The Bloodline Feud (Merchant Princes Omnibus 1) (25 page)

‘Hmm.’ Brilliana looked at her speculatively. ‘Kara, if it pleases you, be so good as to ask someone to summon our coach. I’ll help our lady here to make a dignified
exit. My lady, there are a few names you must be presented to before taking your leave – to fail would be to give offence – but there’ll be another reception the day after
tomorrow; there is no need to converse at length with your peers tonight if you are tired. I’m sure we can spend the time between now and then getting to know our new mistress better.’
She smiled at Miriam. ‘A last glass of wine, my lady?’

WAIT TRAINING

Light.

Miriam blinked and twitched into vague wakefulness from a dream of painful desire and frustrated eroticism. Someone sighed and moved against her back, and she jerked away, suddenly remembering
where she was with a fit of panic: Wearing a nightdress? In a huge cold bed? What is going on?

She rolled over and came up against heavy drapes. Turning around, she saw Kara asleep in the huge four-poster bed behind her, face a composed picture of tranquillity. Miriam cringed, racking her
brain.
What did I get up to last night?
she wondered, aghast. Then she looked past Kara and saw another sleeping body – and an empty bottle of wine. Opening the curtain and looking
on the floor, she saw three glasses and a second bottle, lying on its side, empty. She vaguely remembered talking in the cavernous stone aircraft hangar that passed for a countess’s bedroom.
It had been freezing cold in the drafty stone pile, and Kara had suggested they continue talking in the four-poster bed, which filled the room like a small pavilion. They’d fallen asleep,
still mostly dressed.

A slumber party
, she figured. She hadn’t been in one of those since college.

Poor kids. I took them away from their disco and they just couldn’t call it a night
. Kara was only seventeen – and Brilliana an old maid of twenty-two. She felt relieved
– and a bit sorry for them.

This would never do. She slipped out of the bed and shivered in the freezing cold air.
I’m adrift
, she thought. Turning, she looked back. The bed was as big as her entire room
back home.
I need to get my perspective back.

Acutely aware of her bare feet on the heat-sucking stone flags, she tiptoed across to the curtain that concealed the door to the toilet. There were no modern conveniences here, just a pot full
of dry leaves, and a latrine with a ten-foot drop over the curtain wall. What you saw was what you got. Without servants to substitute for domestic appliances, living conditions in the big city,
even for nobility, were distinctly primitive.

After freezing her ass for the minute it took to get rid of last night’s wine, Miriam re-entered her main chamber and began hunting through the chests that had been deposited there the
afternoon before.

She dressed quickly and in silence, pulling on jeans and a sweater and fleece suited to the other side. There was no thought of waking the two ladies-in-waiting, for she couldn’t begin to
guess how they’d react and she wanted to move fast. Her shoulder bag was packed in the suitcase. It took her a moment to locate it, along with the Sony notebook, the phone, and the GPS
compass. She spent a minute scanning the room with the notebook’s built-in camera, then she pulled out a paper reporter’s pad and wrote a quick note in ballpoint:

She left it on the pillow next to Kara’s head, pulled out her locket, and crossed over into the doppelgänger building on the other side.

Miriam’s eyes blurred and her headache redoubled as she looked around. The space corresponding to her room in the palace or castle or whatever in Niejwein wasn’t a palace in her own
world. Two hundred miles southwest of Boston –
New York!
she thought with a jolt of excitement. It was dim in here, very dim, lit by emergency lights. There was a strong smell of
sawdust, and it was bitingly cold. She stood on top of metal scaffolding, with yellow painted lines on the floor.
That’ll be the layout of the castle back in the other world
, she
realized.
I’d better get out of here before someone notices me.

She switched on the GPS compass, waited for it to come up, then told it to store her location. Then she went down the metal stairs two at a time. She was on the ground floor of an elderly
warehouse. Wooden crates stood between yellow alleyways – evidently blocking out the walls of the castle. She headed toward the grand staircase and the main entrance hall, found it open and a
trailer sitting on some concrete blocks installed as a site office. The yellow light was coming from the trailer windows.

Miriam put her hand in her jacket pocket and took a grip on her pistol. Her head pounded, as cold air hit hangover-inflamed sinuses.
I need to dry out for a couple of days
, she thought
abstractedly. Then she knocked on the door with her left hand.

‘Who’s there?’

The door swung open and an old man grimaced at her.

‘I’m Miriam. From the Cambridge office,’ she said. ‘I’ll be going in and out of here over the next few days. Inspecting things.’

‘Marian something?’ He blinked, looking annoyed.

‘No, Miriam,’ she said patiently. ‘Do you have a list of people who’re allowed in and out here?’

‘Oh, yeah,’ he said vacantly. He shuffled inside and surfaced with a dirty clipboard. The cabin smelled of stale smoke and boiled cabbage. ‘Miriam Beckstein,’ she said
patiently and spelled her name. ‘From Cambridge, Mass.’

‘Your name isn’t down here.’ He looked puzzled.

‘I work for Angbard Lofstrom,’ she said curtly.

Evidently this was the right thing to say because he jolted upright. ‘Yes, ma’am! That’s fine, everything’s fine. How do you spell your name?’

Miriam told him. ‘Where are we on the street map, and what’s the protocol for getting in and out of here?’ she asked.

‘Protocol?’ He looked puzzled. ‘Just come in and knock. This is just a lockup. Nothing important here. Nothing worth stealing, leastways.’

‘Okay.’ She nodded, turned, and walked toward the front door and freedom. As she did so, her phone beeped three times, acquiring coverage and notifying her that she had messages.

Once outside, she found herself in a dingy alleyway hemmed in by fire escapes. She walked to the end, then looked around. It was most peculiar. Security on the warehouse wasn’t what
she’d have expected, not at all. It was too easy to get in or out. Was she stuck in some kind of low-security zone? She came to a street with light traffic and shops on either side. Making a
note of the street number, she waved down the first yellow cab to come past.

‘Where to?’ asked the driver, in an almost-comprehensible accent.

‘Penn Station,’ she said. He nodded a couple of times, then swung his car through a circle and flung it into the traffic.

Miriam lay back and watched the real world go by in a happy daze only slightly tempered by her throbbing head.
I’m really here!
she thought, feeling the bounce and lurch of
pneumatic tires on asphalt and the warm breeze from the heater on her feet.
Isn’t it great?
She wanted the cab ride to last forever, she realized with a warm glow of nostalgia.
Lights and advertisements and people who didn’t look like extras from an historical movie flowed past to either side of her heated cocoon. This was her world, an urban reality where real
people wore comfortable clothes, made thoughtless use of conveniences like electricity and tap water, and didn’t weave lethal dynastic games around the future lives of children she
didn’t intend to have.

Wait till I tell Ma
, she thought.
Then Paulie
. Followed moments later by:
Damn, first I have to figure out what I can tell them
. Then:
Hey, at least I can talk to
Roland . . .

She picked up her phone and dialed her mailbox.

‘Miriam?’ His voice was distant and scratchy and her heart skipped a beat. ‘I hope you get this message. Listen, I come across on a courier run every two days, between ten and
four. I think your uncle may suspect something, he’s put Matthias onto me as an escort. Last night he sent news that you’d arrived at the capital. How are you enjoying life there? Oh,
by the way, don’t trust anyone called Hjorth; they’ve got a lot to lose. And watch out for Prince Egon: He’s been known to not take no for an answer. Call me when you get a
chance.’

Her vision had misted at the sound of his voice.
Damn, I didn’t plan this
. The taxi drifted in stop-and-go traffic, the driver thumping the steering column in time with the
radio.

At the station Miriam’s first act was to hunt down an ATM and try her card. It worked. She pulled out five hundred dollars in crisp green notes and stuffed them in her pocket.
That
shouldn’t tell them much beyond where I was
, she decided. Then she hit the ticket desk for a first-class return ticket to Boston on the next Acela. It took a wad, but once she found the
train and settled into the seat, she was pleased with herself for spending it. It would take only three and a half hours, meaning she’d have maybe three hours in Boston before she’d
have to go back again.

Miriam settled back in her seat, notebook computer opened on the table in front of her and phone beside it.
Do I have to go back there?
she asked herself. She’d just spent a week
on the other side – and that week had been enough to last her a lifetime. She felt the stiff edges of the platinum credit card digging into her conscience. It was blood money, and their
blood-is-thicker-than-water creed would drag her back – every time.
It didn’t drag my birth-mother back,
she thought.
It killed her instead
. Which was even worse, and
likelier than not what would happen to her if she ran now – because if she ran, they’d know she was untrustworthy. She wouldn’t get another chance. Darker possibilities occurred
to her. Even if they didn’t want to kill her and reduce their precious gene pool, they could immobilize her permanently by blinding her. She doubted it was a common tactic – even given
the Clan’s ruthlessness, it would rapidly provoke fear and loathing, a catalyst for conflict – but they might use it as a special measure if they suspected treason, and the possibility
filled her with horror.

On the other hand, the thought of voluntarily going back to the drafty castle and the insane family politics was depressing. So she picked up the phone and dialed Roland’s number
instead.

‘Hello?’ He answered on the first ring and she cheered up instantly.

‘It’s me,’ she said quietly. ‘Can you talk?’

‘Yes.’ A pause. ‘He’s not around right now, but he’s never far away.’

‘Are they still watching my house?’ she asked.

‘Yeah, I think so. Where are you?’

‘On a train partway from New York to Boston.’

‘Don’t tell me you’re running – ’

‘No,’ she said hastily, ‘but I’ve got unfinished business. Not just you – other stuff too. I want to see my mother, and I want to see some other people. Okay?
Better not ask too many questions. I’m not going to do anything silly, but I have a feeling I don’t want to draw any attention to people I know. Are you able to get away for a day? Say,
to New York?’

‘They’ve got you in that stone pile?’ he asked.

‘Yeah. Do you know what it’s like?’

‘You survived three days with Olga?’ His tone was one of bemused disbelief.

‘The facilities are, uh, open plan, and I get to sit cheek by jowl with two of Olga’s less enlightened coworkers,’ she said, eyes swiveling to track down the nearest
passengers. She was clear – nobody in the two seats across the aisle from her. Quietly she added, ‘The ladies-in-waiting are like jail guards, only prettier, if you follow me. They
stick like glue. I woke up and they were in my goddamn bed with me. You’d think Angbard had set them on me as minders. Honestly, I’m at my wit’s end. I’m going to go back
this evening, but if you don’t come and rescue me soon, I swear I’ll kill someone. And I still haven’t filed copy on that dot-com busted flush feature I’m supposed to be
writing for Steve.’

‘My poor journalist.’ He laughed, a little sadly. ‘You’re not having a good time. Maybe we should form a club?’

‘Culture shocked and brain damaged?’

‘That’s right.’ A pause. ‘Going back after six years away, that was the hardest thing, Miriam. You will go back to them?’

‘Yes,’ she said quietly. ‘If I don’t, I’ll never see you again, will I?’

‘Not today. I’ll be over again the day after tomorrow,’ he said. ‘New York, is it?’

‘Yes.’ She thought for a moment. ‘Rent a double room at the Marriott on Times Square. It’s anonymous and bland, but I think you’ve got more travel time than I have.
Leave voice mail with the room number and the name you’re using, and I’ll show up as early as possible.’ She shivered at the thought, shuffling uncomfortably in her seat.

‘I’ll be there. Promise.’

‘Bring a couple of new prepaid phones, bought with cash, as anonymous as you can. We’ll need them. I miss you,’ she added very quietly and hung up. Forty-eight hours to go. It
had already been four days since she’d last seen him.

The conductor came around, and she glanced around again to confirm how much space she had. The carriage was half-empty: she’d missed the rush hour crush. Now she dialed another number, one
she’d committed to memory because she was afraid to program it into the phone.

‘Hi, you’ve reached the answering machine of Paulette Milan. I’m sorry I can’t come to the phone right now, but – ’

‘Paulie, cut the crap and pick up the phone right now.’

The line clicked. ‘Miriam! What the fuck are you playing at, sweetie?’

‘Playing at? What do you mean?’

‘Skipping out like that! Jesus, I’ve been so worried!’

‘You think you’ve been worried? You haven’t phoned my house, have you?’ Miriam interrupted hastily.