Chasing the Phoenix, page 34
Undying Phoenix raised one elegant eyebrow in query.
“No great leader ever willingly resigns while his nation faces an implacable enemy. Lady, I must warn you about the demons of the Internet and their plans.”
“I know all about them. The fourth or fifth thing that Immortal Alchemist—and now you know my husband’s preferred name—does as emperor will be to remove the Division of Sappers and Archaeologists from the army and make them an independent force dedicated to searching out and removing all traces of the Internet from our land.”
“Such a task would take centuries,” Surplus objected.
“Then it will take centuries. Once the work is begun, it can continue without my husband’s supervision. Now. I must ask myself what is to become of you two scoundrels?”
“I suppose,” Surplus said, “that it is too much to hope that we will be given pensions befitting heroes and allowed to quietly retire in a modest province or three in the countryside? We would not need many hundreds of retainers and only a handful of palaces.”
“We deserve more, but we will settle for less,” Darger, who knew how to read a woman’s face, threw in quickly. “A city—Fragrant Tree, perhaps?—in the hinterlands, a modest array of wives for us each, and enough servants to take care of our every need. That is not much to ask, considering.”
“And remain in China? No. Characters such as you two are born troublemakers. You have caused a great deal of trouble here, and all the nation has reason to be grateful for that. Now you must go away and cause trouble somewhere else.”
“Madam,” Darger said, “postpone our exile but a month or, indeed, but a few days. In that time, tell me only as much of your thoughts and your history and what the long centuries have taught you as you deem wise, and I will go away content.”
For a long moment Undying Phoenix was still. Then she said, “My husband told me you were the most seductive of men, and now I see why. What woman can resist a man who is genuinely interested in her mind? However, this cannot be.”
Undying Phoenix clapped her hands thrice and a half-dozen burly men entered the room. One of them said something that Darger could not understand, and Undying Phoenix answered him in the same language. Then, addressing the two friends again, she said, “These men are the first mate and crew of a ship I have hired to take you out of the country. They speak neither Chinese nor any Western tongues nor, indeed, any other language you are likely to understand. By the time you are in a position to buy a language potion, you will be safely away from here.”
Now Undying Phoenix opened a lacquered box. “When you were in the walled city of Peace, my husband gave the Dog Warrior a new sword cane, as thanks for his service. You, Aubrey Darger, sometimes known as the Perfect Strategist, deserve a sign of favor as well.” Within the box was a silver hip flask exquisitely etched with two phoenixes chasing each other across its surface. “In Crossroads, my husband encouraged Little Spider to liberate this from the city collections and give it to you. It was vanity on my husband’s part to subsequently hand it to master craftsmen to be so decorated.” She presented the flask to Darger. “What you could not know, and the reason this particular item was chosen for you, was that it once belonged to Winston Churchill, a man whom I understand you admire.”
“I … I hardly know what to say.”
“Then say nothing.” Undying Phoenix thrust a purse into Surplus’s hand. “Take this, for the both of you with the thanks of my husband and me. But go.”
“One last question,” Darger said as the seamen closed about him. “You and your husband are both immortal and presumably know the secret of how you were made so. Is it a method or process or material that might be conveyed to other living beings?”
“To such as you, you mean? Heaven protect us from that ever happening!” Undying Phoenix said. But she said it with a smile and, if Darger were any judge of women, a fond one at that.
* * *
SO IT was that Darger and Surplus left the presence of Undying Phoenix and were escorted out of the Forbidden City and past a line of gallows from which hung dozens of corpses. Surplus threw his friend a questioning glance, and Darger said, “It is customary upon a coronation to free all prisoners. A canny ruler, however, will see to the fates of those he would not wish running about free, beforehand.”
“I recognize two or three of these. They were not good men,” Surplus said. “Yet I would not have wished death upon any of them. Venereal diseases, perhaps, and gout. Various persistent itches, to be sure. Psoriasis, perhaps, or embarrassing maladies of the bowels. But not death. I am glad now that my family got away in time. My pretend family, I mean. My family of the heart.”
“This is the work of more virtuous folk than we could ever hope to be,” Darger agreed.
Through the streets of North they were marched, and while their escorts displayed no malice whatever toward them, neither did they offer any least opportunity of escape. While many of the folk they passed stared at Surplus in wonder, none appeared to make the connection between this dejected figure and the valiant Dog Warrior whose legend had so terrified his enemies. As for Darger, he was nondescript at the best of times and forgotten as soon as one looked away from him.
They were taken to the docks on the White River, where a junk awaited them. Downriver it sailed, and though occasionally Surplus indicated by gestures that if their captors put in at a bankside tavern he would buy drinks for all, they did not stop.
They arrived at Port of Heaven the next day. The river smell gave way to a rich mixture of salt spray, the sulfur of decaying sea creatures, and mud. The harbor was still thronged with empty warships riding at anchor, and the tide was going out.
Their junk laid up not far from a resin-hulled three-master, whose polymer bubble sails were even then being hoisted up to catch the wind where the sunlight covered them with rainbows. A dinghy was lowered into the water, and Darger and Surplus climbed down to it. They were transported to the ship, where a great-bearded man whose air of command proclaimed him the captain made a short speech and then clapped the shoulder of each of them before turning away. They were, it appeared, honored passengers.
Then there were shouts everywhere, the anchor was winched up, and the ship was under weigh. At the captain’s direction, the pilot turned the nose of the ship to the east, catching the tide out of the harbor.
Darger and Surplus went to the bow to stare out over the billowing waves. Now that they were finally alone, Surplus had the opportunity at last to examine the contents of the purse they had been given. In answer to his friend’s unspoken question, he said, “Enough to set us up in business when we reach our destination. Far less than we had reason to hope for.”
He heaved a deep sigh, and they watched the Chinese mainland slowly grow dim in the distance. Finally, Surplus said, “I wonder where we are going?”
About the Author
MICHAEL SWANWICK lives in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. He has won five Hugo Awards and one Nebula Award (best novel). You can sign up for email updates here.
OTHER BOOKS BY MICHAEL SWANWICK
Vacuum Flowers
The Iron Dragon’s Daughter
Jack Faust
Dragons of Babel
Stations of the Tide
Thank you for buying this
Tom Doherty Associates ebook.
To receive special offers, bonus content,
and info on new releases and other great reads,
sign up for our newsletters.
Or visit us online at
us.macmillan.com/newslettersignup
For email updates on the author, click here.
Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Author’s Note
Epigraph
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
About the Author
Other Books by Michael Swanwick
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
CHASING THE PHOENIX
Copyright © 2015 by Michael Swanwick
All rights reserved.
Cover art by Stephan Martiniere
A Tor Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC
175 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10010
www.tor-forge.com
Tor® is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.
eBooks may be purchased for business or promotional use. For information on bulk purchases, please contact Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department by writing to MacmillanSpecialMarkets@macmillan.com.
The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:
Swanwick, Michael.
Chasing the Phoenix / Michael Swanwick.—First edition.
p. cm.
ISBN 978-0-7653-8090-6 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-4668-7606-4 (e-book)
I. Title.
PS3569.W28C48 2015
813'.54—dc23
2015015733
e-ISBN 9781466876064
First Edition: August 2015
Michael Swanwick, Chasing the Phoenix
