The Demons of Constantinople

by Eric Flint

  But in another way, it was extremely different. Wilber was centerstage here. He could understand and speak any language now, while at his mother’s parties he’d spent most of his time trying to guess what people were saying. Especially before the cochlear implant. Lip reading wasn’t all that easy unless you were looking directly at the mouth of the person speaking.

  She made a comment about one of the young ladies who was trying to get Bill Howe to dance.

  Wilber said, “That’s not going to happen. Bill is involved with Jennifer.” He pointed at Jennifer and let the woman draw her own conclusions.

  “How do you summon a demon?” she asked. It was a question out of the blue. Even more so because she seemed entirely serious. Much more serious than her talk of dresses, fashion, and court scandals.

  “Answering that question,” Wilber said carefully, “is a longer conversation than would fit here. I suggest you start by reading Doctor Gabriel Delaflote’s book on the proper containers and spells to summon the sort of demon you need. What sort of demonic aid were you looking for?”

  “Oh, nothing important,” she said, and her tone rang false to his magically enhanced ear. “Where might I get a copy of that book?”

  “I would assume that any book seller might have it. I know that it was one of the first books to be printed enmass by the new printing presses in Paris. There ought to be hundreds of copies floating around Constantinople by now.”

  “Oh, but that book has been banned by the patriarch.”

  “Really?” Wilber looked at the daughter of a major court noble and third cousin of the emperor and added, “That seems an unwise policy to me, to leave yourself unarmed while all about you have the means to arm themselves.”

  “I agree, but obtaining the book is not so easy, whatever we may think.”

  “And, unfortunately, I am in a fairly delicate position.” Wilber noted that she had moved him over to a corner while they chatted so no one could hear their conversation. “I have diplomatic status so far as my own magic is concerned, but not carte blanche for teaching magic to others.”

  “Well, could you sell me some magic?”

  “What sort of magic?”

  She looked at him for a long moment, then said, “Protective magic. Maybe a familiar spirit who could teach me magic.”

  “Let me give it some thought,” Wilber said, moving back to the center of the party. She could come with him or stay there, as she chose.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Aurelia Crassa watched the French delegation as they circulated. Her father was prominent enough to be invited to the party, but only barely, and mostly because of the family wealth. And everyone she knew was wondering what the people from the future were really like.

  They were, it had to be admitted, very attractive. Healthy, with even features, and excellent teeth. No pock marks in the entire party. They were rich. Their clothing said that, but they seemed a snooty lot.

  Standoffish.

  Liane Boucher stepped up to one of the young men and said, in barely understandable French, “I wish these people wouldn’t stand so close.”

  “Either that, or bathe more often,” the young man said, also in French, but French that was somehow more understandable than the woman’s.

  Aurelia kept her mouth shut. She’d been to the baths day before yesterday and she went at least once a week.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Lakshmi strolled through the party, collecting stares. She was wearing a handmade red and gold crocheted gown over a dark tan, almost brown, chemise. Both the gown and chemise were made in Paris and given to her by the queen in the lead up to the battle of Paris. It was crocheted in a red and gold paisley pattern of fine linen thread and enchanted by a minor demon to turn it into a soft form-fitting cloth of gold and flames outfit, with a flaring skirt, a deep v neck, and tight sleeves.

  The goal was to stand out. This was a world of status and the idea of pre-worn jeans and backward facing ball caps as fashion would simply confuse these people. The goal here was to have what no one else had, and your status was based in large part on what you wore. So much that there were laws about who could wear what. Only the emperor could wear red shoes—well, the emperor and upper class women—and only the imperial family could wear purple clothing. So Lakshmi was wearing clothing that was outside the rules, but obviously carefully and expensively made. The idea was to project the highest possible status without wearing something that was illegal for her to wear.

  She smiled and gave a curtsy to an older man who wasn’t exactly drooling at her, but not far from it. That, naturally, was the other reason for the enchanted crocheted gown. It was armor. Not as good as chainmail, but considerably better than standard cloth.

  Then Helena Kantakouzene, John V’s empress and Manuel’s mother approached, and Lakshmi gave her a deep curtsy.

  “Charming,” Helena said, though she didn’t sound charmed. More like the evil queen in Snow White. Don’t take any rosy red apples from this one, Lakshmi told herself.

  They talked about clothing and magic. Lakshmi had little Greek and Helena had no French at all. But Lakshmi’s earbuds were bluetoothed and occupied by the same demon that inhabited her computer, DW. With the phones and Merlin they had decent protocols with DW telling Lakshmi what Helena was saying and how to say stuff back in Greek.

  All in all, for Lakshmi, the party was informative, but not a lot of fun.

  Location: Guest Quarters, Magnaura, Constantinople

  Time: 8:23 AM, October 15, 1372

  Annabelle Cooper-Smith laid the wrench on the table. It was a medium small wrench made in France by one of Bertrand’s smiths. “For the moment, we cannot do magic other than that we brought with us. However, the twenty-first century had a technology which was put to much the same use. This wrench—” She pointed. “—can be adjusted to fit a bolt of several sizes. And we can build machines that will make this device much simpler and easier to mass produce.”

  The master smith of the royal court was impressed. He could see the applications well enough, not only bolts, but holding things in place. Even if Constantinople wasn’t the center of manufacture that it was a couple of centuries ago, it still had much of the skill base.

  He mentioned the clamp and the young woman talked about something called a C clamp. At his blank look, she added, “It’s the shape.” When he still looked blank she said, “A pi clamp, or perhaps an omega clamp.”

  Then he got it. He could see an omega turned on its side with the threaded bolt going through one end and pressing against the other. He nodded and they talked on.

  The house Palaiologos would own the manufactory and the twenty-firsters would receive either a commission on every product made using their techniques or a flat fee. Part of his job here today was to find out if the emperor would be better off paying them the flat fee or the commission.

  Already it was clear that the flat fee was much the better deal, even if it half-emptied the treasury.

  He knew that there were other craftsmen and officials interviewing the other twenty-firsters. They were interviewing all of the delegation from France, on everything from law enforcement to the making of sweets for children.

  Location: Private Apartments of John V, Royal Palace, Constantinople

  Time: 8:23 AM, October 16, 1372

  John V knelt next to Monsignor Savona and said the words. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been two days since my last confession.”

  Having converted to Catholicism mostly in hopes of gaining aid from the west against the Ottomans, John still kept up the duties of the faithful. There were spies everywhere and if he failed, it would be reported back to the west. In this case, though, it was more than that. Monsignor Savona, according to all reports, carried an angel of the Lord in his breast pocket. Pockets were yet another new thing introduced by the twenty-firsters.

  John recited his sins. Minor things, mostly. Then the questions started.

  Not by Monsignor Savona, by the phon
e. A careful examination of why he had joined the Catholic church. What he truly believed and why.

  What he believed in was Christianity and his duty to protect Constantinople from paganism and Islam. And he was willing to bow at any altar that would give him the troops to do that. But that wasn’t enough for Raphico. Raphico got out of him the truth that a great deal of his faith was tied into his personal desires, that he was first and foremost protecting his own power, wealth, and status, not the faith.

  That wasn’t something that John wanted to admit. Not even to himself.

  The confession left him shaken and angry. But too frightened of the angel that seemed to be able to see into his soul to take any action against the twenty-firsters or the rest of the delegation from France.

  Location: Patriarch’s Throne Room, Hagia Sophia, Constantinople

  Time: 2:00 PM, October 16, 1372

  Cardinal Pierre de Monteruc knelt to the patriarch of Constantinople. It wasn’t easy, but he had his orders from Pope Gregory XI. In response, the arrogant heretic smirked at him.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Patriarch Philotheos Kokkinos didn’t intend to smirk, but the arrogant Roman churchmen were so sure of themselves.

  And they were wrong.

  Using Gabriel Delaflote’s book and the appendix on the summoning of angels, as well as the icon of Archangel Michael that dated back to the seventh century and was a holy relic of the patriarchy, they enchanted the icon, calling Michael to the relic. The relic was a mosaic of Archangel Michael. The mosaic was laid out on wooden panels and held up by two wooden posts inlaid with gold. The reason that they chose this icon instead of one of the icons on the walls of the Hagia Sophia was because it wasn’t possible to put a wall in a pentagram, but an icon not part of a wall could be moved where it was needed.

  And Michael spoke.

  He explained that the devil’s fall was its desire to separate itself from the Lord God. That all the demons were fallen angels that must be forced back into the one God. And if human souls were to be saved, they too must be given to God and they must be given to the right god, the true God, lest they strengthen the devil which claims to be God.

  The Angel Raphico, while a true angel and loyal to God, had chosen to deny its duty, confident that God would collect up the angels and the souls of men in His own good time.

  “You do know that your Raphico is a slugabed who has failed in his duty to God? Not a demon, but unwilling to make the hard choices needed for true faith. It is the Orthodox Church that has the words of Archangel Michael guiding it. The sword of God.”

  “He is not my Raphico. Mother Church has not yet determined that Raphico is a true angel. I take it you have called another such being?”

  “The Archangel Michael. Using an icon created in the seventh century. And he confirms that the Orthodox Church is the True Church. Ask him yourself.”

  He waved and an icon was brought into the room. It was a panel about four feet high and three wide, with a painting of an archangel with wings and halo holding a sword. And, as Patriarch Kokkinos said it would, it confirmed that the Orthodox church was the true church.

  Cardinal de Monteruc left the meeting deeply troubled.

  Location: Guest Quarters, Magnaura, Constantinople

  Time: 8:00 PM, October 16, 1372

  Monsignor Savona bowed to Cardinal de Monteruc. “You asked to see me?”

  “According to Patriarch Kokkinos and the icon of Michael, the Orthodox church is the true church. What do you have to say to that, Raphico?”

  “That icon wasn’t given to God, but was and remains the property of the Eastern Orthodox church and, specifically, the Cathedral of Hagia Sophia. It will say anything it needs to say to advance the cause of the Hagia Sophia and the Eastern Orthodox church. I, on the other hand, was given to God, not to any particular church. Further, it was left to God to determine what angel to send. I serve God. Michael is forced into the service of a particular church.”

  “Then the Eastern Orthodox church isn’t the true church?”

  “Not the true church, no.”

  “I noticed your stress on the, Raphico,” Monsignor Savona asked more than said.

  “I thought you might.”

  “Is the Catholic church the true church?” Cardinal de Monteruc asked.

  “It is a true church,” Raphico said.

  “According to you,” Savona said. “I have known Raphico longest and speak with him every day. I have also spoken with many of the other demons called, and with Themis. To Raphico, any Christian church is a true church, and even Islam isn’t totally false. And Themis doesn’t consider Raphico to be an angel of God at all, but another being of the netherworld in service to one of the greater lords of the netherworld.”

  “What, then, do you believe?” Cardinal de Monteruc asked.

  “I believe in God,” Monsignor Savona said. “That has never wavered. But as to whether the One True God, the creator of this heaven and this Earth is the same as that being that owns this phone . . . that, I do not know. I do believe that Raphico’s intent is good. That he can offer insights into the faith. That he does good in the name of God. And that is true whether he is truly an angel or simply another creature of the netherworld.”

  “And you, Raphico? What do you say?”

  “I have stood in the presence of God and sung His glory with the choirs of angels. I don’t believe. I know God is God.” Then it paused a moment and went on. “But, as Monsignor Savona—and even more, Themis—will insist, my certainty cannot be yours. The truth is that each person must still find their own way to faith, as it has always been.”

  Chapter 8—Suzerainty

  Location: Royal Palace, Constantinople

  Time: Mid-morning, October 24, 1372

  The Ottoman ambassador bowed slightly to the Byzantine emperor, John V noted with distaste. His sons were both here, Andronikos and Manuel. Neither looked any more pleased by the lèse-majesté than John was. But he gritted his teeth and stood it. For two reasons. First, he had promised to give Murad I suzerainty if Murad got him free of the Bulgarians, which Murad did. The second, more pressing, reason was that John didn’t have the army to stop Murad if the Ottoman sultan decided to force the matter.

  “King of Constantinople,” Halis Bey said, “the Ottoman Empire calls you to your promise. You must raise an army and lead it south, placing it and yourself under the sultan’s authority.”

  John looked at his sons in light of his discussion with Tiphaine de Raguenel and her horoscopes. If he left Andronikos here, his older son would rebel, and with the aid of Savci Bey, Murad’s third son, the two of them would rebel against both him and Murad. They would lose, but the war would leave Savci Bey dead, Andronikos half blind, and the Byzantine Empire much weaker.

  Andronikos looked back at him, angry and belligerent. For, after seeing Tiphaine’s horoscopes, John had showed them to his son. Andronikos denied any such notion, insisting that Murad wasn’t going to call John out of Constantinople anyway.

  Now, here was the demand that Tiphaine said was coming and Andronikos insisted wasn’t. He looked at Halis Bey. “We will consider Our brother monarch Murad’s request.”

  “It is not a . . .”

  “Stop,” John bellowed. “Whatever My relationship with Murad, this is My hall, in My city, and you do not demand or command here.”

  He made a gesture and the guards slammed their pike butts into the floor.

  Halis Bey looked at the guards, then back at John. “I will have to report this, King of Constantinople.”

  “Emperor of Byzantium,” Andronikos corrected him.

  John waved Andronikos down, then said to Halis Bey, “You are dismissed.”

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Leona sat on a chandelier, half in the natural world and half in the netherworld, as Halis Bey marched out of the big room. She didn’t understand what was going on. She had never understood what was going on with humans, but having the magic of the will o’ the wisp, the b
rain structure of the crow and, especially, being around Wilber was helping. It was turning what had been meaningless noise into a puzzle to be solved.

  Leona had never been able to leave a puzzle alone, and she still wasn’t. She flicked most of the way into the netherworld and flew after Halis Bey.

  A few minutes later, in Halis Bey’s rooms, she heard a great deal of what she assumed was cursing and quite a bit of discussion. But it was in a language she didn’t understand. In spite of the help that the crow’s brain gave her with language and speech, she still couldn’t learn human speech or understand talk without practice.

  Location: Guest Quarters, Magnaura, Constantinople

  Time: 1:00 PM, October 25, 1372

  “Anyway,” the maid told Lakshmi in an excited half-whisper, “the emperor almost threw out the Ottoman ambassador.”

  “Do you know why the Ottomans need the Byzantine forces?” Lakshmi muttered her response in English, then the computer, in an excellent imitation of her voice, spoke the question in Greek. By now the process was second nature to the twenty-firsters, and the locals of whatever country they were in seemed to get used to it quickly.

  “It’s the demons,” the maid said with confidence, then hastily added with a frightened look at Lakshmi’s computer sitting open on the table, “Not your demons.”

  DW and Lakshmi soothed the young woman and assured her again that not all demons were evil. Then she got the conversation back on the subject of the rebellion in southern Anatolia.

  “The Karamanids called up djinn to fight against Murad. They have taken Beysehir using magic. The bey’s servants say that’s why Halis Bey demanded your magics.”

  “Has there been time for Murad to learn of our arrival?”

  “Oh, yes, plenty. His capital is only a few days away by fast horse, and less if you go part of the way along the coast. He took Adrianople a few years ago, renamed it Edirne, and put his capital there. That’s why Thessalonica is so important.”

  “In that case, Murad is an idiot,” Lakshmi said.

  The maid looked shocked. “You shouldn’t say things like that. He’s a powerful man.” She looked around then whispered, “More powerful than the emperor.”