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
