Dancing with Bears by Michael Swanwick Page B

media of glove and trousers, was so exquisitely pleasurable as to have surely required many hours of practice. “Oh?”
    “Yes. I must warn you that the ambassador has hatched a mad scheme to exterminate the Pearls before he dies.” Quickly, he sketched out the details.
    “Ah.” Her hand tightened slightly. “I wondered if you were going to tell me.”
    Reproachfully, Surplus said, “Madam, I am a gentleman.”
    “You and I obviously have different understandings of what that word entails. But let that go. I have been reliably informed that you and your comrade have agreed to this plan.” Her hand tightened further, to the point that the pleasure Surplus felt was evenly balanced with pain. The creations of the Caliph’s geneticists, he recalled, were often inhumanly strong. Surely she wouldn’t…? “Tell me exactly what your part in this is, Gospodin de Plus Precieux.”
    “We agreed,” Surplus said, and with alarm felt Zoësophia’s grip tighten yet more, “solely in order to keep Prince Achmed from issuing his command directly to the Neanderthals. Who, lacking the ability to disobey him, would have immediately turned his vile intentions into fact. We adopted the regrettable policy of untruth solely to prevent a grave crime against Beauty.”
    “You desire that my dear sisters and I live, then?” That vise-tight hand twisted ever so slightly.
    Surplus gasped. “Yes!”
    “I assure you that such is our most fervent wish as well. The question is—how is this glad end to be achieved?” Her grip was like steel. Surplus had no doubt whatsoever that if she found his answer displeasing, it would be the easiest thing in the world for her to rip his manhood entirely free of his body.
    Speaking quickly, Surplus said, “Oh, that my friend and I had resolved entirely almost immediately after the foul words had left Prince Achmed’s mouth. All that we lacked was a way to confer with you in private.”
    He explained.
    With mingled relief and regret, he felt Zoësophia’s hand release him.
    After services, Surplus returned to the Gulagsky mansion. Zoësophia, he noted, went up the stairs with a lightness she had not brought down with her. He turned to Koschei. “You say you can bring Prince Achmed to consciousness again?”
    “Yes. But in his weakened state it will surely be too much for his constitution to bear for long. You should not direct me to do so unless you are absolutely certain you wish to kill him.”
    “I? Kill the ambassador? What a remarkable thing to say.”
    “But an honest one. God has a purpose for all things. Alive and dying, the ambassador does nobody any good whatsoever. Dead, he will at a minimum serve as excellent fertilizer.” The strannik raised a hand to forestall Surplus’s rebuke. “Spare me your horror. He is a heathen and cannot be buried in consecrated ground. That being so, some use might as well be made of his carcass. In any event, his death is a consequence that I am prepared to accept. What is your decision?”
    “We simply must speak to him,” Surplus began. “So…”
    “Call everyone together in an hour. Two hours will be too late.” The strannik disappeared into the sickroom and closed the door behind himself.
    “What an extraordinary fellow!” Surplus exclaimed. “I don’t believe I’ve ever met a cleric even remotely like him.”
    Darger looked up from a crate of old books that, in obedience to the Pearls’ directive, had been delivered to the house during Surplus’s absence. “I’m C of E myself.” He slipped an undistinguished volume into an inside pocket of his coat. “And, after getting a taste of the good pilgrim’s catechism, damned glad of it.”
    So it was that, one hour later, the ground floor was thronged with people. Surplus and Koschei sat on chairs to either side of the ambassador’s sickbed. Darger and the two Gulagskys stood by the door. Just beyond, all seven Pearls Beyond Price formed a worried group, encircled by a grim ring of