"We're going, Erasmus." Sir Adam inspected him curiously. "Unless you have more pressing concerns to keep you in this provincial capital than the business of keeping the people appraised of the progress of the new constitutional convention?"
"I'm sure Jim and Judas between them can keep the press and the wire running, just as long as you leave orders to keep that sheep Winstanley away from the hay. But I assumed we'd be here a bit longer… Do you really need me merely as a stenographer or ordinary correspondent?"
"God, no!" Sir Adam looked him in the eye. "I need you in the capital, doing what you've started here, only on a larger scale. You pick the correspondents-and the editors-then leave them to it unless they go off course. But we're about to up our game, man, and I want someone riding herd on the gossipmongers who knows what he's doing."
Erasmus's cheek twitched. "The correct salutation is 'citizen,' or so Citizen Winstanley keeps reminding me, but aside from that I take your point." He grinned. "So what's the plan?"
"The militia-rather, an army air wing who have signed to us-are arranging for a mail packet to fly from Prussian Ridge encampment tonight. You and I will be on it, along with a dozen trusted cadre-Haynes, Smith, Joe, Miss Rutherford, a few others, I've written a memo-your copy is on its way to the wrong place-and we shall arrive in New London the day after tomorrow. Andrew White is collating the lists of longtime party members for us to review when we arrive. You will take your pick of staff for a new Communications Committee, which will take over from the Truth and Justice commissioners when the congressional committee sits. Edicts are being drafted to nationalize all the telautographs and printing presses and place them under your ministry. Are you for it?"
"All of them?" Erasmus raised an eyebrow; Sir Adam nodded. "Well, that's reassuring-nothing like half measures to short the stew pot." He rubbed his hands together. "Yes, I'm up for it. But, one question-"
"Yes? Spit it out, man!"
Erasmus grimaced. "Is there somewhere in this place where I can catch a bath and some fresh clothes? I've been living in my office for the past week-I'd rather not stand up in front of a room full of newspaper owners and tell them I'm holding their front pages to ransom smelling like a tramp…"
The next day, Miriam visited the clinic again-this time, for her own appointment.
Brill had found her an anonymous motel suite near the interstate, along with a survival kit. "Here's your driving license, credit card, and phone. Want to do dinner?"
"Sounds like a plan. Uh, what about you guys?"
"Oh, we'll be around." Brill looked amused. "I thought you'd appreciate some privacy. Tomorrow…"
"Yeah, that."
Tomorrow dawned hot and early through the picture window in the suite's lounge; Miriam rolled over and buried her face in the pillow until the bedside alarm radio cut in, reminding her that she really needed to get up. She sat up slowly, fuzzy-headed and confused: Where am I? A concatenation of hotel bedrooms seemed to blur behind her. What am I-oh. And so it began-the first day of Iris's, of her own, little conspiracy.
She swallowed, feeling a mild sense of nauseous dread. You can't avoid this step, a little voice reminded her. But it's too much like admitting it's real. The result of the cheap pregnancy test kit on the road had left her feeling numb but clearheaded. Going to see an OB/GYN and finding out whether it was a boy was the inexorable next step down the road, but she wasn't ready to face up to her destination yet, or to decide whether she was going to go there or stamp on the brake pedal. As she brushed her teeth, combed out her hair-which was darkening at the roots again, after its brutal treatment in New London-and pulled on her clothes, she found herself treasuring every remaining second of her indecision.
Brill was waiting for her downstairs in the lobby, concealed behind a newspaper. She rustled it as she rose, to signal her presence. "Ready?" she asked.
"Let's get this over with." Miriam managed a brittle smile.
"As my lady wishes."
While Miriam had been held prisoner for a couple of months by Baron Henryk-held in the conditions of a most privileged prisoner, the troublesome heiress of a noble family who must needs be mewed up and married off before she embarrassed the elders enough to warrant strangling-the baron had arranged a most unpleasant medical examination for her by a doctor who specialized in making sure that the family tree always bore fruit in the right places. And seven weeks later, give or take a couple of days, her period was still late, and she was regularly skipping breakfast. Not to mention the other, terrifying symptom: the loss of her ability to world-walk. There was no room for doubt in her mind, even before the test stick had shown her the treacherous blue label. It's not like I haven't been pregnant before, she'd told herself. But dealing with it was another matter entirely, and if it was male, potentially heir to an explosive situation… this wasn't about her doubts and fears. It was about everybody else's. And Mom. Mustn't forget Mom.
"Your pardon, Miriam-aren't you a bit tense?"
"Put yourself in my shoes. How would you feel?"
"I'd be petrified! If it's a boy it's the heir-" Brill stopped, her hands gripping the steering wheel.
"That's what we're going to find out," Miriam agreed. With the free run of a fertility clinic, yen Hjalmar would have been able to put his sperm samples through a sex sorting protocol, and while that wasn't a surefire guarantee, she wasn't inclined to bet against it. "But what about me?"
Brill paused for a few seconds. "I'm sorry."
Miriam took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. "Don't be. What's done is not your fault." What happens next, though… "Just get me there and back. Then we'll talk."
This time there was no security cordon of bible-scholar bandits to penetrate, just a brilliant and vacuous smile from the receptionist followed by directions to a waiting room. "Dr. Price is waiting for you," she added as Miriam put one foot in front of the other and forced herself along the corridor. Brilliana, behind her, felt like the shadow of all her fears, come to escort her to the examination room. I've done this before, she reminded herself. Yes, but you were twenty-one and indecisive and Mom guilt-tripped you out of having an abortion-and there was a nasty thought, because how certain was she that Mom wasn't playing a riff on that same head game all over again?
Seven weeks along. All I have to do is ask. Huw said he'd sort everything out. She held the thought like the key to a prison cell as she paused on the threshold of the examination room, and the guy with curly brown hair sitting at the desk turned to look at her and then rose to greet her. "Hello? Are you Miriam? I'm Dr. Price, Alan Price." His eyes tracked past her. "And this is…"
"A friend." She practiced her smile again; she had a feeling that if she was going to go through with this she'd be needing it a lot over the next weeks and months. "Hi. I understand you're an OB/GYN." She shuffled sideways as he gestured towards a chair. "Have you ever worked with Dr. yen Hjalmar?"
Price frowned. "Van Hjelmar… no, doesn't ring a bell." He shook his head. "Were you seeing him?"
"A different practice." Miriam sat down heavily, as if her strings had been cut; a vast weight of dread that she hadn't even been aware of disappeared. "I really didn't like him. Hence this, uh…
"I understand." Price leaned over and dragged a third chair into position, then waved Brilliana towards it. His face assumed an expression of professional interest. "And your mother, I gather, suggested?…"
"Yes." Miriam took another deep breath. "My fiance is, uh-"