Art Pact 195 - Cityworld

They showed me the view out of the window - metal. Metal everywhere - metal walls, metal walkways (albeit covered in a sort of metallised rubber in order that it not be too slippery to walk on), metal railings and fixtures and lightposts and statues and all manner of things, and it would not have surprised me to learn that the window I had been looking out of was metal (indeed, it did not two weeks later when I discovered it was a form of aluminium film that had been treated so as to allow light to pass through it unhindered). They must have mined an asteroid or riddled the ground beneath the city with galleries, for the amount of ore that had gone into the construction of the place must have been epic. 

It wasn't just metal, of course - there were people, and there was rain. The one struggling along like ants from the height I was looking down on them, the other beating down mercilessly upon the city, huge elongated drops like javelins or the shells of great artillery pieces in the sky, screaming down upon the little figures below, smashing into the metallic planes and curves of the place and filling the air with a great grey haze that admitted little to the sight beyond a hundred meters or so in any direction - although looking down I found easier, since from this height I seemed to be going with the grain of the precipitation so that I could look between the drops.

"Well, this place seems nice enough," I told them. "But what are we going to do about that?"

The few that had come forward to show me the view of the city stepped back now, and the others - the lesser acolytes, I supposed, looked nervously between themselves. None of them wanted to be the first to step into the ring, I supposed, but someone would eventually have to do it. Sometimes, if they're too eager, it's a good idea to make an example of the first person in - perhaps something permanent, perhaps something fatal. I tend to steer clear of fatal, but an embarrassing deformity is always good, particularly if it's something potentially useful that a quick-witted person can claim is actually a gift from the gods. This lot clearly did not need that incentive, though. They were already afraid of me, and the suppurating corpse on the ground at the middle of the summoning ring did nothing to lessen their fear.

"Who was he?" I asked. "A rival?"

The question took them by surprise. I suppose it's not really the done thing not to know about the sacrifice that's been made in your honour. It seems rather careless, if the truth be told, but I thought it unlikely that any of these jokers were going to be sullying my name amongst my peers, and I was genuinely curious. How had they chosen this particular one? I was going to be wearing his face for a while, it seemed prudent to have a bit of background in case it turned out necessary to actually impersonate him.

"Did you kill two birds with one stone, perhaps?" I suggested. "A businessman who'd been causing trouble for you, or one of the local constabulary?"

"Eh, great... uh, spirit?" said one of the robers - the one with the gold-trimmed clothes, presumably the high priest or whatever. He had lost the cocksure tone of the summonation, perhaps expecting that I might be a bit more one way or the other. When a demon is overblown you know where you stand with it, likewise if its the sort of groveling lickspittle that cowers inside its pentagram. Either way, the aim for a summoner is to dominate - to bow the hideous spirit to their will and keep the whip hand strong so that no argument to your orders will be brooked (even if the control turns out to be illusory, which it almost always does when the demon has had enough nonsense). I, on the other hand, like to keep people on the back foot a bit. I think it helps - it gives me a certain leeway in getting things done, since people see me not so much as a supernatural tool and more as a supernatural agent. I can get things done just as much as the next guy, my demeanour suggests, but I can be trusted to take the initiative if things start to go a little pear-shaped. I'm not going to go off on some terrible rampage if I'm thwarted, either. I mean, clearly I am - a good old rampage is quite the experience if you're in the mood for one - but I like to give them the impression that things are otherwise. Here's a demon they can trust (ha ha) they think.

"You can call me a demon," I said suavely. "No beating around the bush, please."

"Uh, yes. Demon, we-"

"I said you could call me a demon," I interrupted sternly. "There's still the matter of honorifics. You can stop talking now. You!"--I pointed to the one standing to his left--"start talking." The one I'd pointed at goggled for a second, then stepped forward (the original talker giving him daggers in his glance as he did so).

"I.. Uh... Oh Great Demon-"

"Better"

"Oh Great Demon, the body you see before you was a homeless man we captured and brought here, thinking that the depravity and despair inherent in his life might act as a more flavoursome enticement to bring you to our mortal realm."

Wow, this guy had the gift of the gab alright. Looked like I'd picked a winner. The original leader was still staring death at him, and I could tell instantly that there was fun to be had here fomenting strife between the leadership. I said nothing of this, though - not a good idea to play your hand out too early. Instead I sniffed at the arms I was wearing.

"So that's what that smell is," I said haughtily.