“Do you think I’m completely stupid?” Olga shook her head. “I know you are a dowager, you have no guardian, and you are competent in law. You have nothing to lose by such intrigues. It would be naive to expect you to abstain. But the situation is different for me. I have not my majority until marriage, and upon marriage I lose my independence. Isn’t that an unpleasant paradox?”
“I don’t understand you people,” Miriam muttered, “but I figure your inheritance and marriage law is seriously screwed. Rape as a tool of financial intrigue—it’s disgusting!”
“So we agree on one thing.” Olga nodded. “What do you think could be behind this?”
“Well. Someone who doesn’t like me—obviously.” She began ticking off points on her fingers. “Someone who holds you in contempt, too, or who actively wants you out of the way. By the way, what would have happened to you if you had shot me?”
“What?” Olga shrugged carelessly. “Oh, they’d have hanged me, I suppose,” she said. “Why?”
“Let’s see. We have Item Two: someone who has it in for you as well as me. We all centre around—” something nagged at her for attention—“No, it’s not there yet. Well, Item Three is my unsecured apartment.
That
we can blame on Baron Oliver, huh? Someone took advantage of it to get their cat’s-paw into place by way of the roof, I think that’s clear enough. I got Brilliana to lock and bolt the inner apartment—which is doppelgängered—last night, when I realized the roof door was open onto areas that aren’t secured on the other side. Maybe their first objective was to shoot me in my sleep, and they turned to you as a second target when that failed. By attacking you they could either convince you that I was to blame—you shoot me, they win—or they could deprive me of an ally—you—and perhaps turn others against me. Do you think they believe Roland would think I’d do such a thing to you?”
Olga clutched her arm. “That’s it,” she said calmly. “If they didn’t know about you and Roland, they would believe him to be set on me as his prize. It would be a most normal reaction to be enraged at anyone who ordered his bride-to-be raped away by night. Out of such actions blood feuds are born.” Her fingers dug into Miriam’s arm. “You would swear to me you had no hand in it?”
“Olga. Do you
really
believe I’d pay some man to rape my worst enemy? As opposed to simply shooting her and having done with the matter?”
Olga slowly relaxed. “If you were not raised
over there,
I might think so. But your ways are so charmingly informal that I find it hard to believe you would be so cruel. Or devious.”
“I don’t know. The longer I spend here, the more paranoid I become.” Miriam shuddered. “Is there any risk of some asshole trying to rape
me
for my presumed riches?”
“Not if you’re a guest of someone who cares what happens on their estate, such as the duke. Even at other times, you are only at risk if your guards fail you, and your guardian is willing to accept maidenprice,” said Olga. “As you are of age and able to act as your own guardian, I don’t think that situation is likely to arise—an adventurer who took you against your will could expect to go to the gallows. But you
do
have guards, don’t you, just in case?” She looked anxious. “They’re very discreet, wherever they’re hiding!” A frown crossed her face. “Assuming the Baron hasn’t managed to make sure the orders assigning a detachment to your household haven’t been lost…”
“No shit,” Miriam said shakily as they climbed the steps toward the entrance, looking around at the same time for signs of Brilliana. “I must congratulate them on their scarcity. When I find out who they are and where they live.”
* * *
The snow was falling thick and fast outside, from a sky the colour of leaden tiles. The temperature was dropping, a blizzard in the making. “You must come up to my receiving room for tea,” Olga insisted, and Miriam found herself unable to decline. Brilliana hurried alongside them as they re-entered the barely heated corridors of the palace, ascending through a bewildering maze of passages and stairs to reach Olga’s private rooms.
Olga had left her guards behind.
She wanted no witnesses to our little contretemps,
Miriam thought with a cold chill. Now she berated them as she entered her outer reception room, four strapping tall men in household livery worn with cuirasses, swords, and automatic weapons. “Come in, be welcome, sit you down,” Olga insisted, gesturing toward a circle of sofas being moved hastily into place by a bevy of servants. Miriam accepted gratefully, placing Brilliana at her left, and presently Olga’s own ladies-in-waiting shepherded in a small company of servants bearing side tables, a silver samovar, and sweetmeats on trays. With the blazing fireplace, it was almost possible to forget the gathering storm outside.
Now that Olga’s fury at Miriam had been diverted toward a different target, she overcompensated, attempting to prove herself a charming hostess by heaping every consideration upon Miriam in a way that Miriam found more than a bit creepy after her earlier rage. Maybe it was just a guilt reaction, Miriam speculated, but it left her feeling very relieved that Olga didn’t share her interest in Roland. They were well into a second pot of tea, with Miriam eavesdropping on the Lady Aris’s snide comments about the members of this or that social set at court, when there was a polite announcement at the door. “Courier for Madame Thorold,” announced Olga’s steward, poking his head in. “Shall I admit him?”
“By all means.” Olga sat up straight as the messenger—dripping wet and looking chilled to the bone—entered. “My good man! What do you have for me?”
“Milady, I have been charged to deliver this into you hands,” he said, dropping to one knee and presenting a sealed envelope from a shoulder bag. Olga accepted it, slit the wrapping, and read. She frowned. “Very well. You may tell your master I received word and passed it on to all present here. Feel free to leave immediately.”
The messenger backed out, bowing. Olga returned to her chaise, looking distracted. “How unfortunate,” she said.
“ ‘Unfortunate’?” Miriam raised an eyebrow.
“Tonight’s reception is postponed,” Olga read, “by virtue of the unusually foul weather. It shall in any event be held tomorrow, once arrangements have been made for additional shelter from the elements.” She glanced at the shuttered window. “Well, I can’t say I am surprised. This may be the season for storms, but this one appears to be setting in hard.” Wind howled around the shutters outside.
“Is this normal?” Miriam asked. “To postpone events?”
“By your leave, it’s not
normal,
my lady, but it’s not unheralded.” Brilliana looked unhappy. “They may need time to move the lifeguard cavalry to other stables, to accommodate the coaches of the visitors. Or a roof may have caved in unexpectedly. This being the first real storm of winter, they may be hoping it will blow itself out overnight.”
“Hmm.” Miriam drained her teacup. “So it’ll be tomorrow night instead?”
“Almost certainly,” Olga said confidently. “It’s a shame to postpone once, twice is an embarrassment. Especially when the occasion is the return to court of his majesty’s winter sessions. And his opening of the sessions and levy of taxes follows the next day, to be followed by a hanging-holiday.”
“Well, then.” Miriam nodded to herself. “Is anything at all of consequence due to happen then?”
“Oh, a lot of drinking, and not a little eating and making merry,” Olga assured her. “It’s not a greatly important event for the likes of us.
Our
great sessions fall in six months, near upon Beltaigne, when alliances are discussed and braids rededicated, and the court of families-in-Clan hear grievances and settle treaties.”
“Hmm. Well, I suppose I’d better make sure I’m around for that, too,” said Miriam, waiting for a servant to refill her cup.
Olga winked at her. “I expect you will be—if we find you some reliable bodyguards.”
* * *
Late in the afternoon, Miriam returned to her apartment—briefly.
Dismissing the servants, she called Brilliana and Kara into her bedroom. “I’m in trouble,” she said tersely.
“ ‘Trouble,’ my lady?” asked Kara, eyes glinting.
“Someone tried to force themselves upon Lady Olga last night. Someone with gold in their pocket and a commission bearing the seal of my braid. Which I have never seen, so I have to take Olga’s word for it.” She sat down on a chest and waited for Kara’s declarations of shock to die down. Brilliana just nodded thoughtfully.
“This room—and other parts of this suite—are not doppelgängered properly,” she continued. “On the other side, security is virtually nonexistent—until you go fifty feet that way.” She gestured at the wall. “I don’t think that’s an accident. Nor was that open door last night,” she added to Brilliana’s questioning look.
“What are we going to
do?
” asked Kara, looking frightened and younger than ever.
“What
you
are going to do—both of you—is tell the servants we’re going to have a quiet supper: cold cuts or a pie or something plain and simple. Then we’re going to dismiss the servants and go to bed early so we are well rested for the morrow. After they bring our meal up and stoke the fireplace, they can leave.” She stood up and paced. “What’s really going to happen, once the servants have left is that two of Lady Olga’s guards—the guards Baron Hjorth hasn’t assigned to me—are going to enter the near audience chamber through the side door.”
She grinned at Brilliana’s surprise. “You will put on your cloaks and go where they lead you, which will be straight to Lady Olga’s rooms, where you will be able to sleep safe and warm until it’s time to come back here, in the morning.”
“And you, my lady?” asked Kara, searching her face. “You can’t spend the night alone here!”
“She doesn’t intend to,” Brill said tersely. “Do you?”
“Correct.” Miriam waited.
“You’re going to go over
there
,” Brilliana added. “How I’d like to follow you!”
“You can’t, yet,” Miriam said bluntly. “Someone is conspiring against me. I am going to have to move fast and be inconspicuous. On the other side, there is a teeming city with many people and strange customs. I can’t risk you attracting attention while I’m on the run.” She raised a finger to anticipate Brilliana’s objection. “I’ll take you along
later,
I promise. But not this time. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” Brill muttered something under her breath. Miriam pretended not to notice.
“That’s it, then. If someone comes calling in the night, all they’ll find are beds stuffed with pillows: You’ll be elsewhere. On the other side, the fewer people who know where I’m going, the safer I’ll be. I’ll meet you back here tomorrow afternoon, and we’ll decide what to do then, depending on whether the opening of the court of winter sessions is going ahead or not. Any last questions?”
* * *
It was snowing in New York, too, but nothing like the blizzard that had dumped two feet of snow on Neijwein in a day. Miriam met nobody in the warehouse. At the top of the stairs she paused.
What was that trick?
she wondered, racking her brains. A flashback to the training course, years ago: It had been a giggle at the time, spy tradecraft stuff for journalists who were afraid of having their hotel rooms burgled in Krygistan or wherever. But now it came back to her. Kneeling, she tied a piece of black cotton sewing thread from the wall to the handrail, secured with a needle. It was invisible in the twilight. If it was gone when she returned, that would tell her something.
On this trip, she wore her hiking gear and towed her suitcase. With street map in hand, she wanted to give the impression of being a tourist from out of state who’d wandered into the wrong part of town. Maybe that was why a taxi pulled up almost as soon as she emerged from the back street, while her phone was still chirping its voice mail alert.
“The Marriott Marquis, Times Square,” she told the driver. Head pounding, she hit the “mail” button and clamped the phone to her ear.
“Marriott Marquis, room 2412, continuously booked for the whole week in the name of Mr. and Mrs. Roland Dorchester. Just ask at the front desk and they’ll give you a key.”
Thank you,
she thought, pocketing the phone and blinking back tears of relief.
The taxi took her straight to the main entrance and a bellboy was on hand to help her with her suitcase. She headed straight to the front desk.
“Mrs. Dorchester? Yes, ma’am, I have your card-key here, [f you’d like to sign …”
Miriam did a little double-take, then scrawled something that she hoped she’d be able to replicate on demand. Then she took the keys and headed for the elevator bank.
She was inside the glass-walled express elevator, and it was surging up from the third floor in a long glide toward the top, when a horrible thought occurred to her.
What if they’ve got to Roland?
she wondered.
After he booked the hotel. They could be waiting for me.
It was a frightening thought, and Miriam instinctively reached toward her pocket.
How the hell do you do this?
Suddenly it occurred to her that the little revolver was as much of a threat as an asset in this kind of situation. If she went through the door and some bad guy was just inside, he could grab her before she had a chance to use it. Or grab the gun. And she was more than twenty stories up, high enough that—she looked out and down through the glass wall of the lift and took a deep breath of relief. “Oh, that’s okay,” she muttered, as the obvious explanation occurred to her just before the lift bell dinged for attention: Skyscrapers didn’t need doppelgängering against attack from another world where concrete and structural steel were barely known.
Miriam stepped out into the thickly carpeted hallway and stopped. Pulling out her mobile phone, she dialled Roland’s number. It rang three times.
“Hello?”
“Roland, what happens if you’re on the twenty-fourth floor of a tall building, say a hotel, and—” quick glance in either direction—“you try to world-walk?”