The house felt dreadfully empty without either the servants or Olga about.
I’ve gotten used to having other people around,
Miriam realized.
When did
that
happen!
She walked downstairs slowly, pausing on the landing to listen for signs of anything amiss. At the bottom she opened the door under the staircase and ducked inside. The silent alarm system was armed. Ronald the gardener had grumbled when she told him to bury the induction wire a foot underground, just inside the walls, but he’d done as she’d told him to when she reminded him who was paying. The control panel—utterly alien to this world—was concealed behind a false panel in the downstairs hall. She turned her walkie-talkie on, clipped the hands-free earphone into place, and continued her lonely patrol.
It all depended on Brill, of course. And on Roland, assuming Roland was on the level and wasn’t one of
them
playing a fiendishly deep inside game against her. Whoever
they
were. She was reasonably sure he wasn’t—if he was, he’d had several opportunities to dispose of her without getting caught, and hadn’t taken any of them—but there was still a question mark hanging over Brill. But whatever game she was playing wasn’t necessarily hostile, which was why Olga had gone back over to the hunting hide to fetch her. The idea of not being able to trust
Olga
just made Miriam’s head hurt.
You have to start somewhere, haven’t you?
she asked herself. If she assumed Olga was on her side and she was wrong,
nothing
she did would make any difference. And Olga vouched for Brill. And three of them would be a damn sight more use than two when the shit hit the fan, as it surely would, sometime in the small hours.
The big clock on the landing ticked the seconds away slowly. Miriam wandered into the kitchen, opened the door on the big cast-iron cooking range set against the interior wall, and shoveled coal into it. Then she turned the airflow up. It was going to be an extremely cold night, and even though she was warm inside her outdoor gear and flak jacket, Miriam felt the chill in her bones.
Two men, one of them Chinese-looking, in the wrong pubs.
She shook her head, remembering a flowering of blood and a long, curved knife in the darkness. The feel of Roland’s hands on her bare skin, making her go hot and cold simultaneously. Iris looking at her with a guarded, startled expression, as unmotherly as Angbard’s supercillious crustiness.
These are some of my favorite things,
butter-pat sized lumps of soft metal glowing luminous in the twilight of a revolutionary quartermaster’s shop:
Glock automatics and diamond rings …
Miriam shook herself. “Damn, if I wait here I’ll doze off for sure.” She stood up, raised the insulating lid on the range, and pushed the kettle onto the hot plate. A cup of coffee would get her going. She picked up her dictaphone and rewound, listening to notes she’d recorded earlier in the day.
“The family founder had six sons. Five of them had families and the Clan is the result. The sixth—what happened to him? Angbard said he went west and vanished. Suppose—suppose he did. Reached the western empire, that is, but did so poor, destitute, out of luck. Along the way he lost his talisman, the locket with the knotwork. If he had to re-create it from memory, so he could world-walk, would be succeed? Would I? I know what happens when I look at the knot, but can I remember exactly what shape it is, well enough to draw it? Let’s try.”
Whirr. Click. New memo.
“Nope. I just spent ten minutes and what I’ve drawn does nothing for me. Hmm. So we know that it’s not that easy to re-create from memory, and I know that if you look at the other symbol you go here, not home. Hmm again.”
Whirr. Click. New memo.
“I just looked at both lockets. Should have done it earlier, but it’s hard to see them without zoning out and crossing over to the other world. The knots—in the other one, there’s an arc near the top left that threads over the outer loop, not under it, like in the one Iris gave me. So it looks like the assassin’s one is, yeah, a corruption of the original design. So maybe the lost family hypothesis is correct.”
Whirr. Click. New memo.
“Why didn’t they keep trying different knots until they found one that worked? One that let them make the rendezvous with the other families?”
Whirr. Click. New memo.
“It’s a bloodline thing. If you know of only one other universe, and if you know the ability to go there runs in the family, would you necessarily think in terms of multiple worlds? Would you realize you’d mis-remembered the design of the talisman? Or would you just assume—the West Coast must have looked pretty much the same in both versions, this world and my own back then—that you’d been abandoned by your elder brothers? Scumbags.”
Whirr. Click. New memo.
“Why me? Why Patricia? What was it about her ancestry that threatened them? As opposed to anyone else in the Clan? Did they just want to kill her to restart the blood feuds, or was there something else?”
Whirr. Click. New memo.
“What do they want? And can I use them as a lever to get the Clan to give me what
I
want?”
The door around the back of the scullery creaked as it opened.
Miriam was on her feet instantly, back to the wall beside the cooker, pistol in her right hand.
Shit, shit
—she froze, breath still, listening.
“Miriam?” called a familiar voice, “are you there?”
She lowered her gun. “Yes!”
Olga shuffled inside, looking about a thousand years older than she had an hour before. “Oh, my
head
,” she moaned. “Give me drugs, give me strong medicine, give me a bone saw!” She drew a finger across her throat, then looked at Miriam. “
What
is that you’re wearing?” she asked.
“Hello.” Brilliana piped up behind her. “Can I come in?” She looked around dubiously. “Are you
sure
this is another world?” she asked.
“Yes,” Miriam said tersely. “Here. Take two of these now. I’ll give you the next two when it’s time.” She passed the capsules to Olga, who dry-swallowed them and pulled a face. “Get a glass of water.” Miriam looked at Brill. “Did you bring—”
Brill grinned. “This?” she asked, hefting a stubby looking riot gun.
“Uh, yeah.” Miriam froze inside for a moment, then relaxed. She fixed Brill with a beady eye. “You realize an explanation is a bit overdue?”
“An explan—oh.”
“It doesn’t wash, Brill,” she said evenly. “I know you’re working for someone in Clan security. Or were you going to tell me you found that cannon in a cupboard somewhere?”
Olga had taken a step back. Miriam could see her right hand flexing. “Why don’t you go upstairs and get dressed for the party?” Miriam suggested.
“Ah, if you think so.” Olga looked at her dubiously.
“I do.” Miriam kept her eyes on Brill, who stared back unwavering as Olga swept past toward the staircase. “Well?”
“I got word to expect you two days before you arrived in Niejwein,” Brill admitted. “You didn’t really expect Angbard to hang you out to dry, did you? He said, and I quote, ‘Stick to her like glue, don’t let her out of your sight on family territory, and especially don’t give Baron Hjorth an opportunity to push her down a stairwell.’ So I did as he said,” she added, her self-satisfaction evident.
“Who else was in on it?” Miriam asked.
“Olga.” Brill shrugged. “But not as explicitly. She’s not an
agent
, but… you didn’t think she was an accident, did you? The duke sent you down to Niejwein with her because he thought you’d be safer that way. And to add to the confusion. Conspirators and murderers tend to underestimate her because of the giggling airhead act.” She shrugged.
“So who do you report to?” said Miriam.
“Angbard. In person.”
“Not Roland?”
“Roland?” Brill snorted. “Roland’s useless at this sort of thing—”
“So you world-walk? Why did you conceal it from me?”
“Because Angbard told me to, of course. It wasn’t hard: You don’t know enough about the Clan structure to know who’s likely to be outer family and who’s going to have the talent.” She took a deep breath. “I used to be a bit of a tear-away. When I was eighteen I tried to join the Marine Corps.” She frowned. “I didn’t make the physical, though, and my mother had a screaming fit when she heard about it. She told Angbard to beat some sense into me and he paid for the bodyguard training and karate while I made up my mind what to do next. Back at court, my job—” she swallowed—”if we ever had to bring the hammer down on Alexis, I was tasked with that. Outside the Clan, nobody thinks a lady-in-waiting is a threat, did you know that? But outside the Clan, noble ladies aren’t expected to be able to fight. Anyway, that’s why Angbard stuck me on you as a nursemaid. If you ran into anything you couldn’t handle …”
“Er.” The kettle began to hiss. Miriam shook her head, suffering from information overload.
My lady-in-waiting wants to be a marine?
“Want some coffee?”
“Yes. Please. Hey, did you know you look just like your Iris when you frown?”
Miriam stopped dead. “You’ve seen her?” she demanded.
“Calm down!” Brilliana held up her hands in surrender. “Yes, I’ve seen her in the past couple of days, and she’s fine. She just needed to go underground for a bit. Same as you, do you understand? I met up with her when you left me in Boston with Paulie and nothing to do. After you shot your mouth off at Angbard, I figured he needed to know what had you so wound up. He takes a keen interest in her well-being, and not just because you threatened to kill him if he didn’t. So of
course
I went over to see her. In fact, I visited every couple of days, to keep an eye on her. I was there when—” Brill fell silent.
“It was you with the shotgun,” Miriam pushed.
“Actually, no.” Brill looked a little green. “She kept it taped under her chair, the high-backed one in the living room. I just called the Clan cleaners for her afterwards. It was during your first trip over here when she, she had the incident. She phoned your office line, and I was in the office, so I picked up the phone. As you were over here I went around to sort everything out. I found—” She shuddered. “It took a lot of cleaning up. They were Clan security, from the New York office, you know. She was so
calm
about it.”
“Let me get this straight.” Miriam poured the kettle’s contents into a cafetiere. Her hand was shaking, she noticed distantly. “You’re telling me that
Iris
gunned down a couple of intruders?”
“Huh?” Brill looked puzzled. “Oh,
Iris.
That’s right. Like ‘Miriam.’ Listen, she said, ‘it gets to be a habit after the third assassination attempt. Like killing cockroaches.’”
“Urk.” Miriam sat down hard and waited for the conceptual earthquake to stop. She fixed Brill with the stare she kept in reserve for skewering captains of industry she was getting ready to accuse of malfeasance or embezzlement. “Okay, let me get this straight. You are telling me that my mother just
happens
to keep a sawn-off shotgun under her wheelchair for blowing away SWAT teams, a habit which she somehow concealed from me during my childhood and upbringing while she was a political activist and then the wife of a radical bookstore manager—”
“No!” Brill looked increasingly annoyed. “Don’t you get it? This was the first attempt on her life in over thirty years—”
Miriam’s walkie-talkie bleeped at her urgently.
“We’ve got company.” Miriam eyed the walkie-talkie as if it might explode.
My mother is an alien,
she thought.
Must have been in the Weather Underground or something.
But there was no time to worry about that now. “Is that thing loaded?”
“Yes.”
“Right. Then wait here. If anyone comes through the garden door, shoot them. If anyone comes through the other door, it’ll be either me and Olga, or the bad guys. I’ll knock first. Back in a second.”
Miriam dashed for the hall and took the stairs two at a time.
“Zone two breach,”
the burglar alarm chirped in her ear. Zone two was the east wall of the garden. “Olga?” she called.
“Here.” Olga stepped out onto the landing. Her goggles made her look like a tall, angular insect—a mantis, perhaps.
“Come on. We’ve got visitors.”
“Where do you want to hold out?”
“In the scullery passage and kitchen—the only direct way in is via the front window, and there are fun surprises waiting for them in the morning room and dining room.”
“Right.” Olga hurried downstairs, a machine pistol clutched in one hand.
“Brill,” Miriam called, “we’re coming in.” She remembered to knock.
Once in the kitchen she passed Brill a walkie-talkie with hands-free kit. “Put this in a pocket and stick the headphone in. Good. Olga? You too.” She hit the transmit button. “Can you both hear me?”
Two nods. “Great. We’ve—”
“Attention. Zone four breach.”
“—That’s the living room.
Wait
for it, dammit!”
“Attention. Zone five breach.”
“Dining room,” Miriam whispered. “Right. Let’s go.”
“Let’s—what?”
She switched her set to a different channel and pressed the transmit button.
“Attention. Zone four smoke release. Attention. Zone five smoke release. Attention. Zone six smoke release.”
“What—”
“Smoke bombs. Come on, the doors are locked on the hall side and I had the frames reinforced. We’ve got them bottled up, unless they’ve got demolition charges. Here.” Miriam passed Brill a pair of handcuffs. “Let’s go. Remember, we want to get the ringleader alive—but I don’t want either of you to take any risks.”
Miriam led them into the octagonal hallway. There was a muffled thump from the day room door, and a sound of coughing. She waved Olga to one side, then prepared to open the door. “Switch your goggles on,” she said, and killed the lights.
Through the goggles the room was a dark and confusing jumble of shapes. Miriam saw two luminous green shadows moving around her—Brill and Olga. One of them gave her a thumbs-up, while the other of them raised something gun-shaped. “On my mark. I’m going to open the door. Three, two, one,
mark
.” Miriam unlocked the door and shoved it open. Smoke billowed out, and a coughing figure stumbled into the darkened hall. Olga’s arm rose and fell, resulting in a groan and a crash. “I’m in.” Miriam stepped over the prone figure and into the smoke-filled room. It was chilly inside, and her feet crackled on broken glass.
Bastards,
she thought angrily. Something vague and greenish glowed in the smoke at the far corner, caught between the grand piano and the curtains. “Drop your gun and lie down!” Miriam shouted, then ducked.