The Revolution Trade (Merchant Princes Omnibus 3) (22 page)

‘Well. You’ve made it through the riskiest period – most spontaneous miscarriages occur in the first eight weeks. So the next question is – I’m assuming
you’re here because you want to continue with it?’ He paused, prompting.

Miriam could feel the blood pounding in her ears. No matter how she unpacked the question it didn’t quite make sense to her: It felt like the introduction to a much larger question,
monstrously large, an iceberg of possibilities.
I could say no
, she thought.
Get this over with right now
.
Quit the game
. Mom might disapprove, the duke might object when he
recovered, but they couldn’t stop her if . . . Miriam opened her mouth. ‘Yes,’ she heard herself whisper hoarsely. She swallowed. ‘Yes,’ she said again, louder;
thinking,
I can change my mind later. There’s still time
. ‘I’m assuming you’re going to want to schedule an amniocentesis appointment, for,’ she swallowed,
‘things like Down’s syndrome and hydrocephalus? Will you be able to check on the – my baby’s – sex?’

‘Eh, we can do that. It’s a bit early for amniocentesis right now, though, if it’s only been seven weeks. I’d like to start by asking some questions about your family and
medical history. Then I’m going to take a blood sample to get started with, while we’re waiting for your old records to arrive. Shall we begin?’

After they left the clinic, Brill drove Miriam back to the motel. Miriam could hear the questions tumbling over and over in her head: The silence was so loud that it roared.
And now, the talk, Miriam thought, keyed up and tense. It had to come to this sooner or later . . .

‘You said you wanted to talk,’ Brill said into the abrupt emptiness that flooded the car’s interior as she turned off the ignition. She studied Miriam in her mirror, carefully
avoiding eye contact.

‘Yes, yes I did.’ Miriam opened her door. ‘Do you have time to come in?’

‘Of course.’ Brilliana looked as if she were walking on eggshells. ‘I imagine this must be hard to adjust to.’

‘That’s the least of it.’ Miriam held her tongue as they entered the lobby and walked to her door. ‘Come in.’

Brill had rented a suite for her; Miriam took the sofa, and the younger woman perched on the armchair opposite. For a few seconds they stared at each other in silence. Finally, Brill cracked and
spoke first. ‘It’s hard, isn’t it?’

‘Yes.’ Miriam kept her eyes on her. ‘I have three questions, Brill.’

‘Three? Is that all?’

‘I think so.’
Because if you can’t convince me I can trust you, then
. . . well,
that
was an interesting question, and not one Miriam wanted to consider just yet.
‘You work directly for Angbard, don’t you? Tell me, are you sworn to him personally? A vassal under his patronage?’

Brilliana looked at her warily. ‘You never asked before.’ She rubbed her cheek thoughtfully. ‘What makes you ask?’

Miriam licked her lips. ‘I’d like a straight answer. Please.’

Suddenly Brill’s expression cleared. ‘Oh!’ The penny had clearly dropped. ‘I am ranked as a sergeant in the Clan’s Security, that is clear enough. But you have the
rest of it, too: His grace swore me to his personal service.’ She looked Miriam in the eye. ‘To be discharged by death, or his word.’

‘Ah.’ Miriam nodded, very slightly.
So Mom was telling the truth
. A tension in her chest began to unclench.

‘Why do you ask?’ Brill repeated.

Miriam took a deep breath. ‘You – you, and Huw, and my mother, and the tooth fairy, for all I know – say you want me to trust you. Well, right now I find I’m very short
on trust. I’ve been locked up, beaten, I’ve been
impregnated
’ – she paused to breathe again – ‘then suddenly a couple of weeks later it’s all
“trust us, we want you to lead us”! And – factional differences or not – I’m having a hard time buying it. So. Second question. Why did Angbard sic you onto
me?’

Brill closed her eyes, startling Miriam. ‘Crone give me patience’ – she opened her eyes again – ‘Helge, he’s your
step-uncle
. He married but his wife
died years ago and they produced no offspring – don’t you get it?’

‘But surely – ’

‘Surely
nothing!
Have you no idea how violent the civil war was? His line were targets! Your mother was targeted, her husband killed! The whole reason for Clan Security is to
prevent anything like that happening ever again! Meanwhile, you, you – ’ Brill’s shoulders were shaking. ‘Please!’

‘Please, what?’ Miriam stared, bewildered. ‘It’s this social thing again, isn’t it? What am I doing wrong
this
time?’

With a visible effort, Brilliana collected herself. ‘You’re your mother’s heir,’ she said quietly. ‘How hard is it to see that you’re also your
uncle’s
heir? Or at least his closest surviving descendant by distaff – you’re a woman, so you won’t inherit everything, but you’re attached to the title to a
whole damned
duchy
. God-on-a-stick, Helge, don’t you get it? Henryk wanted you under his thumb because it gave him a weapon against his grace! And it shut you up, but they’ve
always had a casual way with their women,’ she added with offhand venom. Then she looked back at Miriam. ‘I am a sworn vassal of your uncle, Helge. Sworn to protect his interests. You
are his next of kin. Need I to draw you a diagram?’

‘Uh.’
Oh boy
. Miriam turned it all over in her mind.
Damn, I’m really going to have to work on figuring out how these extended family links work!
‘But your
direct loyalty is to him, not to me. Right?’

‘That’s the picture,’ Brilliana said sharply. ‘I love you like a sister, but you can be so slow at times!’

‘Well, then.’ Miriam glanced at the window. ‘Maybe it’s because I’ve been playing the wrong card game all along,’ she said slowly. Then she looked back at
Brill. ‘I’ve been here a year and I haven’t so much as sworn a swineherd to my service. Right?’

Brill’s eyes widened. ‘You can’t. I’m sworn to his grace, unto the death – his or mine.’

Miriam nodded, satisfied.
Thanks, Mom
. ‘I understand. But his grace is clearly ill – possibly on his deathbed?’

Brill nodded jerkily.

‘Well, then. I believe there is a thing called an oath contingent, yes?’

‘Who told you about
that?
’

‘Look.’ Miriam leaned forward. ‘What are you going to do if – when – my uncle dies?’

‘But that’s different!’ It came out almost as a wail.

‘Not according to my mother.’ Miriam pinned her in place with a stare. ‘In the old days, oaths contingent were quite common – to ensure a secure succession in event of an
assassination. The contingent liege’s orders are overridden by those of the first lord living. Yes?’

‘I suppose so. But – ’

‘Brill.’ Miriam paused. ‘This is my third question. Did his grace give you any orders that would bring you into a conflict of loyalty if you were sworn to me by an oath
contingent?’

The younger woman looked at her, wide-eyed as a doe in the headlights of a truck. ‘Yes,’ she whispered.

‘Uh-oh.’ Miriam flopped back on the sofa. She rubbed her forehead. ‘Well, there goes
that
good – ’

‘Wait.’ Brill raised a hand. ‘You would not have raised the oath contingent unless you planned to live among us, would you?’

Miriam steeled herself. ‘I need sworn vassals to defend me if I’m going to live in the Gruinmarkt. I was hoping – ’

‘Well.’ Brill took a deep breath. ‘Then the conflict of interests does not arise.’ She grimaced. ‘His grace directed me – while you were in New Britain
– to bring you back, alive or dead. Preferably alive, but – ’

‘Whoa.’ Miriam stared at her. ‘Do I want to hear this?’

Brill shuffled, uncomfortable. ‘You are not planning to offer your services to the American government. Are you?’

‘I – ’ Miriam flashed back to what Mike had told her in the walls of a smoldering palace. ‘No. No way.’

‘Well.’ Brill held out her hands across the coffee table. ‘In that case, I can swear to you. If’ – she made eye contact – ‘you still want me?’

Miriam swallowed. (‘It’s a bit like a marriage,’ Iris had told her. ‘A big, rowdy, polygamous one, arguments and all. Minus the sex.’) ‘This means
you’re going to be part of my household and responsibilities for life, doesn’t it?’

‘Once his grace dies or otherwise discharges me.’ Brill ducked her head.

‘Then’ – Miriam reached out and caught her hands – ‘I accept. Your oath of loyalty, contingent on the word of your first liege.’ She stood, slowly, pulling
Brill with her. ‘We can swear to each other in front of witnesses later, can’t we?’

‘Whenever you ask, milady.’ Brilliana bowed low and kissed the backs of both her hands. ‘There, that is the minimal form. It is done.’ Then she smiled happily.

‘Tell me,’ said Miriam. ‘I was a real idiot not to do this when I first arrived, wasn’t I? There are other people I should be swearing, aren’t there?’

‘Yes, milady.’ Brill straightened up, her eyes glistening. Then she leaned forward and, surprising Miriam, kissed her on the mouth. Before Miriam could recoil or respond she took a
step away. ‘It’s going to be so much
fun
working for you! I can tell.’

*

Barely a week had passed, but the atmosphere in this meeting was darker by far than its predecessor. The venue was the same – an air-conditioned conference room in a
Sheraton hotel adjoining a conference center in the middle of downtown Boston, with heavily padded leather chairs arranged around a boardroom table. And now, as then, the attendees were dressed as
conservatively as a party of merchant bankers. But there were fewer of them today, barely a round dozen; some of the faces had changed, and two of the newcomers were women. But it was none of his
business, decided the hotel facilities manager who was seeing to their needs; they were good customers – quiet, serious, utterly unlikely to start shooting each other or snorting crank in the
rest room.

Which just demonstrated how misleading appearances could be.

There were thirteen seats at the table today, but one of them – at its head – was vacant. The broad-shouldered man sitting to its left nodded to a younger fellow at the far end.
‘Rudi, please shut the door. If you would pay attention, please?’

The quiet conversation ebbed as Rudi sat down again, the door securely locked behind him. ‘I think we’ll begin with a situation report,’ Riordan said quietly. ‘Lady
Thorold, if you wouldn’t mind?’

‘Of course.’ Olga opened the leather conference folder she’d brought to the meeting; in a severe black suit, with her long blond hair tied back, she resembled a trial lawyer
rather than an intelligence officer. ‘The duke’s medical condition is stable. That’s the good news.’

Olga read from her notes: ‘The average thirty-day survival figures for subarachnoid hemorrhage are around six-tenths. His grace has already come through the main danger period, but the
doctors agree his chances of full recovery are slight. He’s paralyzed on the left side, and his speech is impaired. They can’t evaluate his mental functioning yet. He may recover some
of his faculties, but he’s likely to be mobility-challenged – probably wheelchair-bound, possibly bedridden – for life. They’ve scheduled a second MRI for him tomorrow to
track the reduction of the thrombosis, and they should have more to report on Friday.’ She managed the medical terms with an ease that might have surprised Miriam, had she been present; but
then, she’d checked her carefully cultivated airhead persona at the door. ‘The balance of medical opinion is that his grace will definitely not be able to resume even light duties for
at least thirty days. Even if he makes a significant recovery, he is unlikely to be back in the chair’ – her eyes tracked to the empty seat at the head of the table – ‘for
half a year.’

The attentive silence she’d been speaking into dissolved in a buzz of expressions of shock and sharply indrawn breath. Earl Riordan brought his hand down on the edge of the table.
‘Silence!’ he barked. ‘We knew it was going to be bad. Thank you, milady.’ He scowled. ‘We have a chain of command here. I recognize that I am not equipped to replace
his grace in his capacity as director of security policy, or in his management of the intelligence apparatus, but for the former we have the Council of Lords, and for the latter’ – he
glanced sideways: Olga inclined her head – ‘there is a parallel line of authority. For the time being I will assume operational command, until his grace resumes his duties or I am
removed by order of the Council. Is that clear?’

There was a vigorous outbreak of nodding. ‘Have you met with the Council yet?’ asked Carl, with uncharacteristic hesitancy.

‘That’s where I’m going as soon as we conclude this meeting.’ Riordan leaned back. ‘Does anyone else wish to comment? On the record?’

‘You’re going to find it hard to convince the stick-in-the-muds to accept Lady Thorold as acting director of intelligence,’ remarked Carl, his arms crossed.

‘They’ll like my second-choice candidate even less.’ Riordan bared his teeth. ‘Are you questioning her fitness for the role, or merely her sex?’

Carl shook his head, his expression shuttered. ‘Just saying,’ he muttered.

Riordan glanced round the table as Olga closed her file and leaned back, trying to keep all expression off her face.

‘I’ve worked with her for the past six years and I would not propose her for this position if I doubted her capability,’ Riordan said sharply. ‘The empty pots in the
conservative club can rattle as much as they please; it’s as good an issue as any to remind them that this is not business as usual.’

There was a general rumble of agreement. ‘You’re in the saddle now,’ Olga murmured in Riordan’s ear. ‘Just try not to fall off.’

Riordan flushed slightly. ‘Right. Next item.’ He glanced up. ‘Rudi. Your flying machine. You are hereby ordered to prepare a report on the feasibility of equipping, supplying,
training, and operating a squadron of no fewer than six and no more than twelve aircraft, within the Gruinmarkt. Tasks will be scouting and surveillance, and – if you can work out how to do
it – medical evacuation. Your target corvée budget is twelve tons. I want it on my desk, with costing, in three days’ time. I understand that training pilots and observers takes
time, so I want a list of candidates – outer families for preference, we can’t routinely divert world-walkers to a hazardous auxiliary duty. Any problems?’