by Eric Flint
Themis had never said anything about it, but Roger felt like he was holding the sword under false pretences.
And there was one other thing.
The Sword of Themis was, in a way, like Excalibur of legend. It could act as the sword of state for the Byzantine Empire. And that would give Themis a say in who was to be emperor of the Byzantine Empire.
The histories in their little collection were limited in regard to royal families in Constantinople, merely recording that the Byzantine Empire was to fall to the caliphate in a few years. But Themis was a god, one who remembered history, and not only the past history, but history into the future. Even many histories, probabilities, as Pucorl called them. It struck Roger as important that Themis have a say in who sat on the throne of the Byzantine Empire.
Others might be going to Constantinople for other reasons. But that was Roger’s reason.
After a lot of discussion, they decided that they would move a bit closer to Constantinople, then send a small party into the city to find out the situation and see if they could get some sort of prior agreement before bringing Pucorl and Joe Kraken, not to mention the other enchanted boats, into the city.
Location: Village on the North Coast of the Bosporus
Time: 10:15 AM, September 29, 1372
The sun was bright and shiny as Joe Kraken pulled up to the beach at the village and extended his ramp. Pucorl drove down, and then up into a field to the north of the village. He would be staying here, along with most of the party, while Bertrand, Monsignor Savona, Father Dalpozzo, Dr. Delaflote and some of the armsmen went into Constantinople. Jennifer was a bit upset about being left behind, but stopped arguing when Tiphaine told her some horror stories about women alone in this time.
But they wouldn’t lack for occupation. The village was fairly prosperous for a village in the Byzantine Empire of 1372, but that meant that they usually—but not always—had enough to eat. There were a lot of fallow fields here because of the loss of the population over the last half century or so. Besides, they were anxious to exploit the oceanids, the ship fairies of legend. They were, variously, the daughters of Oceanus and Tethys, or the spirits of the sea or boats. And while Oceanus was no longer lord of the sea, his daughters were still running around in the netherworld, performing all sorts of functions, including the protection of boats and ships on the ocean or any other body of water.
At least that’s what the local legends and mythos said. Half-believed stories told around the fire. But since the ripping of the veil, these nymphs had often been seen cavorting in the waves. The villagers wished to capture these creatures and put them in their boats to help protect the fishermen and insure a good catch.
After listening to all this, Tiphaine shook her head. “It is most unwise to try to enslave the creatures of fairie. It is better to offer them a home in exchange for service.”
“And considering their father might well be a titan of old,” Wilber added, “it’s doubly unwise. I have met a titan. They aren’t the sort of folk you want to piss off.” He pulled his phone from his pocket. “Igor, can you contact Themis directly for us?” He turned to Father Grigoris and explained. “Themis’ lands are around here, where ancient Thrace and Greece were, so I am wondering if Igor can reach her directly without going through Pucorl to his lands and to the pentagram that connects his lands with her lands in the netherworld.”
Igor tried, and did make contact of a sort, but it was patchy. He only got one bar. So he went through the network, and got put off on one of Themis’ assistants, Iris, who they had kidnapped, then released, during the Pretendership War in France last year.
Iris didn’t hold a grudge. Not exactly. But neither did that noble lady of the netherworld think that the twenty-firsters—aside from Roger McLain—were of such a rank to disturb her mistress.
“What do you want to know?” she asked.
“We were wondering about the sea nymphs and boat nymphs,” Wilber said. “What sort of container they might find acceptable.”
“You should speak with Oceanus or Poseidon. Not bother Her Majesty with such questions. As well, you will want the owner’s permission.”
“Well, can you connect us with Oceanus?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Why would Oceanus consent to speak to you? I will contact one of the oceanids. Maybe she will consent to help you.” At which point Wilber was put on hold.
The ancient Greek muzak coming out of his phone made Wilber shake his head and laugh. “Iris isn’t a fan.”
“Well, she should be,” Tiphaine said. “If it weren’t for us she might well have been locked into a decaying body.”
That got her asked to tell the story, and she did until the oceanid Korálli came on the line. She spoke a language that was more akin to the speech of dolphins than anything a human might know. Her language was made up in part of sonar images or perhaps sonar descriptions, combining echolocation with squeaks and whistles which allowed her to communicate the shape and compositions of undersea features, including fish, with a clarity that human language couldn’t hope to emulate. Wilber quickly became so engrossed in his conversation with her that he utterly ignored the staring villagers.
Lakshmi said, “Wilber, you’re being rude.”
“Oh, sorry. But I am learning things. There are things you will need to do to your boats, additions that you will need to make. Aside from the eyes, you will want to make sonar clickers and microphones. So that the oceanids won’t be left half-blind from human ignorance.”
At the blank looks, Wilber explained sonar in Greek. It was a new concept to the villagers.
“Do fish truly see that way?” asked Katos, the village headman/master fisherman.
“Not all fish. Dolphins, killer whales, and whales in general, use echolocation. Sharks, aside from eyesight, also use electromagnetism to locate prey and avoid threats. Squid have several means of communication, including their camouflage ability.” Some of this was from Wilber’s twenty-first century, but more was from Joe Kraken and the conversation he’d had with Korálli.
There was more conversation, and eventually a design of modifications was worked out.
✽ ✽ ✽
Leona sat on the branch and meowed at the local tom, a big, strapping fellow that she would have found quite interesting a few months ago. But he didn’t have wings and Leona wasn’t in the mood anyway. So she chatted from a safe altitude, confident that she could fly away if the need arose.
He wasn’t convinced that she was truly a cat, even if she did speak cat. And in any case, he wanted her to know that this was his hunting ground, not hers.
Chapter 6—Constantinople
Location: Constantinople
Time: 3:05 PM, September 29, 1372
Bertrand stepped out of the large inn and looked around. The broad streets were dirty and there were as many vacant lots as buildings in the large wall-inclosed city. The gate guards had let them through with only a modest bribe and the hostel they were staying in was large enough for their party. Constantinople was a complex mix of wealth and poverty, of grandeur and decay.
He walked along the side of the building to the stables where their horses were housed and checked on the mounts. And while he walked, he considered. Tomorrow would be soon enough to look up Gabriel Delaflote’s friend, Theodore Meliteniotes. It was already evening. The Magnaura, where he worked, was likely closed to guests. It served several functions, a collegium much like the university of Paris, guest quarters for ambassadorial groups, and a training ground for the bureaucracy of Constantinople.
Meliteniotes’ job, aside from being a philosopher, was as what amounted to rector of the Magnaura. From what Gabriel said, he was also a strong adherent of Greek orthodoxy and opposed to any rapprochement with the western church.
Bertrand looked down the street. It led over a mile to a turn and from there probably another mile and a half until it reached the Magnaura and the royal palace. Out here near the outer wall, half the lots and more were empt
y, the buildings torn down or left to rot.
The people, of which there were many even out here, were mostly dressed in sewn together rags, with a gaunt look about them. They avoided his eyes, but that was clearly due to his sword and armor.
He turned back to the inn.
Location: Magnaura, Constantinople
Time: 8:37 AM, October 2, 1372
Roger McLain sat his horse in good armor and the sword looked perfectly ordinary, so ordinary that most people failed to notice it at all, and those who did see it saw it only as the sort of sword any man at arms would wear. No one noticed that it had no sheath, but floated, not touching his back. People tended not to notice him at all. He wasn’t sure whether that was because of the sword or because he was riding next to Bertrand du Guesclin, who carried an aura of command around with him that had nothing to do with the demons that now infested the world.
Bertrand, Roger, Gabriel Delaflote, Monsignor Savona, and Father Dalpozzo dismounted. A couple of the armsmen took their horses in hand, while the five of them walked up the steps to the front doors of the Magnaura.
✽ ✽ ✽
Roger stayed in the background once they got inside. Father Dalpozzo waved at a clerk and asked, “Where can I find the director of the Patriarchal School?”
The clerk looked at Father Dalpozzo, then at Monsignor Savona, and then at Bertrand, and whatever snide remark he’d been planning died on his lips. He gave them directions, and a few minutes later they reached a set of fairly luxurious offices. The clerk seated by a lectern asked, “Who are you here to see?”
“The rector,” said Gabriel Delaflote.
“Rector Tacitus is busy at the moment. May I tell him what this is in regard to?”
“Tacitus?” Gabriel asked. “Theodore Meliteniotes is the rector of the university.”
“Shh,” the clerk hissed. He waved them closer. “Theodore Meliteniotes has been arrested for consorting with demons.”
“That’s surprising.”
Father Dalpozzo interrupted before Gabriel could put his size twelves further down his throat. “Meliteniotes doesn’t even believe in astrology. Now you’re saying he believes in demons.”
“Not only believes,” the clerk whispered. “He summoned a demon into a statue of Erato with a speaker attached.” The word “speaker” was in French. “He got the technique in a book published by the heretical sorcerer Gabriel Delaflote, all the way from France. Including the design for the speaker. She was singing obscene love songs in ancient Greek when they arrested him.”
“Really?” asked Delaflote. “What happened to the statue?”
The clerk smirked. “It was seized by Prince Manuel, and it hasn’t said a word since.”
Manuel obviously referred to Manuel II Palaiologos, the second son of the present emperor of Byzantium, John V Palaiologos. Manuel was supposed to be something of a scholar in his own right. Roger had been well briefed on the royal family and what was known of them through the history books and what Tiphaine and Themis had determined through casting horoscopes. Back in the world, Roger hadn’t believed in astrology at all, but he wasn’t going to argue with a god about its efficacy.
The clerk was still talking, and while Roger was distracted they had switched to word of the delegation from France and the Pope.
“No, they aren’t here yet. But they are supposed to be on their way, and the patriarch is arguing to have them arrested as soon as they arrive. The emperor wants to hear what they have to say, so he probably won’t arrest them on the spot.
“I heard they are traveling in that demon-enchanted magic wagon, puck something. It’s supposed to be the size of an elephant and made all of glass and steel. Like a steel cathedral on wheels.”
✽ ✽ ✽
They, with a hefty bribe, got in to see Emperor John V Palaiologos. Emperor John V Palaiologos was forty-one. What had once been sandy brown hair was now almost white. Apparently being a prisoner first in Venice, then in Bulgaria, had left him in poor shape physically. He had a big nose and dark bags under his dark eyes. His face was lined and bitter, and his mouth was loose. “Where are the rest of you? The enchanted wagon? For that matter, how did you get here without being spotted?”
Roger left it to Bertrand to answer.
“We came by the Danube to the Black Sea, and the rest of our party is in a village called Gari. We rode ahead to confirm that Your Majesty’s government would recognize our diplomatic status—especially in regard to magic—before bringing Pucorl and the rest of our magic into the city.” Then they waited while Father Dalpozzo translated.
Bertrand didn’t mention Roger’s enchanted phone or Raphico in the phone Monsignor Savona carried. Gabriel was without familiar at the moment, Archimedes having decided to return to the netherworld without his crow body after Leona dined on Carlos. He was working with Wilber, Annabelle and Jennifer on an enchanted radio on wheels. But that was still in the design stage.
John V said something short in Greek.
Father Dalpozzo translated. “He said, quote ‘We agreed.’ The royal we, I assume, not him and his co-emperor.”
In the Byzantine Empire they had two emperors as a sort of a holdover from the two consuls of the old Roman republic. And John V’s son and former co-emperor Andronikos IV was no fan of his father or his father’s decisions. Especially John V’s conversion to Catholicism. So it was a safe bet that he wasn’t thrilled by a bunch of Catholic wizards with diplomatic immunity. Manuel, the recently crowned co-emperor, was something of a cypher.
“As you say, Majesty. Please excuse the ingrained caution of an old soldier.” As Father Dalpozzo translated, Bertrand turned to Roger and said, “Give Pucorl a call and let him know we have confirmed our diplomatic status with His Majesty.”
Roger pulled Clausewitz out of his inside pocket and checked. “No bars, General. We are too far from Pucorl, and will be until we can install a pentagram link or until he gets closer.” They were a bit over fifteen miles from Pucorl, and without a network to go through, that was too far.
Again the emperor said something abrupt in Greek.
“He wants us to explain about the phones,” Father Dalpozzo said. “I told him we were out of range.”
Roger explained with Father Dalpozzo translating. “It’s like having a bunch of people standing some distance apart, yelling one to the next until the message gets to where you want it, or using signal fires. But when you add in the netherworld and the fact that distance and location aren’t constant there, it can get confusing. In this case, the issue is that we are too far from the nearest signal fire. If we had a link to Themis here, we could do it, because these are all her lands.”
“What?” John V shouted and the guards near the door turned to them. John waved them away, but his mouth was now almost firm. His lips pressed together in anger. “Does your titan ally claim my empire?”
When Roger got Dalpozzo’s translation, he tried to explain. “No, Your Majesty. Themis’ lands are in the netherworld, and a couple of energy states lower than here. She doesn’t claim any earthly lands.” That last wasn’t, Roger thought, entirely true. She didn’t claim direct rule over any earthly lands, but she—like any titan—could affect the luck of the king of a land. Especially a land that corresponded to her own as closely as this place did. And with the veil between the worlds in tatters, she could have even greater effect with less effort.
“I was simply pointing out that once we have a connection from the natural world to Themis’ lands, she will be able to facilitate communications all through ancient Thrace and Macedonia, since Themis is the land as well as its queen. That sort of sympathetic magic works consistently in the netherworld.”
“Can you contact this titan of yours?” John V asked, getting what Roger could only call a crafty look in his eyes.
“Yes. I carry her sword. I can contact her at any time.”
“Do so. I would have words with her.”
After consulting with Bertrand, Roger agreed. He dre
w the Sword of Themis and laid its point on the marble floor of the throne room. Then, beside him, holding the hilt of her sword, was Themis. Roger released his hold, and stepped back while Themis grew until the sword became little more than a short sword in her hand.
She spoke in Greek, but the Greek of Achilles and Homer. “What do you want of me, John?” She gave him no other title. Nor did she need to. The crafty look was gone from John’s eyes, and Roger thought the old guy was going to climb off his throne and prostrate himself.
With a lift of her hand, she stopped him. “Do not fall on your belly before me. I abhor slavery in all its forms.”
“It is true,” John murmured. “Themis, she of the lovely cheeks, she of the good counsel. Counsel me, Lady. Advise me.”
“Hm . . .” Themis sat on a golden throne that hadn’t been there a moment before. “No, I don’t think so. At least not in any detail. I would not have you the slave of my counsel any more than a slave in chains. I will not tell you all. Speak to your astrologers and counselors. Listen and consider, but consider first not what is best for you, but what is best for the land. I will make a request . . .” She held up a hand. “A request only. Not a command. Find a place in the city and build a temple for me, so that those who wish may come to lay what offerings they choose before me and ask what boons of me they seek.”
“The church would never allow it,” John said. And both Father Dalpozzo and Monsignor Savona nodded agreement, while Raphico said, “You got that right.”
Themis smiled—well, smirked—then handed the sword to Roger and disappeared.
Location: Pentagram in Gari
Time: 8:50 AM, October 2, 1372
The pentagram glowed and Pucorl got a phone call from Themis. “I’m having a chat with John V Palaiologos. You have your guarantees. At least, so far as the emperor is concerned. I wouldn’t count on its preventing the church from getting involved.”