The Traders' War (Merchant Princes Omnibus 2) (42 page)

‘DEA – Matthias –’ He stared at her tensely. A thought struck Miriam: hoping he wouldn’t notice, she clasped her hands together in front of her, trying to
unobtrusively unfasten one cuff.

‘How well did you know Matt?’ Mike asked.

‘He tried to kill me, and murdered my –’ She bit her tongue. ‘It’s a long story.’

‘I’ll bet.’

The sleeve was coming loose. She looked him in the eye. ‘Well?’

‘Are you happy here?’ he asked cautiously. ‘Because you don’t look it . . .’

‘Am I –’ The laugh from hell was back, trying to get out again. ‘The fuck I am! If you can get me away from here –’ Her voice broke. ‘Please, Mike! Can
you?’ She hated the tremor of desperation but she couldn’t stop it. ‘I’m going mad!’

‘I – I – oh shit.’

Her heart fell. ‘What is it?’

‘I.’ His voice was small. ‘I don’t think I can.’

‘Why not?’

‘We’re moving in over here,’ he said, in a voice that sounded like he was trying to figure out how to give her some bad news. ‘We need world-walkers.’

‘You’ve come to the right place. Except the folks outside want them all dead; I think this could be a civil war breaking out, you know?’

‘We need world-walkers.’ He looked troubled. ‘But what the organization is doing with them – I’m sorry, but I’ve got to ask – ’

‘Yes, I’m a goddamn world-walker!’ Miriam vented. ‘That’s my mother you want to blame – she ran away decades ago, then they came and fetched her back and
found me. Why do you want to know?’

He seemed to relax, as if coming to a decision. ‘I’ve got to go now,’ he said.

‘Can you put me in the Witness Protection Program?’ she asked.

‘I’d love to – I’d like nothing better than to get you into a safe house and a debriefing program. But listen, I’d also say – and I’m not supposed to
– you should wait a bit. They’re using world-walkers as mules, Miriam. I mean, the folks I work for now, big-hat federal spooks. I was supposed to try and convince you to work as an
informer for us, if that’s possible, but I guess this shit means it’s not . . .’

‘It wouldn’t have worked anyway,’ she said heavily. ‘They don’t trust me.’

He paused. ‘I can’t say I’m surprised. But at least I can report that. Identify you as a sympathizer, I mean. That’ll make things easier later on.’ A longer pause.
‘If you can get over to Boston, do you still have my home number?’

‘Damn,’ she said bleakly, staring at him. The old Mike would
never
have given a smuggler an even break. ‘It’s that bad, is it?’

‘There’s a turf war inside the bureaucracy. Cops like me are on the downside at present. Things are really bad. Matt created quite a mess.’

‘I can imagine.’ Miriam certainly could. She’d brainstormed a lot of things a determined world-walker could do; like reach the places other terrorists couldn’t reach, and
escape to do it over again. If the government thought they were dealing with more than just a ring of supernatural drug smugglers . . . ‘Listen, this wasn’t my idea.’ She thought
about the locket. ‘Do you need a lift out of here?’

‘No.’ He turned, his back to the window. ‘This was
supposed
to be a quick in and out, with maybe a friendly chat in the middle. I’ve got my own way out of this.
Take my advice, Miriam: get the hell away from these people. They’re pure poison. Go to ground, then phone me in a week or so and I’ll see if there’s a way to get you into the
program without the spooks shutting you down.’

‘Easier said than done,’ she said bitterly, her shoulders shaking.
They’ve got me over a barrel, they’ve got Mom
– And this seemed to be her night for
meeting unexorcised ghosts. ‘They’ve got my mom.’

‘Oh. That makes things difficult, doesn’t it?’ He took a deep breath. ‘I’ve got to go now.’ He glanced at the locket she was dangling openly. ‘On foot,
through the shit going down outside. Look, you get the hell out of here. Use your magic whatever. Call me. I won’t be back for a week or so, but I’ll see what I can do.’

‘I’ll remember that.’

‘Right.’ He began to back toward the window. ‘Oh, and stay down until you world-walk. I don’t want you getting shot by accident.’

‘Okay.’ She held her hands up.

Some impulse made her ask, ‘Do you still have the hots for me, Mike?’

‘In your dreams.’

Then he was gone. Miriam began to notice the screams and moans from the building, the pops and crackling and quiet roar of fire. And found she could smell smoke on the nighttime breeze.

I am in a burning building
, she told herself.
The king’s just been killed. The man I was supposed to marry is dead, there’s a bomb behind me, the crown prince is holding
a coup and shooting world-walkers
. She tittered in disbelief.
And not only did James Lee make a pass, but I just ran into an ex-boyfriend who’s working for the DEA
.

She raised a fist to her mouth, the locket clenched tightly inside it.
If I run away, they’ll think Egon’s men got me
, she thought slowly, trying to gather her scattered
wits.
That means Mom’s off the hook! And –

If she could remember Mike’s phone number, she could defect. There was something happening there, okay. It had already started, so it wouldn’t be
her
fault if she sought
sanctuary, the feds were already able to reach the Clan at home. ‘I could do it,’ she told herself. ‘All I have to do is world-walk away from here. Then pick up the
telephone.’

She glanced at the locket. ‘Hang on. It was James’s. Is it a Lee locket, or a Clan locket?’ There was a big difference: a Lee locket would take her to New Britain, where a Clan
locket would dump her somewhere in downtown NewYork. Which would be a pain, but if she could make it overnight, get some cash, she could phone Mike in the morning. Whereas if she ended up in New
London . . . ‘Only one way to find out.’

Miriam turned round and stared at the corpse. He wore a soldier’s greatcoat. She’d need that: her current outfit wasn’t exactly inconspicuous anywhere. Swallowing bile, she
stooped and rolled the body over. It was surprisingly heavy, but the coat wasn’t fastened and she managed to keep it out of the puddle. She pulled it over her shoulders: the pockets were
heavy. Mentally she flipped a die, tensing.
New York or New London
. Please
let it be New York
. . .

She stared at the knotwork by the light of a blazing palace. It was hard to concentrate on world-walking, to find the right state of mind. The sky lit up behind her for a moment, as a pulse of
sound slammed through her, then cut off suddenly. She stumbled, a dull ache digging into her temples, and her stomach flipped. The rich sweetbreads came up in a rush, leaving her bent over the
stone gutter. The
stone
gutter. She straightened up slowly, taking in the narrow street, the loaf-shaped paving bricks, the shuttered houses leaning over her. The piles of stinking refuse
and fish guts, the broken cartwheel at one corner.

‘Fuck, I don’t believe this,’ she said, and kicked at the curbstone. It was New London, and her dream of easy defection shattered on the rock of reality. Frustrated, she looked
around. ‘I could go back,’

she told herself. ‘Or not . . .’ She’d run into the Clan again, and she might not be able to get away. With Creon dead, and the US military able to invade the Gruinmarkt,
Henryk might do anything: going back was far too dangerous to contemplate.
It’d be much harder to steal a Clan locket and run for New York, wouldn’t it? Damn, I’ve got to find
Erasmus
. . .

There was a chink of metal on stone, from about twenty yards up the alleyway.

A chuckle.

‘Well, lookee here! And what’s a fine girl like her doing in a place like this?’

Miriam’s stomach lurched again.
Not only am I in New London instead of New York
, she realized,
I’m in the bad part of town
.

There was another chuckle. ‘Let’s ask her, why don’t we?’

And the bad part of town had noticed her.

The wreckage still smoldered in the wan dawn light, sending a column of grayish-white smoke spiraling into the misty sky above Niejwein. Two mounted men surveyed it from a
vantage point beside the palace gatehouse.

‘What a mess.’

‘Unavoidable, I think. The best laid plans . . . Have they found his majesty yet, your grace?’

The first speaker shrugged. His horse shuffled, blowing out noisily: the smell of smoke, or possibly the bodies, was making it nervous. ‘If he was inside the great hall we might never find
identifiable remains. That could be a problem: I believe the blast must have far exceeded the plotters’ intent. The soldiers found the Idiot, though – what was left of him. Near chopped
in half by the rebels’ guns.’

It was not a cold morning, and the second speaker wore a heavy riding coat; nevertheless, he shivered. ‘If these are the spells the witch families play with, then I think we may conclude
that his presumptive majesty struck not a moment too soon. The tinkers have become too accustomed to having the Crown at their convenience. This could well be our best opportunity to break their
grip before they bring damnation to us all.’

The first speaker stroked his beard. ‘That is the direction of my thoughts.’ He looked pensive. ‘I think it behooves us to offer our condolences and our support in his hour of
need to his majesty; a little bird tells me that he is of like mind. Then we should look to our own security. His lordship of Greifhalt has a most efficient levy which I think will prove sufficient
to our immediate needs, and for the honor of his grandfather he has to come to our aid. We can count on Lyssa, too, and Sudtmann. For your part . . . ?’

‘Count me among your party, your grace. I think I can contribute –’ He paused, thinking. ‘– two hundred? Yes, two hundred of horse certainly, and perhaps more once
I’ve seen to the borders.’

‘That will be helpful, Otto. The more you can send, the better – as long as you do not neglect the essentials. We cannot afford to feed the scavengers, of whichever kind.’ The
first speaker shook his head again, looking at the smoking rubble. Stooped figures picked their way through it, inspecting the battlefield for identifiable bodies, their movements as jerky as
carrion birds. ‘But first, an appropriate demonstration of our loyalty is called for.’

The Duke of Innsford nudged his horse forward; his companion, Otto, Baron Neuhalle, followed, and behind him – at a discreet distance – the duke’s personal company followed
suit. The scale of destruction only became apparent as Innsford rode down the slope towards what had been the Summer Palace of Niejwein. ‘It really does appear to have been visited by a
dragon,’ he commented, keeping Neuhalle in view. ‘I can see why that story is spreading . . .’

‘Oh yes. And it came to dinner with his late majesty and half the witch families’ heads of household at his table for the feast,’ Neuhalle agreed. ‘They’ll draw the
right conclusion. But what a mess.’ He gestured at the wreckage. ‘Rebuilding the palace will take years, once the immediate task of ensuring that his majesty’s reign is long and
untroubled by tinkers and demon-traffickers is completed. And I do not believe that will be easy. The old fox will move fast – ’

Neuhalle broke off, composing his face in an expression of attentive politeness as he reined in his horse. ‘Otto Neuhalle, to pay his respects to his majesty,’ he called.

‘Advance and be recognized.’ Neuhalle nudged his horse forward towards the guards officer supervising the salvage attempt. ‘Ah, my lord. If you would care to dismount, I will
escort you to the royal party at once.’

‘Certainly.’ Neuhalle bowed his head and climbed heavily down, handing the reins to his secretary. ‘I have the honor of accompanying his grace, the Duke of Innsford. By your
leave . . . ?’

The guards officer – a hetman, from his livery – looked past him, his eyes widening. ‘Your grace! Please accept my most humble apologies for the poor state of our
hospitality.’ He bowed as elaborately as any courtier, his expression guarded as a merchant in the company of thieves: clearly he understood the political implications of a visit from the
duke. ‘I shall request an audience at once.’

‘That will be satisfactory,’ Innsford agreed, condescending to grace the earth with his boot heels. ‘I trust the work proceeds apace?’

‘Indeed.’ A lance of Royal Life Guards came to attention behind the hetman, at the barked order of their sergeant: ‘’Tis a grim business, though. If you would care to
follow me?’

‘Yes,’ said Innsford.

Neuhalle followed his patron and the hetman, ignoring the soldiers who walked to either side of him as if they were ghosts. ‘His majesty – the former prince, I mean – I trust
he is well?’

‘Yes, indeed.’ The hetman seemed disinclined to give much away.

‘And is there any announcement of the blame for this outrage?’ asked Innsford.

‘Oh, yes.’ The hetman glanced over his shoulder nervously, as if trying to judge how much he could disclose. ‘His majesty is most certain of their identity.’

Neuhalle’s pulse raced. ‘We came to assure his majesty of our complete loyalty to his cause.’ Innsford cast him a fishy glance, but did not contradict him. ‘He can rely
on our support in the face of this atrocious treason.’ Although the question of whose treason had flattened the palace was an interesting one, it was nothing like as interesting to Neuhalle
as the question of who the former crown prince was going to blame for it – for the explosion that had killed his father. After all, he couldn’t admit to having done it himself, could
he?

They rounded the walls of the west wing – still standing in the morning light, although the roof of the Queen’s Ballroom had fallen in behind it – and passed a small huddle of
Life Guards bearing imported repeating pistols at their belts. A white campaign pavilion squatted like a puffball on the lawn next to the wreckage of the west wing kitchens, and more soldiers
marched around it in small groups or worked feverishly on a timber frame that was going up beside it. ‘Please, I beg you, wait here a while.’