At six that evening, she walked through the gathering gloom to Burgeson’s shop and slipped inside. The shop was open, but empty. She spent a good minute tapping her toes and whistling tunelessly before Erasmus emerged from the back.
“Oh, it’s you,” he said distractedly. “Here.” He held out an envelope.
Miriam took it and opened it—then stopped whistling. “What brought this on?” she asked, holding it tightly.
His cheek twitched. “I got a better price than I could be sure of,” he said. “It seemed best to cut you in on the profits, in the hope of a prosperous future trade.”
Miriam relaxed slightly. “I see.” She slid the envelope into a jacket pocket carefully. The five ten-pound notes in it were more than she’d expected to browbeat out of him. “Is your dealer able to take larger quantities of bullion?” she asked, abruptly updating her plans.
“I believe so.” His face was drawn and tired. “I’ve had some thinking to do.”
“I can see that,” she said quietly. Fifty pounds here was equivalent to something between three and seven thousand dollars, back home. Gold was
expensive
, a sign of demand, and what did that tell her? Nothing good. “What’s the situation? Do you trust Bates?”
“About as far as I can throw him,” Erasmus admitted. “He isn’t a fellow traveler.”
“Fellow traveler.” She nodded to herself. “You’re a Marxist?”
“He was the greatest exponent of my faith, yes.” He said it quietly and fervently. “I believe in natural rights, to which all men and women are born equal; in democracy: and in freedom. Freedom of action, freedom of commerce, freedom of faith, just like old Karl. For which they hanged him.”
“He came to somewhat different conclusions where I come from,” Miriam said dryly, “although his starting conditions were dissimilar. Are you going to shut up shop and tell me what’s troubling you?”
“Yes.” He strode over and turned the sign in the door, then shot the bolt. “In the back, if you please.”
“After you.” Miriam followed him down a narrow corridor walled in pigeon holes. Parcels wrapped in brown paper gathered dust in them, each one sprouting a plaintive ticket against the date of its redemption—graveyard markers in the catacombs of usury. She kept her hand in her right pocket, tightening her grip on the small pistol, heart pounding halfway out of her chest with tension.
“You can’t be a police provocateur,” he commented over his shoulder. “For one thing, you didn’t bargain hard enough over the bullion. For another, you slipped up in too many ways, all of them wrong. But I wasn’t sure you weren’t simply a madwoman until you showed me that intricate engine and left the book. He stepped sideways into a niche with a flight of wooden steps in it, leading down. “It’s far too incredible a story to be a flight-of-the mind concoction, and far too …
expensive
. Even the publisher’s notes! The quality of the paper. And the typeface.” He stopped at the foot of the stairs and stared up at her owlishly, one hand clutching at a load-bearing beam for support. “And the pocket kinomagraph. I think either you’re real or I’m going mad,” he said, his voice hollow.
“You’re not mad.” Miriam took the steep flight of steps carefully. “So?”
“So it behooves me to study this fascinating world you come from, and ask how it came to pass.” Erasmus was moving again. The cellar was walled from floor to ceiling in boxes and packing cases. “It’s fascinating. The principles of enlightenment that your republic was founded on—you realize they were smothered in the cradle, in the history I know of? Yes, by all means, the Parliamentary Settlement and the exile were great innovations for their time—but the idea of a
republic!
Separation of Church and State, a bill of rights, a universal franchise! After the second Leveler revolt, demands for such rights became something of a dead issue here, emphasis on the
dead
if you follow me … hmm.” He stopped in a cleared space between three walls of crates, a paraffin lamp hanging from a beam overhead.
“This is a rather big shop,” Miriam commented, tightening her grip on the gun.
“So it should be.” He glanced at her, saw the hand in her pocket. “Are you going to shoot me?”
“Why should I?” She tensed.
“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “You’ve obviously got some scheme in mind, one that means someone no good, whatever else you’re doing here. And I might know too much.”
Miriam came to a decision and took her hand out of her pocket—empty.
“And I’m not an innocent either,” Erasmus added, gesturing at the crates. “I’m glad you decided not to shoot. Niter of glycerol takes very badly to sudden shocks.”
Miriam took a deep breath and paused, trying to get a grip on herself. She felt a sudden stab of apprehension: The stakes in his game were much higher than she’d realized. This was a police state, and Erasmus wasn’t just a harmless dealer in illegal publications. “Listen, I have
no
intention of shooting anyone if I can avoid it. And I don’t care about you being a Leveler quartermaster with a basement full of explosives—at least, as long as I don’t live next door to you. It’s none of my damn business, and whatever you think, I didn’t come here to get involved in
your
politics. Even if it sounds better than, than what’s out there right now. On the other hand, I have my own, uh, political problems.”
Erasmus raised an eyebrow. “So who are your enemies?”
Miriam bit her lip.
Can I trust him this far?
She couldn’t see any choices at this point but, even so, taking him into her confidence was a big step. “I don’t know,” she said reluctantly. “They’re probably well-off. Like me, they can travel between worlds—not to the one in the book I gave you, which is my own, but to a much poorer, medieval one. One in which Christianity never got established as the religion in Rome, the dark ages lasted longer, and the Norse migration reached and settled this coast, as far inland as the Appalachians, and the Chinese empire holds the west. These people will be involved in trading, from here to there—I’m not sure what, but I believe ownership of gold is something to investigate. They’ll probably be a large and prosperous family, possibly ennobled in the past century or two, and they’ll be rich and conservative. Not exactly fellow travelers.”
“And what is your problem with them?”
“They keep trying to kill me.” Now she’d said it, confiding in him felt easier. “They come from over here. This is their power base, Erasmus. I believe they consider me a threat to them. I want to find them before they find me, and order things in a more satisfactory manner.”
“I think I see.” He made a steeple of his fingers. “Do you want them to die?”
“Not necessarily,” she said hesitantly. “But I want to know who they are, and where they came here from, and to stop their agents trying to kill me. I’ve got a couple of suspicions about who they are that I need to confirm. If I’m correct I might be able to stop the killing.”
“I suggest you tell me your story then,” said Erasmus. “And we’ll see if there’s anything we can do about it.” He raised his voice, causing her to start. “Aubrey! You can cease your lurking. If you’d be so good as to fetch the open bottle of port and three glasses, you may count yourself in for a long story.” He smiled humorlessly. “You’ve got our undivided attention, ma’am. I suggest you use it wisely …”
* * *
Back at the hotel a couple of hours later, Miriam changed into her evening dress and went downstairs, unaccompanied, for a late buffet supper. The waiter was unaccountably short with her, but found her a solitary small table in a dark corner of the dining room. The soup was passable, albeit slightly cool, and a cold roast with vegetables filled the empty corners of her stomach. She watched the well-dressed men and few women in the hotel from her isolated vantage point, and felt abruptly lonely.
Is it just ordinary homesickness?
she wondered,
or culture shock?
One or two hooded glances came her way, but she avoided eye contact and in any event nobody attempted to engage her in conversation.
It’s as if I’m invisible,
she thought.
She didn’t stay for dessert. Instead she retreated to her room and sought solace with a long bath and an early night.
The next morning she warned the concierge that she would be away for a few days and would not need her room, but would like her luggage stored. Then she took a cab to the lawyer’s office. “Your papers are here, ma’am,” said Bates’s secretary.
“Is Mr. Bates free?” she asked. “Just a minute of his time.”
“I’ll just check.” A minute of finger twiddling passed. “Yes, come in, please.”
“Ah, Mr. Bates?” She smiled. “Have you made progress with your inquiries?”
He nodded. “I am hoping to hear about the house tomorrow,” he said. “Its occupant, a Mr. Soames, apparently passed away three months ago and it is lying vacant as part of his estate. As his son lives in El Dorado, I suspect an offer for it may be received with gratitude. As to the company—” He shrugged. “What business shall I put on it?”
Miriam thought for a moment. “Call it a design bureau,” she said. “Or an engineering company.”
“That will be fine.” Bates nodded. “Is there anything else?”
“I’m going to be away for a week or so,” she said. “Shall I leave a deposit behind for the house?”
“I’m sure your word would be sufficient,” he said graciously. “Up to what level may I offer?”
“If it goes over a thousand pounds I’ll have to make special arrangements to transfer the funds.”
“Very well.” He stood up. “By your leave?”
Miriam’s last port of call was the central library. She spent two hours there, quizzing a helpful librarian about books on patent law. In the end, she took three away with her, giving her room at the hotel as an address. Carefully putting them in her shoulder bag she walked to the nearest main road and waved down a cab. “Roundgate Interchange,” she said.
I’m going home,
she thought.
At last!
A steam car puttered past them, overtaking on the right hand side.
Back to clean air, fast cars, and electricity everywhere.
She gazed out of the cab’s window as the open field came into view through the haze of acrid fog that seemed to be everywhere today.
I wonder how Brill and Paulie have been?
she thought.
It’ll be good to see them again.
* * *
It was dusk, and nobody seemed to have noticed the way that Miriam had damaged the side door of the estate. She slunk into the garden, paced past the hedge and the dilapidated greenhouse, then located the spot where she’d blazed a mark on the wall. A fine snow was falling as she pulled out the second locket and, with the aid of a pocket flashlight, fell headfirst into it.
She staggered slightly as the familiar headache returned with a vengeance, but a quick glance told her that nobody had come anywhere near this spot for days. A fresh snowfall had turned her hide into an anonymous hump in the gloom a couple of trees away. She waded toward it—then a dark shadow detatched itself from a tree and pointed a pistol at her.
“Brill?” she asked, uncertainly.
“Miriam!” The barrel dropped as Brill lurched forward and embraced her. “I’ve been so worried! How have you been?”
“Not so bad!” Miriam laughed, breathlessly. “Let’s get under cover and I’ll tell you about it.”
Brill had been busy; the snowbank concealed not only the hunting hide, but a fully assembled hut, six feet by eight, somewhat insecurely pegged to the iron-hard ground beneath the snow. “Come in, come in,” she said. Miriam stepped inside and she shut the door and bolted it. Two bunks occupied one wall, and a paraffin heater threw off enough warmth to keep the hut from freezing. “It’s been terribly cold by night, and I fear I’ve used up all the oil,” Brill told her. “You really
must
buy a wood stove!”
“I believe I will,” Miriam said thoughtfully, thinking about the coal smoke and yellow sulfurous smog that had made the air feel as if she was breathing broken glass. “It’s been, hmm, three days. Have you had any trouble?”
“Boredom,” Brilliana said instantly. “But sometimes boredom is a good thing. I have not been so alone in many years!” She looked slightly wistful. “Would you like some cocoa? I’d love to hear what adventures you’ve been having!”
That night Miriam slept fitfully, awakening once to a distant howling noise that raised the hair on her neck.
Wolves?
she wondered, before rolling over and dozing off again. Although the paraffin heater kept the worst of the chill at bay, there was frost inside the walls by morning.
Miriam woke first, sat up and turned the heat up as high as it would go, then—still cocooned in the sleeping bag—hung her jeans and hiking jacket from a hook in the roof right over the heater. Then she dozed off again. When she awakened, she saw Brill sitting beside the heater reading a book. “What is it?” she asked sleepily.
“Something Paulie lent me.” Brill looked slightly guilty. Miriam peered at the spine:
The Female Eunuch
. Sitting on a shelf next to the door she spotted a popular history book. Brill had been busy expanding her horizons.
“Hmm.” Miriam sat up and unzipped her bag, used the chamber pot, then hastily pulled on the now-defrosted jeans and a hiking sweater. Her boots were freezing cold—she’d left them too close to the door—so she moved them closer to the heater. “You’ve been thinking a lot.”
“Yes.” Brilliana put the book down. “I grew up with books; my father’s library had five in hoh’sprashe, and almost thirty in English. But this—the style is so strange! And what it says!”
Miriam shook her head.
Too much to assimilate.
“We’ll have to go across soon,” she said, shelving the questions that sat at the tip of her tongue—poisonous questions, questions about trust and belief. Brill seemed to be going through a phase of questioning everything, and that was fine by Miriam. It meant she was less likely to obey if Angbard or whoever was behind her told her to point a gun at Miriam. Searching her bag Miriam came up with her tablets, dry-swallowed them, then glanced around. “Anything to drink?”