Dancing With Bears - Michael Swanwick [15]
Aetheria turned back pleadingly. “Please, Zoësophia. The young man spoke so well. I would like to give him a small favor in return.”
“You may not so much as lift a finger to do so.”
Aetheria bowed in acquiescence. Then she curled one leg up behind herself and with delicate toes plucked the flower from her ear. Languidly, the rose descended behind her. Slowly her torso rose upright again. Then, with a snap of her knee, she flung the flower to the back of her hand. Without using her fingers, she lofted it out the window.
Startled, Arkady reflectively snatched it from the air.
When he looked up again, Zoësophia had slammed the shutters closed.
Arkady had climbed up the tree a man in love. He climbed down it in the throes of passion.
Above, he could hear Zoësophia clap her hands, gathering the Pearls about her. “Page fifty-five of your exercise books,” she said, and there were groans, followed by a rustling noise as the girls flipped through the pages.
Arkady felt a twinge of pity for the virgins, forced by their strict mistress to spend so much time on musical or sewing or physical exercises, whatever they might be. But that sentiment disappeared almost immediately as his thoughts fled from their drear and passionless lives and back to Aetheria. Aetheria! However stern and forbidding Zoësophia might be, Arkady would be forever grateful to her for providing him with the name of his love. Oh, Aetheria, I would die for you, Arkady thought. If you ordered it, I would plunge a knife into my heart right here and now. Just to prove how I feel about you.
Although he had to admit he rather hoped to prove his love in a different manner.
As he wandered away into the warm and welcoming darkness, Arkady heard Zoësophia’s voice slowly fading behind him.“This exercise is called the Position of the Camel and the Monkey. It is particularly tricky, for it involves…”
Almost randomly, he discovered himself at the front of the house. Only a dark smear of dottle on the front step remained to indicate that the Neanderthal guard had ever been there. An open window framed a tableau of dark figures crouched over the sickbed in the converted pantry. Arkady leaned against the sill, dizzy with emotion. He did not at first mean to eavesdrop. But the dull orange light drew his eye, and the night was quiet. So, perforce, he saw and heard everything.
“There!” Koschei straightened from the ambassador. “I have massaged enough of the blood back to his brain for the prince to regain consciousness. My drugs will give him the strength to speak. Most importantly, I have prayed constantly to God to forgive us for impiously prolonging the life of an infidel. See—even now he struggles to awaken. In another minute, you may speak with your master.”
“You are a miracle-worker,” Surplus said.
Koschei stood, hands clasped, as if in prayer. “All miracles come from God. Use this one wisely.” He stepped back against the wall, where he was half-hidden in shadow, and stood watching silently.
Prince Achmed opened his eyes. Only a robust and active man could have survived the long trek across Asia Minor, but now he looked nothing of the sort. His face was sunken and the skin about his eyes was as pale as milk.
Darger knelt by the ambassador’s side and clasped the man’s hands in his. Across the bed from him, Surplus also knelt. They both bent low to hear his words.
“I am dying,” Prince Achmed said.
“Say not so, sir,” Darger murmured reassuringly.
“I am dying, damn you! I am dying and I am a prince and either of those facts gives me leave to say whatever I wish.”
“Your Excellency is, as always, correct.” Darger cleared his throat. “Sir, there is a delicate matter we must discuss. The Pearls are incurring expenses that… Well, to pay for them, we must resort to the treasury-box, which, however, the Neanderthals will