Michael Swanwick - Dancing with Bears

“Here is what we face,” she said. “The government cannot hold out against such numbers. The Kremlin will inevitably fall. Now, as you see, it will soon be surrounded by enemies on all sides save one. To the south, the quay between the river and the Kremlin will be empty because there is not room enough to gather there and we have disrupted the one force that would have come up it. Now, there is an underground passage that leads to the Terem Palace from the basement of a pump house below the Beklemshev Tower-”

“How did you know that?” the general asked sharply.

“To maximize my utility to the duke, the Byzantine Secret Service told me everything they knew about the Kremlin and its defenses. How they obtained this information I do not know. But I see that it is reliable.”

There was the briefest of silences. “Go on,” the baron said.

“Theoretically, it would be possible to enter the Kremlin secretly and bring the Duke of Muscovy out by this same passage. The Royal Guard would have to be convinced of its necessity, of course. The duke would have to agree to be evacuated. Since the area under the south wall will not be completely empty, there would be witnesses, and it is possible the pump house entrance may be discovered. Which would lead to fighting, and that would be chancy. But it could be done.

“I advise against it, however. The advantages of a successful rescue are slight, and the risks are unacceptable. Instead, we should focus on calling in all the military units that Chortenko arranged to be pulled out of Moscow. Having created a plausible counterforce, we can then-”

“You would have us abandon the Duke of Muscovy?” the general broke in.

“The duke is but a figurehead. We owe him nothing.” “We owe him our loyalty!”

“Yes, while he lives. An hour from now?” Zoesophia shrugged.

The general’s jaw clenched, and her lips grew thin and white. Without saying a word, she spun around and dashed out the door.

“Wait!” the baron cried. “This requires a plan.” “No time!” The general mounted her horse and seized the reins.

“We can-” the baron began.

But Zoesophia’s fingers touched his sleeve. “Let her go.” Hooves rattled on the cobblestones, and the general was gone. “To die saving the life of the Duke of Muscovy would be a noble thing. But to die failing to do so is merely stupid.”

Even as she spoke, the cannon fire ceased. Whatever had happened at Astakhovsky bridge, it was over now.

Shocked, the baron said, “What are you saying?”

“Only that while bold actions can indeed change history, they require appropriate force, careful planning, and clear purpose. Zvyozdny-Gorodoka is but one woman. She has no plan. Nor has she any but the vaguest notion of what she hopes to accomplish. Further, she is naive enough to think that the Royal Guard remains loyal to the duke. Inevitably, she will not return from this adventure alive.”

“I have seen her emerge unscathed from worse dangers than you can imagine.”

“While I have seen what you and she have not-the Duke of Muscovy in person. He cannot be rescued. Which is good, because Muscovy is about to need a new leader. A moment ago, there were only two possible choices. Now there is one.”

Heatedly, the baron said, “You dangled the possibility of a rescue before her. You pushed her into thoughtless action with your words. You as good as sent her to die.”

“Yes. I did.”

“Treacherous bitch!” Baron Lukoil-Gazprom struck Zoesophia with his fist.

He did not, however, hurt her. Zoesophia moved her head so that the blow was slight and glancing, while simultaneously lifting a hand in a seemingly futile attempt to ward him off. As his fist grazed her cheek, she slapped it hard with the flat of her hand, so that it sounded and felt like a solid contact. Then, in an absolutely convincing manner, she fell to the ground.

Summoning tears and sending blood to her cheek so that it flushed red, Zoesophia looked up at the baron, who was almost purple with rage. “You are a cruel and brutal man,” she said in a low, submissive voice. She laid her cheek against his boot. “No wonder I love you so helplessly.”

The baron was breathing heavily now. Not with anger.

It took five bottles of vodka for Sergeant Wojtek to learn all the verses to “The Bastard King of England.” However, Darger was so assiduous a teacher that his student had mastered the song and was halfway through learning “Three Drunken Maidens” before his head finally hit the table.

“Are you all right, Sergeant? Can you hear me?” Darger asked solicitously. “No? You cannot? Well, thank heavens for that.” To the bartender he said, “I don’t think we’ll be needing any more to drink.”

“I sure as shit hope not,” Kyril said.“It just about broke my fucking heart, watching you pour all that goddamn booze on the floor. I was pouring first-rate stuff, too. The best I had.”

“It was a necessary evil. I could never match such a behemoth drink for drink. I’d’ve been under the table in no time.”

“I tried to serve you the cheap shit, but you waved it away.”

“Have you smelled it? My dear young fellow, that was rubbing alcohol you were trying to foist off on us.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Gentlemen do not drink rubbing alcohol under any circumstances,” Darger said firmly. “Nor do they serve it to their guests. You should commit those principles to memory. Now be a good chap and undo these straps, will you? And while you’re at it, you might tell me how you managed to obtain your current position. You seem to have come up in the world since I saw you last.”

Kyril obliged. “Well, that’s a funny story. See, I figured the fastest way to the surface was to go along with the Pale Folk. So I grab one of those red kerchiefs they’re giving away and when they come out into Pushkin Square, I’m right there at the front of the parade. First thing I do when I hit the up-and-out is ditch the bird-mask and pop into this bar to buy a beer.” Seeing Darger’s disapproving expression, he added, “I was hungry! I wasn’t gonna drink it for the alcohol or nothing.”

“Of course not.”

“Anyway, just as I’m coming in, the barkeep drops his cleaning rag, ties a red kerchief around his neck, and skips out to join the mob. Well, thinks I, let’s check out the state of the till. So I goes around behind the bar, and just as I’m scooping up the cabbage, this fat bastard walks in, slaps down a five-ruble note, and asks for a beer. I draw him a glass and make change, and by then there’s two more fuckers wanting vodka. I start pouring shots and set out a plate of bread. For a while there, I’m doing damn good business. You can’t imagine. Then, just as things are tapering off and I’m about to call it a night, in you waltz with your own pet bear. So I stay put, just to see what’s what.” He paused. “Bit of a coincidence, you popping up, though.”

“Great minds gravitate toward the same sorts of places. Your being here convinces me that my tutorial efforts have not been wasted,” Darger said, genuinely moved. “I am proud of you.” He stood and stretched. “Goodness gracious, but it feels fine to be free again.”

“Hey. No need to watch your fucking language around me,” Kyril said. “We’re asshole buddies, ain’t we?” Then, misinterpreting Darger’s scowl, he said in a considerably less boisterous tone, “I suppose you’re going to want your cut from my running the bar.”

“Of course not!” Darger said, shocked. “That was money earned by your own enterprise and diligence. I have no claim to it.” He clapped a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Anyway, I have a more profitable plan in mind. Have you ever been in a revolution before, lad?”