Roland nodded wordlessly. “Sir?” He looked up at Angbard, tiredly.
“Yes,” Angbard said darkly. “I’ve been keeping an eye on him. I’ve had my suspicions for a while now.” He paused, looking as if he’d tasted something unpleasant. “Obviously I haven’t been watching him closely enough. That’s not a mistake I’m going to repeat.” He glanced at Miriam. “Do you have anything to add?” he demanded.
“I don’t know, but I don’t believe in coincidences, and the way the hidden families kept going after me—” she glanced at Baron Hjorth, who stared back at her for a moment, then looked away. “I think it’s clear who he was in the pay of.” She shrugged. “It doesn’t change my position. I think you should release Lin, send the kid home with a message offering a cease-fire. If they accept, it means your Keeper of the Secrets is cut off with no retreat and no friends. If they refuse, we’re no worse off. It might make them think we’re weak, but that can only be an advantage right now.”
“I’ll think about it,” Angbard said coolly. “But right now it’s not a priority. What would you suggest doing about Boston? If you have any ideas, that is.”
“Uh.” She paused. “Two or three crossings a day: If we do more we’ll be in no condition for anything, and this needs to be fixed quick. I think we’ll have to cross over to New London, won’t we? If Olga and I and a bunch of others go, it’ll take us a bit longer to get to Boston by steam train, but from there it’s one hop into Fort Lofstrom by the back door. Faster than going by stagecoach, anyway. We’ll have to carry some extras, who’ll need to go over into the basement under siege and pull in our people before the FBI and DEA dig through to them. Think that would work?”
“I think it’s our only chance.” Roland looked worried. He seemed to be avoiding eye contact with her.
“Do it,” said Iris, unexpectedly. “It’s your future.” She met Miriam’s gaze. “I’ll be alright.”
“I know you will.” Miriam walked toward her. “Please be here when I get back,” she said. “We’ve got a lot of talking to do.”
Brill cleared her throat. “I’m coming,” she said calmly.
“You can’t—oh.” Miriam turned back to Angbard. “She can come.”
“She’ll have to. How many copies of the lost family’s sign have you got?”
“More than you thought, bro,” Iris butted in. She reached into a pocket and pulled out a battered-looking locket. “I took this off the one who killed my husband and maid and tried to cut your throat,” she told Miriam. She grinned, humorlessly. “It never occurred to me to look inside it until you tipped me off. Not that I’m in any condition to use it.”
“Ah. Then we’ve got—” Miriam did a quick stock-take. Hers, Brill’s, Olga’s, the one she’d given Roland, now this one. Plus the smudged and fading temporary tattoos she and Olga wore. “Only five reliable ones. Any more?”
Iris snorted. “Here.” She pulled out a bunch of glossy photographs. “What the hell did you think Polaroid cameras were invented for?” Miriam gaped. “Close your mouth, kid, you’ll catch a fly,” Iris added.
“Get some muscle,” Miriam told Roland. “Ones who can world-walk with us. We’ll need guns and medicine. And clothing that can pass at a distance in New London or on the train—” She paused. “And a plan of the Fort Lofstrom doppelgänger, and a compass and map of the area. We can pick one up in New London and find where its doppelganger location is, and then someone to get us in—” another pause. “Why are you all looking at me like that?” she asked.
Another day, another first-class compartment—this one crammed with seven bodies, plus another seven in the compartment behind them—with the window open to let the heat out. “How conspicuous are we going to be?” asked the guy with the toothbrush moustache.
“Just as long as you don’t stop, Morgan,” said Miriam. “Your suit’s all wrong, your coat isn’t a fashion item, and—hell, your hat isn’t right either. They’ll probably take you for a foreigner.” The train clattered over points as it began to slow.
“She’s not kidding,” said Brill. “It’s not like Boston at all, under the surface.”
“Be over soon,” said Roland, staring out the window at the passing countryside. “It all looks like something out of a history book—”
“May you live in interesting times,” muttered Olga, raising a startled glance from Brill.
“Miriam’s been corrupting you.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Ladies, ladies!” They turned and glared as one at Roland. “Is this our stop?” he asked plaintively. He looked decidedly off-color. Miriam decided to forgive him—her own headache wasn’t getting any better, and four trips in thirty-six hours was more than anyone should ever have to make, even with beta blockers and pain killers.
“Not yet.” Miriam refolded the map she’d bought at the station near where Niejwein would be in this world.
“Let me see that.” Ivor, short and squat, leaned over. “Ah.” A stubby finger followed the line into town. “This is Cambridgeport, in Cambridge. The Fort was built on a bluff overlooking the river almost exactly here. That’s—”
“Blackshaft. A rookery,” said Miriam. “Next to Holmes Alley.” She bit her knuckle. “What happens if you try to world-walk somewhere where you’d come out underground?”
“You get a headache.” Roland looked at her curiously. “Why?”
“Nothing,” she said, watching him sidelong.
Brill caught her eye. “Nothing.” She snorted. “It’s that revolutionary friend of yours, isn’t it?”
“Well.” Miriam sighed. “I suppose so.”
“What’s this?” asked Ivor.
“Miriam’s got dodgy friends,” said Olga. “Why is it that we only seem to do business with criminals?”
“I don’t think he’s a criminal; the law disagrees with me, but the law is an ass,” said Miriam. “Anyway, he’s got access to cellars. Lots of cellars and backyards running into the rookery. I think we can go down there, then try to cross over. If we can’t, we can’t. If we succeed we’ll be somewhere in the basement levels. How’d that work out?”
“Angbard gave me some of his keys.” Roland patted his pocket. “We can give it a try. The only thing worrying me is the time it’s taking.”
Liar, thought Miriam, watching him in side-profile. You and me, when this is over, we’re going to need to clear the air between us. She focused on the line of his jaw and for some reason her heart tried to skip a beat. See if we can catch some quality time together with nobody trying to kill me or blackmail you. For a moment she felt a deep stab of longing. We’ve got a lot to talk about. Haven’t we? But not right now, in the middle of a compartment full of Clan couriers, serious-faced and wound up for action.
The train slowed, slid into a suburban station, and paused. Then it was off again, for its final destination—the royal station, five minutes down the line. “Go tell the others, we want the next stop,” said Miriam. “Remember, follow my lead and try not to say anything. It’s not far, but we look like a mob, and a weird one at that. If we hang around we’ll pick up unwanted attention.”
Olga raised an eyebrow. “If you say so.”
“I do.” The train hissed and shuddered as it lurched toward the platform. “Hats on and spirits up. This shouldn’t take long.”
The walk to the pawnbroker’s shop seemed to take forever, a frightening eternity of hanging on Roland’s arm—steering discreetly and trying to look carefree, while keeping an eye open for the others—but Miriam made it, somehow. “This is it?” he asked dubiously.
“Yeah. Remember he’s a friend.” Miriam opened the shop door, shoved him gently between the shoulder blades, turned to catch Morgan and Brill’s eyes, then went inside.