Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine. Vol. 131, No. 1. Whole No. 797, January 2008

One of Our Barbarians by Simon Levack

A solicitor, Simon Levack worked for the Bar Council in the U.K. before his first novel, Demon of the Air, won the CWC’s Debut Dagger Award in 2000. Since then, he has produced three more novels in the series of 16th-century Aztec mysteries, all featuring the hero of this story, Yaotl. The latest novel in the series is Tribute of Death. Look for the next Yaotl short story in March/April.

Tlatelolco marketplace: the greatest bazaar in the world. A vast space, big enough for sixty thousand buyers, sellers, porters, slaves, overseers, idlers, policemen, and thieves. You can get anything here. Here, each in its own quarter of the market, you can find gold, jewels, and the finest cotton, and every rich food from turkey and venison to delicate sweetmeats made of amaranth dough. Other dealers peddle less attractive wares — edible scum scraped from the surface of the lake; medicines made of ground lizards and urine.

My business that day was among the featherworkers, who sold their precious, delicate wares from a section of the marketplace next to the jewellers. As a slave to one of the most prominent dealers in feathers, I was often here. On this occasion I had a routine message to carry, an errand that would have taken me moments if I had not been recognised by one of the market police.

“Yaotl! There you are! We need your help!”

I cursed inwardly. My reputation for being able to solve problems often led to trouble. Still, I could scarcely pretend not to have heard. The call must have been audible halfway across the city, and I knew the speaker: a hulking former warrior named Hailstone.

I turned to see the familiar bearlike figure shambling towards me, his cloak and the tassels of his breechcloth flapping as he tried to run. But my attention was caught by the man with him.

Hailstone’s companion was small, shorter than I, and bony, with a lean, pinched face. His hair was cut short. He wore a brief cape, open at the front, with holes for his arms. Gold tassels hung from the ends of his breechcloth, green stones glittered in his lips, nose, and ears, and white heron feathers adorned his hair.

Among Aztecs, you could guess a man’s occupation by his appearance, and I could see at once that this man must be an envoy, representing some great lord or ruler. The gold, jewels, and feathers showed that he or his master must be rich, but it was the cape that clinched it: Only diplomats wore those.

“This is Owl,” Hailstone informed me. “He has a problem.”

“Did somebody give him short measure?” I asked, not really believing it. The penalty for cheating customers was death. It happened. Nobody was ever caught at it twice.

“It’s serious!” the little man whimpered. “If I don’t find him quickly, I’ll die! So will many others! The emperor will be so angry!” His forehead was glistening with sweat and his eyes bulged.

I looked at Hailstone in alarm. “What’s he talking about? Who’s he lost?”

“A Huaxtec.”

“A barbarian?”

“They’re a delegation from Tuchpa,” Owl stammered. “I was sh-showing them around the city when one of them disappeared! And if they’re not all there in time for their audience with Emperor Montezuma this afternoon, I’ll be fed to the coyotes and jaguars in the zoo!”

I frowned at Hailstone. “Well, this is very distressing, but what’s it got to do with us? I’m sure he’ll turn up, anyway.”

The policeman growled: “Use your head, Yaotl. He’s a barbarian. Can’t speak a word of Nahuatl, none of them can, apparently. How long will he last among all the pimps and thieves in this place? Do you want to get caught in the middle of a diplomatic incident? Because I don’t!” Our emperor was not known for his patience, and there was no telling what might happen if he were disappointed. “We’ve got every man out looking for him now. But I saw you and thought you might have some fresh ideas.”

“I suppose you’ve talked to his companions?”

“Tried to. All they speak is babble. Can you see if you can get any more sense out of them? We’ve got them waiting by the main gateway.”

“I can interpret,” Owl said hastily.

We found the Huaxtecs standing by the colonnaded wall of the marketplace, close to the main entrance. They were craning their necks to gaze up at the great pyramid of Tlatelolco, uttering admiring noises, as well they might. There was no loftier or more imposing structure in Mexico. Many of their compatriots would have met their deaths on the sacrificial stones at its summit.

Huaxtecs live in the warm lowlands to the east, away from the frost and bitter cold that afflict the Aztecs in the highlands. They are famous for their licentious habits, and not bothering with much in the way of clothing. I could not resist a prurient glance. However, although their cloaks were garishly coloured and their heads were crowned by the ridiculous conical caps they favour, their loins were discreetly covered by embroidered breechcloths. They glittered with jewellery, but it was cheap stuff. The lowlands are poor in gold.

The envoy began babbling at them. They babbled back excitedly.

I called out: “Are you sure they don’t speak any Nahuatl?”

“Not a word,” Owl assured me.

“Well, in that case, ask these barbarian halfwits where they last saw their companion.”

There was more babble, and much waving of arms and bobbing of heads. Eventually Owl turned to me helplessly. “Nobody seems to be able to remember.”

“Typical,” Hailstone grunted. “Can’t keep anything in their heads for more than two heartbeats. No wonder we conquered them!”

I spoke to Owl again. “Try asking where they’ve been in the marketplace. What goods they’ve seen on sale.”

A chorus of babbles ensued. It was like the noise rising from the lake when you throw a stone into a flock of wildfowl. When it had settled down Owl said: “All over. I think they’ve seen everything. Slaves, building materials, maize, beans, flowers, chillies, hot tortillas, cold tortillas, live dogs, cotton, leather, rubber, obsidian knives, copper axes, soap-tree root, chewing gum, paper...”

“Heard all this already,” Hailstone confided. “We’ve got men searching everywhere, asking all the stallholders. Except the featherworkers and jewellers, of course.”

I frowned. “Why of course?”

“Owl told me earlier that was the one place they hadn’t been.”

“But you found me among the featherworkers.”

“Well, yes, but he said he was just running about, looking for someone to help. Didn’t even know where he was, he said.”

The envoy babbled away at his outlandish charges. I wondered why such gaudily dressed characters would have avoided the most expensive part of the marketplace, usually irresistible to tourists, with their insatiable appetite for valuable and easily portable souvenirs.

“What are you going to ask them next?” Hailstone prompted.

“Nothing.” I began walking briskly away. “I’m going to check on something first.”

From behind me I heard Owl ask: “Where’s he going?”

The featherworkers’ and jewellers’ quarter was in uproar. It looked as though a gale had swept through it, blowing down awnings, plucking reed mats from the ground, scattering the traders’ wares to the four directions. The merchants themselves stood, ran about, or lay on the ground, arguing, screaming, or weeping. Nobody appeared to be in charge, and of the police there was no sign.

“Where are they?” someone jabbered at me as I stood trying to take in the scene. “Where are they when we need them? Running about looking for some feckless barbarian while a gang of kids comes through and ransacks the place!”

I sighed. “You’ll find the police are everywhere but here.”

At that moment Hailstone stumbled into sight, gasping from the exertion of running all the way from the main entrance. “Yaotl! You’ll never guess what happened...”

“Bet I can,” I said.

“No, but that envoy — the moment I told him where you’d gone, he suddenly turns to those foreigners...”

I grinned. “And says something like this, I suppose, in fluent Nahuatl: ‘They’re on to us, lads! Time to run for it!’”

He stared at me. “How’d you know?”

“It’s a gift,” I said dryly. “You’d better get your men together. I think the merchants could use some help cleaning up. Not to mention an explanation of why you were all running after some non-existent barbarian, on the word of a fake envoy, instead of guarding their property!”

(c)2007 by Simon Levack