“How is he?” she asked Gerd, who crouched beside the duke, holding his wrist.
“As good as can—”
“—Is that the duke?” Leonhard’s voice cracked into a squawk.
“Hsst.” Olga leaned towards him. “This is not Angbard Lofstrom, he wasn’t here, and you haven’t seen him. Not now, not here, not in this state. Do you understand?” She smiled coldly.
“No need for that!” He nearly collapsed in his haste to back away. “Ah, no, I haven’t seen anything. But, uh, don’t you think you ought to get your nothing-to-see-here out of sight, Olga? Before the cousins—”
“That’s the idea.” She nodded at the trucks. “Which of them is designated for officers?”
“That one—”
“Good. You can help Gerd here carry John Doe over to the load bed and make him comfortable. Hmm. Irma, why don’t you go with Leonhard here and make sure everyone works together splendidly? I have another job to do before we leave.”
She left Leonhard looking over his shoulder at her in fear and strode towards the gate, where Erik, the cornet in charge of the recon lance, stood with a couple of unfamiliar men in strange, drab clothing.
“Cornet, gentlemen.” She nodded. “I believe you have a tactical plan.”
One of the men looked vaguely familiar. “Lady, ah, Thorold-Hjorth? You are a friend of, of Helge?”
She blinked. “Yes. You are . . . ah, Sir James.” She bobbed her head. “I see you made it back home.”
“Indeed.” He smiled faintly. “And how may I serve you?”
“Let’s walk.”
“Certainly.”
James Lee had been dangerously smooth, she remembered, so smooth you could almost forget that his uncle and ancestors had waged a quiet war of assassination against her parents and grandparents, almost as soon as they’d concluded—erroneously—that their patriarch had been abandoned by his eastern brothers. James was friendly, affable, polished, and a much better diplomat than anyone had expected when, as part of the settlement between the families, he’d been sent to stay in Niejwein as a guest—or hostage. Which makes him dangerous, she reminded herself. “I have a little problem,” she said quietly.
“A problem?” He raised an eyebrow as they neared the rear of the truck where Irma and Gerd, with Leonhard’s unwilling help, were lifting the duke into the covered load bed.
“A passenger who is somewhat . . . sick. We need dropping off elsewhere from the rest of Carl’s men, to make a crossing to the United States where he can receive urgent medical care.”
“If he’s so sick, why—” James paused. “Oh. Who is he?”
“I don’t think you want to know. Officially.”
James paused in midstride. “There have been signals,” he said. “Huge disturbances, civil strife in Gruinmarkt. We have eyes and ears; we cannot help but notice that things are not going according to your plans.”
Olga nodded politely, trying not to give anything away. “Your point, sir?”
“You are imposing on us for a big favor,” he pointed out. “Six months ago our elders were at daggers’ drawn. Some of them are still not sure that sheathing them was a good idea. We have our own external security problems, especially here, and escorting your soldiers through our territory is bound to attract unwanted attention. I’m sorry to have to say this so bluntly, but I need something to give my elders, lest they conclude that you have nothing to offer them.”
“I see.” Olga kept her smile bland as she frantically considered and discarded options. Shoot his men and steal their vehicles was, regrettably, not viable; without native guides to the roads of Irongate they’d risk getting hopelessly lost, and in any case the hidden family’s elders wouldn’t have sent James without an insurance policy. Offer him something later would send entirely the wrong signal, make her look as weak as the debtor turning out his purse before a loan shark’s collection agents. Her every instinct screamed no at the idea of showing him the duke in his current state, but on the other hand . . .
“Let me put it to you that your elders’ interests are served by the continued stability of our existing leadership,” she pointed out. “If one of our . . . leaders . . . had experienced an unfortunate mishap, perhaps in the course of world-walking, it would hardly enhance your security to keep him from reaching medical treatment.”
“Of course not.” James nodded. “And if I thought for a second that one of your leaders was so stricken, I would of course offer them the hospitality of our house—at least, for as long as they lingered.” He raised an eyebrow quizzically.
Olga sighed. “You know we travel to another world, not like New Britain.” Well, of course he did. “Their doctors can work miracles, often—at least, they are better than anything I’ve ever seen here, or anything available back home. It does not reflect on your honor that I must decline your offer of hospitality; it is merely the fact that the casualty might survive if we can get him into the hospital that is waiting for him, but he will probably die if we linger here.” She looked James Lee in the eye. “And if he dies without a designated successor, all hell will break loose.”
James swallowed. The violent amber flare of the floodlights made it hard to be sure, but it seemed to her that he looked paler than normal. “If it’s the duke—” He began to turn towards the truck, and Olga grabbed him by one elbow.
“Don’t!” she said urgently. “Don’t get involved. Forget your speculation. It’s not the duke; the duke cannot possibly be allowed to be less than hale, lest a struggle to inherit his seat break out in the middle of a civil war with the Pervert’s faction. Let Ang—Let our sick officer pass, and if he recovers he will remember; and if he dies, you can remind his successors that you acted in good faith. But if you delay us and he dies . . . you wouldn’t want that to happen.”
She felt him tense under her hand, and clenched her teeth. James was taller than she, and significantly stronger: If he chose not to be restrained, if he insisted on looking in the truck—
He relaxed infinitesimally, and nodded. “You’d better go, my lady.” Shadows flickered behind them—another lance of Wu’s soldiers coming through. “Right now. Your men Leonhard or Morgan, one of them can guide you. Take this truck; I will arrange a replacement for your comrades.” Olga released his elbow. He rubbed it with his other hand. “I hope you are right about your dream-world’s doctors. Losing the thin white duke at this point would indeed not be in our interests.”
“I’m pleased you agree.” Olga glanced round, spotted Leonhard walking towards the driver’s cabin. “I’d better go.”
“One thing,” James said hastily. “Is there any news of the lady Helge?”
“Helge?” Olga looked back at him. “She passed through New London a week ago. One of my peers is following her.”
“Oh,” James said quietly. “Well, good luck to her.” He turned and walked back towards the gate.
Olga watched him speculatively for a few seconds. Now what was that about? she wondered. But there was no time to be lost, not with the duke stricken and semiconscious on the back. She climbed into the cab of the truck behind Leonhard and a close-lipped driver. “Let’s go,” she told them.
“There’s no time to lose.”
The Execution
Protocol