The Revolution Trade (Merchant Princes Omnibus 3)

by Charles Stross

  ‘You’re not that ill, are you?’

  ‘Not yet. But without my medication I will be. And when the Americans come, it won’t matter whether I’m hale and hearty or on my deathbed. If I evacuate, those medicines I need to sustain me will run out by and by. And if I stay . . .’ She fixed him with a gimlet stare. ‘I hope you’re going to evacuate yourself before the end. My daughter doesn’t need old dead wood like me clogging up her household and draining her resources; but a young, energetic lord of security is another matter.’

  Riordan stared back at her. ‘This land is my land. And enough of my people are staying that I’d be derelict if I abandoned them.’

  ‘My mother said something like that. My mother was also a damned fool.’ Patricia took a deep breath. ‘She shot a man-eating tiger in the tip of its tail, where the wound is calculated to cause maximum pain and outrage, but to do no lasting harm. Do you really expect the tiger not to bite?’

  ‘Oh, it’s going to bite all right.’ Riordan looked as resigned as a condemned man on his way to the scaffold. ‘You are correct, your grace. And I am encouraging every man and woman I meet to make their way to the evacuation points. But it’s an uphill battle, and many of our less well-traveled cousins are skeptical. If I go, my powers of persuasion are vastly reduced. So, like the captain of a sinking ship, my station is on the bridge until all are saved.’

  ‘Exactly.’ Patricia folded her hands. ‘But I’m not going anywhere, even if you throw wide the doors to this gilded cell. So why not let me help?’

  *

  On the other side of the sprawling metropolis, a steamer drove slowly along a road lined with big houses, set back behind the wire-topped fences and overgrown hedges of a mostly absent bourgeoisie. Those with royalist connections or a history with the Polis or sympathies with the Patriot Party had mostly decided that they had pressing business out of town, far from urban militias who might recognize them and Leveler Party commissioners who might think the city better off without their ilk.

  Sitting in the back of the steamer, James Lee stared pensively at the padlocked gates from behind smoked glass pince-nez spectacles. There, but for the lubrication of certain palms and the careful maintenance of appearances, were his own family’s estates; in time of civil war, nobody suffered quite like foreign merchants, despised for their race and resented for their imagined wealth. Only the Lee family’s dedication to concealing their true nature had kept them from attracting the mob’s attention so far. ‘This next,’ he called ahead to the chauffeur and his companion, a heavyset fellow with a nose that had been broken so many times that it was almost flat. ‘She’s at home.’ There was a trickle of smoke from one chimney pot, no doubt a flue venting from the kitchen range.

  The thick hedge fronting the Beckstein estate was unkempt and as bushy as its neighbors, but the gate wasn’t chained shut – and the hut beside it showed signs of recent use. As the car hissed to a halt in the roadway, the hut’s door opened and a fellow stepped out, making no attempt to conceal his breech-loading blunderbuss.

  ‘Ahoy, the house,’ called the chauffeur.

  The gatekeeper stayed well clear of the car. ‘Who calls?’ he demanded.

  James leaned forward to rap the head of his cane once on the back of the driver’s partition, then opened the car door and stepped out. ‘James Lee,’ he said easily in Hochsprache. The gatekeeper jumped. ‘I have come to visit my cousin, Helge of Thorold-Hjorth.’

  ‘Wait, if it pleases you.’ The gatekeeper raised his left hand and held something to his mouth, muttering. Then he shook his head, as if hearing an answer. His face froze. ‘Please wait . . . My lord, I am told that you are welcome here. But your men will please leave their arms in the vehicle.’ Two more men appeared, hurrying along the driveway from the direction of the house. ‘If that is acceptable . . . ?’

  James nodded. ‘Take the car where he directs you and wait with it,’ he told his chauffeur.

  ‘Are you sure?’ the bodyguard asked edgily.

  ‘We’re safer here than we were on the way,’ James pointed out. Which was true: Three men who would be taken as foreigners driving an expensive motor through a British city in time of revolution would not have been safe if they had been stopped. ‘They won’t lay a finger on us, Chang. They don’t know what we are capable of. And besides, I am an honored guest.’ He closed the car door and walked towards the gate as it swung open.

  The house Miriam had purchased for her first foray into the business world in New Britain was large enough to conceal a myriad of sins, and James Lee was not surprised when the suspiciously unobsequious butler who met him at the front door rushed him into a parlor off to one side. ‘If you’d wait here, sir, her – my lady sends her apologies, and she will see you shortly.’ He began to move towards the door, then paused. ‘Can I fetch you anything? Tea, coffee, whisky?’

  ‘I am perfectly all right,’ James said blandly. The not-butler frowned, then bowed briskly and hurried out of the room. He was clearly unused to playing this role; his stockings were creased and his periwig lamentably disordered. James sat in the solitary armchair, glancing round curiously. Aside from the presence of the armchair and a small box attached to the wall close to one ceiling corner, there was nothing particularly unusual about the room – for a butler’s pantry. Someone is not used to entertaining, he decided. Now, what does that signify?

  As it happened, he didn’t have long to wait. Barely ten minutes later, the not-butler threw the door open in a rush. ‘They’re ready for you now,’ he explained. ‘In the morning room. If you’ll follow me, sir.’

  ‘Certainly.’ James stood and followed the fellow along a gloomy passage, then out into a wood-paneled hall and through a doorway into a day-lit room dominated by a large mahogany table set out with nearly a dozen seats. Dining table or conference table? He nodded politely at the occupants, reserving a small smile for their leader. ‘Good morning, Your Majesty – your grace – however I should address you? I must say, I’m glad to see you looking so well.’ Well was questionable; she looked as if she had recently been seriously unwell, and was not yet back to full health.

  She nodded. ‘Thank you, my lord baron. Uh – we are trying to make a practice of avoiding titles here; the neighbors are less than understanding. You may call me Miriam and I shall call you James, or Mr. Lee, whichever you prefer. Unless you insist on formalities?’

  ‘As you wish.’ The not-butler stepped forward, drawing out a chair for him. ‘Perhaps you could introduce your companions? I don’t believe we’ve all met.’

  ‘Sure. Have a seat – everybody? Brilliana I think you’ve met. This is Sir – uh, Alasdair, my – ’

  ‘Chief of security,’ the not-butler rumbled mildly. He, too, sat down. ‘Your men are being taken care of with all due hospitality,’ he added.

  ‘Thank you.’ Message received. James nodded and concentrated on remembering names as Miriam – the former Duchess Helge – introduced another five members of the six traitor brothers’ families – Stop that, he reminded himself. It was a bad habit, born of a hundred and fifty and more years of tradition built on the unfortunate belief that his ancestor had been abandoned to his fate by his wicked siblings. A belief which might or might not be true, but which was singularly unhelpful in the current day and age . . .

  ‘I assume you’re here because of my letter,’ Miriam finished after the naming of names. Then she simply sat back, watching him expectantly.

  ‘Ah – yes.’ Damn. He hadn’t expected quite such an abrupt interrogation. He smiled experimentally. ‘My father was most intrigued by it – especially by what it left unsaid. What is this threat you referred to?’

  Miriam took a deep breath. ‘I don’t want to mince words. The Clan fucked up.’

  Brilliana – Miriam’s chief of staff, as far as he could tell – glanced at her liege. ‘Should you be telling – ’

  Miriam shook her head. ‘Leave this to me, Brill.’ She looked back at James Lee, her shoulders slumping slightl
y. ‘You know about our internal factional splits.’ He nodded cautiously. The blame game might be easy enough to play at this point; gods knew, his parents and grandparents had done their best to aggravate those disputes in decades past. ‘But you don’t know much about the Clan’s trade in the United States.’

  He cocked his head attentively. ‘No. Not having been there, I couldn’t say.’

  More euphemisms; the Lee family knotwork enabled them to travel between the worlds of the Gruinmarkt and New Britain, while the Clan’s knot had provided them with access to the semi-mythical United States.

  ‘The US government discovered the Clan,’ Miriam said carefully. ‘The Clan has earned its power over there through criminal enterprise – smuggling. The US government sent them a message by means of an, a, a super-weapon. The conservatives decided to send a message right back using stolen weapons of the same class – and at the same time to decapitate the Clan security apparatus and council. Their coup failed, but they really got the attention of the US authorities. Like climbing over the railings at a zoo and stamping on the tail of a sleeping tiger.’

  James tried not to wince. ‘But what can they do?’

  ‘Quite a lot.’ Miriam frowned and glanced at the skinny young fellow called Huw. ‘Huw? Tell him about the project my uncle gave you.’

  Huw fidgeted with his oddly styled spectacles. ‘I was detailed to test other knotwork designs and to systematically explore the possibility of other worlds.’ He rested a hand on a strange device molded out of resin that lay on the table before him. ‘I can show you – ’

  ‘No,’ Miriam interrupted. ‘Just the summary.’

  ‘Okay. We found and visited three other worlds before the coup attempt – and identified fifteen different candidate knots that look promising. One of the worlds was accessible using your, the Lee family, knotwork from the United States. We found ruins, but very high-tech ruins. Still slightly radioactive.’ James squinted a little at the unfamiliar jargon. ‘The others were all stranger. Upshot: The three worlds we know of are only the tip of an iceberg.’

  ‘Let me put Huw’s high technology in perspective.’ Miriam’s smile tightened with a moue of distaste: ‘He means high tech in comparison to the United States. Which is about as far ahead of New Britain as New Britain is ahead of the Gruinmarkt. There is strange stuff out there, and no mistake.’

  ‘Perhaps, but of what use is it?’ James shrugged, trying to feign disinterest.

  ‘Well, perhaps the fact that the United States government has threatened us, and appears to have the ability to build machines that can move between worlds, will be of interest to you?’ Miriam looked at him expectantly.

  ‘Not really. They can’t find us here, after all.’ James crossed his arms. ‘Unless you’ve told them where to look . . . ?’

  ‘We haven’t – we wouldn’t know who to talk to, or how.’

  James froze in response to her flat stare.

  ‘Why are you here?’ Alasdair asked pointedly.

  Miriam held up a warning hand. ‘Stop,’ she told him. Looking back at James: ‘Let me see. This might just be a social visit. But on balance, no, I don’t think so. You’re here to deliver a message.’

  James nodded.

  ‘From your elders – ’ Miriam stopped, registering his expression. ‘Oh shit. You’re not here on your uncle’s behalf?’

  ‘You are not the only people with a problem,’ James confessed ruefully. ‘I am afraid my elders have made an error of judgment, one that is in nobody’s best interests – not ours, nor yours.’

  ‘An error – ’

  ‘Shut up, Huw.’ This from Brilliana. ‘What have they done, and what do you think we can do about it?’

  ‘These are dangerous, turbulent times.’ James stopped, hunting for the least damaging way of framing his confession. These are dangerous, turbulent people, he reminded himself. Who were until a year ago enemies of our blood. ‘They sought a patron,’ he confessed.

  ‘A patr – ’ Miriam stared at him. ‘Crap. You mean, they’ve gone public?’

  ‘Yes.’ Wait and see. James crossed his arms.

  ‘How public?’ asked Miriam. ‘What have they done?’

  ‘It started nearly a month ago.’ James met her eyes. ‘When they learned of the upheaval in the Eastern states, the elders became alarmed. Add your cousins’ manifest difficulties with their own strange world, the America, and there was . . . cause for concern. My uncle sought advice on the wisdom of maintaining the rule of secrecy. His idea was that we should seek out a high-ranking minister within the provisional government, provide them with discreet services – ideally to the point of incrimination, to compel their cooperation later – and use their office to secure our safety. Does this sound familiar?’

  They were all nodding. ‘Very,’ said Miriam. ‘We made the same mistake.’ She glanced sidelong at Brill. ‘Getting involved in local politics. Hmm.’

  ‘Don’t blame me,’ Brill said with some asperity.

  ‘I’m not. But if the Council hadn’t wanted to place a world-walker on the throne, or to do business with local politicians in Wyoming, we wouldn’t be in this fix now.’

  Fascinating, thought James. There was familial loyalty on display here, and also a strangely familiar bitterness. He cleared his throat. ‘Then a defector from your own ranks showed up.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘A doctor – ’ He stopped. They were staring at him. ‘ – I believe you know him. Ven Hjalmar, he’s called.’ Their faces – cold sweat sprang out in the small of his back. ‘Why? Is something wrong?’

  ‘Please continue.’

  ‘But you – ’

  ‘It’s a personal matter.’ Miriam made a cutting gesture. James took in the other signs: Sir Alasdair, Lady Brilliana – sudden focus, as attentive as hounds at the trail of a fox. ‘What happened?’

  Suddenly lots of things slid into place. ‘You have reason to hate him?’ Good. ‘He has convinced my uncle that it is necessary to conspire with a political patron, and to sell him a, a breeding program he says your families established in America. Preposterous nonsense, but . . .’ He trailed off. Miriam’s expression was deathly.

  ‘He did, did he?’

  ‘Yes – ’ James took a deep breath. ‘It’s true? He’s telling the truth? There is a breeding program? The American doctors can breed world-walkers the way a farmer breeds sheep?’

  ‘Not exactly like that, but close enough.’ Miriam made eye contact with Alasdair. ‘We’re in so much shit,’ she said quietly. She looked back to James: ‘Which commissar is your uncle doing business with?’

  ‘Commissioner Reynolds, overstaff supervisor in charge of the Directorate of Internal Security.’ James took no pleasure from their expressions. ‘A man I love even less than the doctor. He carries a certain stink; if I was a Christian I’d say he’s committed mortal sins, and knows himself for one of the damned.’ He crossed his arms. ‘I was in at their last meeting, yesterday; to my eternal shame my uncle believes my loyalty knows no limits, and I have not yet disabused him of this notion. Yesterday. The meeting . . . the doctor told Reynolds that your acquaintance Mr. Burgeson was trying to acquire world-walkers of his own. I’m not entirely sure whether he was telling the truth or not, and this is purest hearsay and gossip – I know nothing specific about your arrangements, my lady, and I don’t want to. But if the doctor was telling the truth, you’d better warn your patron sooner rather than later . . .’

  RSS HEADLINE NEWS FEED

  UN SECRETARY GENERAL FLIES TO AFFECTED REGION: SE ASIA FACES ‘UNPRECEDENTED CRISIS’: UN Secretary General Kofi Annan today flew to Chandrapur, temporary capital of India, to start talks with the emergency government about efforts to enforce the cease-fire and relieve human suffering in the fallout zone to the north and west of the country . . .

  PRESIDENT RUMSFELD SWORN IN: President Donald H. Rumsfeld was today sworn into office as the 45th President of the United States of America. The oath was administered by Supreme Court
Chief Justice Antonin Scalia in a somber ceremony conducted at an undisclosed location . . .

  HANNITY: ARE LIBERALS ALIENS FROM ANOTHER UNIVERSE? Sean Hannity says it’s open season on liberals because they’re obviously intruders from a parallel universe and therefore not genuine Americans . . .

  SARS OUTBREAK: WHO QUARANTINES TORONTO, FLIGHTS DIVERTED: A World Health Organization spokesperson denied that the respiratory disease is spread by travelers from parallel timelines. Meanwhile, the outbreak in Ontario claimed its fourth . . .

  SAUCERWATCH: GOVERNMENT TESTING UFOS AT GROOM LAKE: Observers who have seen curious shapes in the sky above Area 51 say the current cover story is an increasingly desperate attempt to divert attention from the truth about the alien saucer tech . . .

  HOUSE MEETS TO REVIEW EMERGENCY BILL: Congress is meeting today to vote on the Protecting America from Parallel Universe Attackers (PAPUA) bill, described by former president Cheney (deceased) as ‘vital measures to protect us in these perilous times’. The bill was drafted by the newly sworn-in president last week in the wake of . . .

  COULTER: NOW IS THE TIME TO INTERN TRAITORS

  RUSSIA: PUTIN DENOUNCES ‘AUTHORITARIAN CONSPIRACY’: Russian President Vladimir Putin today denied former President Cheney’s account of the terrorist nuclear attack on the Capitol, describing it as implausible and accusing US authorities of concocting a ‘fairy tale’ to provide cover for a coup . . .

  END NEWS FEED

  THE FINAL COUNTDOWN

  The track from Kirschford down to the Linden Valley – which also defined the border of the duchy of Niejwein and Baron Cromalloch’s ridings – was unusually crowded with carriages and riders this day. A local farmer out tending his herd might have watched with some surprise; the majority of the traffic was clearly upper-class, whole families of minor nobility and their close servants taking to the road in a swarm, as if some great festival had been decreed in the nearby market town of Glantzwurt. But there was no such god’s day coming, nor rumor of a royal court tour through the provinces. The aristocracy were more usually to be found on their home estates, staying away from the fetid kennels of the capital at this time of year.