The Dog Said Bow-Wow
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The Dog Said Bow-Wow includes three Hugo Award–winning stories and an original novelette of swashbuckling romance and adventure, “The Skysailor’s Tale.” Ranging from the hardest of science fiction to the highest of fantasy, this irresistible collection amuses and enlightens as only Michael Swanwick can.
reared up on its four hind legs, waving its front pair in the air. “Waaaaaaants.” I smashed a stone against one of those hind legs, snapping it off at the joint. Untroubled, it snatched up Silili with its forelegs. “Yoooooouuuuu!” Then the monstrosity disappeared into the forest. It had all happened too quickly. For the merest instant I was still, stunned, unable to move. And in that instant, faster than quicksilver, the beetle sped through the trees so nimbly that it was gone before I could
a cardboard box under the seat,” she said, “along with a fresh change of clothing — which, confidentially, you badly need — and the family signet ring. What’s buried out there is only the bag, stuffed full of newspapers.” “My head aches,” I said. “If you had my money all along, what was the point of this charade?” “There’s an old saying: Teach a man to fish, and he’ll only eat when the fish are biting. Teach him a good scam, and the suckers will always bite.” The vixen grinned. “A confidence
was eager to return to the embrace of a foreign despot, whether king or queen, George or Titania, made no difference. Our freedoms were young enough that all were aware how precariously we held them. The British, for their part, were fighting men, and recognized hostility when confronted with it. They came to their feet as well, in a very Babel of accusation and denial. It was at that instant, when all was confusion, and violence hovered in the air, that a messenger burst into the room. Is
while he fervidly sought to please her, and then shoved him away. Slowly as the evening star sinking below the horizon did she then recline onto the bed. Crooking a beckoning finger, she said, “Abuse me. Degrade me. Make me feel like filth.” “How shall I do that?” he asked fearfully. He did not think he could bring himself to use her harshly. He did not believe it possible. “Be as kind and gentle and loving to me as you know how. That will suffice.” As she commanded, so did Ned pleasure her.
functional. Carefully, ignoring the pain, he wrote the names of all the men in his platoon on the wall. Joseph Martinez. Johnny Walker. Howard Simms. James O’Brien. Paul S. Holloway III. Pedro Swenson. Francis Parks. Ulysses S. Brown. Garry Liones. Robert Starbuck. Kent Johnstone. Barry Moyer. Kenneth Fletcher. Samuel Brown. Larry E. Lee. William Daugherty. Last of all, he wrote his own name. “We were here, damn it,” he muttered. “We were here!” But then all the strength left him, and he slid