“That’s as stupid as anything I’ve ever heard from the Clan council,” Matthias commented dryly. “Times change, you know.”
“I know! But where would we be without loyalty to our forefathers?” Esau looked frustrated for a moment. Then he pointed to the glass display case. “Continuity. Without it, what would the Clan be? Or the hidden families?”
“Without—that?” Matthias squinted, as against a bright light. A leather belt with a curiously worked brass buckle, a knife, a suit of clothes, a leatherbound book. “That’s not the Clan, whatever you think. That’s just where the Clan began.”
“My ancestor, too, you know.”
Matthias shook his head. “It wasn’t clever, meeting here,” he murmured.
“We’re safe enough.” Esau turned his back on the Founder’s relics.
“The question is, what are we to do now?”
“If you can get your relatives to stop trying to kill her, we can try to pin the blame on someone else,” Matthias pointed out. “A couple of candidates suggest themselves, mostly because they have been trying to kill her. If we do that then we can go back to plan A, which you’ll agree is the most profitable outcome of this situation.”
“Not possible.” Esau draw a finger across his throat. “The elders spoke, thirty-three years ago.”
Matthias sighed. “Well, if you insist, we can play it your way. But it’s going to be a lot harder, now. I suppose if I can get my hands on her foster-mother that will probably serve as a lure, but it’s going to cost you—”
“I believe I can arrange a gratuity if you’d take care of this loose end for us. Maybe not on the same scale as owning your own puppet countess, but sufficient recognition of your actions.”
“Well, that would be capital. I’ll set the signs and alert my agents. At least here’s something we can agree on.”
“Indeed.”
Matthias opened the door into the outer receiving room of the cramped old merchant’s house. “Come on.”
Esau followed Matthias out of the small storeroom and down a narrow staircase that led out into the courtyard of the house. “So what do you propose to do once she’s dead?”
“Do?” Matthias stopped and stared at the messenger, his expression unreadable. “I’m going to see if I can salvage the situation and go right on as I was before. What did you expect?”
Esau tensed. “Do you really think you can take control of the Clan’s security—even from your current position—without being an actual inner family member and Clan shareholder?”
Matthias smiled, for a moment. “Watch me.”
Gathering twilight. Miriam hid from the road behind a deadfall half buried in snow while she stripped off her outer garments. Her teeth chattering from cold as she pulled on a pair of painfully cold jeans. She folded her outfit carefully into the upper half of her pack, then stacked the disguise she’d started out wearing in the morning on top. Then she unfolded and secured the bike. Finally she hooked the bulky night-vision glasses around her face—like wearing a telescope in front of each eye, she thought—zipped the seam in the backpack that turned it into a pair of panniers, slung them over the bike, and set off.
The track flew past beneath her tires, the crackle of gravel and occasional pop of a breaking twig loud in the forest gloom. The white coating that draped around her seemed to damp out all noise, and the clouds above were huge and dark, promising to drop a further layer of fine powdery snow across the scene before morning.
Riding a bike wasn’t exactly second nature, but the absence of other traffic made it easier to get to grips with. The sophisticated gears were a joy to use, making even the uphill stretches at least tolerable. Seven-league boots, she thought dreamily. The other town, whatever it was called, not-Boston, was built for legs and bicycles. She’d have to buy one next time she went there, whenever that was. Despite her toast to the prospects of future business with Burgeson, she had her reservations. Poor Laws, Sedition Acts, and a cop who obligingly gave directions to a clearly bent pawnbroker—it added up to a picture that made her acutely nervous. It’s so complex! What did he mean, there’s no Scotland? Until I know what their laws and customs are like it’s going to be too dangerous to go back.
The miles spun by. After an hour and a half Miriam could feel them in her calf muscles, aching with every push on the pedals—but she was making good speed, and by the time darkness was complete the road dipped down toward the coast, paralleling the Charles River. Eventually she turned a corner, taking her into view of a hunched figure squatting by the roadside.
Miriam braked hard, jumped off the bike. “Brill?” she asked.
“Miriam?” Brill’s face was a bright green pool in the twilight displayed by her night goggles. “Is that you?”
“Yes.” Miriam walked closer, then flicked her goggles up and pulled out a pocket flashlight. “Are you okay?”
“Frozen half to death.” Brill smiled shakily. “But otherwise unharmed.”
A vast wave of relief broke over Miriam. “Well, if that’s all…”
“This cloak lining is amazing,” Brill added. “The post house is just past the next bend. I’ve only been waiting for an hour. Shall we go?”
“Sure.” Miriam glanced down. “I’d better change, first.” It was the work of a few minutes to disassemble the bike, pull on her outfit over her trousers, and turn the bike and panniers into a backpack disguised by a canvas cover. “Let’s get some dinner,” Miriam suggested.
“Your magic goggles, and lantern.” Brill coughed discreetly.
“Oh. Of course.” Together they fumbled their way through the darkness toward the promise of food and a bed, be it ever so humble.
Almost exactly twenty-four hours later, Paulette’s doorbell chimed. “Who is it?” she called from behind the closed door.
“It’s us! Let us in!” She opened the door. Brill stumbled in first, followed by Miriam. “Trick or treat?”
“Trick.” Paulette stood back. “Hey, witchy!”
“It is, isn’t it.” Miriam closed the door. “It itches, too. I don’t know how to put this discreetly—have you got any flea spray?”
“Fleas! Away with you!” Paulette held her nose. “How did it go?”
“I’ll tell you in a few minutes. Over a coffee, once I’ve made it to the bathroom—oh shit.” Miriam stared up the staircase at Brilliana’s vanishing feet. “Well at least that’s sorted.” She dropped her pack onto the carpet; it landed with a dull thump. “’Scuse me, but I am going to strip. It’s an emergency.”
“Wait right there,” said Paulie, hurrying upstairs.
By the time she returned, bearing a T-shirt and a pair of sweats from the luggage, Miriam had her boots off and was down to outer garments.
“Damn, central heating,” she said wonderingly. “There’s nothing to make you appreciate it like three days in a Massachusetts winter without it. Well, two and a half.”
“Did you got where you wanted to go?” Paulie asked, pausing.
“Yeah.” Miriam cracked a wide, tired grin.
“Give me five, baby!”
High fives were all very well, but when Miriam winced Paulette got the message. “Use the living room,” she said. “Get the hell out of those rags and then go up to my bedroom, okay? You can use the bedroom shower.”
“You’re a babe, babe.” Miriam nodded. She pulled a face. “Oh shit. I think I’m coming on.”
“That’s no fun. Look, go. I’ll sort the mess out later, ’kay?”
An hour later Miriam—infinitely warmer and cleaner—sat curled at one end of Paulette’s living room sofa with a mug of strong tea. Brill, wrapped in a borrowed bathrobe, sat at the other end. “So tell me, how was your walk in the woods?” Paulette asked Brill. “Meet any bears?”