"I'm not sure I agree with him... but, yes. Will you do it?"
"Try and stop me!" He meant it, he realized. Years in the camps, and everything that had gone with that... and he still meant it. Adam's coming back, at last. And the nations of men would tremble.
"We're setting up a safe house for him. And a meeting of the Central Executive Committee, a month from now. There will be presses to turn," she said warningly. "He'll need a staff. Are you going to be fit for it?"
"My health-it's miraculous. I can't say as how I'll ever have the energy of a sixteen-year-old again, but I'm not an invalid anymore, Margaret." He thumped his chest lightly. "And I've got lost time to make up for."
Lady Bishop nodded, then took a sip of her tea.
"There's another matter, I needed to speak with you about," She said. "It's about your friend Miss Beckstein."
"Yes?" Erasmus leaned forward. "I haven't heard anything from her for nearly two months-"
"A woman claiming to be her turned up on my doorstep three nights ago: we've spent the time since then questioning her. I have no way of identifying her positively, and if her story is correct she's in serious trouble."
"I can tell you-" Erasmus paused. "What kind of trouble?"
Margaret's frown deepened. "First, I want you to look at this portrait." She pulled a small photograph from the pocket of her shalwar suit. "Is this her?"
Erasmus stared at it for a moment. "Yes." It was slightly blurred but even though she was looking away from the camera, as if captured through the eye of a spy hole, he recognized her as Miriam. He looked more closely. Her costume was even more outlandish than when she'd first shown up on his doorstep, and either the lighting was poor or there was a bruise below one eye, but it was definitely her. "That's her, all right." "Good."
He glanced up sharply. "You were expecting a Polis agent?"
"No." She reached for the picture and he let her take it. "I was expecting a Clan agent."
"A- " Erasmus slopped. He picked up his teacup again to disguise his nervousness. "Please explain," he said carefully. "Whatever I am permitted to know."
"Don't worry, you're not under restriction." Lady Bishop's frown momentarily quirked into a smile. "Unfortunately, if Miss Beckstein is telling the truth, it's very bad news indeed. It appears she fell into disfavor with her family of the first estate-to the point where they imprisoned her, and then attempted to marry her off. But the arranged marriage provoked a violent backlash from the swain's elder brother, and it seems she is now destitute and in search of a safe harbor. Her family doesn't even know if she's still alive, and she believes many of them are dead. Which leaves me with a very pressing dilemma, Erasmus. If this was subterfuge or skulduggery, some kind of plot to pressure us by her relatives, it would be easy enough to address. But under the circumstances, what should I do with her?"
Burgeson opened his mouth to speak, then froze. Think very carefully, because your next words might condemn her. "I, ah, that is to say-" He paused, feeling the chilly lingers of mortal responsibility grasp the scruff of his neck like a hangman's noose. "You invited me here to be her advocate," he accused.
Lady Bishop nodded. "Somebody has to do it."
The situation was clear enough. The movement existed from day to day in mortal peril, and had no room for deadweight. Prisons were a luxury that only governments could afford. At least she invited me here to speak, he realized. It was a generous gesture, taken at no small risk given the exigencies of communication discipline and the omnipresent threat of the royal security Polis. Despite the organization's long-standing policies, Lady Bishop was evidently looking for an excuse not to have Miriam liquidated. Heartened by this realization, Erasmus relaxed a little. "You said she turned up on your doorstep. Did she come here voluntarily?"
"Yes." Lady Bishop nodded again.
"Ah. Then that would imply that she views us as allies, or at least as possible saviors. Assuming she isn't working for the Polis and this isn't an ambush-but after three days I think that unlikely, don't you? If she is then, well, the ball is up for us both. But she's got a story and she's been sticking to it for three days...? Under extraordinary pressure?"
"No pressure. At least, nothing but her own isolation."
Erasmus came to a decision. "She's been a major asset in the past, and I am sure that she isn't a government sympathizer. If we take her in, I'm certain we can make use of her special talents." He put his teacup down. "Killing her would be a-" tragic "-waste."
Lady Bishop stared at him for a few seconds, her expression still. Then she nodded yet again, thoughtfully. "I concur," she said briskly.
"Well, I confess I am relieved." He scratched his head, staring at the picture she still held.
"I value your opinions, Erasmus, you must know that. I needed a second on this matter; my first leaning was to find a use for her, but you know her best and if you had turned your thumb down-" she paused. "Is there a personal interest I should know about?"
He looked up. "Not really. I consider her a friend, and I find her company refreshing, but there's nothing more." Nothing more, he echoed ironically in the safety of his own head. "I incline towards leniency for all those who are not agents of the state-I think it unchristian and indecent to mete out such punishment as I have been on the receiving end of-but if I thought for an instant that she was a threat to the movement I'd do the deed myself." And that was the bald unvarnished truth-a successful spy would condemn dozens, even hundreds, to the gallows and labor camps. But it was not the entire truth, for it would be a harsh act to live with afterwards: conceivably an impossible one.
Lady Bishop sipped her tea again. "Then I think you'll be the best man for the job."
"What job?"
"Finding a use for her, of course. In your copious spare time, when you're not off being Sir Adam's errand boy."
Erasmus blinked. "Excuse me?"
"I'd have thought it obvious." She put her teacup down. "We can't keep her here. Her inexperience would render her dangerous, her strange ideas and ways would be hazardous and hard to conceal in the front of the house, and, bluntly, I think she'd draw unwelcome attention to herself. If we're not to send her to the Miller, it's essential to put her somewhere safe. You're the only person she knows or trusts here, so you drew the short straw. Moreover, I suspect you know more about how to make use of her unique ability than I do. So, unless you protest, I'm going to assign her to you as an additional responsibility, after you see to Adam's travel arrangements. Take her in and establish how we can use her. What do you say?"
"I say- urn." His head was spinning: Erasmus blinked again. "That is to say, that makes sense, but-"
Lady Bishop clapped her hands together before he could muster a coherent objection. "Excellent!" She smiled. "I'll have Edward sort out documents and some suitable clothing for her, and you can take her back to Boston as soon as possible. What do you say?"
"But- " The servant's room is full of furniture in hock, the second bedroom doesn't have room to swing a cat for all the old clothing and books I've got stored in it, and the old biddies up the street will wag their tongues so fast their jaws explode -"I think the word Miss Beckstein would use is 'okay.'" He sighed. 'This is going to be interesting."
His Majesty King Egon the Third had convened his special assizes in the grand hall of the Thorold Palace-still smoking, and somewhat battered by his soldiers in their enthusiasm to drive out the enemy-precisely thirty-six hours after the explosion and subsequent attack on his father. "By parties of great treachery in league with the Tinker tribe," as the gebanes dispatched by royal messenger to all his vassal lords put it: "Let all know that by decree of this court in accordance with the doctrine of outlawry the afore-named families are declared outwith the law, and their chattels and holdings hereby escheat to the Crown." The writs were flying by courier to all quarters of the kingdom; now his majesty was dictating a codicil.