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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, Zoësophia 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, Zoësophia 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