“Oh. Oh dear.”
“My father has issues,” Brill said bitterly. “I believe that is the accepted euphemism. Over here, it’s easy enough to say ‘test tube baby.’” Over there…” She lapsed into silence as the coffee machine began to burble and spit. “In any case. To the matter in hand: Miriam stuck her nose into sensitive business—making life much harsher for people she has never met—and was imprisoned, under house arrest. Baron Henryk decided to see if he could domesticate her, using the stick alongside the carrot.”
“What kind of carrot? And stick?”
“He promised not to execute her, if she married the King’s younger son, the Idiot. She agreed—reluctantly. And to ensure the succession, he arranged for artificial insem—are you all right, my lady?”
Paulette finished coughing. “Bastards.” She stared at Brill blearily. “The bastard. He did that?”
Brill shrugged. “Evidently. He didn’t tell Angbard: this all came to light later, by which time it was too late. There was a betrothal ceremony, to be followed by a wedding at the palace. Egon—the Idiot’s elder brother—got wind of it, and realized he would be a liability once the younger brother’s wife bore a child, so he—”
“Hang on, this is the crown prince we’re talking about? Why would his younger brother’s offspring be a threat?”
“Creon might be damaged, but he’s outer family. There’s a test. The clinic only developed it in the past two years. Egon is not even outer family, he is merely royalty. Obviously, he was afraid that once a royal Clan member was to hand, he might suffer an unfortunate hunting accident. So he contrived an explosion in the great hall and proceeded to kill his father, usurp the throne, and start a civil war in the Gruinmarkt. In the middle of all this, Miriam disappeared. She is either here, or in New Britain. I have agents searching for her over there, and over here—” she shrugged again “—I thought she’d come to you if she was in trouble.”
“Oh sweet Mary, mother of God…” The coffeemaker spluttered and hissed as Paulette stood up and shuffled over to it. She pulled two mugs down from the cupboard: “How do you take yours? White, no sugar, isn’t it?”
“Yes, please.” Brill waited while Paulette filled the mugs and carried them over to the table. Finally she said, in a small voice, “Her plight is perilous.”
Paulette froze for a few seconds. “I seem to recall you said this was good news. Is there anything worse?”
“Oh, plenty.” Brill picked up her mug. “Your government knows about us now. We have reason to believe they know Miriam is connected to us, too. They obviously don’t know about you yet, because they haven’t dragged you off to a secret underground detention facility. Hopefully they won’t notice you—they are tracing the Clan courier routes, which you have never been connected with—but if she shows up on your doorstep, there is a chance they will follow her and find you.” She reached into her handbag and pulled out a business card case. “Here’s my mobile number. If Miriam shows up, ring me at once. If I’m not there, the phone will be answered by a trusted associate. Tell them the word bolt-hole. You will remember that?”
“Bolt-hole.” Paulette licked her lips.
“They’ll tell you where to go and what to do. From that moment on, we will ensure your security. Once we’ve got Miriam back, if you want to go home we’ll make sure it’s safe to do so.” She paused. Paulette was staring at something on the table. Following her gaze, Brill noticed her handbag was gaping. “Oh. I am sorry.” She reached across and flipped it shut.
“You’re carrying. Concealed.”
“Yes.” Brill met her gaze evenly. “It’s not meant for you.”
“Why—” Paulette stopped for a moment. “Why don’t you shoot me? If there’s such a security risk? Surely I know too much?”
“I don’t believe you know anything that could jeopardize our security. The breeding program is being moved: the patient records are already in a safe location while a new clinic is set up. So, strictly speaking, you can’t actually harm us. Besides.” She pulled up a wan grin: “I try not to kill my friends.”
Paulette chuckled weakly. After a moment, Brill joined in. Especially when the friend in question is one of the two people who Miriam is most likely to go to for help, she added silently, and resolved to check back on what progress her employees had made with the other one as soon as possible.
Things in New Britain had clearly gone to hell in a hand-basket while she’d been away, but Miriam’s first intimation that they might have more personal consequences for her came from the set of Erasmus’s shoulders as the streetcar rumbled and clanked past the end of the street.
“What is it?” she asked, as he raised his newspaper to shield his face from the window.
“We’re getting off at the next stop,” he said, standing up to ring the bell. The streetcar turned a corner, wheels screeching on their track, and began to slow. “Come on.”
Miriam followed him out onto the high street’s sidewalk. “Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”
“The shop’s under surveillance.” His expression was grim.
“I see.” They walked past a post box.
“I’m going back there, by the back alley.” He reached into an inner pocket and passed her a small envelope. “You might want to wait in the tearoom up New Bridge Way. If I don’t reappear within half an hour—”
“I’ve got a better idea,” she interrupted. “I’m going first. If there’s someone inside—”
“It’s too—”
“No, Erasmus, going in on your own is the dumbest thing you can do. Come on, let’s go.”
He paused by the entrance to an alleyway. “You don’t want to make my life easy, woman.”
“I don’t want to see you get yourself arrested or mugged, no.”
“Hah. Remember last time?”
“Come on.” She entered the alley.
Piles of rubbish subsided against damp-rotted brickwork: galvanized steel trash cans composting week-dead bones and fireplace ashes. Miriam stifled a gag reflex as Burgeson fumbled with a rusting latchkey set in a wooden gate. The gate creaked open on an overgrown yard piled with coal and metalwork. Erasmus headed for a flight of cellar steps opening opposite. Miriam swallowed, and squeezed past him. “What exactly are we picking up?” she asked.
He glanced over his shoulder: “Clothing, cash, and an antiquarian book.”
“Must be some book.” He nodded jerkily. “Who was watching the shop?”
“Two coves. Ah, you mean why? I’m not sure. They didn’t look like Polis to me, as I said. I think they may be your friends.”
“In which case—” She briefly considered a direct approach, but rejected it as too risky: if they weren’t Clan Security, or if ClanSec had gotten the wrong idea about her, she could be sticking her head in a noose. “—we can just nip in and out without them seeing us. But what if there’s someone in your apartment, waiting?”
“There’d better not be.” They were at the foot of the steps now.
“I’m getting sick of this.” She pushed the door open. “Follow me.”
She duckwalked into a cellar, past a damp-stained mattress, then through a tangle of old and decrepit wooden furniture that blocked off the back wall. Erasmus followed her. There was a hole in the brickwork, and he bent down to retrieve a small electric lantern from the floor just inside it. As he stood up, he began to cough.
“You can’t go in like that, they’ll hear you.” Miriam stared at him in the gloom. “Give me the lamp. I’ll check out the shop.”
“But if you—”
She rested a hand lightly on his shoulder. “I’ll be right back. Remember, I’m not the one with the cough.” And besides, I’m sick of just waiting for shit to happen to me. At least this made it feel as if she was back in control of her destiny.