The Clan Corporate

"Hmm." Baron Henryk stood and slowly walked over to the window casement. "That's an interesting question." He turned, so that his face was shadowed against the bright daylight outside. "What do you want to achieve?"

"What do I-" Miriam's mouth snapped shut. Her eyes narrowed against the glare. "I think I made myself clear enough at the extraordinary meeting three months ago," she said slowly.

"That's not what I asked." It was hard to tell, but Henryk seemed to be smiling. "Why don't you go and think about that question? When you have a better idea, we should talk again. If you'd like to join me for di

Miriam rose. "Thank you for finding some time for me," she said stiffly. Halfway to the door she paused. "By the way, what is it you do exactly?"

Henryk stood. "Oh, this and that," he said lightly. "Remember to write."

Outside in the corridor, Miriam found a nervous Kara shifting from foot to foot impatiently. "Oh, milady! Can we go now?"

"Sure." Miriam walked toward the staircase, her expression pensive. "Kara, do you know what Baron Henryk does here?"

"Milady!" Kara stared at Miriam, her eyes wide. "I thought you knew!"

"Knew? Knew what?" Miriam shook her head.

Kara scurried closer before whispering loudly. "The baron is his majesty's master of spies! He collects intelligence for the crown, from countries far and wide, even from across the eastern ocean! I thought you knew…"

Miriam stopped dead, halfway down the first flight of stairs. I just barged in on the Director of Central Intelligence, she thought sickly. And he told me I'm under house arrest. Then: "Hang on, you mean he's the king's spymaster? Not the Clan's?"

"Well, yes! He's a sworn baron, milady, sworn to his majesty, or hadn't you noticed?" Kara's attempt at sarcasm fell flat, undermined by her frightened expression. "We're all his majesty's loyal subjects, here, aren't we? Aren't we?"

Translated Transcript begins

(Click.)

"Ah, your lordship, how good to see you!"

"On the contrary, the honor is mine, your grace." (Wheezing.) "Here. Walther, a chair for his grace, damnit. And a port for each of us, then make yourself scarce. Yes, the special reserve. I'm sure you've been even busier than I, your grace, this being a tedious little backwater most of the time, but if there's anything I can do for you-"

"Nonsense, Henryk, you never sleep! The boot is on the other foot and the prisoner shrieking his plea as you heat it. You won't get me with that nonsense-ah, thank you Walther."

"That will be all."

(Sound of door closing.)

"Sky Father's eye! That's good stuff. Please tell me it's not the last bottle?"

"Indeed not, your grace, and I have it on good authority that there is at least a case left in the Thorold Palace cellars." (Pause.) "Six?" (Pause.) "Five? Damn your eyes, four and that's my lowest!"

"I'll have them sent over forthwith. Now, what brings you round here in a screaming hurry, nephew, when I'm sure there are plenty of other fires for you to be pissing on? Would I be right in thinking it's something to do with woman trouble? And if so, which one?"

(Clink of glassware.)

"You know perfectly well which one could get me out of the office, pills or no pills. It's the old bitches, Henryk, they are meddling in that of which they know not, and they are going to blow the entire powder keg sky-high if I don't find a way to stop them. And I can't just bang them up in a garret like the young pullet-"

"The shrew?"

"She's not a shrew, she's just overenthusiastic. A New Woman. They've got lots of them on the other side, I hear. But the old one, her ma

"Your sister-"

"Crone's pawn, uncle, Crone's pawn. Do you think it was coincidence that it was Helge who came calling on you, and not Patricia? Patricia is in a cleft stick and dare not even hiss or rattle her tail, lest the old bitches lop it off. If we could move her back to the other side things would be different, but it's all I can do to keep the situation over there from coming apart on us completely-we've lost more couriers in the past month than in the preceding decade, and if I can't stop the leakage I fear we will have to shut the network down completely. Sending Patricia back simply isn't an option, and now that she's here she's less effective than we expected. It's that blasted wasting disease. The old bitches and their quackery have her mewed up like a kitten in a sack. Meanwhile, Helge isn't much use to us here, either. I've sent her Lady B to take her in hand, which might begin to repair the damage to her high esteem among her relatives, in a year or three-or at least stop her from dancing blind in the minefield-but you can see how isolated she is. A real disappointment. I had such high hopes that those two might tackle the bitches, but the cultural barrier is just too high."

"Come now, Angbard, there's no need to be so pessimistic! The best-laid plans, et cetera. So what do you think the old she-devil is up to?"

"Well, I can't be certain, but she's certainly done something to shut Patricia up. And I find it somewhat fascinating to see Helge outmaneuvered so thoroughly without even knowing who she's up against."

"Do you think Patricia hasn't told her?"

"Do I-" (Pause.) "Henryk, you sly fellow! And here I was thinking I was asking you for information!"

"The rack cares not who sleeps on it, and-"

"Indeed, yes, all very well and apposite and all that. Henryk, the old bitches are turbulent and the she-devil-in-chief is plotting something, I feel it in my bowels. I have more important things to worry about right now. I do not have time to be looking over my shoulder for daggers. I do not have time to dance the reel to the old bitch's hurdy-gurdy, when I can't sleep at night for fear of conspirators. What do I need to know?"

"I say-steady on, your grace! Here, let me remedy your glass… my agents at court opine that the she-devil has carried off a coup. Her stroking of the royal ego has come to something, it seems, and sparked a passing fancy with the revenant."

"The-what? What's she got to do with anything?"

"The royal succession-Oh dear! Here, use my kerchief."

(Bell rings.)

"Walther! Walther, I say!"

(Sound of door opening.)

"A towel for his grace! Your grace, if you would care to make use of my wardrobe-"

"No need, thank you uncle, I am sure a little wine stain will hurt only my dignity."

"Yes, but-"

(Sound of door closing.)

"That's better." (Pause.) "The royal succession! Curse me for an imbecile, which one is it, the Pervert or the Idiot? Don't tell me, it's the Idiot. More tractable, and the Pervert's already promised to the Nordmarkt."

"That, and the Pervert's bad habits are becoming increasingly difficult to cover for. Royal privilege is all very well, but if Egon were anyone other than his father's eldest son he'd be learning wisdom from the Tree Father by now. A nastier piece of work hasn't graced the royal court in my memory. If his father is forced to notice his habits… remember our ruling dynasty's turbulent origins? Nobody wants to see another civil war, not with Peterma