Maria set down her glass. “You can do better than Hakim for a publisher.”
“I think so too.” Plum beamed. “I can make my plots work just fine without any villains at all. Why shouldn’t real life be the same?”
‘Til drink to that!” Maria, Plum, and President Firebrass raised glasses in a final toast.
TWo Thieves
Harry Turtledove
Alexios Komnenos folded his arms across his chest. “You have heard my demands,” he said in Arabic, the only language he had in common with New Constantinople’s neighbors just down the River. “Obey them or face the consequences.”
“You are an infidel. We shall never yield to you.” Idris Alooma was the Sultan of Bornu’s representative in the town of New Constantinople. Tall and lean and black, he towered over Alexios. To show his contempt, he spat at the Basileus’s feet.
Alexios’s soldiers growled and brandished their flint-tipped spears. He held up a hand. “Let the pagan go in peace for now. Soon enough he will wake up naked and bald somewhere along the River far from here.” He used the Greek his people spoke among themselves, then translated for Idris Alooma’s benefit.
The big black man laughed scornfully. “You may have been plucked from hell to live beside us on the River here, Christian dog, but you are the one whom Allah will uproot when our armies meet.” He turned on his heel and
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marched back toward the stretch of the riverbank that owed allegiance to Bornu’s Sultan, Musa ar-Rahman.
Alexios watched him go, wondering all the while if he should have let his men enjoy their sport. He tossed his head in a Greek no; he’d done the right thing. If Idris Alooma failed to return to Bornu town, Musa would take his revenge by torturing Michael Palaiologos to death and rebirth. Alexios Komnenos had nothing against killing, but killing to no purpose was stupid and wasteful.
He turned to his brother Isaac, who stood as usual at his right hand. The two men were near twins, especially since being restored to life along the River at the same youthful age. Both were a little below average size, but strongly muscled. Both had a narrow, foxy face beneath a broad forehead; both were swarthy and dark, Isaac a little less so than Alexios. But the best way to tell them apart was to note that Isaac’s features were a trifle more open and friendly than Alexios’s. Alexios had ruled during his remembered life; Isaac merely aided.
“It will be war,” Alexios said now.
“So it would seem,” Isaac agreed. “It will not be an easy war, either.”
“No.” Alexios’s scowl was black as the beard he could no longer raise. He still sometimes felt like a eunuch without it. “Why were we resurrected alongside these filthy Muslims?” Were he less pious, he would have wondered about God’s mercy. The folk upstream from New Constantinople were peaceful red-skinned pagans who wanted only to be left alone. Given Bornu on his other flank, he’d been happy to oblige them.
Isaac said, “They are infidels, but they are brave. If we meet them head-on, we will lose a great many of our best men, men we cannot afford to be without. That
means that if anyone along this stretch of the River succeeds in uniting several little realms behind him, we will be vulnerable.”
“This I know.” Alexios scowled again. He aimed to lead this stretch of the River. Along with a majority of Rhomaioi, he currently ruled a minority of peasants from the Egypt of Ptolemy III. As soon as they’d accepted Christianity, they made subjects as good as his own folk—maybe better, for their loyalties were less conditional. Some of them had spoken Greek even before their resurrection; they all did now.
“The war will not wait much longer,” Isaac warned. “If we do not begin it on our terms, Musa ar-Rahman will start it on his, for he loves us no better than we him.”
“This I also know.” Alexios’s nostrils flared as he took a long, deep breath. He let it out in a sigh. He didn’t want to say what he had to say next: “We shall begin it, brother of mine. But before we do, I aim to go to Shytown.”