Dancing With Bears - Michael Swanwick [118]
“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?” Zoësophia 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 Zoësophia’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 naïve 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 Zoësophia with his fist.
He did not, however, hurt her. Zoësophia 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, Zoësophia 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