The Trade of Queens (33 page)

“I assume you're here because of my letter,” Miriam finished after the naming of names. Then she simply sat back, watching him expectantly.

“Ah—yes.”
Damn.
He hadn't expected quite such an abrupt interrogation. He smiled experimentally. “My father was most intrigued by it—especially by what it left unsaid. What is this threat you referred to?”

Miriam took a deep breath. “I don't want to mince words. The Clan fucked up.”

Brilliana—Miriam's chief of staff, as far as he could tell—glanced at her liege. “Should you be telling—”

Miriam shook her head. “Leave this to me, Brill.” She looked back at James Lee, her shoulders slumping slightly. “You know about our factional splits.” He nodded cautiously. The blame game might be easy enough to play at this point; gods knew, his parents and grandparents had done their best to aggravate those disputes in decades past. “But you don't know much about the Clan's trade in the United States.”

He cocked his head attentively. “No. Not having been there, I couldn't say.”

More euphemisms; the Lee family knotwork enabled them to travel between the worlds of the Gruinmarkt and New Britain, while the Clan's knot had provided them with access to the semimythical United States.

“The US government discovered the Clan,” Miriam said carefully. “The Clan has earned its power over there through criminal enterprise—smuggling. The US government sent them a message by means of an, a, a superweapon. The conservatives decided to send one right back using stolen weapons of the same class—and at the same time to decapitate the Clan security apparatus and council. Their coup failed, but they
really
got the attention of the US authorities. Like climbing over the railings at a zoo and stamping on the tail of a sleeping tiger.”

James tried not to wince visibly. “But what can they do?”

“Quite a lot.” Miriam frowned and glanced at the skinny young fellow called Huw. “Huw? Tell him about the project my uncle gave you.”

Huw fidgeted with his oddly styled spectacles. “I was detailed to test other knotwork designs and to systematically explore the possibility of other worlds.” He rested a hand on a strange device molded out of resin that lay on the table before him. “I can show you—”

“No,” Miriam interrupted. “Just the summary.”

“
Okay.
We found and visited three other worlds before the coup attempt—and identified fifteen different candidate knots that look promising. One of the worlds was accessible using your, the Lee family, knotwork from the United States. We found ruins, but very high-tech ruins. Still slightly
radioactive
.” James squinted slightly at the unfamiliar jargon. “The others were all stranger. Upshot: The three worlds we know of are only the tip of an iceberg.”

“Let me put Huw's high technology in perspective.” Miriam's smile tightened with a moue of distaste: “He means high tech in comparison to the United States. Which is about as far ahead of New Britain as New Britain is ahead of the Gruinmarkt. There is strange stuff out there, and no mistake.”

“Perhaps, but of what use is it?” James shrugged, trying to feign disinterest.

“Well, perhaps the fact that the United States government has threatened us, and appears to have the ability to build machines that can move between worlds, will be of interest to you?” Miriam looked at him expectantly.

“Not really. They can't find us here, after all.” James crossed his arms. “Unless you've told them where to look…?”

“We haven't—we wouldn't know who to talk to, or how.” James froze.

“Why are you
here
?” Alasdair asked pointedly.

Miriam held up a warning hand. “Stop,” she told him. Looking back at James: “Let me see. This
might
just be a social visit.” She looked amused. “But on balance, no, I don't think so. You're here to deliver a message.”

James nodded.

“From your elders—” Miriam stopped, registering his expression. “Oh shit. You're
not
here on your uncle's behalf?”

“You are not the only people with a problem,” James confessed ruefully. “I am afraid my elders have made an error of judgment, one that is in nobody's best interests—not ours, nor yours.”

“An error—”

“Shut up, Huw.” This from Brilliana. “What have they done, and what do you think we can do about it?”

“These are dangerous, turbulent times.” James stopped, hunting for the least damaging way of framing his confession.
These are dangerous, turbulent people,
he reminded himself.
Who were until a year ago enemies of our blood.
“They sought a patron,” he confessed.

“A patr—” Miriam stared at him. “Crap. You mean, they've gone public?”

“Yes.”
Wait and see.
James crossed his arms.

“How public?” asked Miriam. “What have they done?”

“It started nearly a month ago.” James met her eyes. “When they learned of the upheaval in the Eastern states, the elders became alarmed. Add your cousins' manifest difficulties with their own strange world, the America, and there was … cause for concern. My uncle sought advice on the wisdom of maintaining the rule of secrecy. His idea was that we should seek out a high-ranking minister within the provisional government, provide them with discreet services—ideally to the point of incrimination, to compel their cooperation later—and use their office to secure our safety. Does this sound familiar?”

They were all nodding. “Very,” said Miriam. “We made the same mistake.” She glanced sidelong at Brill. “Getting involved in local politics. Hmm.”

“Don't blame
me
,” Brill said with some asperity.

“I'm not. But if the Council hadn't wanted to place a world-walker on the throne, or to do business with local politicians in Wyoming, we wouldn't be in this fix now.”

Fascinating,
thought James. There was familial loyalty on display here, and also a strangely familiar bitterness. He cleared his throat. “Then a defector from your own ranks showed up.”

“Who?”

“A doctor—” He stopped. They were staring at him, as if he'd grown a second head. “—I believe you know him. Ven Hjalmar, he's called.”
Their faces
—cold sweat sprang out in the small of his back. “Why? Is something wrong?”

“Please continue.” Miriam's voice was flat.

“But you—”

“It's a personal matter.” She made a cutting gesture. James took in the other signs: Sir Alasdair, Lady Brilliana—sudden focus, as attentive as hounds at the trail of a fox. “What happened?”

Suddenly lots of things slid into place. “You have reason to hate him?”
Good.
“He has convinced my uncle that it is necessary to conspire with a political patron, and to sell him a, a
breeding program
he says your families established in America. Preposterous nonsense, but…” He trailed off. Miriam's expression was deathly.

“He did, did he?”

“Yes—” James took a deep breath. “It's true? He's telling the truth? There
is
a breeding program? The American doctors can breed world-walkers the way a farmer breeds sheep?”

“Not
exactly
like that, but close enough for government work.” Miriam made eye contact with Alasdair. “We're in so much shit,” she said quietly. She looked back to James: “Which commissar is your uncle doing business with?”

“Commissioner Reynolds, overstaff supervisor in charge of the Directorate of Internal Security.” James took no pleasure from their expressions. “A man I love even less than the doctor. He carries a certain stink; if I was a Christian I'd say he's committed mortal sins, and knows himself for one of the damned.” He smiled crookedly. “I was in at their last meeting, yesterday; to my eternal shame my uncle believes my loyalty knows no limits, and I have not yet disabused him of this notion. Yesterday. The meeting … the doctor told Reynolds that your acquaintance Mr. Burgeson was trying to acquire world-walkers of his own. I'm not entirely sure whether he was telling the truth or not, and this is purest hearsay and gossip—I know nothing specific about your arrangements, my lady, and I don't want to. But if the doctor was telling the truth, you'd better warn your patron sooner rather than later.…”

RSS HEADLINE NEWS FEED:

UN SECRETARY GENERAL FLIES TO AFFECTED REGION: SE ASIA FACES “UNPRECEDENTED CRISIS”: UN Secretary General Kofi Annan today flew to Chandrapur, temporary capital of India, to start talks with the emergency government about efforts to enforce the cease-fire and relieve human suffering in the fallout zone to the north and west of the country …

PRESIDENT RUMSFELD SWORN IN: President Donald H. Rumsfeld was today sworn into office as the 45th President of the United States of America. The oath was administered by Supreme Court Chief Justice Antonin Scalia in a somber ceremony conducted at an undisclosed location …

HANNITY: ARE LIBERALS ALIENS FROM ANOTHER UNIVERSE?: Sean Hannity says it's open season on liberals because they're obviously intruders from a parallel universe and therefore not genuine Americans …

DEPARTMENT OF DEFENSE ANNOUNCES SUSPENSION OF EXTRAORDINARY RENDITION: Prisoners will be processed by CIA interrogators instead under new regulations approved by Attorney General Woo …

SARS OUTBREAK: WHO QUARANTINES TORONTO, FLIGHTS DIVERTED: A World Health Organization spokesperson denied that the respiratory disease is spread by travelers from parallel timelines. Meanwhile, the outbreak in Ontario claimed its fourth …

SAUCERWATCH: GOVERNMENT TESTING UFOS AT GROOM LAKE: Observers who have seen curious shapes in the sky above Area 51 say the current cover story is an increasingly desperate attempt to divert attention from the truth about the alien saucer tech …

HOUSE MEETS TO REVIEW EMERGENCY BILL: Congress is meeting today to vote on the Protecting America from Parallel Universe Attackers (PAPUA) bill, described by former president Cheney (deceased) as “vital measures to protect us in these perilous times.” The bill was drafted by the newly sworn-in president last week in the wake of …

COULTER: NOW IS THE TIME TO INTERN TRAITORS

RUSSIA: PUTIN DENOUNCES “AUTHORITARIAN CONSPIRACY”: Russian President Vladimir Putin today denied former President Cheney's account of the terrorist nuclear attack on the Capitol, describing it as implausible and accusing US authorities of concocting a “fairy tale” to provide cover for a coup …

END (NEWS FEED)

The Final Countdown

The track from Kirschford down to the Linden Valley—which also defined the border of the duchy of Niejwein and Baron Cromalloch's ridings—was unusually crowded with carriages and riders this day. A local farmer out tending his herd might have watched with some surprise; the majority of the traffic was clearly upper-class, whole families of minor nobility and their close servants taking to the road in a swarm, as if some great festival had been decreed in the nearby market town of Glantzwurt. But there was no such god's day coming, nor rumor of a royal court tour through the provinces. The aristocracy were more usually to be found on their home estates, staying away from the fetid kennels of the capital at this time of year.

But there were no curious farmers, of course. The soldiers who had ridden ahead with the morning sunrise had made it grimly clear that this procession was not to be witnessed; and in the wake of the savagery of spring and early summer's rampage, those tenants who had survived unscathed were more than cooperative. So the hedgerows were mostly empty of curious eyes as the convoy creaked and squealed and neighed along the Linden Valley—curious eyes which might, if they were owned by unusually well-traveled commoners, recognize the emblems of the witch-families.

The Clan was on the move, and nothing would be the same again.

A covered wagon or a noble's carriage is an uncomfortable way to travel at the best of times, alternately chill and drafty or chokingly, stiflingly hot (depending on the season), rocking on crude leaf springs or crashing from rut to stone on no springs at all, the seats a wooden bench (perhaps with a thin cushion to save the noble posterior from the insults of the road). The horsemen might have had a better time of it, but for the dust clouds flung up by the hooves of close to a hundred animals, and the flies. To exchange a stifling shuttered box for biting insects and mud that slowly clung to sweating man and horse alike was perhaps no choice at all. But one thing they agreed: It was essential to move together, and the path of least resistance was, to say the least, unsafe.

“Why can't we go to 'merca, Ma?”

Helena voh Wu gritted her teeth as one carriage wheel bounced across a stone in the road. Tess, her second-youngest, was four years old and bright by disposition, but the exodus was taking its toll after two days, and the question came out as a whine. “We can't go there, dear. I told you, it's not safe.”

“But it's where Da goes when he travels?”

“That's different.” Helena rested a hand lightly on the crib. Markus was asleep—had, in fact, cried himself to sleep after a wailing tantrum. He didn't travel well. “We can't go there.”

“But why can't we—”

The other occupant of the carriage raised her eyes from the book she had been absorbed in. “For Sky Lady's love, leave your ma be, Tess. See you not, she was trying to sleep?”

Helena smiled gratefully at her. Kara, her sister-in-law, was traveling with them of necessity, for her husband Sir Leon was already busied with the residual duty of the postal corvée; his young wife, her pregnancy not yet showing, was just another parcel to be transferred between houses in this desperately busy time. Not that Sir Leon believed the most outlandish warnings of the radical faction, but there was little harm in sending Kara for a vacation with her eldest brother's family.