by Eric Flint
The remaining twenty-firsters and their company started packing up and getting ready to travel along the Bosporus to Constantinople.
Location: Docks of Constantinople
Time: Mid-afternoon, October 4, 1372
The crowd was large as the not so little flotilla of riverboats docked on a pier of the large port of Constantinople. Joe Kraken pushed out his ramp and Pucorl drove onto the stone pier. Then, down the pier to the streets of the city, where Roger met them with Clausewitz in hand.
“The emperor is putting us up in the Magnaura,” Roger said as he turned his horse to lead them to the large building. Aside from being a school, it also had fairly luxurious quarters for diplomatic guests.
“So, any word on Gabriel’s friend?” Amelia Grady asked.
“Unlike Gabriel, Theodore Meliteniotes doesn’t have anything approaching diplomatic immunity. Negotiations are still under way to get us in to see him. On the upside, John V would like to have Tiphaine run up a detailed horoscope for him and one for each of his family.”
“I already have,” Tiphaine said. “And after reading them, I did one for Savci Bey.”
None of this was really news. They had been talking on the phone since Pucorl got within range. That was how they knew which pier to use.
Andronikos IV was still avoiding them, but Manuel II was anxious to meet them all.
“We have an invitation to a small party in the town house of Prince Manuel,” Roger continued, “even if the Orthodox clergy wants to have us all, especially Monsignor Savona, burned as witches.”
They continued to chat as they waited for the rest of the party to disembark from their riverboats and mount their horses. Then the whole bunch made a parade to the Magnaura.
It was a well watched parade. The streets were lined with crowds like they had been in Paris. Well, the mix of emotion was a bit more to the “curious” and less to the “burn them.” The population of Constantinople was mostly literate, at least to the “sign your name and read a broadsheet, the Bible, or a book of fables” level. And it contained more scholars and bureaucrats than Paris did, even with the university of Paris in the mix. At this time, the Magnaura was dominated by the church, but the history of secular scholarship was still there.
Location: Guest Quarters, Magnaura, Constantinople
Time: 9:52 AM, October 8, 1372
Lakshmi Rawal waved the dressmaker into the room. Silk all the way from China. Cotton from North Africa, gold thread made with real gold leaf wrapped around the silk threads . . . Lakshmi was going to have a dress made. Part of that, even a large part, was that Lakshmi liked beautiful clothes. But another part was that Lakshmi had sized up Constantinople within minutes of their arrival in the city.
Constantinople was all about appearances.
Partly that was because The City—as the locals called it, as though there was no other city on Earth—was living to a great extent on the leftovers of the earlier eastern Roman empire. The aqueducts that provided fresh, clean water to the city averaged eight hundred years old and some of the buildings were even older. But The City was full of tumbled down buildings and vacant lots, and the finery of the local potentates was rich in jewels and precious metals, but worn and cut down or expanded, as though the whole city was a hand-me-down. In spite of its strategic location for trade, as well as for the military, the city had not recovered from the sack in 1200, or the plague and the dynastic wars that had, over the last century or two, shrunk the Byzantine Empire to a shadow of its former self.
That meant that the people here were going to judge by appearance. Because people everywhere did, and people who lacked substance did it most of all.
Liane Boucher came in, carrying her computer, Thelma, under one arm and her camera bag over the other shoulder. She didn’t knock. “Blowing your allowance on clothes again?”
That was sort of true. When they arrived in this time all they had was what they were wearing or carried with them, and much of that had been sold to pay for their living expenses. When Mrs. Grady gave Pucorl to himself and later, when Pucorl had gained the lands and substance of the demon lord he defeated in combat, the van had felt he owed all the twenty-firsters for his body and freedom. His lands in the netherworld acted as a place to store goods and then access them from wherever he happened to be. So he rented space in his lands to store the goods that they were bringing with them. Part of that income went to the girls as something like an allowance, in addition to the funds they acquired by selling things. In Lakshmi’s case, she had sold her phone to the king of France for several chests of silver coins.
“It’s important,” Lakshmi told Liane. “If you would come out of your editing room sometime, you would know that.”
Liane rolled her eyes. “I need you for some voiceovers.”
“Later.” Lakshmi was the voice for the documentary of their travels that Liane was making. It was more travel log than movie, but it was good and it let them both keep working at the artform they both loved, if in different ways. “For right now, we need to study these people and make a plan.” Lakshmi spoke in twenty-firster English because she didn’t want the dressmaker to understand. “J5—” She didn’t want to say John the fifth. “—is going to be a problem.”
“I thought it would be A4,” Liane picked up her cue, calling Andronikos IV A4. “He’s the one that Tiphaine’s horoscope says is scheduled to revolt next year.”
“Yes, but that’s because his mom’s a manipulative bitch who never forgave J5 for the fact that her dad married her off to him in order to take the throne. And then J5 had the gall to win the civil war and depose her daddy and brother.”
This, too, was Tiphaine’s horoscope, with liberal interpretation. And some advice from Themis.
“I think A4 is enough of an asshole all on his own. Did you see the way he was looking at us as we rode in? I didn’t know whether he wanted to rape us or burn us at the stake.”
“First the one, then the other, though I grant he’s likely enough to do it backward. I’m not saying that he’s either bright or stable. He’s a conniving little backstabber. But his dad loves him in spite of the fact that he left him in the hands of his enemies until M2 rescued the old fart.” M2 referred to Manuel II, John V’s second son who, according to Tiphaine’s horoscopes, was destined to be the emperor of Byzantium somewhere down the line.
There had been a sea change in the attitudes of the twenty-firsters in regard to astrology. Partly that was because of Themis’ endorsement of it, but also because they had done tests. They had a good bit of French history between all their textbooks. And using that they had Tiphaine run horoscopes based on the dates of birth they knew, then compared the accuracy of those predictions to the historical record. Tiphaine had something like an eighty-five percent accuracy rate and the rest could be explained by her not having exact birth times.
On the downside, that predictive accuracy dropped a lot when you included the demons. For instance, Philip the Bold never rebelled against his brother, according to Tiphaine’s horoscope. So they knew that the demons changed things. If they could convince John V not to recognize Ottoman suzerainty they might stop the rebellion.
Might.
So while the dressmaker measured and pinned, displayed fabrics and threads, Lakshmi and Liane talked politics and movies, makeup and murder.
Chapter 7—Settling In
Location: Gaol, Constantinople
Time: 10:30 AM, October 8, 1372
Gabriel Delaflote walked down the hall to the barred wooden door. The guard lifted the bar and Gabriel stepped through to see an old man seated on a stool before the lectern-style desk like Gabriel had used his whole life until the twenty-firsters arrived. The clothes the old man was wearing were dirty and the man on the stool stank. No, it wasn’t the man. It was the bucket in the corner. There was a high window that let in a bit of light.
The man looked up and in a creaky voice asked, “Who are you?” in Greek.
“Gabriel Delaflot
e.”
“You! This is all your fault!” The man who had to be Theodore Meliteniotes pointed an accusing finger at Gabriel. “That idiocy you spouted in your book was never supposed to work.”
Gabriel stared at Theodore in shock for a moment, as his mind raced around the history of their correspondence, and he realized that what apparently happened was exactly what he should have expected. Theodore knew with great certainty that magic didn’t work, that all gods but God were false, nothing more than superstition. He would see the weird reports since the ripping of the veils as the ravings of superstitious dolts. So his reaction to Gabriel’s book would be to disprove it by testing it. One question still remained, however. “Why a muse of erotica?”
“Not erotica. Lyric poetry.”
“I did say that magic worked,” Gabriel said. “I pointed out that I had tested it and confirmed it.”
“But you must have known that no one in their right mind would believe such nonsense.”
“Honestly, I would have thought you would believe that I wasn’t lying!” Gabriel said. “I refuse to take responsibility for actions you took because you didn’t believe me.”
Theodore lifted his hand, again ready to declaim Gabriel’s guilt, then stopped and lowered it. “Well . . . yes. There is that. But it was so completely ridiculous.”
Gabriel shrugged
“How is it you’re not in jail, Gabriel? Did you leave your familiar in Paris?”
“Not exactly. On the road here, a cat ate a crow that was inhabited by a will o’ the wisp, and managed to digest the will o’ the wisp in the process. After that Archimedes asked that he might be released from my service. Having a crow’s body was not worth the risk.”
“Asked?”
“When a demon is summoned by its right name, it has no choice but to comply. Much like you have no choice in where you currently reside.” Gabriel waved at the cell.
“Then why did you release it? From what you said, I assume you did release it?”
“Yes, and for basically the same reason that I hope to obtain your release.”
“Do you think that you can do that?” There was more surprise than hope in Theodore’s voice.
“I don’t know,” Gabriel said. “We, our party, the twenty-firsters and the papal legation, as well as Bertrand du Guesclin, even the demons, have diplomatic status so our magic is legal. And if ours is, why not yours?”
Theodore went back to the high stool that was the only chair in the room. He waved at the bed, which was a bag of reeds on the floor. Gabriel shook his head.
“At least half the reason I’m in here is politics. You know from my letters that I am opposed to giving the bishop of Rome, who resides in Avignon, rulership over all Christianity. To my mind he is, in truth, only one more bishop. Not even a patriarch. That has made me enemies in the government. And when I did the experiment your book suggested, I was left exposed. The patriarch couldn’t defend me without looking like a hypocrite.”
Gabriel nodded. “Who would I have to convince to pardon your actions?”
“Emperor John or his co-emperor Andronikos. Andronikos would be my best hope. He at least tried to keep his father from giving the empire to the west one island at a time.”
“Andronikos isn’t the co-emperor anymore. He has been put aside, probably because he was willing to leave his father in prison in Venice. Manuel is co-emperor at the moment.”
“Then I see no chance for my release.” Theodore’s whole body drooped.
“You could apologize.” Then, seeing Theodore’s expression, Gabriel continued. “Look, my friend. You were wrong about magic. Isn’t it possible you are at least not wholly correct about the best place to make alliances? Our astrologer, Tiphaine de Raguenel, has drawn up horoscopes for the major players and one for Constantinople itself. She is convinced that if something doesn’t change, it will become a Muslim city within a century.”
“Astrology! Astrology is superstition.”
“Like magic?”
They talked for another hour, and Gabriel almost convinced Theodore to apologize to the emperor. But Theodore was afraid of what that would do to his relationship with the patriarch and the theological establishment of Constantinople.
Location: Salon of Manuel II, Constantinople
Time: 4:25 PM, October 10, 1372
Manuel II, newly crowned co-emperor, had only arrived back in the city a few weeks before the delegation from France. He was excited and deeply concerned about the fact that magic had started working, and hopeful that the French scholars would be able to allow Constantinople to use magic, not be used by it.
He stood in the receiving line as a huge man in armor with a face that seemed almost bestial or, perhaps, like the half-finished statue of a face walked in with a middle-aged redhead on his arm. Bertrand du Guesclin introduced his wife Tiphaine, then came Monsignor Savona, who introduced the angel Raphico. That was a flat panel with a front that was like a painting, but a painting that changed. The phone offered a blessing on his house in flawless Greek.
Then came the twenty-firsters and Magi Delaflote was with Amelia Grady and her son, Paul. She too had a phone, which she introduced as Laurence. And then the rest came in. Wilber introduced him to not only a phone, but a winged cat—a small gryphon which still had the head of a cat. That, more even than the talking boxes, convinced Manuel that these were people of power.
The cat, having been introduced—and having meowed, which Wilber translated as a greeting—then took two quick steps and leapt into the air. Its wings flapped twice or three times to get some height, then it glided to a table of savories, where it snatched up a smoked pheasant.
“Leona,” Wilber shouted, “have some manners.”
Leona looked up from her pheasant and growled. Then she leapt from the table, pheasant in her mouth, and glided to a corner.
“Let her have it,” Manuel said quickly, not wanting to have difficulties with a being of magic. “How did you manage to get a gryphon from the netherworld in its own form? I was told that the creatures from that other place needed a form to inhabit when they came into this world.”
“That’s not always true,” Wilber explained. “But in this case, the cat is local to this world and so are the wings and talons. Leona managed to eat an enchanted crow. Our companions are being surprisingly closed mouth about precisely how Leona managed that, and I prefer not to make an issue of it.”
“Are they so chancy to deal with?” Manuel asked, and then at a cough from his majordomo, he added, “We can perhaps discuss this in more detail later.” He waved Wilber on into the large room.
Then came Bill Howe and Jennifer Fairbanks. After them Lakshmi Rawal and Liane Boucher. Lakshmi wore a strange piece of jewelry. It was a sparkling blob that was in her left ear and a string that went from the blob to her pocket. He remembered now that Jennifer and Bill had worn the same odd bit of adornment, but theirs didn’t call attention to themselves by sparkling.
Lakshmi said in broken Greek, “It’s a headphone.” She pulled the blob from her ear and reached out with it as though to put it in his ear. Almost without his consent, his head pulled back away.
“It’s not going to bite you,” she said in even worse Greek.
He moved his head forward and she put the thing in his ear. Then, in a deep baritone, a man said in perfect Greek, “I’m DW, Lakshmi’s computer and director. Happy to meet you, Your Highness. I’m translating for Lakshmi.”
✽ ✽ ✽
Lakshmi looked at the young prince. He had hazel eyes, sandy brown hair, and a neatly trimmed beard. And he had noticed her. That wasn’t unusual. Most heterosexual males noticed Lakshmi, but this time Lakshmi found herself noticing him back. And she wasn’t sure why.
He was a healthy young man, well-muscled and toned with the calluses of regular sword practice on his hands. Something she knew how to recognize after a year in this time of swords and magic.
But there was more. His hazel eyes seemed to see her in a w
ay that made her feel like he saw right into her. And then he smiled a cute little half smile that said he liked what he saw.
✽ ✽ ✽
Some time later Manuel found himself seated next to Gabriel Delaflote and Amelia Grady as they tried to persuade him to intervene in the case of Theodore Meliteniotes. Manuel wasn’t willing to go against his father, but he did find himself agreeing to talk to the man.
He wasn’t sure what would come of it. Theodore was a scion of the senatorial class, families who lived on the wealth and reputation of some illustrious ancestor. Often enough, one who lived before Caesar Augustus.
Sometimes, in his heart of hearts, Manuel wished the republic could be restored. But the time of democracies and republics was lost in history. It took a firm hand at the top to lead a nation.
Besides, the statue that his father gave him when Theodore was arrested never sang again. He asked about that and it was pointed out that since he wasn’t the owner of the statue, the demon didn’t answer to him.
“But I am the owner.”
“I would guess that the statue disagrees,” Gabriel said. “Just seizing things doesn’t make them yours.”
“What would happen if Theodore were to give me the statue?”
“I can’t be sure without knowing the spell. It would be an interesting experiment, though.”
✽ ✽ ✽
Wilber smiled at the quip. Why not? It was a witty pun if you spoke both Latin and Greek. It was also delivered deadpan by an attractive noblewoman in red shoes and a colorful dress. She was wearing a hat and something that might be called a veil, though it barely covered the top half of her forehead. She was holding a gold-stemmed heavy glass goblet filled with red wine in one hand and gesturing with the other, while she made jokes and explained court gossip to Wilber.
Wilber’s phone was recording the conversation and sending it to Merlin in his computer, so Wilber mostly let her talk flow over him, trying to laugh or frown in the right places. In one way, it wasn’t that different from parties he had attended at his mother’s house in Paris or earlier in London.