The Merchant’s War полностью

"Oh yes." He was still studying her, she realized. "Eighty-six was a wake-up cry. The very next central council meeting that was held-two years later, in exile- announced that the existence of a hereditary crown was a flaw in the body politic. The council decreed that nothing less than the overthrow of the king-emperor and the replacement of their Lordships and Commons by a republic of free men and women, equal before the law, would suffice. The next day, the Commons passed a bill of attainder against everyone in the movement. A month after that that pope excommunicated us-he declared democracy to be mortal sin. But by that time we already knew we were damned."

Another day, another Boston. Brill walked up the staircase to the front office and glanced around. "Where's Morgan?" she demanded.

"He's in the back room." The courier folded his news heel and laid it carefully on the desk.

"Don't call ahead." She frowned, then headed straight back to the other office, overlooking the back yard colocated with Miriam's house's garden in the other Boston, In New Britain.

The house-Miriam's house, according to the deeds of ownership, not that it mattered much once she'd allowed her commercial submarine to surface in the harbor of the Clan's Council deliberations-was a stately lump of shingle-fronted stonework with a view out over the harbor. But over here the building was distinctly utilitarian, overshadowed by a row of office towers. The architecture in New Britain was stunted by relatively high material and transport costs: planting fifty-thousand-ton lumps of concrete and steel on top of landfill was a relatively recent innovation in New Britain, and hadn't corrupted their skyline yet. But this one was different.

Oskar was waiting outside the door to the rear office. He looked bored. The cut of his jacket failed to conceal his shoulder holster. "How long are you here for?"

"I came to see Morgan." She stared him in the eye. "The I need to cross over, get changed into native garb, and draw funds. I may be some time. It depends."

"Cross over. Right." Oskar twitched. "You know there's a problem."

"Problem?"

"You'd better ask the boss." Oskar backed up, rapped, on the door twice, then opened it for her.

"Who- " Morgan looked up. He had his feel up on the mahogany desk, a half-eaten burger at his right hand, and judging by his expression her appearance was deeply unwelcome.

"Hello there. Don't let me keep you from your food."

"Lady Brilliana!" He swung his feet down hastily, almost knocking his chair over in his hurry to stand up.

"Sit down." She walked around the desk and pulled out the chair on his right, then sat beside him. "Oskar tells me there's a problem. On the other side."

Morgan twitched even more violently than Oskar had. "You're telling me. Have you come to fix it?"

"Tell me about it first."

"You haven't-" He swallowed his words, but the look of dismay was genuine enough in her estimate.

"I need to cross over and run a search in New Britain she said evenly. "If there's a problem with our main safe house in Boston, I need to know it."

"The Polis-the security cops? They raided the house. We barely pulled everybody out in time."

Brilliana swallowed a curse. "When was this?"

"Three days ago. I thought everyone knew-"

"Was it coordinated action?" she demanded.

Morgan shook himself, visibly trying to pull himself together. "I don't think so," he admitted. "The situation over there's been going to the midden, frankly, and the Polis are running around looking for saboteurs and spies under every table. Six weeks ago they turned over the workshop and shut it down: some of the staff were arrested for sedition. We were already lying low-"

"What about Burgeson?" Brill demanded.

"Oh," he said. "That."

"Yes, that." She nodded. "I came as soon as I heard. How long has the watch been running?" "All week, since before the raid. I can't be sure, my lady, but I think our activities might be what attracted the Interest of the Polis. We were using the house as a staging post, and when he went down to New York..." His shrug was eloquent.

"I see." Brilliana paused for a moment. It would fit the picture, she considered. If the Polis were already watching the house, and spotted strangers based there keeping watch on a suspect, that would get their attention. And if Burgeson headed for London and the strangers followed him... that would be when they'd bring down the hammer, right enough. "But you lost the trail in Man-New London."

"He started evading," Morgan protested. "Like a seasoned agent!"

"He was last seen with a female companion," Brilliana pointed out coldly. "Which was the whole point of the watch on him."

"It's not her," Morgan dismissed her concern. "Some hint he picked up from a brothel in New London-"