Pikte was watching her and she pushed away the memories and found another smile for him. ‘There now, it is not so terrible. All our warriors have done it at least once, even the lowliest dog warriors. But before you are old enough, all Ixachipan will have been brought under the song. We are already close, are we not?’

‘Yes, Mother. And my father the holy lord will wake the world spirit and put an end to hunger and disease and death.’

The Spear smiled. ‘Almost,’ she said indulgently, but the boy was no longer listening. He gave an excited squeal.

‘Oh, look, look at it!’ He scrambled out of her lap and slid off the litter; the slaves stopped immediately and the nearest slave warrior wrapped a long arm around him to hold him close and safe. Pikte didn’t struggle; he peered around the guard’s waist into the shade beneath a bright awning. In a cage of thin bamboo slats sat a spider monkey, young and small and depressed, one tiny paw curled around a bar. ‘I’m going to look closer,’ he said, with the unconscious authority of someone who had never been refused a request by a slave and never would be. The guard looked to Enet and she flicked her fingers at them. Pikte wriggled with impatience, and the warrior released him, following closely as the boy scampered into the shade.

The merchant approached, a Pecha of course, and well enough dressed. ‘Under the song, high one.’

‘Under the song,’ Enet said. ‘My son likes the monkey.’

‘Ah, a fine specimen, brought from the forests in Quitoban only a moon ago. Young enough to tame. Healthy too – a young male. They make good pets, high one.’

‘It comes with the cage?’

‘Of course, and a fine deerskin collar and tether. Already I have trained him to sit on my shoulder. May I demonstrate for the honoured child?’

‘If it bites my son, I will take everything you own and cast you onto the streets for the Choosers and flesh-merchants to fight over.’

The vendor blanched but managed a low, bobbing bow. He sweated as he eased open the cage. The monkey came to him readily enough and he threaded a thin cord through its collar and then coaxed it onto his shoulder. From there it leapt to Pikte’s head and Enet’s guards tensed, fingering weapons, but the boy laughed in delight, standing immobile and rolling his eyes up as if to see through the top of his own skull. He glanced at Enet; she said nothing. Waiting. Testing.

‘He is a fine little beast,’ Pikte said eventually, nearly masking his regret, ‘but we must go. Thank you for letting me look at him.’