Surely this windfall of tobacco was a sign that he should advance his timetable. He could immediately see how it could be used to publicize his fictitious discovery. Surplus might experience a moment’s surprise to see events moving ahead of schedule. But Darger was certain his friend would be quick to adapt to the changing winds of circumstance.
A door opened onto a steaming kitchen and a worker in a stained apron scurried out on an errand. A delivery man staggered by, bent under a side of raw beef. Them he ignored. But then a clutch of five ragged boys ran past.
“Young people!” Darger called after them. “Are you interested in earning some pocket money?”
The boys skittered to a stop, and stared at him with glittering, unblinking eyes, wary as rats. The biggest of the lot squinted skeptically, spat, and said, “What’s the pitch?”
Darger removed the factor’s money from his pocket and slowly peeled off several bills. He understood these slum-children perfectly, for he had been much the same as they in his boyhood. Thus, when one of the smaller ones surreptitiously eased closer, he tightened his grip on the money and favored him with a sudden sharp look. The imp hurriedly backed away.
“What’s your name?” he asked the ringleader.
The boy’s mouth moved silently, as if he were chewing over the implications of giving out this information. Then, grudgingly, he answered, “Kyril.”
“Well, Master Kyril, I have something to celebrate, and I wish to celebrate it by giving away all these crates of cigarettes.”
Kyril looked the pile up and down. There were twenty crates. “Okay. We’ll take this shit off yer hands.”
“Nice try, but no. I’ll be giving them away a pack at a time. What I want you and your comrades to do is to spread the word through the underground-to the Diggers, to the Outcasts, to pretty much everybody except the Pale Folk-that I’ll be handing this stuff out free. Come back in half an hour, and if you’ve raised a large enough crowd, you can help distribute it. For which, I’ll pay you this much”-he extended the bills, and young Kyril snatched them away-“up front, and an equal amount when the job is done. Are you up for it?”
Kyril’s face grew still as he mentally searched for a way to sweeten the deal. “Do we get some of the cigarettes, too?”
“If you must.” Darger sighed. “Though you really shouldn’t, you know. They are bad for you.”
The guttersnipe rolled his eyes in scorn.“I don’t fucking care.”Then he addressed his gang: “Dmitri-Diggers! Oleg-Psychos! Lev-Outcasts! Stephan-Bottom Dwellers!”
They scattered.
In less than the prescribed half an hour, a crowd had gathered, as uncertain and murmurous as the sea. Darger climbed to the top of the stack of crates to address them. “Good friends, congratulate me!” he cried. “For today I have made a discovery that will leave my mark in history. I have found that which everybody said could not be found…the books for which I have searched for so long…the lost library of Ivan the Great!”
He paused, and a puzzled, halfhearted cheer went up.
“In honor of which discovery, I will now give away three packs of cigarettes to everybody who steps forward to congratulate me.”
A much heartier cheer arose.
“Form a line!” Darger cried. Then, dragooning the slum-boys as his helpers, he pried open the first crate and gave a handful of cigarette packs to a drab woman at the head of the line. “They are yours if you say: Congratulations for finding the library.”
“Congratulations for finding the library.” “Excellent. Next. You must say…” “Congratulations for finding the library.”
“Good.”
Beside him, Kyril was handing out cigarettes and receiving perfunctory congratulations, as were his four comrades. Darger noted that their pockets already bulged with packs.
“Congratulations for the library.” “Congratulations.” “Good luck. Glad for ya.” “Um…books?”
“Close enough,” Darger said. “Keep the line moving.”
It took less time to give away the cigarettes than Darger had expected, and yet the experience left him wearier than he would have thought. Finally, though, all the crates had been opened, their contents distributed, and the troglodytes (and a certain number of habitues from the bar and nearby service workers who had come out to see what the noise was about) had gone.
Darger scrupulously paid out the promised money to his half-sized allies. He would have done so even if he hadn’t known how such young men repaid broken promises.
When they had been paid, four of the young men instantly scattered. Kyril, however, remained, looking unaccountably abashed. “Uh, sir,” he said. “What you said about finding the library…does that mean I have to move out of it now?”
Zoesophia was pleasantly surprised by Surplus’s performance. He had, as it turned out, extraordinary stamina for one not born of the breeding vats of Byzantium. It was not until the Way of the Wounded Crane that he gasped, “Enough! Pax! I am but mortal-I must… I have no breath! I can do no more!” And then, when she ignored his pleas and continued onward, he made it all the way through the Way of the Supple Monkey before turning pale and passing out.
“Well!” Zoesophia said, pleased.
Having gotten more of a gallop than she’d expected, Zoesophia found herself feeling decidedly fond of the ambassador. She scratched him behind the ears, and noted with amusement how his feet scrabbled briefly against the cushions. Then she gathered up all the scattered items of clothing and carefully smoothed and laid them out for the morning. She always carried a small mirror with her and this she used to make sure she had no scratches or bruises that would show when dressed. Her hair was a dreadful mess. So she commanded it to go limp and then flicked her head so that it flew out, undoing any snarls or tangles. Six passes of her hands and a command for it to resume its usual body, and she looked as if she had just spent an hour with a beautician.
As she always did before sleeping, Zoesophia took a mental walk into her memory palace and carefully sorted her day’s thoughts into three cabinets-one sculpted from fire, one of ice, and the third merely rattan. She was all but certain that the ambassador was nothing more than a confidence trickster, doubtless planning to run some elaborate scheme on the Duke of Muscovy. But that was tangential at best to her real mission, so she placed that thought in the rattan cabinet, which she reserved for whims, fancies, and idle speculations.
Finally, Zoesophia lay down alongside Surplus, with one hand around his root, so that he could not awaken without her knowing of it. The first thing in the morning, she would dictate terms. For now, she could enjoy her beauty sleep with a clean conscience and a sense of a job well done.
The carriage climbed toward the estate’s hedge-wall, swaying on its springs so that the manor house behind it seemed to dance in the starry night sky. Gentle strains of music could be heard in the distance, for the baronessa’s guests were dancing now, their eyes still afire with the divine Spirit and their souls at peace with all humanity. Arkady had climbed into the carriage with the warmth of the drug dying down within him and his back stinging from the comradely slaps of the men. He could still feel the swift farewell kisses and furtive squeezes of his stones bestowed on him by the women. The carriage cushions were soft, and there was a bucket of iced champagne, should he feel the urge for a drink on his way home. By slow degrees the last embers of indwelling sanctity were fading gently to ash.
How stupid of him to have taken the rasputin immediately after dinner, rather than waiting for the orgy to begin, as the others had! Had it only been otherwise, Arkady would even now be laughing, dancing, gossiping about the ways of angels with his erstwhile comrades in lust. He would be engaged in the pleasant apres-sex social activities with which the aristocracy customarily eased the transition from ardor back to everyday life.
He would not now be alone with his thoughts. With his memories. With the images that, try though he might, he could not dispel from his mind. He would not be tormented by the horrifi
c knowledge of what he had done.
In the carriage’s dark interior, Arkady wept bitterly.
…8…
The merchant from Suzdal strolled down Teatralny proezd, tapping his cane on the sidewalk in time with a hummed tune. Idly, he noted a string of posters pasted one after the other on the lantern-poles lining the street:
LOST
Diamond Necklace with Gold Leaf Clasp in the vicinity of Red Square
5000 SILVER RUBLES REWARD!!!
Apply to A. Kozlenok, Hotel New Metropol
Five thousand rubles was good money for whatever lucky soul found the bauble and was honest enough to return it-more, indeed, than the merchant normally earned in a month. However, this business trip had been an exceptionally profitable one; he had sold all the house-gourd seeds he had brought at a considerable markup-word had not yet reached Moscow of the fast-spreading blight that would attack and kill the gourds before they reached bungalow size-and so he could contemplate the necklace without suffering too greatly the pangs of avarice.
Nevertheless, he could not refrain from peering into the gutters in the furtive hope of seeing a diamondy glitter.
He was thus occupied when, abruptly and without warning, a street urchin slammed into him, almost knocking him to the ground and sending his cane clattering onto the sidewalk.
Clapping one hand to his wallet (for he was well acquainted with the tricks of pick-pockets), the merchant snatched up his cane and rounded upon the young rascal, prepared to thrash him soundly for his insolence. But the face that the child lifted to him was streaked with tears and his expression so distraught that the merchant stayed his wrath and asked, “Are you in pain?”
“Mister, you got to help me.” The waif pointed to the Hotel New Metropol. “The doorman there won’t let me in.”
The merchant, who was himself staying at that very hotel, could not help feel a twinge of amusement. “I should hope not. You’d track mud on the carpets and leave stains on everything you touched.”
“But I gotta get in!”
“Oh? And why is that?”
To the merchant’s astonishment, the boy reached into his jacket and pulled out a diamond necklace. It was only exposed for an instant before being stuffed back away, but that was long enough for him to see the leaf-shaped gold clasp. “I found the necklace fair and square. But I can’t get in to see the guy what’s offering the reward. That bastard doorman won’t even let me tell him what I want.”
“Yes, well, naturally he-”
The boy’s face twisted, as if he had just come to a desperate decision. “Look, mister, get me in and I’ll split the reward with you, fifty-fifty. That’s fair, ain’t it? Twenty-five katies for me and twenty-five for you. That’s an easy day’s work. C’mon, waddaya say?”
The merchant contemplated the boy solemnly. “There is no way that one such as you would be allowed into a decent hotel under any circumstances whatsoever. However, if I may suggest it, I can take the necklace in for you and bring you back your half of the reward.” He stuck out his hand.
But the urchin skittered back from him, eyes glittering with alarm. “Hey, what’re you trying to pull? I’m not stupid. If I give you the necklace, that’s the last I’ll ever see of you. I made you a good offer. You ain’t got no reason to rip me off.”
Affronted, the merchant said, “I was merely trying to help.”
“Yeah, right!” the boy sneered. “Trying to help yourself. I know your kind.” With each retort, he moved a little further away. His body was so tense it quivered. At any moment he would break and run, and the merchant would never see the necklace again.
“Wait, wait, wait a moment,” the merchant said soothingly. “Let’s see if we can’t settle this contretemps amicably.” He thought furiously. “Suppose I were to give you your half of the reward in exchange for the necklace up front? Then you wouldn’t have to trust me. I’ll bring the necklace to its owner and collect the full reward, and we’ll both be ahead by two and a half thousand rubles. Twenty-five ‘katies,’ as you called them.”
The boy’s face worked suspiciously. “Let’s see the color of your money.”
The merchant positioned himself with his back to the nearest building and looked around carefully before withdrawing his billfold from an inner pocket of his coat. Then he counted out two thousand-ruble notes and five hundreds. “Here.” He extended the bills, then pulled them back as the child made a grab for them. “We’ll exchange the money and the necklace simultaneously, if you please.”
Warily, the boy held out the diamond necklace in one hand and reached for the money with the other. Each of the two moved suddenly, hands striking like snakes, and when they stepped apart, the merchant held the necklace and the boy the banknotes. Both grinned with relief.
“You treated me square, mister,” the urchin said. “I guess you ain’t such a bad sort after all.” Then, shoving the money deep into his pocket, he turned and ran. Within seconds he was nowhere to be seen.
His good mood restored, the merchant headed toward the New Metropol. But as he did, he could not help reflecting on the original owner’s carelessness. Five thousand rubles was surely a mere fraction of the necklace’s value-so the greatest profit today would be made by the man who cared so little for his valuables that he flung them into the streets of Moscow without a second thought. The more consideration he gave the matter, the more monstrous this fellow became. Such a man’s wealth was surely inherited, for one who had earned it himself would, as the merchant knew from experience, keep the tightest of grips upon it. So. This self-centered profligate, this despoiler of his father’s hard-earned fortune, sauntered about Moscow, doubtless drunk (for otherwise he would not have been so haphazard with a possession worth so much), simply flinging his property away. Did such a man deserve such riches?
The question answered itself.
Thus, when he came to the hotel, the merchant kept right on walking. He was not far from the jeweler’s district. There would be pawn shops there that would offer him a better percentage of the thing’s value than he was likely to get from its former owner.
“He did everything like you said he would,” Oleg, the smallest of Kyril’s gang of bandits, said. “As soon as Kyril’s out of sight, he goes straight to a pawnshop.”
“Then he comes out cursing and calling the pawnbroker a crook,” Lev interjected.
Stephan shoved Lev aside. “And, and, and then he goes into a second pawnshop. And, and then a third.”
“So finally he goes back to the New Metropol and when he comes out, he’s so mad he rips one of the posters off the lantern-post and throws it on the ground and stomps on it,” finished Dmitri.
“Did he throw away the necklace?” Darger asked. “Did you pick it up?”
“Naw,” Oleg said. “He just goes back into the hotel and don’t come back out.”
“A pity.” Darger put down the book he’d been reading and without rising from his chair said, “All right, Kyril, it’s reckoning time. Let’s see how much you took him for.”
Kyril presented him with a thick stack of banknotes. Darger ran a thumb down one corner and then snapped his fingers three times briskly. “All of it.”
With obvious reluctance, Kyril produced several more bills.
Darger neatened the edges, and then peeled off five hundred-ruble notes from the top. “This much goes to repay me for the necklace. It may have been paste, but it was of excellent quality for its sort.” He placed them in his billfold. “That leaves two thousand rubles. Since you ran the operation and took the lion’s share of the risks, Kyril, you are entitled to half. The rest of it will be doled out in equal shares to your confederates. All right, lads, line up.”
Grinning and elbowing each other, Oleg, Lev, Stephan, and Dmitri formed a short line and received two hundred fifty rubles each. When the last had been paid, the bandits ducked under the fallen girder that had made a breach in one wall, anxious to be on their way to the surface where they could squander every ko
peck of their new-won wealth. Leaving the library empty save for Darger and Kyril.
Darger picked up his book, adjusted the oil lamp, and said, “Listen to this:
“Summer will be ours, if you but say you love me, Night-hawks flitting under the stars And jasmine perfuming your skin.
If not, winter. And I-”
“I don’t see why I had to pay them so much. They didn’t do nothing but put up a bunch of posters, and keep an eye out for the goats. I did all the fucking work.”
With a sigh, Darger shut his book again. “Admittedly, my paraphrase from Sappho’s impeccable Greek was a touch rough. But you had the opportunity to hear a poem that was long believed to be lost forever, and you brushed it aside simply to whinge that your comrades weren’t pulling their weight.”
“Well, they ain’t.”
“I promised to show you how to live by your wits, and here are the first fruits of my teachings.” Darger tapped the stack of bills with his fingertip.
“More money than you’ve ever had in your entire life, earned in less than an hour. A wise young man would take this as a sign that his mentor was worth listening to.”
Angrily, Kyril said, “Maybe you know a few good tricks, but that don’t mean you’re any smarter than me.”
“Oh? Then how did I trick you into bringing me here?” Darger waved a hand to take in all of the library: the shelves of books-stacked sideways in the Medieval manner-that stretched from floor to ceiling and dwindled into the gloom, and the honeycombs of scrolled parchment and papyrus texts, as well as the solid wooden tables, chairs, and other library furnishings, beneath which the children had made their beds.
“What? You already knew all about it…didn’t you?”
“I did not. But when we first came here, you may remember that I kept a hand on your shoulder in an avuncular manner.”
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