The Family Trade

“That would be bad, I agree.” He looked grave. “In fact—” his eyes unfocused, he stared into the middle distance—“Sky Father, it could trigger a revolution! If the Clan suddenly lost its supply of luxury items—or antibiotics—we’d be screwed. It’s amazing how much leverage you can buy by ensuring the heir to a duchy somewhere doesn’t die of pneumonia or that some countess doesn’t succumb to childbed fever.”

“Yeah.” Miriam began collecting her scattered clothes. “But it doesn’t have to go that way. I figure with their social standing the Clan could push industrialization and development policies that would drag the whole Gruinmarkt into the nineteenth century within a couple of generations, and a little later it would be able to export stuff that people over here would actually want to buy. Land reform and tools to boost agricultural efficiency, set up schools, build steel mills, and start using the local oil reserves in Pe

Roland watched her pull her pants on. “That’s a lot to think about,” he said doubtfully. “Not that I’m saying it can’t be done, but it’s … it’s big.”

“Are you kidding?” She flashed him a smile. “It’s not just big, it’s enormous! It’s the biggest goddamned management problem anyone has ever seen. Drag an entire planet out of the middle ages in a single generation, get the families out of the drugs trade by giving them something productive and profitable to do instead, give ourselves so much leverage we can dictate terms to them from on high and make the likes of Angbard jump when we say ‘hop’—isn’t that something you could really get your teeth into?”

“Yeah.” He stood up and pulled open the wardrobe where he’d hung his suit the evening before. “What you’re talking about will take far more leverage than I ever thought…” Then he gri

Miriam went on a shopping spree, strictly cash. She bought three prepaid mobile phones and programmed some numbers in. One of them she kept with Roland’s and Paulette’s numbers in it. Another she loaded with her number and Roland’s and mailed to Paulie. The third—she thought long and hard on it, then loaded her own number in, but not Paulette’s. Blood might be thicker than water, but she was responsible for Paulette’s safety. A tiny worm of suspicion still ate at her; she was pretty certain that Roland was telling the truth, straight down the line, but if not, it wouldn’t be the first time a man had lied to her, and—

What the hell is this? This is the guy you ‘re thinking about spending the rest of your life with—and you’re holding out on him because you don’t trust him completely? She confronted herself and answered: Yeah. If Angbard told him my life depended on him giving Paulie away, how would I feel then?

Next she collected essential supplies. She started by pulling more cash from an ATM. She stuffed three thousand dollars into an envelope, wrapped a handwritten note around it, and FedExed it to Paulette’s home address. It was an eccentric way to pay an employee, but what the hell—it wasn’t as if she’d set up a safe bank account yet, was it? After posting the cash, Miriam hit on a couple of department stores, one for spare socks (There are no washing machines in history-land, she reminded herself) and another for some vital information. A CD-ROM containing the details of every patent filed before 1920 went in her pocket: She had difficulty suppressing a wild grin as she paid ten bucks for it. With the right lever, I will move worlds, she promised herself.

She left the suitcase at the Marriott, but her new spoils went in a small backpack. It was late afternoon before she squeezed into a cab and gave directions back to the warehouse. I hope I’m doing the right thing, she thought, wistfully considering the possibility of spending another night with Roland. But he’d gone back to Cambridge, and she couldn’t stay until he returned to New York.

Yet again there was nobody to challenge her in the warehouse office. It seemed even more deserted than usual, and a strange musty smell hung over the dusty crates. She went upstairs, then knelt and checked for the thread she’d left across the top step.

It was gone. “Hmm.” Miriam glanced around. Nobody here now, she decided. She walked over to the spot that was doppelgängered with her bedroom chamber, took a deep breath, pulled out the locket, and stared at it. The knotwork, intricate and strange, seemed to ripple before her eyes, distorting and shimmering, forming a pattern that she could only half-remember when she didn’t have it in front of her. Odd, it was a very simple knot—

The world twisted around Miriam and spat out a four-poster bed. Her head began to throb at the same time. She closed the locket and looked around.

“Mistress?” It was Kara, eyes wide open. She’d been bent over Miriam’s bed, doing something.

“Yes, it’s me.” Miriam put her backpack down. “How did the assassination attempt go last night?”

“ ‘Assassination’?” Kara looked as if she might explode. “It was horrible! Horrible, mistress! I was so scared—”

“Tell me about it,” Miriam invited. She unzipped her jacket. “Where’s Brill?”

“Next door,” Kara fussed. “The reception tonight! We don’t have long! You’ll have to listen—”

“Whoa!” Miriam raised her hands. “Stop. We have what, three hours? I thought you were going to brief me on who else will be there.”

“Yes, my lady! But if we have to dress you as well—”

“Surely you can talk at the same time?” asked Miriam. “I’m going to find Brilliana. I need to discuss things with her. While I’m doing that, you can get yourself ready.”

She found Brilliana in the reception room, directing a small platoon of maids and manservants around the place. She’d already changed into a court gown. “Over there!” she called. “No, I say, build it in front of the door, not beside it!” She glanced at Miriam as she came in. “Oh, hello there, my lady. It’s hopeless, absolutely hopeless.”

“What is?” asked Miriam.

“The instructions,” said Brilliana. She sidestepped a pool of sawdust as she approached. Miriam glanced around as she added, “They’re no good at following them. Even when I tell them exactly what I want.”

“What have you been up to?” Miriam leaned against a tapestry-hung wall and watched the artisans at work.

“You were right about the door,” said Brilliana. “So I summoned a locksmith to change the levers, and I am having this small vestibule added.” She smiled, baring teeth. “A little trap.”

“I—” Miriam snapped her fingers. “Damn. I should have thought of that.”

“Yes.” Brilliana looked happy with herself. “You approve?”

“Yes. Tell them to continue. I want a word with you in my room.” She retreated into the relative peace and quiet of her bedroom, followed by the lady-in-waiting. With the door shut, the noise of sawing outside was almost inaudible. “What’s the damage?”

“There were holes in your blankets—and scorch marks around them—when I checked this morning.” Despite her matter-of-fact tone, Brilliana looked slightly shaken. “I had to send Kara away, the poor thing was so shocked.”

“Well, I had a good night’s sleep.” Miriam glanced around the room bleakly. “But I was right about the lack of a doppelgängered space on the other side. It’s a huge security risk. This is serious. Did anyone tell Baron Hjorth?”

“No!” Brilliana looked uncertain. “You said—”

“Good.” Miriam relaxed infinitesimally. “All right. About tonight. In a while Kara’s going to come back and sort me out for the reception. In the meantime, I need to know what I’m up against. I think I’m going to need to sleep in Lady Olga’s apartment tonight. I want to vary my pattern a bit until we find whoever… whoever’s behind this.” She sat down on the end of the bed. ‘Talk to me.”