Dancing With Bears - Michael Swanwick [149]
But neither could she be allowed to stay in Moscow.
The baronessa was given a generous pension and the Novodevichy Convent to do with as she liked. Those present had some shrewd guesses as to what sorts of activities she would engage in there, in the fields and woods outside of town. But they also knew that the secret police would immediately clamp down on anyone commenting too loudly on them. So that was all right.
It was an open secret that for years hers had been a marriage in name only anyway.
“The next item on the agenda,” the baron said when the business of his wife had been taken care of, “is the beginning of preparations to expand the borders of Muscovy and restore the Russian Empire to its lost glory.”
In short order, forces were mobilized and expanded, conscriptions declared, a host of new commissions created and put up for sale, and authority granted the baron to raise taxes as needed to pay for whatever he required.
It was, everybody agreed afterward, an auspicious beginning to what would surely be a golden new era in Russian history.
Yevgeny had become the hero of the day when, seeing the inexplicable naked giant come crashing toward him, he had redirected his cannon to counter this uncanny new threat. Where others had fled, he had without hesitation rallied his fearless gun crew. Under his direction, the team had with one single shot taken down the monster.
After which, his sergeant had said, “Sir? Hadn’t you better be going now?”
“Eh?” Yevgeny said, startled by the deference in the man’s voice.
“If you want to get the regiment’s name in the history books, sir, you should report this action immediately.” The sergeant gave his superior a meaningful look.
So, not being a total dunce, Yevgeny had wheeled his steed and raced like the wind to army headquarters to report the feat before others could take credit for it.
On delivering his report, Yevgeny was immediately arrested for being drunk on duty, of course. It would take some time for headquarters to accept the giant’s reality. But his claim had been documented, and was thus official. The story would quickly get around, and he could expect to be released before too long. Being of the proper class and breeding for such a deed, he could be confident that a promotion would soon follow. Meanwhile, he was given prison quarters suitable for a gentleman.
It was in his prison cell that Yevgeny met an inmate not much younger than himself who had been arrested for looting. “My own fault,” Anatoli admitted cheerily. “I should have stopped before the city forces pulled themselves together. But I got greedy, so I’ll be living off the duke’s largesse for the next few months.” Word had not yet gotten out that the Duke of Muscovy had been killed by the treachery of his own guards. Though, already, Baron Lukoil-Gazprom was making plans for a solemn funeral procession (with an empty but human-sized coffin, the true nature of the late duke being a state secret) which would pass between the rows of gibbets on which the bodies of the bear-men of the Royal Guard were still fresh. “The only embarrassing thing is that it was my uncle’s mansion I was caught ransacking, so I’m going to catch hell from my mother when I get out.”
“And what do you normally do?” Yevgeny asked. “When you’re not looting and ransacking?”
“Oh, I’m a wastrel, and a scapegrace and a scoundrel and a horrible libertine,” Anatoli said, staring straight into Yevgeny’s eyes. His own were green and filled with mischief, but there was an undercurrent of sorrow there as well, a leavening of pain that made the laughter all that much sweeter. “Depending on my mood, of course.”
Yevgeny felt his heart melt within him.
Meanwhile, the mysterious giant’s corpse had, even in the midst of a citywide holocaust, become something of an attraction. A string quartet was playing at its feet, with a bucket set out for donations. Enterprising artists from the Arbat sold sketches of citizens posing before the