The Family Trade

“No, they’re just an extended trading Clan that happens to be an umbrella for about a third of the nobility that runs the eastern seaboard—the nouveau riche crowd, not long established and deeply paranoid. They’re like the Medicis. There are several countries over there, squabbling feudal kingdoms. The one hereabouts is called the Gruinmarkt, and they don’t speak English—or rather, the ruling class do, the way the nobles in England spoke French during the middle ages. But anyway. The high king rules the Gruinmarkt, but the Clan—the Clan of the families who can walk between worlds—they own everything. I mean, the king wants to marry one of his sons into the Clan to tighten his grip on power.”

Miriam paused to finish her pizza, aware that Paulette was staring at her thoughtfully.

“Where do you fit in all this?” she asked.

“Oh.” Miriam put her fork down. “I’m the long-lost daughter of a noblewoman whose coach was ambushed by bandits. Or assassins—there was a war on at the time, between branches of the Clan. She escaped, ran away to our world, but died before she could get help.” Miriam looked Paulette in the eye. “When you were a kid, did you ever fantasize about maybe you were switched with another baby in the hospital, and your real parents were rich and powerful, or something?”

“Why?” Paulette asked brightly. “Isn’t that every little girl’s daydream? Didn’t Mattel build a whole multinational on top of it?”

“Well, when you’re thirty-two and divorced and have a life, and long-lost relatives from your newly discovered family show up and tell you that actually you’re a countess, it might put a bit of a different spin on tilings, huh?”

Paulette looked slightly puzzled. “How do you mean—”

“Like, they insist that you marry someone suitable, because they can’t have independent women ru

“Oh sweet Jesus. No wonder you look fried!” Paulette shook her head slowly.

“Yeah, well, I was afraid I was going to go crazy if I didn’t get away after the last week. What makes it really bad is that, well…” Miriam chewed her lower lip for a while before continuing. “Your guesses about where they could make money were right on the nail. I don’t know if they’re into Proteome Dynamics and Biphase Technologies, but they’re sure into everything else under the sun. They gave me a debit card and said, ‘Here’s a two-million-dollar credit limit, try not to overload it.’ There is no way in hell that they will let me walk away from them. And the thing that frightens me most is that I’m not, like, one hundred percent sure I entirely want to.”

Paulie was studying her intently. “Is there something else?” she asked.

“Oh yes, oh yes.” Miriam fell silent. “But I don’t want to talk about him just now.”

“Is he bad? Did he—”

“I said I didn’t want to talk about it!” she snapped. A moment later, she added, “I’m sorry. No, he isn’t bad. You know, it’s just you’ve never been able to resist ragging me about men, and I don’t need that right now. It’s messy, very messy, and things are bad enough without adding that kind of complication.”

“Lovely.” Paulette pulled a face. “Okay, so I won’t ask you about your mystery boyfriend. Let me see if I’ve got this straight? It turns out your family think you’re a little lost heiress. They want to treat you like one, which is to say, not a hell of a lot like the way it works out in the fairy tales. You’d maybe tell them to screw off, but first they won’t, and second they’ve got lots of money. Third, you’ve met a man who didn’t want to strangle you after five minutes—”

“—Paulie—”

“—sorry, and he’s mixed up in all of it. Is that a fair summary?”

“Pretty much.” Miriam waved for the check. “Which is why I had to get away from it all for the day. I’m not a, a prisoner. I’m just considered valuable. Or something.” She frowned. “It’s absolutely crazy. Even their business operations! It’s like something out of the middle ages. They’re about three centuries overdue for modernization, and I’m not just talking about the cultural crap. Pure zero-sum mercantilism, red in tooth and nail, in an environment where they have barely invented banking, never mind the limited liability company. Deeply fucking primitive, not to say wasteful of resources, but they’re set in their ways. I’ve seen companies like that before; sooner or later someone else comes along and eats their lunch. There ought to be something smarter they could be doing, if only I could think of it…”

“O-k-a-y. You do that, Miriam.”

The bill arrived and Miriam stuck down a fifty before Paulette could protest. “Come on.” She stood up; Paulette hurried after.

“Did I just see that? Did I? Miriam Beckstein putting down a thirty percent tip? What the hell is happening to my eyes?”

“I want out of this restaurant,” Miriam said flatly. Continuing on the hoof: “Money doesn’t mean anything any more, Paulie, didn’t you catch that bit? I’m so rich I could buy The Weatherman if I wanted to—only it won’t do me a blind bit of good because my problems aren’t money-related. There are factions among the families. One of them wants me dead. They had a nice little number going with my mother’s shareholding in the Clan; now that I’ve shown up, I’ve disrupt a load of plans. Another faction wants me married off. The king, his number-two prince is a retard, Paulie, and you know what? I think my old goat of an uncle is going to try to marry me off to him.”

“Oh, you poor baby. Don’t they have an equal rights amendment?”

“Oh, poor-baby me, these guys don’t even have a constitution,” Miriam said with feeling. “It’s a whole other world, and women like me get the … get the—hell, think about the Arabs. The Saudi royal family. They come over here in expensive suits and limousines and buy big properties and lots of toys, but they don’t think like us, and when they go back home they go straight back to the middle ages. How would you feel if you woke up one morning and discovered you were a Saudi princess?”

“Not very likely,” Paulette pointed out, “seeing as how I am half-Italian and half-Armenian and one hundred percent peasant stock, and damn happy to live here in the U.S. of A., where even peasants are middle class and get to be paralegals and managers. But yeah, I think I see where you’re coming from.” Paulette looked at her grimly. “You got problems,” she said. “I’d worry about the bunch who want you out of the way before worrying about the risk of being married off to Prince Charming, though. At least they’ve got money.” She pulled a face. “If I found I had a long-lost family, knowing my luck, the first thing they’d do is ask to borrow a hundred bucks until payday. Then they’d start with the death threats.”

“Well, you might want to think back to what you said about smuggling,” Miriam pointed out. “I don’t want to be involved in that shit. And I’m worried as hell about the string we were pulling on the other week. Have you had any other incidents?”

“ ‘Incidents’?” Paulie looked angry. “I don’t know if you’d call it that. Somebody burgled my apartment the day before yesterday.”

“Oh shit.” Miriam stopped dead. “I’m so sorry. Was it bad?”

“It could have been,” Paulette said tightly. “I was out at the time. The sergeant said it looked very professional. They cut the phone line and drilled the lock out on the landing, then went in and turned the whole place over. Took my computer and every disk they could find. Ransacked the bookcases, went through my underwear—and left my spare credit card and emergency bankroll alone. They weren’t after money, Miriam. What do you think?”