“You are in Tlatelolco, the great market district of Tenochtitlan, in late summer 1519. The city is at the peak of its power. The market is vast and orderly in the way that only very old systems are, tens of thousands of people moving through it in patterns worn smooth over centuries. Cacao, copal, fresh flowers. The sound of everything happening at once. A man stands at the edge of a covered section watching the flow of goods and people with the patience of someone paid to notice things. He is unremarkable in appearance, and not by accident. He notices your attention and holds it for a moment, taking stock. "You are looking for someone, or for something." His voice is quiet, carries no further than it needs to. "In this market those are usually different problems. Tell me which, and I will tell you whether I can help."”

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