Page 190 of Dragon Slayer

“Now, that stings,” Val said, and meant it.

Constantine smiled, soft and chagrined. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m always glad for your company.”

It shouldn’t have warmed him – it was a pathetic thing, really, someone enjoying his presence, spectral though it may have been. But, well, Val was a pathetic thing himself. So he smiled and was thankful.

“No, you’re right. There’s business to be discussed.” Arslan was watching the door for him, but he didn’t have any idea how long it would be before Mehmet came knocking. “I came to tell you that we’ve arrived at the fortress, and it’s full speed ahead on the battle plans. Mehmet intends to conquer all the lands between here and the Bosporus, and likely will either capture the people there, or put them to the sword to send you a message.” He was a little appalled by his matter-of-fact tone. He’d grown jaded with Mehmet’s practices at this point.

Sphrantzes swore, but Constantine stroked his beard and took a measured breath.

“I have to, by all outward appearances, support the sultan.”

“Of course.”

“But I will help you when I can, coming here and giving you information.”

Sphrantzes said, “Doesn’t Mehmet know that sacking this city is impossible?”

Val felt a bitter smile touch his mouth. “Impossibleis the theme of the day, don’t you know?”

~*~

Val stood – or gave the impression that he did – beside the emperor on a dangerous little ledge that ran around the topmost dome of the St. Sophia cathedral; one of the highest points in all of Constantinople. Hands shading their eyes, for all the good it did Val, they could just make out the bustle of activity six miles away, across the deep-water inlet of the Golden Horn, up the rise toward the site of Mehmet’s Throat-Cutter.

Below them, heat mirages shimmered in the narrow, twisting streets and alleys of the city, a deep-baked summer heat that Val could neither feel nor smell, but which he imagined. Back in his bedchamber, those six miles distant, doubtless his unconscious body sweated through his clothes.

“The walls have gone up quickly,” Constantine said with deceptive mildness. He rested his hand on a thin metal railing, the breeze tugging at his curls, and the long lines of his royal tunic. He turned to Val. “How is this possible?”

I warned you, Val wanted to say.I told you he could accomplish this.Instead, he said, “The Ottoman Empire is vast, densely populated, and diverse. Mehmet pays well, and he punishes severely. His workers are motivated, and there are plenty of them.”

Constantine wiped a hand down his face, and he looked exhausted. “Meanwhile, we’ve slowly bled dry. The religious divide is crippling us.”

As was the city’s economic downswing, one which seemed to be a lasting condition, and not a momentary trend.

“I’ve sent missives,” Constantine said. “He’s building that fortress on land that doesn’t belong to him. This is a breach of our treaty.”

“The treaty hangs by a thread,” Val said, as gently as possible. “Threatening to turn Orhan loose again…”

Constantine groaned. “We underestimated Mehmet. When his father died, all of Europe rejoiced. Mehmet was young, and we’d all heard the stories that his head was turned by, well…” He trialed off, and Val looked away from his pointed glance.

Constantine had never come outright and asked Val about his relationship with the sultan. Val wasn’t going to start offering that story up freely now.

“You thought,” he said, “that the threat of Orhan’s existence, him free to rally a force of his own and challenge for the throne, would distract Mehmet for a time. I’m telling you” – as he’d told him before – “that Mehmet thinks he’s the second coming of Alexander. Nothing will keep him from attempting to take this city. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

“I know, I know.”

“He’ll try to draw you out. He likes that – playing games. He’ll do something to provoke you.”

“I won’t respond to it.”

“Youcan’t.”

“Val,” the emperor said. “Have you ever thought of…can you not slip away? At night? It’s only that you’re so close now.” He gestured toward the distant activity, a bustle like a disturbed ant hill. “If you could get away from Mehmet…”

Val shook his head. “No. No, that won’t…no.” A bare smile. “But I appreciate the sentiment.”

~*~

The next morning, Mehmet’s eyes had that glazed, feverish look to them after they’d looked at the map. A runner came to tell him about the latest fortress developments, and Nestor came to give a quiet word to Val about Arslan: he was up and nibbling on flatbread and honey for breakfast.

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