Dancing With Bears - Michael Swanwick [130]
“No,” one of the creatures said. “You leave.”
“Or die,” said the other.
This was not the first time the Royal Guards had met the underlords. Chortenko had arranged a series of vivid demonstrations in his basement, wherein one of their number had displayed its strength and speed upon selected political prisoners. Afterward, Chortenko had urged them to remember exactly how long it had taken those prisoners to die.
By common consent, the bear-guards left.
The underlords took up positions to either side of the duke, one by each ear. “Your guards have deserted their posts,” said one.
“Your government is as good as fallen.”
“Chortenko is in charge now. As soon as Tsar Lenin’s speech is finished, he will seize the Kremlin.”
“There will be no resistance.”
The duke’s noble face grimaced in agony. His great head turned from side to side. But of course he could not awaken, try though he might.
“General Magdalena Zvyozdny-Gorodoka attempted to reach the Terem Palace in order to rescue you.”
“You would have called her effort heroic.”
“We had her killed.”
“With her died your last chance of stopping the revolution.”
“In gratitude for all we have done, Chortenko has given us permission to kill as many of your citizens as we wish tonight, in numbers up to half of the total population of your city.”
“It is not enough.”
“But it is a start.”
The sleeping duke lifted one arm so that the back of it covered those eyes which had never once in his life been open. “No,” he murmured. “Please… do not.” It was clear he was trying to awaken and, as ever, could not.
“Chortenko’s reign will begin with rioting and a fire that will destroy much of Moscow.”
“In the aftermath of this disaster, he will have to raise taxes steeply.”
“This will cause rioting elsewhere in your land.”
“The riots will be suppressed.”
“But at such a cost that taxes will have to be raised again.”
“Which will destabilize the economy.”
“Requiring new sources of income.”
“Which can be acquired only by force.”
“Muscovy will be able to survive only through constant conquest and expansion.”
In greater and greater agitation, the duke thrashed about, flinging his arms wildly to one side and the other. Effortlessly, the underlords evaded his blind blows. Always they darted back to his ear again. “No,” he said. “I will stop… you. I know how.”
“And how will you do that, Majesty?”
“You have no soldiers.”
“You have no messengers.”
“Your servants have betrayed you.”
“You have lost Moscow already.”
Weakly raising his arms upward, the duke said, “Lord God…hear my prayer. Aid me, I beg you.” His expression was one of mingled horror and yearning. “Send me…a miracle.”
“Fool! There is no God.”
“There are no miracles.”
“Soon there will be no Russia.”
The Duke of Muscovy screamed.
And then he awoke.
...18...
With a noise like thunder, the Duke of Muscovy smashed through the roof of the Terem Palace, scattering tiles and timbers into the night.
Only to discover that he had woken out of his dreams and into something even more phantasmagorical. Below him was his beloved city…and yet it was smaller and shabbier than he had imagined it. Smokes and stinks rose from its every part. There were buildings on the point of collapse that were still being lived in. A fine silt dust discolored all the streets and sidewalks. Much of Moscow was in bad need of a coat of paint.
Nevertheless, it was his city and he loved it dearly.
So overcome was he by the cunning way that every street and building in his mental map had a physical counterpart and all of them precisely detailed in every particular, that the duke forgot entirely the purpose which had driven him into full consciousness. For he had, of course, immediately seen that the False Tsar was the weak point in Chortenko’s plans; if he were killed, the revolution would collapse in an instant. Then, without their figurehead and justification, all those forces allied