Chasing the Phoenix by Michael Swanwick

attaché and, one by one, slid out thirty sheets of foolscap, each painstakingly covered with a dazzling babel of invented symbols. “Here you see my calculations proving this exact point, made in a science of my own invention, which I call psychopolemology. It combines the rigor of higher mathematics, the insights of sociology and applied psychology, and the deep wisdoms of philosophy, as applied to the human chessboard of the battlefield.”
    There was a brief pause. Then the Hidden King said, “Explain.”
    â€œThe time has come to employ the Russian Bridge stratagem. So much is mathematically certain. However—” Darger held up one of the papers and tapped a line of gibberish meaningfully. “In order for it to work, it cannot be known by more than four people.”
    â€œEveryone leave. Save for the three of you.”
    Reproachful in their silence and in the offended dignity of their obedience, the other advisors left. When they were alone, the Hidden King took off his dark glasses and slowly unwrapped his scarves, revealing the face of a spoiled boy grown into pampered manhood. Darger hardened himself not to display his shock at so dangerous a show of favor. But the king only said, “What do all these”—he waved a weary hand at the sprawl of parchment sheets—“scribbles mean?”
    Darger proceeded to explicate, at great length. By mid-explanation, his auditors were all looking a little glazed.
    â€œI should like,” Ceo Powerful Locomotive said, when he was done, “to hear that one more time.”
    â€œAs you wish. Do you require it word for word again, or should it be paraphrased?”
    â€œParaphrase!” Cao White Squall exclaimed. Then, looking embarrassed, “If you don’t mind.”
    â€œSimply put, these equations indicate that I can end the stalemate, deliver us from Battlefield Pass, and seize all of the Land of the Mountain Horses with a handful of soldiers, a wagon, half a dozen barrels of water, some signal rockets, a single gold coin, and enough white cloth to make a flag of parley.”
    â€œGo on,” the king said.
    â€œThe ancient Russian Master of War and Harmony described this stratagem in one of his immortal histories,” Darger began. He proceeded to explain his plan to a stone-faced audience. Bit by bit, his words won over at least two of them. It was as good a performance as he had put on since leaving Muscovy. By the time he was done, both Ceo Powerful Locomotive and Cao White Squall, tough audiences though they could be, were smiling and nodding. The king, however, showed not the least sign of enthusiasm for the plan. He looked, though it hardly seemed possible, bored.
    â€œVery well,” the Hidden King said, almost lifelessly. “Requisition your needs and put your scheme into effect.” Turning away, he said, “White Squall.”
    â€œYes, sire?”
    â€œI have been patient,” he said. “Where is my bride?” Without warning, his voice rose into a howl. “When will I see her at last?”
    â€œSoon, Great Monarch, soon! Patience. If she is not waiting for us in Peace, we shall at least discover where she is to be found.”
    â€œI am bereft of hope.”
    â€œNot for long.”
    â€œI begin to think she is not to be found.”
    â€œYou must have faith, Majesty. A thousand clues we have uncovered. Only a few more and she is yours.”
    The meeting went on in this vein for some time. When it was over, White Squall refused to share its significance with either Darger or Powerful Locomotive.
    *   *   *
    AS BEFIT a sage of unfathomable humility, Darger went to the negotiations in a simple wooden wagon, which he drove himself. As befit a representative of the Hidden King, he was accompanied by twenty of the finest soldiers that Ceo Powerful Locomotive could provide—enough to put on a good appearance, but not so many as would cause