The Clan Corporate

"No she didn't."

"Yes she did." The dowager put her fork down. "She's always been the devious viper in my bosom. She brought you up to be loyal to her and her only. When she decided to come in from the cold, she sent you on ahead to test the waters. Now she's making a play for the royal succession. And she's got you thinking she's a poor, harmless victim and you're doing this to protect her, hasn't she?"

Miriam stared at Hildegarde, aghast. "That's not how it is," she said hesitantly.

Her grandmother looked at her disdainfully. "As you grow older you'll see things more clearly. You won't feel yourself changing on the inside, but the outside-ah, that's different. You've got to learn to look beneath the skin, child. The war of mother against daughters continues, and you can't simply opt out of it by imagining there to be some special truce between your mother and yourself." Servants were circulating with silver goblets of pale wine. "Ah, it's time."

"What?"

"Don't drink that yet," the dowager snapped. "It's mead," she added, "not that I'd expect you to know what that is, considering how Patricia neglected your upbringing."

Miriam flushed.

There was another blast of trumpets. Everyone downed eating-knives and looked at the raised platform expectantly.

"A toast," a

He's not talking to me, Miriam realized, as the dowager shuffled to her feet. "Your majesty, my lord. On behalf of my family I thank you from the bottom of my heart for this offer, and I assure you that she would be delighted to accept."

Miriam stared, rosy-cheeked with embarrassment and anger, at her ancient grandmother.

"Thank you," the king said formally. "May the alliance of our lines be peaceful and fruitful." He raised his silver goblet. "To the happy couple!"

Several hundred silver goblets flashed in the light from the huge chandelier that dominated the ceiling of the room. A rumble of approval echoed like thunder across the room. Miriam looked around, her head twitching like a trapped bird.

"You can drink now," the dowager murmured, casting her voice over the racket. "You look like you need it."

"But I-do I get a chance to say anything?"

"No, for what would you say? In a decade you'll be glad you didn't speak. Just remember you owe me this opportunity to better yourself! I've worked hard for it, and if you let me down, girl-"

Incandescent with anger, Miriam glared across the table at her grandmother. "You told Henryk to threaten Mom. Didn't you?"

"What if I did?" The dowager stared at her. "Your mother's misled you quite enough already. It's time you learned how the world works. You'll understand in your time, even if you don't like it now. And one day you'll be a player yourself."

"I wouldn't cross the road to piss on you if you were on fire," Miriam retorted half-heartedly. She took a deep mouthful of the mead. It tasted of honey and broken hearts. Her cheeks itched. Overtaken by an obscure emotion, she pulled her veil down again. Tears of sorrow, tears of rage-who could tell the difference? Not her. I'll get you, she thought. I will be different! And nothing like this will ever happen to any daughter of mine!

The thunder of applause didn't seem to be dying down. To her left, an elderly count was looking around in puzzlement. "Eh, what-what?" The applause had a rhythmic note, almost thunderous, as if a huge crowd outside was stamping their feet in synchrony.

"That's enough," called the king. "You can stop now!" He sounded in good spirits.

People were looking around. That's odd, thought Miriam, puzzled. That's not applause. If I didn't know better I'd say it was-

There was an angry bang, with a harsh, flat note to it, then a sound, like a trillion angry bees. The windows overhead blew in, scattering shards of glass across the diners. Amidst the screams Miriam heard a harsh banging sound from outside, the noise of wheel-lock guns firing. The king turned to her. "Get under the table," he said quietly: "Now."

What? Miriam shuddered. Fragments of glass fell across the dining table. A jagged piece landed on the back of her hand, sticking into her glove. There was no pain at first. "What-"

Abruptly the king wasn't there anymore. The dowager was gone, too. There was another deep thud that jarred her teeth and made her ears hurt. The main door to the hall was open, and smoke came billowing in through it.

Suddenly Miriam was very afraid. She tried to slide down under the table but her voluminous skirts got in the way, trapping her in a twisted mound of fabric. There was shouting, and more banging, gunfire. From off to one side she heard the flat crackle of an automatic weapon, firing in controlled bursts. People were ru

A body fell from the platform in a spray of blood. Miriam crouched, arms covering her head. There was another bang from the room at the back where the royal party had assembled for di

"This way."

Miriam flinched. "Who's attacking us?"

"I don't know, milady-move!" She rose to a crouch, began to duck-walk along the back of the platform. "You, sir! On your feet, have you a gun?"

There was a noise behind her, so loud that she didn't hear it so much as feel it in her abdomen. Someone thumped her hard in the small of her back and she went down, trying to curl up, her spine a red-hot column of agony. She was dimly aware of Clan guards rushing past. Blood on the floor, plaster and debris pattering down from the ceiling. There was more gunfire, some shouting.

As Miriam caught her breath she began to realize that the gunfire was continuing. And the Clan guards-there's only a handful of them, she realized. They may have modern weapons, but that's a lot of muskets out there. And ca

Miriam felt sick to her stomach. The pain in her back was easing. It was bad, but not crippling: the boning of her corset had spread the force of the blow. She risked pushing herself to her knees and nothing happened. Then she looked round.

King Alexis Nicholau III sat with his legs sprawled apart, leaning against an ornamental pillar with an expression of ironic amusement on what was left of his face. About half of his brains were spread across the pillar, forming the body of an exclamation mark of which his face was the period.

"Surrender in the name of his majesty!" The hoarse voice sounded slightly desperate, as if he knew that if they didn't surrender his head was going to end up gracing the top of a pike. "Yield in the name of his majesty, King Egon!"

Miriam kilted up her dress and began to crawl rapidly across the floor, past bodies and a howling, weeping old woman she didn't recognize. She passed a servant lying on his back with blood pooling around him: evidently he hadn't understood enough English. There was more smoke now, and it smelled of wood. I've got to get out of here, she realized. Fucking Egon! His accession to the throne depended on the support of the nobility, of course. He'll have to kill everyone here, she realized coldly. If he thought his father had decided to sideline him in favor of his younger brother, how better to assure himself of the support of the old nobility than to liquidate the one group of noble houses who were the greatest threat to them?