Daley spoke again: “All right; let’s get on with it.”
Alexios waved aside the priest’s translation; he’d understood that himself. He studied Hizzonor. Like everyone else along the River, Mayor Richard J. Daley was physically perfect and in the prime of youth. That failed to make him handsome; he looked like a bruiser. But his eyes— Maybe it was a trick of the torchlight, but Alexios didn’t think so. Those cold gray eyes held more than a youth’s experience. Alexios would have bet Hizzonor had lived a long life and done a lot of underhanded things in it. Isaac claimed his own eyes had that look, so no wonder he recognized it.
Aloud, he said, “We ami to fight Bomu soon; we want you to come in on our side. Between us, we can crush the black infidels, take control of their grails, and add to the wealth of both Shytown and New Constantinople. Is that interesting enough to get you out of bed early, Mayor?”
Daley didn’t speak Latin; he had to wait for Father Boyle to translate. Even after the priest was done, the Mayor did not change expression. Yes, he’s good, Alexios thought with reluctant admiration. Daley answered,
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Harry TUrtledove
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“Maybe. Depends on when you do it and what’s in it for us. I don’t have men to throw away on the Suicide Express.”
Via Suicida made strange Latin, but Alexios understood: Daley didn’t want men loyal to him killed and resurrected far, far up or down the River. Alexios didn’t want that for his own retainers, either. He said, “That’s why I propose alliance. Between us, we trap and outnumber the men of Bornu. Our casualties should be small.”
“Yes, that might work,” Daley said. “I also wouldn’t mind seeing those shiftless blacks next door working for a living instead of sponging off their grails and lying around like they were in welfare heaven. So, yeah, I’m interested. Tell me more.”
Even after Hizzonor’s priest translated that, Alexios didn’t get all of it; “welfare heaven” left him especially puzzled. Mayor Daley also seemed to despise the people of Bornu merely for being black. That confused Alexios. They couldn’t help being black. But they had chosen false Islam of their own free will, and would (he continued to believe, despite resurrection along the River) one day suffer the pangs of hell for their error.
Reasons, however, didn’t matter. He said, “Are we allies, then? Shall we fix the day for setting the fate of the black infidels?” If Hizzonor didn’t like the Bornu because of their color, Alexios would remind him of it.
“It isn’t quite so simple,” Mayor Daley said. “The one thing the blacks are good for is keeping you and me from bumping up against each other. When we’re neighbors, we’re going to have to watch each other all the time. Musa’s a nuisance to me now, what with his bucks coming in and stealing a white woman every so often,
but he’s only a nuisance, if you know what I mean. Having you next door might be downright dangerous.”
Alexios eyed Hizzonor with surprised respect. If he understood die idea of buffer states, he was indeed no one’s fool. After some thought, Alexios said, “Let us agree in advance, then, on which of us will control each grailstone in Bornu. Quarrels settled ahead of time do not turn vexing later.”
But Mayor Daley shook his head. “That isn’t good enough. I heard you were smart, and I see it’s so. So sooner or later, Shytown and New Constantinople will likely fight. We’re both going to want to take over as much as we can—we’re like that. Am I right or wrong?”
“I think you’re right,” Alexios admitted. He’d seen the same, but had intended to keep quiet about it. Hizzonor’s style was different, almost brutally direct. The Basileus asked, “What do you propose to do about the problem?”
“Here’s what,” Daley said. “A big war would wreck your country and mine both, and leave whichever of us won in bad shape against anybody strong who might come up or down the River at him. So let’s keep it clean: We’ll go together against the Bornu, sure. But at the same time, I’ll name you Vice Mayor of Shytown and you’ll name me—what do you call your number-two guy?”