Doctor Who_ Left-Handed Hummingbird - Kate Orman [35]
‘But the drunk provides a path for those gods to enter the world.’
Achtli nodded. ‘The cactus wine, the morning glory seed, the mushrooms – they are the causeways along which Huitzilopochtli can journey into Tenochtitlan. They are the smoky mirror we can use to see his world more clearly.’
‘Now I see through a glass darkly,’ said the Doctor. ‘Achtli, I’m going to need your help. We’ve got to penetrate this veil of Blue. No more mysteries and hints. I want the truth.’
The priest nodded, his eyes very wide. ‘I know where we can buy dried mushrooms. We’ll need honey to cut the taste.’
‘Hey, Doctor,’ said Ace, ‘just say no.’
He scowled. ‘It is what I came here for.’
‘What, a spot of instant Zen?’
‘No,’ he said testily. ‘I told you. To look the Blue in the eye.’
* * *
Ace dreamed.
She dreamed she was back in her combat suit, its black material clinging to her arms and hips, blaster holstered at her side. Her name blazed on her back in bright letters, a challenge, a shout to the world. She smiled, pulling the gun out of its holster.
It formed the end of a long chain, starting somewhere in her hindbrain, tracing down through her neck, circled by the stiff collar. The line moved down through her arm, through her hand, along the barrel of the gun to its business end. Her business.
She blew the Aztec’s face off.
Inexplicably, the blaster fired bullets. Skin and muscle peeled back in a double wave, the skull shattered in two, revealing soft throbbing brain between the man’s hollow eyes.
He grinned at her with the face of death. He was wearing a business suit, and she could see the pinstripes running down his shoulders, down his chest beneath the spattering of pink. ‘Well done,’ he said. ‘You deserve a promotion.’
He put a decaying hand on her slick black shoulder, and corrupting matter formed a smear on the material, like a medal or an extra stripe.
She stepped back, tugging at the collar, wondering why she couldn’t get the suit off. With a guttural cry she tore it loose from her shoulder, but it had sunk half an inch deep into her skin, ripping loose the flesh from the bone as she pulled it away.
She stared at the mass of meat and white bone, blinking rapidly, unable to understand why she felt no pain.
‘You see,’ said the boss, ‘we’re the same underneath.’
Taking care of business.
* * *
The Great Temple hummed to itself, a silent, electric song like telephone poles whispering to one another. Everything held its breath.
At the base of the temple, the sacrifices were waiting. They wore only their loincloths. Some were defiant, some were petrified, many of them were drunk, and all of them were waiting.
The queue stretched back from the temple, stretched through the great courtyard of the sacred enclosure. The line twisted through the streets of Tenochtitlan, over the bridges, across the canals. Along the white stretch of causeway that shot across the marshy waters to the bank. Half‐way around the lake.
The kings of the Triple Alliance put on their finest cloaks, their golden lip‐plugs, their golden ear‐plugs, their golden nose‐plugs, their arm‐bands and their anklets. The priests put on the garb of the gods they represented. Together they ascended the pyramids, sedately moving up the steep, steep stairs, their sandalled feet crunching on the dried blood.
And then they waited.
And the temple hummed to itself. Waiting.
* * *
‘Psilocybe mexicana,’ said the Doctor. He held the tiny umbrella up to his face, turning it slowly. ‘Teonanacatl. The flesh of the gods.’
As good as his word, Achtli had returned to the house with a pouchful of the magic mushrooms. They were small, fawn‐coloured and shrivelled, with a long, thin stem.
‘I’m not so sure about this,’ said Ace.
The Doctor and Achtli laid the mushrooms out on the mat between them. The very first glimmerings of dawn were beginning to touch the ground in the courtyard. As one of the city