Dancing With Bears - Michael Swanwick [59]
From an inner pocket of his jacket, Darger extracted a small sewing kit. He measured out a length of black thread, bit it off, and tied it around the wad. Sternly, he said, “You must not spend this. It is a tool which, properly employed, will bring you in much more money. And that you may then spend.”
Kyril stared at the wad hungrily. “What’s with the thread?”
“Keep your spending money in one pocket and this little horse-choker in another. Then when you’re in a tight fix in a public space… maybe the police are coming after you, maybe a con has gone hot and the mark is out for blood… you haul it out, slip your thumb between the thread and the bills like this…” He demonstrated. “And with a flick of your wrist, you break the thread and throw the money into the air, while shouting ‘Money!’ at the top of your lungs. What do you think happens then?”
“Everybody starts leapin’ up in the air, snatching at the bills.”
“Everybody. Including the police. While they’re doing that, you make your escape.” Darger handed over the money. “Now I know boys, and so I know you’re going to rush out right now and, against all my good advice, buy pocket knives and sweets and leather jackets and such. Try not to spend it all. It’s easier to make money when you have it.”
Kyril clutched the wad with both hands. Then, suspiciously, he slipped it out of the thread and opened it up to determine that all the bills were still present.
Darger laughed. “I admire your caution. But you must never do that before your business associates. They must believe that you trust them implicitly. You may need them to get you out of a tight situation some day.”
“I can rely on my boys,” Kyril said. “We’re a circle of brothers, is what we are.”
“Perhaps. Yet I have my doubts about one or two of them. However, let us not throw them away without testing them first. A true friend is a rare thing. You may go now.”
In a flash, Kyril was halfway out the hole. He hesitated there, though, and asked over his shoulder, “Ain’t you going out too? To spend the money you got for the necklace?”
“No,” Darger said.“I shall stay here and sort through the library’s many wonders. I have already found a copy of Hesiod’s Catalogue of Women and what I suspect may be Aristotle’s Dialogues. It is possible even that some of Homer’s lost epics lurk herein, to be discovered by my eager hand.”
“Well … I guess if it makes you happy.”
“Oh, it does, my young friend. In fact, if I may confide in you, it is possible I am happier now than I have ever been in my life.” Darger returned to his book. “It’s a shame it cannot last.”
Zoësophia slept late and awoke to find the day unseasonably mild. A cool, light breeze raised goose-bumps on her flesh and gently stirred the reddish-gold down on her mound of pleasure. She could have stayed like this for hours, luxuriating in the air, as if in a bath. Nevertheless, she arose and, in a brisk, businesslike fashion, dressed. On the cushions below