“Oh, she’s in terrible trouble,” Henryk said reassuringly. “Absolutely terrible! Ghastly beyond belief!” He said it with relish as he passed her the glass. “Go on, ask me why, you know you’re dying to.”
“Um. Is it relevant?”
“Absolutely.” Henryk nodded. “You know how we normally deal with defectors around here.”
“I—” Miriam stopped. Defection was one of the unforgivable crimes. The Clan’s ability to function as an organization devoted to trade between worlds scaled as a function of the number of couriers it could mobilize. Leaving, running away, didn’t merely remove the defector from the Clan’s control; it reduced the ability of the Clan as a whole to function. Below a certain size, networks of world-walkers were vulnerable and weak, as the Lee family (stranded unknowingly in New Britain two centuries ago) had discovered. “Go on.”
“Your mother has unusual extenuating circumstances to thank for her predicament,” Henryk stated coolly. “If not for which, she would probably be dead. Angbard swears blind that her disappearance was planned, intended, to draw the faction of murderers out, and that she remained in contact with him at all times. A sleeper agent, in other words.” Henryk’s cheek twitched. “Nobody is going to tell the duke that he’s lying to his face. Besides which, if Patricia hadn’t disappeared when she did, the killing would have continued. When she returned to the fold”—a minute shrug—“she brought you with her. A life for a life, if you like. Even her mother can see the value of not asking too many pointed questions at this time, of letting sleeping secrets lie. And besides, the story might even be true. Stranger things happened during the war.”
Henryk paused for a sip of wine. “But as you can see, your background does not inspire trust.”
“Oh.” Miriam frowned. “But that’s not my fault!”
“Of course not.” Henryk put his glass down. “But you can’t escape it. We’re a young aristocracy, Helge, rough-cut and un-civilized. This is a marcher kingdom, second sons hunting their fortune on the edges of the great forest. The entire population of this kingdom is perhaps five million, did you know that? You could drop the entire population of Niejwein into Boston and lose them. The Boston you grew up in, that is. Without us, without the Clan, Gruinmarkt culture and high society would make England in the fifteenth century look cosmopolitan and sophisticated. It’s true that there are enormous riches on display in the palaces and castles of the aristocracy, but it’s superficial—what you see on display is everything there is. Not like America, where wealth is so overwhelming that the truly rich store their assets in enormous bank vaults and amuse themselves by aping the dress and manners of the poor. You’re a fish out of water, and you’re understandably disoriented. The more so because you had no inkling of your place in the great chain of existence until perhaps six months ago. But you must realize, people here do not labor under your misconceptions. They know you for a child of your parents, your thuggish dead father and your unreliable tearaway mother, and they don’t expect any better of you because they know that blood will out.”
Miriam stared at her white-haired, hollow-cheeked great-uncle. “That’s all I am, is it?” she asked in a thin voice. “An ornament on the family tree? And an untrustworthy one, at that?”
“By no means.” Henryk leaned back in his chair. “But behavior like this, this display of indecorous—” He paused. “It doesn’t help your case,” he said tensely. “I understand. Others would not. It’s them you have to convince. But you’ve chosen the middle of a crisis to do it in—not the best of timing! Some would consider it evidence of guile, to make a bid for independence when all hands are at the breach. I don’t for a minute believe you would act in such a manner, but again: it is not me who you must convince. You need to learn to act within the constraints of your position, not against them. Then you’ll have something to work with.”
“Um. I should be going, then.” She rubbed the palm of one hand nervously on her thigh. “I guess I should apologize to you for taking up your time.” She paused for a moment and forced herself to swallow her pride. “Do you have any specific advice for me, about how to proceed?”
“Hmm.” Baron Henryk stood and slowly walked over to the window casement. “That’s an interesting question.” He turned, so that his face was shadowed against the bright daylight outside. “What do you want to achieve?”
“What do I—” Miriam’s mouth snapped shut. Her eyes narrowed against the glare. “I think I made myself clear enough at the extraordinary meeting three months ago,” she said slowly.
“That’s not what I asked.” It was hard to tell, but Henryk seemed to be smiling. “Why don’t you go and think about that question? When you have a better idea, we should talk again. If you’d like to join me for dinner, in a couple of weeks? Have your confidante write to my secretary to arrange things. Meanwhile, I’ll try to find out what has happened to your assistant, and I’ll ask someone in the security directorate to look into your affairs in New Britain so that you can go back to them as soon as possible. But if you’ll excuse me, I have other matters to deal with right now.”
Miriam rose. “Thank you for finding some time for me,” she said stiffly. Halfway to the door she paused. “By the way, what is it you do exactly?”
Henryk stood. “Oh, this and that,” he said lightly. “Remember to write.”
Outside in the corridor, Miriam found a nervous Kara shifting from foot to foot impatiently. “Oh, milady! Can we go now?”
“Sure.” Miriam walked toward the staircase, her expression pensive. “Kara, do you know what Baron Henryk does here?”
“Milady!” Kara stared at Miriam, her eyes wide. “I thought you knew!”
“Knew? Knew what?” Miriam shook her head.
Kara scurried closer before whispering loudly. “The baron is his majesty’s master of spies! He collects intelligence for the crown, from countries far and wide, even from across the eastern ocean! I thought you knew . . .”
Miriam stopped dead, halfway down the first flight of stairs. I just barged in on the Director of Central Intelligence, she thought sickly. And he told me I’m under house arrest. Then: “Hang on, you mean he’s the king’s spymaster? Not the Clan’s?”
“Well, yes! He’s a sworn baron, milady, sworn to his majesty, or hadn’t you noticed?” Kara’s attempt at sarcasm fell flat, undermined by her frightened expression. “We’re all his majesty’s loyal subjects, here, aren’t we? Aren’t we?”
TRANSLATED TRANSCRIPT BEGINS
(Click.)
“Ah, your lordship, how good to see you!”
“On the contrary, the honor is mine, your grace.” (Wheezing.) “Here. Walther, a chair for his grace, damnit. And a port for each of us, then make yourself scarce. Yes, the special reserve. I’m sure you’ve been even busier than I, your grace, this being a tedious little backwater most of the time, but if there’s anything I can do for you—”
“Nonsense, Henryk, you never sleep! The boot is on the other foot and the prisoner shrieking his plea as you heat it. You won’t get me with that nonsense—ah, thank you Walther.”
“That will be all.”
(Sound of door closing.)
“Sky Father’s eye! That’s good stuff. Please tell me it’s not the last bottle?”
“Indeed not, your grace, and I have it on good authority that there is at least a case left in the Thorold Palace cellars.” (Pause.) “Six?” (Pause.) “Five? Damn your eyes, four and that’s my lowest!”