Michael Swanwick - Dancing with Bears

Grinning and elbowing each other, Oleg, Lev, Stephan, and Dmitri formed a short line and received two hundred fifty rubles each. When the last had been paid, the bandits ducked under the fallen girder that had made a breach in one wall, anxious to be on their way to the surface where they could squander every kopeck of their new-won wealth. Leaving the library empty save for Darger and Kyril.

Darger picked up his book, adjusted the oil lamp, and said, “Listen to this:

“Summer will be ours, if you but say you love me, Night-hawks flitting under the stars And jasmine perfuming your skin.

If not, winter. And I-”

“I don’t see why I had to pay them so much. They didn’t do nothing but put up a bunch of posters, and keep an eye out for the goats. I did all the fucking work.”

With a sigh, Darger shut his book again. “Admittedly, my paraphrase from Sappho’s impeccable Greek was a touch rough. But you had the opportunity to hear a poem that was long believed to be lost forever, and you brushed it aside simply to whinge that your comrades weren’t pulling their weight.”

“Well, they ain’t.”

“I promised to show you how to live by your wits, and here are the first fruits of my teachings.” Darger tapped the stack of bills with his fingertip.

“More money than you’ve ever had in your entire life, earned in less than an hour. A wise young man would take this as a sign that his mentor was worth listening to.”

Angrily, Kyril said, “Maybe you know a few good tricks, but that don’t mean you’re any smarter than me.”

“Oh? Then how did I trick you into bringing me here?” Darger waved a hand to take in all of the library: the shelves of books-stacked sideways in the Medieval manner-that stretched from floor to ceiling and dwindled into the gloom, and the honeycombs of scrolled parchment and papyrus texts, as well as the solid wooden tables, chairs, and other library furnishings, beneath which the children had made their beds.

“What? You already knew all about it…didn’t you?”

“I did not. But when we first came here, you may remember that I kept a hand on your shoulder in an avuncular manner.”

“I thought you was just keeping me from running away.”

“Of course not, you had nowhere to go. No, I was reading you. Whenever we came to a turn and your muscles tensed up, I would say, “We turn here.” Then your eyes would dart in the direction you normally went, and in that direction I would go. By such small shifts and stratagems, I allowed you to lead me right here.”

The boy spat out an unfamiliar word. Doubtless slang, and doubtless obscene.

“Exactly. Now, you want to know why I insisted you be so generous to your friends. And, though you have not asked, you are wondering why I directed you to have the thousand-ruble notes converted to small bills.”

“Yeah. The bastard at the bank made me give him twenty rubles for doing it, too. So why?”

“As for your friends, simply because they are your friends. The man who lives by his skill and his wits must be able to trust his business associates and they him. When the swag is swept up at the end of the game, and everyone scatters, they all must know that their share of the take is as safe as houses. Otherwise your plans will fall apart in your hands. You see?”

“I… guess so. What about changing the bills?”

“Watch and learn.” Darger picked up the stack of bills and placed them in his billfold. “Now the game you just played, the Pigeon Drop, is a reliable money-maker in skilled hands, which works well with a necklace, a painting, or any similar prop. It can also be used with a lost wallet. Simply fan out the money like this, with the thousand-ruble note on top, and it will look like a fortune. Indeed, the other notes can be cut from newspaper, if you like. Though that requires that you wrap up the wallet like a package with your handkerchief and string before handing it over, to prevent the mark from examining the bills himself. Luckily, by that point he will be so blinded by avarice that he will not be thinking clearly. You can tell him it’s to keep him from stealing the money, and he won’t argue.” He extracted the money again and rolled it up into a wad. “For other games, it’s best you keep the money in a roll. It looks eye-popping”-he put it into a pocket and then pulled it out, giving Kyril only a brief glimpse before hiding it away again-“and, like a well-proportioned woman giving a mark the merest flash of forbidden flesh, wrests control of his thoughts away from the rational parts of his mind.”

From an inner pocket of his jacket, Darger extracted a small sewing kit. He measured out a length of black thread, bit it off, and tied it around the wad. Sternly, he said, “You must not spend this. It is a tool which, properly employed, will bring you in much more money. And that you may then spend.”

Kyril stared at the wad hungrily. “What’s with the thread?”

“Keep your spending money in one pocket and this little horse-choker in another. Then when you’re in a tight fix in a public space… maybe the police are coming after you, maybe a con has gone hot and the mark is out for blood… you haul it out, slip your thumb between the thread and the bills like this…” He demonstrated. “And with a flick of your wrist, you break the thread and throw the money into the air, while shouting ‘Money!’ at the top of your lungs. What do you think happens then?”

“Everybody starts leapin’ up in the air, snatching at the bills.”

“Everybody. Including the police. While they’re doing that, you make your escape.” Darger handed over the money. “Now I know boys, and so I know you’re going to rush out right now and, against all my good advice, buy pocket knives and sweets and leather jackets and such. Try not to spend it all. It’s easier to make money when you have it.”

Kyril clutched the wad with both hands. Then, suspiciously, he slipped it out of the thread and opened it up to determine that all the bills were still present.

Darger laughed. “I admire your caution. But you must never do that before your business associates. They must believe that you trust them implicitly. You may need them to get you out of a tight situation some day.”

“I can rely on my boys,” Kyril said. “We’re a circle of brothers, is what we are.”

“Perhaps. Yet I have my doubts about one or two of them. However, let us not throw them away without testing them first. A true friend is a rare thing. You may go now.”

In a flash, Kyril was halfway out the hole. He hesitated there, though, and asked over his shoulder, “Ain’t you going out too? To spend the money you got for the necklace?”

“No,” Darger said.“I shall stay here and sort through the library’s many wonders. I have already found a copy of Hesiod’s Catalogue of Women and what I suspect may be Aristotle’s Dialogues. It is possible even that some of Homer’s lost epics lurk herein, to be discovered by my eager hand.”

“Well… I guess if it makes you happy.”

“Oh, it does, my young friend. In fact, if I may confide in you, it is possible I am happier now than I have ever been in my life.” Darger returned to his book. “It’s a shame it cannot last.”

Zoesophia slept late and awoke to find the day unseasonably mild. A cool, light breeze raised goose-bumps on her flesh and gently stirred the reddish-gold down on her mound of pleasure. She could have stayed like this for hours, luxuriating in the air, as if in a bath. Nevertheless, she arose and, in a brisk, businesslike fashion, dressed. On the cushions below her, Surplus stirred, stretched, and opened his eyes. When he saw that she was fully clad, his expression mingled regret and relief in proportions she found both perfectly appropriate and eminently satisfying.