"He was sent here to 'talk to Miriam.' He didn't know where she'd gone after the battle-my guess is, with a Wu family locket, she's somewhere in New Britain right now-but that's not the point. She spoke to him. Let me assure you that hanging her cx-boyfriend would be exactly the most effective way to make her turn traitor. She grew up in America, remember. In my opinion, the least damaging option was to spin him a line of disinformation, let his leg fester a bit, then send him back. If we're really lucky, we've got ourselves a back channel all the way to the White House. And if not-well, let's just say, whoever debriefs him is going to get a usefully skewed view of our politics."
(Pause.) "That will probably keep the council from demanding your head."
"I know." (Pause.) "Now let me draw you a diagram. The Americans have captured world-walkers and worked out how to make them serve. That means they know what they're dealing with. Helge-being Miriam-is on the run, she knows about the breeding program, and one of their agents has already tried to seduce her. Why haven't you tried to kill her?"
"She's my niece. You arc not the only one who feels some residual loyalty, Patricia."
"Rubbish. There's another reason, isn't there? Is it something she knows? No? Oh. Something she did, no-the betrothal?"
"Henryk wanted to ensure a fruitful marriage. He was in a hurry. He sent Dr. ven Hjalmar to see to her."
"Tell me you didn't..."
"
"Oh no!"
"Oh yes. It was always going to be a very short betrothal, just long enough for the pregnancy test to be confirmed. And, do you know something? Once we've put down the pretender, all the surviving witnesses who were present at the palace will swear that it was, in fact, a lawful marriage ceremony, not just a betrothal."
"Holy mother of snakes! You're telling me that with Egon out of the picture, she's carrying the lawful heir to the throne?"
"Yes. You did ask why I hadn't issued a death warrant, didn't you?"
(Pause.) "Angbard, I've really got to hand it to you: that is the most crazy, fucked-up, Machiavellian conspiracy I've heard of since Watergate." (Pause.) "Docs Hildegarde know?"
(Pause.) "You know, I really hadn't thought about
that."
"Because as soon as she finds out, she's going to hit the roof." (Pause.) "Who did you send after Helge?"
"I sent Lady Brilliana after her. She's to stop Helge if she shows signs of turning traitor-beyond that, she's to try to bring her home. Ideally before the pregnancy goes too far."
"Brilliana? That's a good choice. Might even be enough, if we're lucky."
"Enough? I hardly think Helge will be able to prevent her-"
"I meant, enough to stop the auld bitches' assassins. If you'll excuse me, Angbard, I have urgent arrangements to make. Is the prescription I asked for ready yet?"
"It's in the outer office."
(Chuckle.) "So you weren't planning to kill me after all! Admit it!"
"Don't tempt me. You believe Hildegarde will try to kill Helge?"
"Who said anything about Hildegarde? She'll be pissed about me having a granddaughter to call my own, especially one who's an heir and a world-walker, but it's still her lineage. No, what you've really got to worry about are the other members of the old ladies' embroidery circle and poisoning society. Hmm. Then again, Helge thinking she's Miriam-thinking she's an American woman-could really spoil all your plans." "I hardly think that changes anything-" "Really? You're telling me you've never heard of
(Pause.) "Who?"
Miriam found the journey uncomfortable. It wasn't the compartment, for the seats were padded and the facilities adequate, but the lack of privacy. Of the eight places- there were two bench seats that faced each other across (he compartment-she and Erasmus occupied one side. The other was taken by the plump man in the loud coat, sitting beside the window, and a pinch-faced woman of uncertain years who clutched her valise to her lap, her long fingers as double-jointed as the legs of a crane fly. When she wasn't flickering suspicious glances at the fellow in the check jacket, she parked her watery gaze on a spot fifteen centimeters behind Miriam's head. Whenever the discomfort of being stared at got the better of her, Miriam tried to stare right back-but the sight of the woman's stringy, gray hair sticking out from under the rim of her bonnet made her feel queasy.
It was also hot. Air-conditioning was an exotic, ammonia-powered rarity, as likely to poison you as to quell the heat. A vent on the ceiling channeled fresh air down through the compartment while the train was moving, but it was a muggy, humid day and before long she felt sticky and uncomfortable. "We should have waited for the express," she murmured to Erasmus, provoking a glare from Crane Fly Woman.
