‘I am Great Octave now, Pikte. And I would never do anything against the will of the holy lord or to hurt him. You know that. Now keep hold of that monkey, remember.’

The gates swung open and slave warriors hurried out first, clearing a path through the crowd. The litter followed, Pikte and what had to be the boy’s personal bodyguard to its left, and then more guards around and behind them. Last came a tight knot of slaves with their eyes down and their shoulders hunched. They stank of fear.

The limestone road was heavy with traffic, all heading in the same direction. Dozens and then scores and then hundreds of people, and several litters with groups of slaves behind them. The rain had stopped and the sun was slanting through breaks in the cloud, great bands of light that lay across fields and city like veins of gold in rock.

The rain had washed away the smell of so much humanity and there was a hint of night-blooming flowers from some of the gardens. Egrets flew above them, seeming to follow the slow-moving procession – towards what Enet had called the Blessed Water. If not for their destination, Tayan would have delighted in the festival atmosphere.

They reached that wide expanse of dirt, now churning to mud, and the river at its end. More people now, and on the other side too, pressing close to the water. Pechaqueh and free were relaxed, happy, even excited. Anyone wearing undyed maguey, though, stood in mute and cowering dread.

And we are here to bear witness. The shaman gave Betsu a warning look; the Yalotl licked her lips and fidgeted. The brightness of her skin had dulled, flesh pulled taut over the bones of her face. She was afraid.

Pikte ran ahead to a small group of Pechaqueh children, squealing happily, the monkey clinging to his shoulder. Enet smiled. ‘Youngsters,’ she said with affection. ‘Every new moon the same, treating this sacred event as a game.’

‘Yes, I like to play with my friends when we’ve sacrificed innocents to monsters,’ Betsu said, but the words were toothless. Enet didn’t even acknowledge her.

‘Come, friends. As we are blessed with wealth and status, we repay the holy Setatmeh who have so granted us this rich life. We have an offering to make, and so we will take our places at the water’s edge.’

She exited the litter and beckoned; six slave guards surrounded the three of them, and four more herded along Enet’s own slaves. Tayan recognised some of their faces and wondered whether any of them would be the offering.

‘Will the Singer be here?’ he asked, trotting to catch up with Enet.

‘No. The song-magic is tied to place; the Singer must remain within the source. He has a private offering pool, of course, and will honour the gods if any visit him.’ The Great Octave glanced at Tayan almost fondly. ‘Have you decided what you will do, then?’