The Demons of Constantinople

by Eric Flint

  Last of all, Pucorl drove off Joe onto the shore of Anatolia. Riding in the van were most of the twenty-firsters and Tiphaine.

  Location: Northern Anatolia

  Time: Mid-afternoon, September 17, 1373

  Silvi, the model glider, enchanted by a sylph air elemental, floated on the air currents, looking through its camera eyes and feeling the mortal sun on its upper surface. A paper airplane, but not the sort of thing that a child makes by folding a sheet of paper. This had curved wings and structural members made of paper folded into triangular tubes. It was painted dark green on top and light blue beneath, so that it was hard to see from the ground, and it enjoyed the body provided by the twenty-firsters. Its body belonged to Charles de Long, but it was generally free to come and go as it saw fit, as long as it remained available to act as a scout. It had a speaker and a radio inlaid in thin gold wire on its upper surface.

  It flew up over the hill and a bull the size of a mastodon, with the torso of a man rising up in the front. Curious, it flew closer. The head had a bull’s horns, done in engraved bronze. His right arm ended in a sword and his left in a large round shield.

  Then it felt the presence.

  That was no natural bull centaur. It was a human-made statue enchanted by a truly powerful demon . . . no . . . not a demon. An ifrit, not a demon, but quite similar.

  The glider heard it. The bull centaur bellowed and pointed with its sword arm right at Silvi. That’s when the arrows started.

  At first, Silvi tried for altitude, screaming about the demon bull over its radio. When an arrow almost caught it, Silvi abandoned the paper glider and slipped back into the netherworld.

  Without the magical impetus, the glider became again a perfectly ordinary, if well made, paper glider. A little heavier than most, with the paint and the inlays, but well balanced, with good lift. It started to float gently to the ground, where a Turkish cavalryman, in his rush to get to it and retrieve it, ran over it, crushing it into worthless pulp.

  Location: A Quarter Mile Away

  Pucorl got the word. More scouts were sent, and a force of perhaps two hundred Turks were spotted by other paper birds.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Leona went ahead, flying half in the natural world and half in the netherworld, with Coach about her neck. By now Leona was used to the doubled perceptions that she got from being half in one world and half in the other. She could tell what was in the natural world and what was off to the side, out of the corner of her eye. The djinn occupied an energy state that was the same as the Elysian Fields and correlated well with the natural world, so when she looked at the ifrit king of djinn she saw both his forms, his human-like but large red body and crown. And saw how completely he was tied into the articulated statue of the karbogha. His body was cut in half at the waist and shoved into the bull form. That has to hurt, she noted with the indifference of cats.

  The ifrit king noticed her and bellowed rage.

  Leona dove to the ground and slipped almost entirely into the netherworld, and ran back to the others.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Amar Utu Marduk, ifrit lord of Tessifonica, bellowed rage as he saw the abomination. Amar wasn’t overly fond of humans or mortal animals even before he was captured and forced into this form. They were beings of clay, earth and water mixed with only a touch of air and fire. The djinn were of fire with so little of earth or water in their makeup that they didn’t smoke as they burned. And the purest of the djinn were the ifrit.

  That a mortal could consume a being of the netherworld, even such a minor creature as that one, was an affront to all that was good and proper. Amar pointed with his sword arm, and flung a bolt of magic of his own substance out to destroy the thing.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Leona felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise and slid all the way into the natural world so that the bolt was blocked by a rock. The rock blew up, and Leona flicked back to the netherworld, shifted direction, and then shifted back to the natural world. The ifrit lost sight of her only for a few moments, but it was enough. She made it over the hill.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Sultan Savci held on as Amar bellowed rage, flung out an arm and shot a bolt of something at a rock. “Stop it!” he bellowed and Amar stopped.

  “What were you doing and why?”

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  On the other side of the hill, they all got the word at once. Coach was yelling his head off by bluetooth connection.

  “Wilber, come with me,” Bertrand said. “I’ll need you to translate.”

  Leona was stropping Wilber’s legs in fear. “Right,” Wilber said. Then, in cat, “Leona, why don’t you stay with Pucorl.”

  “You be careful with those crazy people,” Leona yowled, then quickly jumped into Pucorl through his opening side door.

  “We’re going to get the ram,” Annabelle said to one and all, then Pucorl disappeared.

  “Meurtrier,” Wilber called, and the large warhorse came up complaining about the weather, the road, and everything else. Wilber mounted, and with an escort of a dozen men at arms, they rode over the hill.

  In the meantime, Roger got the rest of the military contingent organized, which was another reason that Bertrand had taken Wilber. Wilber was good at a lot of things. Organizing a fighting force wasn’t one of them.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Wilber saw the bull centaur. It was gesticulating with its arms as it argued in Arabic with a teenager who was standing in its wagon back and gesticulating in turn. The gist seemed to be that abominations need to be destroyed and all who are in their company. They weren’t close enough to hear, but Wilber’s translation magic by now had expanded to include interpretation of gestures and the color patterns that the kraken used to communicate. And his universal translator kicked in even more strongly when he was terrified, as he was now. Pucorl couldn’t throw lightning bolts. Or magical bolts, or whatever it was that the djinn lord was tossing about. And Wilber had no idea how to defend against it. If that half-bull over there with the bronze horns and the red glowing eyes lost it, they were going to be toast before they had a chance to discuss the matter. Whatever the matter was.

  “Halt!” someone shouted in Turkish.

  “Hold up,” Wilber translated. The people ahead of them were speaking five languages that Wilber could count, but Turkish and Arabic were predominant.

  A small party rode out to meet them while bull boy and the prince of arrogance continued their argument.

  Bertrand turned in his saddle “Be careful, people. That’s General Candarli Kara Halil, so the kid in the bull wagon is probably Sultan Savci.”

  They rode up to about ten feet away, then pulled up. “General du Guesclin, has John V decided to attack, after all? I thought he would be too busy kissing Venetian ass.”

  Bertrand looked at Kara Halil for a moment, then laughed. “Oh, no. At least not when we left. Somehow a rumor got started that Roger killed Andronikos IV, and we decided that we had other business.”

  “So you’re here on your own?” Kara Halil asked. “That seems a risky option.”

  “Not entirely on our own. Roger still carries the Sword of Themis, and there’s Pucorl to consider.”

  Kara Halil didn’t turn, but his eyes flicked back in the direction of the bull centaur and Savci.

  “There is no reason for conflict. We are only passing through, with no intent to do you or your prince any harm.”

  “Passing through to where?”

  “Egypt. We have some business with the mamluks, or at least Theodore Meliteniotes has convinced Dr. Delaflote that they might know something about what has caused the rifts in the veil between the worlds.”

  “Wait here. I’ll go talk with the sultan.”

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  For several minutes they waited while Kara Halil talked with Sultan Savci. They were speaking quietly, for the most part, and not gesturing much, so even Wilber wasn’t sure what was going on. Except for the fact that there seemed to be a disagreement o
f some sort. Then Kara Halil rode back.

  “I’m sorry, General, but the sultan is adamant. You are on his lands without permission. At a minimum, you owe tariffs and penalties. The penalties amount to your demon-enchanted van.”

  “Pucorl isn’t ours,” Wilber said. “He is a free demon, and owner of the van that gives him form. He is a knight with his own lands in the netherworld.”

  “Was,” Kara Halil said. “Now he is the property of the sultan, and if you attempt to object, you will end up chained right alongside him.”

  “I think you will find chaining any of us more of a challenge than you seem to be expecting,” Bertrand said.

  “And you don’t know, can’t know, enough of Pucorl’s name to compel him,” Wilber pointed out.

  “That’s not the only way to compel demon kind.” Kara Halil shrugged. “I think you know that.”

  It wasn’t the only way. A demon trapped like Pucorl had trapped Beslizoswian against the keep wall back in Paris was at the mercy of the trapping demon. Wilber looked over at the bull man again, and wondered. It was hard to tell by the container. On the other hand, to move something that size without engine or electrical systems, without spring muscles or a power supply . . . the demon had to be at least fairly powerful. Then he remembered the bolt of magic that almost singed Leona. “What do you have animating that thing?”

  Kara Halil smiled. “An ifrit lord.”

  Before, back when Pucorl had been an ordinary puck, he would have been a snack for a being of that power. Even now, Wilber wasn’t at all confidant.

  “Well, Pucorl could always slip back to his own lands.”

  “In that case, the rest of your party will have to make up the difference.”

  Then a new voice issued from Wilber’s phone. “Never mind, Wilber. Tell bull boy I’m coming.” It was Pucorl.

  And sure enough, over the hill Pucorl came, with the ram pushed ahead of him. And with a phalanx of cavalry in armor, carrying breech-loading demon-locks.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  This was why they summoned the ifrit, to counter the demon van. Savci looked around. There was a part of him that wanted to get out and let the ifrit Amar fight the van, but he was sultan. He would ride Amar through the fight and fight from the bull’s back. Still, he was frightened, as much as he didn’t want to admit it to even himself. So he bellowed, “Charge!” and in spite of the fact that his voice broke, Amar charged.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Kara Halil looked around in shock. This wasn’t what was supposed to happen. It was supposed to be a duel, more or less, or a full scale battle. Not this unannounced melee with Sultan Savci still in the enchanted cart.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Pucorl wasn’t alone either. Annabelle was in his driver’s seat, and Roger was on Pucorl’s roof, ready to jump because the thing they were worried about was the reach of those massive arms and that monster sword. The sword was black, maybe blackened bronze, but no—

  Pucorl could feel it from here. It was iron, as was the shield, and the arms were long enough that it could chop Pucorl up if it got past the ram. The ram was a two-wheeled cart with battering ram tipped by an ax blade, and Pucorl moved it by shifting left or right. He had to move his whole body to shift the blade, which would have been impossible if he didn’t have four wheel drive and front and rear wheel steering. It still wasn’t easy, and moving it effectively took practice.

  Pucorl had been practicing, but it wasn’t really natural to him.

  The bull centaur charged and Pucorl charged to meet him.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Roger was better prepared this time. Every screw up since shooting Philip the Bold had led to improvements. Balancing security with mobility, protection with offensive capabilities. He was tied onto Pucorl’s roof, but now he could cut loose and jump free with the pull of a cord. As Pucorl went from zero to sixty in seconds and the bull centaur tried to do the same, Roger’s world slowed down.

  The sword was coming up, but the way it was coming up was wrong. This wasn’t a thoughtless charge. It was a dance, fencing. And Roger could see the next move coming.

  It was . . .

  Roger pulled the cord.

  Now!

  Roger lept from Pucorl as bull boy shifted left and started his down stroke.

  Bull boy went left, Pucorl went right. Pucorl’s ram spun left and Roger flew through the air straight and true, swinging the Sword of Themis to strike bull boy’s sword arm at the elbow.

  The Sword of Themis went through the elbow like a hot knife through butter. But the arm and sword continued to move, rotating down so that the sword cut into Pucorl’s roof in back of the driver’s seat.

  Bull boy screamed in djinn. Pucorl screamed in puckish. Roger tucked and rolled.

  Pucorl’s ram ax made the next contact on the left front leg of the bull centaur.

  The bull got the leg up, so all the ax blade got was the “hoof.”

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Amar swung his torso to bring his shield around, and almost dislodged Sultan Savci. But the magic that bound him to this vessel was specific. His first concern had to be the safety of Savci. It was like fighting in a straitjacket. Any move, any shift that threatened to dislodge the boy was stopped before it started. He could move the shield, but not nearly as quickly as he needed to. And the van was fast, much faster than it should be. That’s when he realized the puck wasn’t moving the van using simply his will as Amar was doing with the bull centaur. He was only guiding it. The motive power was coming from the body itself. Now Amar was afraid. But his fear, especially trapped in this bull centaur body, translated into rage. He was still fighting in the straitjacket of his need to protect Savci, but now he was fighting in a burning red haze of rage as well.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Pucorl wasn’t enraged. He was scared, mostly for Annabelle. Three feet farther forward and that massive iron sword would have cut her in half. It was still there, sticking out of his roof. And it hurt. The wound wasn’t serious. It hadn’t hit his engine or his electrical system, except for the wire to his overhead light. But it was like a scalp wound. It hurt like hell and bled magic like the dickens. His rear wheels were at almost ninety degrees of angle as he did a donut to try and get his ram back in front of him and bull boy tried to follow him around. But Pucorl, with his engines and electrical system, was faster.

  He got away and pulled back so that his ram was ahead of him again, almost running over Roger in the process.

  “Leave him to me,” Pucorl shouted.

  “All yours, Pucky,” Roger shouted back as he backed away.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Amar swung his shield at Pucorl and bellowed, “Get out, Sultan! I can’t fight him with you in my back.”

  “Back away, then,” Savci shouted, and Amar did.

  Savci lept free, and landed in the mud of the torn up field. He landed badly, and ended up face first in the mud. He rolled on his back and shouted, “Now kill that demon, my slave, or die trying.” He tried to roar, but again his voice cracked.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  “That’s torn it,” Pucorl said. “This is a fight to the death now, Annabelle. I want you out, where it’s safe. Please.”

  “I love you too, you old heap. Ain’t no way I’m gonna let you fight that monster alone.” Annabelle pulled the six-shot demon-lock pistol out of her holster, and said, “Now, roll down my window. These are lead-coated iron bullets.”

  Pucorl was kind of pleased at Annabelle’s response. He still didn’t want her hurt, but she was his Annabelle and she said she loved him.

  “Okay, love.” He rolled down the window. “Let’s get this bastard.”

  Blaring his horn like a semi challenging a train, Pucorl charged.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Amar had never heard anything like the noise, but he screamed in rage as his right arm and right foreleg leaked magic into the ground like fire, and he too charged. But even now he wasn’t out of his mind, and he was an ifrit. Even as he charged, he e
xamined his options.

  At all cost, he had to avoid that ram, and the puck had shown that he could shift the ram to the left and right. As the ram was about to reach him, he reared up, and bending his human torso down, he reached with his shield, trying to use it as a giant battle ax.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Annabelle was thinking too. Mostly she was thinking that with demons, function followed form. Put a head on a demon vessel and that’s where its brain is going to end up. This sucker had two chests, so presumably two hearts, two sets of lungs and so on.

  But it only had one head.

  One brain.

  And besides, the shield arm was on the other side. She leaned out the window, pistol in hand, and as it reared, she fired.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  As Amar reached forward, his massive head came close to the front of the van, and he heard—

  BANG! BANG! BANG!

  And with the third bang, there came a blow to himself. His head, his brain— Magic, but with his being tied into the empty space that was the inside of this sculpted head, it burned with a fire not of his making. The core of his being, his connection to his lands . . . it all burned and broke—

  BANG! Another spike of agony.

  Then, nothing.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  The body of the bull centaur landed on Pucorl, and the fire that was the core of the ifrit lord spilled into Pucorl and was absorbed. Much like he had absorbed Beslizoswian, and perhaps even more like Leona absorbed the crow enchanted by the will-o-the wisp. The body of the bull centaur began to burn, but the fire didn’t burn Pucorl or Annabelle. Instead it flowed into them, mostly into Pucorl. Almost entirely into Pucorl. He, after all, was designed to absorb it.

  But Annabelle was in the middle of that conflagration and she couldn’t help but absorb some of it.

  When Pucorl realized what was going on, he fed her more power.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Hundreds of miles away and to the side of the natural world, everyone in the city of Tessifonica realized in a moment that the lord of that city was gone.