Dawn.
Surplus woke to the humble sounds of small-town life: the distant thump of the great green heart of the water pumping station contracting and expanding, birds singing, and the cries of sheep and goats and cows being brought out from their barns. “Fooood!” the sheep bleated and “Nowwww,” moaned the cows. Such animals had vocabularies of only five or six words, which hardly contributed much to interspecies communication. Surplus often thought that whichever bygone scientist it was who had thought it necessary for them to convey such obvious desires must have been an extremely shallow fellow and one, moreover, who had never owned an animal or been on a farm. But the past was the past and there was nothing to be done about it now.
He stretched, and got out of bed. The room he and Darger shared was small and located above the stable. There was no disguising the fact that it was normally used for storage. But they had been given sturdy beds and fresh linens and there was clean water in the washbasin on the nightstand. He had endured worse in his time.
Darger was already up and gone, so Surplus dressed and sauntered to the main house, whistling as he went.
Anya Levkova and her daughters Olga and Katia were in the kitchen, cooking vast amounts of food for their guests. White-gloved Neanderthals came and went, carrying heavily laden trays upstairs and returning to the kitchen with empty plates. Darger, looking atypically cheerful, as he always did when money was in the prospect, was at the dining room table alongside Koschei and across from Gulagsky’s son Arkady. The young man was silent and brooding, doubtless due to a perfectly appropriate embarrassment for his behavior yesterday. The pilgrim was muttering almost silently to himself, apparently lost in some variety of religious reverie.
Just as Surplus was sitting down, Gulagsky himself came roaring into the house.
“Anya, you slattern!” Gulagsky shouted. “Why is my friend Darger’s plate half empty? Where is my friend Surplus’s tea? Neither of them has a glass of buttermilk, much less kvass, and for that matter I myself am ravenously hungry and yet remain unfed, though God knows I spend enough on food for this household to feed every able-bodied man from here to Novo Ruthenia.”
“Such impatience,” the housekeeper said placidly. “You are not even seated and you expect to already be done eating.” Even as she spoke, Katia and Olga were dancing about the room, filling plates and glasses, and covering the table with as much food as it would bear.
Gulagsky sat down heavily and, forking up a sausage, two blini, and some sour cream, crammed them into his mouth. He chewed and swallowed and announced with evident satisfaction, “You see how prosperous we are here, eh? That is my doing. I have taken a town and made of it a kremlin.” (Surplus saw Arkady roll his eyes.) “You have seen the thorn-hedge walls surrounding us. Twenty years ago, I mortgaged all I owned to buy fifteen wagonloads of cuttings. Now they are eighteen feet tall, and so dense that a shrew could not make its way through them. Nor could anything short of an army force its way past.”
“Place not your faith in the works of man,” Koschei rumbled without looking up, “but in God alone.”
“Where was God when this town was dying? The countryside was emptying out when I planted the fortifications, and half our houses were abandoned. It was a true gorodishko then! I gathered in all who remained, created manufactories to give them jobs, and organized a militia to patrol the countryside. Everything you see here is my doing! I bought up every strain of poetry I could find at a time when it was out of fashion, and now every year hundreds of cases of it sell as far away as Suzdal and St. Petersburg. My cloneries have rare leathers-rhinoceros, giraffe, panther, and bison, to name but four-that can be obtained nowhere else on this continent.”
“Your words are proud,” Darger said, “and yet your tone is bitter.”
“Yesterday I lost four warriors, and their kind cannot be replaced.” Gulagsky shook his head shaggily. “I have held this town together with my bare hands. Now I wonder if it is enough. When I first started my patrols, twenty, thirty, sometimes even fifty good, strong men came with me at a time. And now…” For a moment Gulagsky was silent. “All the best men have died, torn apart by strange beasts or felled by remnant war viruses.”
“Your son seemed eager to go out with you,” Surplus said. “Perhaps he could recruit among his friends.”
“My son!” Gulagsky snorted. The sullen young man himself did not look up from his platter. “He and his generation are as weak as water. They-”
Abruptly, Koschei broke out of his reverie and stood. “I am called to Moscow to set matters straight and put an end to its decadent ways,” he announced. “These heathen atheists and their vat-bred abominations are going to that cesspool of sin. Therefore they must take me with them.”
Everyone stared at the strannik in astonished silence for a beat. Then Darger dabbed at the corner of his mouth with a napkin and said, “The person to decide that would be Prince Achmed.”
“Your ambassador will be dead within days.”
“Yes, perhaps… but still… No, it is quite impossible, I am afraid. Even without the invaluable presence of a prince, we are a delegation, sir. Not a commercial caravan to which travelers might attach themselves.”
The strannik’s eyes were two dark coals. “That is your final answer?”
“It is.”
He appealed to Gulagsky. “Will you not use your influence on your guests to alter their decision?”
Gulagsky spread his arms. “You see that their minds are set. What can I do?”
“Very well,” the strannik said. “In that case, I have no choice but to inform you that last night your son spent an hour up in a tree, first watching and then romancing one of the young women under your protection.”
“What?!” Gulagsky turned to his son with a terrible expression on his face.
“Further, later in the evening, he squeezed himself into the dumbwaiter in order to penetrate the girls’ sleeping quarters. Had he not been caught and ejected by one of the beast-men, who can say what else he might have done?”
Gulagsky’s face was contorted with rage. Arkady turned pale. “Father, listen to me! Your new associates…these horrible men…”
“Silence!”
“You have no idea what a monstrous thing they are about to do,” the young man said desperately. “I overheard them-”
“I said silence!” The room was suddenly full of argument and admonition. Only the pilgrim stood silent, hands clasped at his waist, watching all that transpired with a strangely benign expression. But Gulagsky’s voice rose above the clamor. “If you say but one more word-one!-I swear I will kill you with my own two hands.”
The room fell silent. Then Gulagsky said, with heavy emphasis, “You have committed an unspeakable breach of hospitality.”
Arkady opened his mouth to speak, but Darger, quick-thinking as ever, clapped a hand over it.
“Oh, you want to tell me your side of this story, do you? As if I didn’t already know,” Gulagsky said furiously. “Well, let me tell it to you instead: An inexperienced boy falls for a woman better than he will ever deserve. She’s young and foolish and a virgin to boot. All of nature is on his side. But who’s on hers? Not he! She is promised to another, greater and richer than he can ever hope to be. If he so much as touches her, I have been reliably told, she will burn. So if he wished the best for the young lady, he would keep his silence and leave her ignorant of his feelings for her. But he does not. So for all his passion, he doesn’t really care for her, does he? Only about his own sentiments. And what is he sentimental about? Why, himself, of course.”
The boy struggled to free himself from Darger’s grip. “Well, this shall not be. By God, I swear-”
“Sir, do not be hasty!” Surplus cried.
“If anybody so much as touches one of the Pearls while they are under my roof-even if it is only with the tip of one finger, I swear that with my own two hands I will-”
“Think!” Surplus urged him. “Think before you make any rash oaths, sir.”
But now, unexpectedly, Koschei placed himself directly before Gulagsky, who angrily tried to shove him aside. Unheeding, the strannik seized his arms in a grip of iron and without visible effort lifted him bodily off the floor. Ignoring Gulagsky’s astonishment, he said, “You were about to swear that you would kill your own son if he crosses your will. That is the same oath that Abraham swore-only you are not so holy a man as he. God does not so favor you.”
He restored the man to the floor. “Now control yourself, and do not add blasphemy and filicide to the myriad sins which doubtless already blacken your soul.”
Gulagsky took ten ragged breaths. Then, somewhat unevenly, he said. “You are right. You are right. To my shame, I was going to promise something rash. Yet it must be said: If anyone in this village so much as touches one of the Pearls, he will be exiled-”
“For at least a year,” Surplus said, before his host could add “forever.”
Gulagsky’s face twisted, as if he had just swallowed something foul. But he managed to say, “For at least a year.”
He sat back down at the table.
Surplus felt a tension in himself ease. It was not good to allow absolutes to enter into one’s life. They had a habit of turning on one.
At that very instant, the door at the top of the stairs opened, and a Russian woman appeared in it. Gulagsky stood, chair toppling behind him, mouth open in astonishment. Then he recovered himself. “Lady Zoesophia. Forgive me. For a second, I thought you were…well, never mind.”
“In turn, you will, I hope, forgive me for borrowing these clothes, which I found in a trunk in the attic, and which I presume belonged to your late wife.” Zoesophia glanced down at her admittedly admirable figure. She wore a long and sturdy red skirt that brushed against the top of her oxblood boots, a russet-and-gold embroidered jacket over a white blouse, and kid gloves long enough that not a speck of wrist showed. An umber scarf was tied so artfully about her head that it took a second glance to realize that beneath it, a second, flesh-colored kerchief concealed her mouth and nose. “They fit me perfectly. She must have been a very beautiful lady.”
From an ordinary woman, such words would have sounded conceited. But not from a Pearl.
“Yes,” Gulagsky said, almost choking. “She was.”
“I thank you for their use. I must go out now, and I did not wish to draw undue attention to myself by wearing outlandish clothing.”
“Where, if I may ask, are you bound for, madam?” Darger politely queried.
“Monsieur de Plus Precieux and I are going to church.”
So saying, Zoesophia swept down the last few stairs, took the astonished Surplus’s arm, and led him away.
Though the town was small, there were enough people on the street- and they extremely curious about their exotic visitors-to discourage frank conversation. Children followed the couple, whooping. Adults openly gawked. So, although far more pertinent questions urged themselves upon him, Surplus merely said, “However did you manage to convince the Neanderthals to let you go out without a guard?”
“Oh! Whatever else they may be, the Neanderthals are still male-and it will be a sorry day when I cannot convince a man to let me have whatever I want from him. Also, with the prince indisposed, I am the embassy’s highest-ranking member.”
“Perhaps, then, you could arrange for our brawny friends to throw open the treasury-box. You and your Sisters in Delight have run up debts which-”
“Alas,” Zoesophia said negligently, “my authority has limits. Prince Achmed made very sure of that.”
The church (or cathedral as such were called here) was a handsome log building surmounted by an Orthodox cross. The interior was all a dazzle to Surplus. Partly this was due to the richness of its decoration, the extravagant number of lit candles and the pervasive smell of beeswax that made the air heavy and sultry, the unearthly beauty of the choir’s chanting, and the strangeness of a religious rite carried out entirely behind the iconostasis, so that it could not be seen by the faithful. But, chiefly, it was Zoesophia’s presence that distracted him.
It was a weekday and most of the congregants were black-clad crones who, being blessed with younger women in the house to be worked like serfs, could indulge their piety. Several women to the very front were being held up by solicitous friends or relations, and from this Surplus surmised that they were the new widows, praying for the strength to get them through the coming memorial services. So intent were all on their prayers that Zoesophia and Surplus managed to slip in with only a hostile glare or two thrown quickly their way. Nevertheless, to Surplus’s eyes, his companion stood out among them like a swan in a flock of grackles. Moreover, as they took places in the back of the church, rather than releasing his arm, she pressed herself more tightly against him, so that he could feel the warmth of her hip and one breast, and that, too, was distracting.
They had not been listening to the service long when, to Surplus’s absolute amazement, Zoesophia backed into a niche at the rearmost of the church and pulled him after her, where they could not be seen by the congregation.
The niche was small, and there was not entirely enough room for two people to avoid intimate contact. Surplus was so intensely aware of Zoesophia’s body as to be somewhat short of breath. She placed her kerchief-covered mouth by his ear and murmured, “I know that you are drawn to me. I can see it in your eyes. And in other places as well.” Her gloved hand passed slowly down his body, stopping at the fly of his trousers. “Perhaps you have also noticed that I find myself powerfully drawn to you in return. But as you know”-her voice caught in a marvelous oral simulation of a blush-“our feelings for each other cannot be consummated. For reasons you well understand.”
Surplus whispered back, “You surprise and delight me, O Flower of Byzantium. To think that one such as I…Well, I am quite overwhelmed.” Which was not entirely true. Surplus understood perfectly the power his unusual form had over the imaginations of adventurous women. But he knew better than to say so. “Nevertheless, I must turn our conversation to less pleasant matters.”
Finger by finger, Zoesophia’s hand closed about Surplus’s swollen member in a manner which, even through the interposing media of glove and trousers, was so exquisitely pleasurable as to have surely required many hours of practice. “Oh?”
“Yes. I must warn you that the ambassador has hatched a mad scheme to exterminate the Pearls before he dies.” Quickly, he sketched out the details.
“Ah.” Her hand tightened slightly. “I wondered if you were going to tell me.”
Reproachfully, Surplus said, “Madam, I am a gentleman.”
“You and I obviously have different understandings of what that word entails. But let that go. I have been reliably informed that you and your comrade have agreed to this plan.” Her hand tightened further, to the point that the pleasure Surplus felt was evenly balanced with pain. The creations of the Caliph’s geneticists, he recalled, were often inhumanly strong. Surely she wouldn’t…? “Tell me exactly what your part in this is, Gospodin de Plus Precieux.”
“We agreed,” Surplus said, and with alarm felt Zoesophia’s grip tighten yet more, “solely in order to keep Prince Achmed from issuing his command directly to the Neanderthals. Who, lacking the ability to disobey him, would have immediately turned his vile intentions into fact. We adopted the regrettable policy of untruth solely to prevent a grave crime against Beauty.”
“You desire that my dear sisters and I live, then?” That vise-tight hand twisted ever so slightly.
Surplus gasped. “Yes!”
“I assure you that such is our most fervent wish as well. The question is-how is this glad end to be achieved?” Her grip was like steel. Surplus had no doubt whatsoever that if she found his answer displeasing, it would be the easiest thing in the world for her to rip his manhood entirely free of his body.
Speaking quickly, Surplus said, “Oh, that my friend and I had resolved entirely almost immediately after the foul words had left Prince Achmed’s mouth. All that we lacked was a way to confer with you in private.”
He explained.
With mingled relief and regret, he felt Zoesophia’s hand release him.
After services, Surplus returned to the Gulagsky mansion. Zoesophia, he noted, went up the stairs with a lightness she had not brought down with her. He turned to Koschei. “You say you can bring Prince Achmed to consciousness again?”
“Yes. But in his weakened state it will surely be too much for his constitution to bear for long. You should not direct me to do so unless you are absolutely certain you wish to kill him.”
“I? Kill the ambassador? What a remarkable thing to say.”
“But an honest one. God has a purpose for all things. Alive and dying, the ambassador does nobody any good whatsoever. Dead, he will at a minimum serve as excellent fertilizer.” The strannik raised a hand to forestall Surplus’s rebuke. “Spare me your horror. He is a heathen and cannot be buried in consecrated ground. That being so, some use might as well be made of his carcass. In any event, his death is a consequence that I am prepared to accept. What is your decision?”
“We simply must speak to him,” Surplus began. “So…”
“Call everyone together in an hour. Two hours will be too late.” The strannik disappeared into the sickroom and closed the door behind himself.
“What an extraordinary fellow!” Surplus exclaimed. “I don’t believe I’ve ever met a cleric even remotely like him.”
Darger looked up from a crate of old books that, in obedience to the Pearls’ directive, had been delivered to the house during Surplus’s absence. “I’m C of E myself.” He slipped an undistinguished volume into an inside pocket of his coat. “And, after getting a taste of the good pilgrim’s catechism, damned glad of it.”
So it was that, one hour later, the ground floor was thronged with people. Surplus and Koschei sat on chairs to either side of the ambassador’s sickbed. Darger and the two Gulagskys stood by the door. Just beyond, all seven Pearls Beyond Price formed a worried group, encircled by a grim ring of Neanderthals. Only Zoesophia looked more affronted than afraid. Neighbors, servants, employees, and idlers took up all the free space and half the outside yard as well, where they peered in through windows and doorway, and craned their ears for word from within. By Byzantine law, no one could be kept away from so public an event as the reading of an ambassador’s will.
“This is my most powerful medication, and the most wondrous in its effects.” Koschei shook a pill the size of a sesame seed from a small vial. “Everything else I have done was merely to strengthen the ambassador so his body could briefly withstand its effects.” He pried open the prince’s mouth and placed it on his tongue.
For a long, still moment nothing happened. Then Prince Achmed’s eyes fluttered open.
“Am I in Paradise?” he murmured. “It seems…I am not. And yet…I feel the holy presence of…Allah…within and all about me.”
“I am very glad to hear that,” Surplus said, “for it makes what I must say easier. Great Prince, I am afraid that you are dying.”
“A week ago, that would have been…terrible news. But now I…am content.”
“That being so, perhaps you would reconsider your decision regarding the-”
“No.” Prince Achmed’s eye burned with strange elation. “I will die having done my duty.” He struggled to raise his head from the pillow but could not. “Have the eldest of the Sisters of Ecstasy produce a sheet of smart paper suitable for a proclamation.”
One of the Neanderthals lumbered up the stairs and returned with an ebony box. Coiled about it was what looked at first to be a carving of a snake looping in and out of several holes and possessed of a second head where its tail should be. But when Zoesophia accepted the box, one of the heads turned to stare at her with cold, glittering eyes. It was a minor example of Byzantine quasilife, but one that Surplus knew to be deadly, for its bite had killed a would-be thief in the early days of their long journey.
Zoesophia tapped the head, so that it gaped wide, showing teeth like ivory needles. Then, turning to the wall for modesty’s sake, she lifted her veil and let fall a single drop of saliva into the creature’s mouth.
The quasisnake’s coils loosened, it slid in and out of the holes, and the top of the box flew open. Zoesophia removed a sheet of cream-white paper and wordlessly handed it to Enkidu, who gave it to Darger, who passed it along to Surplus. Surplus had a lap-desk resting on his knees, from which he produced a goose-quill pen and a bottle of India ink. “You may begin,” he said.
Slowly and haltingly, the prince dictated his last decree. The room grew deathly silent as its import became clear. Finally, he closed his eyes and said, “Read it back to me.”
“Sir, there is yet time to rethink this rash course of action.”
“Read it, I said!”
Surplus read: “Part the first. That upon my death, the Jewels of Byzantium, the Pearls Beyond Price, viz., Zoesophia, Olympias, Nymphodora, Eulogia, Euphrosyne, Russalka, and Aetheria, having been created solely for the pleasure and delight of the Duke of Muscovy, into whose loving care I am now unable to deliver them, are to be immediately and with the absolute minimum of pain necessary to achieve this end, put to death.”
“Oh!” Nymphodora cried in a heartbreakingly small voice. “Who will save us?”
Several of the Russian men in the room reflexively surged forward. But Herakles bared his canines in a snarl and, seizing an iron poker from the nearby hearth, bent it double and flung it down on the floor before him. The men stopped in their tracks. One of them turned and shook his fist at the sickroom and those near to it. “What kind of monsters are you to go along with this?”
“We are all helpless in this situation,” Darger said,“and can only play out the parts we were assigned.” He nodded to Surplus. “Pray, continue.”
“Part the second,” Surplus read. “That immediately following the execution of the first part of this decree my good servant Aubrey Darger (I took a small liberty with the phrasing here, Exalted Prince, for your stated characterization of my friend was not suited to a legal document) be given all moneys remaining in the treasury box. The letters of credit, however, along with all other documents therein, are to be destroyed.”
“Judas!” somebody shouted. The Pearls were weeping piteously.
Undaunted, Surplus continued. “Part the third. That upon completion of their duties, the Neanderthals, who are the property of the Caliph, by whose grace the State flourishes, are to immediately vacate Russia and return to Byzantium. Any of their number surviving the voyage are to report promptly to the Master of Brutes for reassignment. Signed, Achmed by grace of Allah prince of Byzantium, defender of the Faith, and scourge of infidels. Then the date.”
He looked up. “This is a deed of blackest infamy.”
“Never mind… that. Bring me the document so… I may… examine it.”
Surplus did so.
“Yes, that… appears to be… in order.”
With a sharp cry, Zoesophia pushed past the Neanderthals and flung herself on the ambassador’s chest. “Noble prince, relent! Kill me if you must, but spare my sisters! They are innocent souls who have never given the least offense to anyone. It is not death they deserve, but life.” Then she burst into tears.
“Get this harlot…off me,” Achmed ordered.
Herakles and Enkidu respectfully took the sobbing Pearl by the arms and backed her out of the sickroom. The decree slipped to the floor behind her.
Surplus picked it up. “All it awaits is the touch of your hand.”
Solemnly, Prince Achmed kissed thumb and forefinger and pinched the bottom of the decree between them, activating the document with his own DNA. Surplus, as witness, followed suit, pinching a colored rectangle immediately above the prince’s gene-mark. The smart paper tasted Prince Achmed’s DNA, verifying his identity, and turned a shimmering orange, the impossible-to-counterfeit color of all official Byzantine documents.
The ambassador smiled beatifically.“My duty…is done.” Then he grew extremely still.
Koschei leaned over the ambassador and placed his ear upon his chest. Then he straightened and, with his thumbs, closed Prince Achmed’s eyelids. “He is in Hell now.”
“Well,” said Enkidu heavily. “I guess we got no choice here.”
“Wait!” Darger cried. He lifted the orange paper from the ambassador’s chest. “I insist that you read the decree first.”
The Neanderthal glared at Darger. “Pettifogger.” But he snatched up the paper and held it up to his eyes. His lips moved. At last he said, “Hey. This ain’t what the ambassador told you to write down.”
“No, it is not,” Darger said. “Earlier today, at our direction, Zoesophia wrote out a deed of transfer on a sheet of smart paper. When she fell upon the ambassador’s chest, she was hiding it under her vest. It was the easiest thing in the world, then, for her to substitute the one document for the other. Prince Achmed placed his thumb not on a death-warrant, as he intended, but on a decree appointing a new ambassador in his stead.” He turned to Surplus and bowed. “Your Excellency.”
There was a moment’s startled silence, and then spontaneous applause from all present-including even the Neanderthals. Several of them, indeed, were grinning widely, the first time Surplus could ever recall seeing them do so. Meanwhile, those locals standing near the windows were shouting the news out into the yard, so that there was a second burst of laughter and cheers. Gulagsky grabbed Darger in a bear hug and absolute strangers pounded Surplus on the back and shook his paw warmly.
Then, when all was chaos and jubilation, a woman screamed.
Voices hushed. Heads turned. In the center of the room Aetheria was staring in horror at her hand. On her wrist were raw red welts: some the exact size and shape of fingers and one that was the perfect image of a pair of lips.
Into the horrified silence, Arkady stammered, “I…I only seized her hand and k-kissed the back of her wrist. I meant nothing bad by it. I was simply happy that she would live.” He glared about him. “Anybody else would have done the same!”
“Oh, you fool,” Surplus said.
It took some while to clear the house of all who did not belong there. By then, the Pearls were safely upstairs and the Neanderthals back on guard. Arkady had just been knocked to the floor for the second time by an angry blow from his father. There he lay, burning with anger and guilt and love-sickness.
Surplus helped him to his feet. “Now you understand why we tried so hard to keep the Pearls away from men. They burn at our touch. The Caliph’s psychogeneticists implanted commands to that effect in order to preserve the young ladies’ virginities.”
“They cannot be unfaithful to their intended groom,” Darger amplified. “Any male’s touch other than his, however light, blisters their skin. A kiss would char their lips to cinder. As for intercourse…well, they would be dead in minutes.”
Koschei, who had been silent and watchful through the entire affair, now spoke. “I have salves that will heal the young woman. Though some discoloration may remain.”
“Give them to the Neanderthals, who will pass them along to Aetheria,” Darger said. “You, being a man, cannot be allowed to touch her, of course, celibate though you presumably are.”
Gulagsky sat down heavily in a green leather armchair and clutched his head in an agony of emotion. The others remained standing. At last he said, “Arkady Ivanovich, you are to be banished from your home for the period of one full year. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” The young man stood stiff and straight.
“These fellows are going to Moscow. You will go with them.”
“No,” Darger said. “That simply cannot be allowed. The young man is still in love with Aetheria and her presence will be a constant temptation to him.”
“You think I would knowingly put her life in peril?” Arkady asked, outraged.
“I think your coming with us would not be wise.”
“It might not be wise,” Gulagsky said, “but it is the only option I have. These are dangerous lands, and it will be months before the next wagon train of traders stops here. If I sent him out alone, it would be to his certain death.” He bared his teeth furiously at his son. “Death! That is what you have been playing with, you blockhead! Oh, how could I have sired such an idiot?”
“As the new ambassador,” Surplus said, “it is my duty to act in the best interest of my charges.”
“One ambassador has already died in my house. If you do not do as I say, a second may well follow.”
They stared at each other for a long time, until finally Surplus concluded that the man was adamant. “I see we have no choice,” he said with a sigh.
“We will depart in the morning.”
“And I,” Koschei said, “will come with you, to look after the boy’s moral education.”
“Oh, for the love of God!” Surplus exclaimed involuntarily. But a dark look and a clenched fist on Gulagsky’s part silenced any further exposition.
“Precisely.” Koschei smiled piously. “For the love of God.”
The caravans left at dawn. In stark contrast to their festive arrival, nobody turned out to see them off. Darger and Surplus rode horses, while Arkady and Koschei strode along on foot.
Surplus cantered back and glared down from his mare at the strannik. “This is all your doing, you rascal! You manipulated Arkady’s exile in order to force us to take you to Moscow.”
“Blame God, not me. He has work for me there. He made it possible for me to go. That is all.”
“Pah!” Surplus spurred his horse forward again.
Not long after, the caravan trundled past the field where Prince Achmed’s body had been flung. Crows covered it, fighting for bits of flesh. Surplus turned away from the sad spectacle. Riding beside him, Darger said, “Wasn’t this the same field where the cyberwolf was supposed to be thrown?”
“I believe it is.” “Then where is it?”
Strangely enough, the corpse was nowhere to be seen.
“An animal might well have scavenged the carcass,” Surplus suggested.
“But then there would be machine parts left behind-as there are not. No man would desire such a thing, nor would anybody bury it. Who, then, or what, could have taken it away? It makes no sense at all.”
The town-whose name, Surplus abruptly realized, he never had learned-faded behind them, and that for them was the last of Gorodishko. Save for one small incident, barely noticed and almost immediately forgotten.
On a low hillock, far across the fields, a lone man stood in silhouette against the rising sun, watching them leave. Was it only Surplus’s imagination that, just before he disappeared in the distance, the man fell to all fours and trotted away?