that it would show their administration as receptive to the nation’s wishes. Perhaps that was what I found most galling of all.

It began to rain more heavily, so we made our way back to the car. The celebrations were finally over, and Extepan was waiting for us.

‘There is news,’ he said. ‘You have a new civilian government.’

‘That’s hardly a surprise,’ I responded. ‘Am I to take it that Kenneth Parkhouse will be the new Prime Minister?’

Extepan nodded.

‘Somehow, I have a feeling he’s what we deserve.’

We climbed into the hovercar. The Silver Sceptre was a roomy
vehicle, and Extepan joined us in the back seat, his waterproof cape dripping rainwater on the carpeted floor.

The car lifted and coasted away on its air skirt.

Conversationally I remarked to Extepan, ‘Victoria thinks you’re morbid in your preoccupation with death.’

Victoria looked mortified, but Extepan was not offended.

‘To the contrary,’ he said, ‘we make Death our friend, we celebrate him and so conquer our fears.’

‘I can’t bear the thought of dying,’ Victoria confessed. ‘Lying cold in my grave, being eaten by worms. It’s horrible. Even the thought of growing old frightens me.’

Extepan took her hand in his. ‘You have many years yet in which to overcome those fears. I think we must first enjoy life if we are later to embrace death with fortitude, yes?’

‘That sounds suspiciously profound,’ I said, not a little waspishly. ‘More words of wisdom from your father?’

He was stung by this, as if I had betrayed a confidence.

‘It was you who initiated the conversation,’ he said sternly. ‘I was simply responding. I understand that today’s events have disappointed you, Catherine, but I don’t see why they should give rise to such personal discourtesy.’

A part of me wanted to apologize, yet I was determined not to.

‘I would rather you had appointed no government at all than one with Kenneth Parkhouse at its head.’

‘
We
did not appoint them, Catherine. The British people did. The elections were free and fair. They expressed their will.’

‘Considering that you only gave them one choice, that hardly constitutes freedom of choice, does it?’

The car had stopped at a red traffic light.

‘Where are we?’ Extepan asked the driver in Nahuatl.

‘Kentish Town Road,’ came the reply.

‘Since you are so concerned about your people,’ Extepan said to me, ‘perhaps you would like to take the time to see how they are actually living.’

So saying, he unlocked the door on his side and opened it. Before I had a moment to think, he took my wrist and pulled me out.

The security men in the car were aghast. Our car was flanked
by armed support vehicles, but Extepan led me past them to the pavement.

‘What are you doing?’ I said.

‘The rain is not too heavy. I think perhaps you and I shall take a little air.’

Guards were piling out of the cars, withdrawing pistols, communicating urgently with one another.

‘Stay in sight but at a distance,’ Extepan called to them in Nahuatl. ‘Well, Catherine, shall we go and see just what conditions your people are living under?’

Taking my arm, he led me off.

Ahead of us was the lopped pebbledash and mirror glass pyramid of the rebuilt Camden Town Underground station. Some of the glass panels were already cracked or sprayed with graffiti such as MEX GO HOME or the blithe and universal WANKERS.

It was an area I had never set foot in before. A thin rain was falling, and the slick pavement shone quicksilver under the temporary streetlights. Everything looked drab and dilapidated under a now-dark sky.

One of the guards passed Extepan a forage cap which he pulled down over his eyes. I drew my hood over my head, tugging the drawstring tight. The effect was to make both of us look relatively anonymous.

I knew he was challenging me, so I made no further protest, even though I considered him rash. The security men kept pace behind us, alert and watchful. They were obviously frantic with concern at this unexpected development, but no one had the authority to challenge Extepan.

Makeshift stalls had been set up along a length of one street which had been reduced to rubble during the invasion. Even though it was late, people were still clustering around them, buying second-hand clothes, cheap Acapulco videos, toy robots doubtless imported
en masse
from Tlatelolco, their synthesized voices issuing harsh commands and threats in Nahuatl. I remember thinking that our children would grow up knowing the Mexican for ‘Destroy’, ‘Annihilate’, ‘Make a move and I’ll blast you!’ before they had any understanding of how these playtime
icons of conquest had come to feature so prominently in their lives.

At the station itself, a stained LED screen was flashing the election results, unheeded by a small cluster of derelicts who were slouched in the entranceway, drinking cans of Churchills and Tonatiuh Export, surrounded by supermarket carrier bags which presumably held all their earthly goods.

‘See how the people thrive,’ I said, determined not to let Extepan retain the initiative.

‘It’s their choice,’ he replied. ‘Sufficient rooms were made available for every vagrant in London by converting army barracks and hotels into hostels. These people have exercised their freedom not to accept a permanent home.’

I doubted this, but chose not to argue the point.

We crossed the street unhurriedly at the defunct traffic lights. One very noticeable change since the invasion was that there was now far less traffic on the roads. Petrol for ordinary vehicles was scarce, and solar-powered transport was beyond the reach of ordinary people.

An Aztec personnel carrier was parked in a sidestreet, its lounging occupants seemingly oblivious of the mounds of rubbish and debris surrounding them.

‘Is this diversion meant to impress me?’ I said. ‘It looks to me as if services have broken down completely around here.’

‘That’s the responsibility of the local authority. We have ensured their budgets are adequate, but it is up to them to decide what use they make of their resources.’

A man suddenly lurched out of a sidestreet in front of us.

‘Give us something for a cup of tea,’ he said to me.

He was young, unshaven, a cheap and grimy copy of a chevroned Mexican cloak slung carelessly around him. He reeked of nicotine and alcohol.

‘I’ll take quetzals if you’ve got them. A ten-bob note. Whatever.’

Though he stood close, he was not really looking at either of us. His gaze seemed focused inwards, yet at the same time there was an air of menace about him as he swayed slowly back and forth.

Extepan pressed a ten-quetzal note into his hand. For an
instant, his face registered the merest glimmer of surprise at this unexpected bounty. Then it closed down again, and he lurched off, stumbling through the converging security guards as if they didn’t exist.

Extepan said, ‘Most local authorities are paralysed by incompetence and corruption. I hope that one of the first tasks of your new government will be to promote honesty and efficiency.’

‘Of course, the invasion had nothing to do with the breakdown of services.’

He made no response to this, but led me on. We approached a pub called the King’s Arms on the corner of a street. Lights were shining through boarded-up windows which must have lost their glass during the invasion.

‘One of my predecessor’s most unpopular moves was to close all places of entertainment,’ Extepan remarked. ‘One of my first decrees was to extend the licensing hours.’

He still had my arm in his, and now he took my hand.

‘Shall we go in?’

Before I could reply, he led me forward and pushed open the saloon doors.

The bar inside was crowded, the air thick with heat and cigarette smoke. People were sitting at Formica-topped tables which must have come from ordinary kitchens to replace the pub furniture presumably looted during the invasion. A wallscreen showing the evening news was being studiously ignored.

Extepan led me to a space at the bar. Nearby a woman was feeding coins into an arcade machine entitled Ehecatl Express. The game entailed keeping a hang-glider aloft down a canyon filled with jagged rocks, prickly cacti and sinister Caucasian mercenaries who popped out of hiding and tried to blast the noble pilot.

A middle-aged barman appeared. He regarded me with blank suspicion.

‘What’ll it be?’

I suddenly realized that Extepan was gone from my elbow. I looked around. He was nowhere in sight. The drone of conversation in the bar had not noticeably diminished, and no one was obviously looking at me; but I knew that everyone was keenly aware of my presence.

A sense of being trapped began to rise in me. I felt helpless, abandoned. I turned back to the barman. The sounds of electronic gunfire from the arcade machine punctuated the learned analysis of the pundits who were discussing the election results.

‘Do you think I could have a glass of water?’ I heard myself saying.

He looked at me with open contempt, then turned away and went into a back room.