“I-” Miriam snapped her fingers. “Damn. I should have thought of that.”
“Yes.” Brilliana looked happy with herself. “You approve?”
“Yes. Tell them to continue. I want a word with you in my room.” She retreated into the relative peace and quiet of her bedroom, followed by the lady-in-waiting. With the door shut, the noise of sawing outside was almost inaudible. “What’s the damage?”
“There were holes in your blankets-and scorch marks around them-when I checked this morning.” Despite her matter-of-fact tone, Brilliana looked slightly shaken. “I had to send Kara away, the poor thing was so shocked.”
“Well, I had a good night’s sleep.” Miriam glanced around the room bleakly. “But I was right about the lack of a doppelgangered space on the other side. It’s a huge security risk. This is serious. Did anyone tell Baron Hjorth?”
“No!” Brilliana looked uncertain. “You said-”
“Good.” Miriam relaxed infinitesimally. “All right. About tonight. In a while Kara’s going to come back and sort me out for the reception. In the meantime, I need to know what I’m up against. I think I’m going to need to sleep in Lady Olga’s apartment tonight. I want to vary my pattern a bit until we find whoever… whoever’s behind this.” She sat down on the end of the bed. ‘Talk to me.”
“About tonight?” Brilliana caught her eye and continued. ‘Tonight is the formal ball to mark the opening of the winter session of his majesty’s court tomorrow morning. There will be members of every noble family in the capital present. This is the session in which his majesty must assemble tribute to the emperor beyond the ocean, so it tends to be a little subdued-nobody wants to look too opulent-but at the same time, it’s essential to be seen. To be present in Niejwein at the beginning of winter used to mean one was snowed in, wintering here. Noble hostages at his majesty’s pleasure. We don’t do that these days, but still, it’s a mark of good faith to be seen to offer obedience and at least one older family member. Your uncle sent word by way of his secretary that you be asked to bend the knee and pledge his obedience, by the way.”
“He did, did he?” muttered Miriam.
“Well!” Brill paced across the room in front of her. “What this means is that it will be an assembly of some sixty families of note and their representatives and champions.” She spotted Miriam’s surprised expression. “Did you think we and ours were the sum and the end of the nobility? This is a small fraction of the whole, but thanes and earls from distant towns and estates cannot appear at court, and so many of them make supplication by proxy. We, the Clan families, are merely a small fraction-but the cream.”
“So there are going to be, what, several hundred people present?”
Brilliana nodded, looking very serious. “At least that,” she said. “But I’ll be right behind you to remind you of anyone important.”
“Whew! Lucky me.” Miriam raised an eyebrow. “How long does it go on for?”
“Hmm.” Brill tilted her head over to one side. “It would be rude to leave before midnight. Are you going to be…?”
“This time, I don’t have a three-day coach journey behind me.” Miriam stood up. And this time I’m going to do business, she added mentally. “So. What do I need to say when greeting people, by order of rank, so as not to offend them? And what have you and Kara decided I’m going to wear?”
This time it only took Kara and Brill an hour to dress Miriam in a midnight-blue gown. But then they insisted on taking another hour to paint her face, put up her hair, and hang a few kilograms of gold, silver, and precious stones off her. At the end of the process, Miriam walked in front of the mirror (a full two feet in diameter, clearly imported from the other side) and took a comic double-take. “Is that me?” she asked.
“Should it not be?” Brilliana replied. Miriam glanced at her. Brilliana’s outfit looked to Miriam to be both plainer and more elegant than her own, not to mention easier to move in. “It is a work of art,” Brilliana explained, “fit for a countess.”
“Hah. ‘A work of art!’ And here I was, thinking I was a plain old journalist.” Miriam nodded to herself. All face, she thought. All the wealth goes on the outside to show how rich you are. That’s how they think. If you don’t display it, you ain’t got it. Remember that. This outfit seemed marginally less overblown than the last: Maybe she was getting used to local styles. “Is there,” she asked doubtfully, “anywhere that I can put a few small items?”
“I can assign a maid to carry them, if it pleases you-” Brilliana caught her expression. “Oh that kind of item,”
“Yes.” Miriam nodded, afraid that smiling would crack her makeup.
“She could use a muff, for her hands?” suggested Kara.
“A ‘muff’?” asked Miriam.
“This.” Kara produced a cylindrical fur hand-warmer from somewhere. “Will it do?”
“I think so.” Miriam tried stuffing her hands in it. It had room to spare-and a small pocket. She smiled in spite of herself. “Yes, this will do,” she said. She walked over to her day sack and fished around in it. “Dammit, this is ridiculous-got it!” She stood up triumphantly clutching the bag and pulled out a number of small items that she proceeded to stuff into the muffler.
“Milady?” Kara looked puzzled.
“Never go out without a spare tampon,” Miriam told her. “You know, tampons?” She blinked in surprise. “Well, maybe you don’t. And a few other things.” Like a strip of beta-blocker tablets, a small bottle of painkillers, a tarnished silver locket, a credit card wallet, and a mobile phone. That should cover most eventualities, she told herself.
“Milady-” Kara looked even more puzzled.
“Yes, yes,” Miriam said briskly. “We can go now-or as soon as you’re ready, right? Only,” she held up a finger, “it occurs to me that it would be a good idea to keep our carriage ready to return at a moment’s notice. Do you understand? Against the possibility that my mystery admirer turns up again.”
“I’ll see to it,” said Brilliana. She looked slightly worried.
“Do so.” Miriam took a deep breath. “Shall we leave now?”
Travelling by carriage seemed to involve as much preparation as a flight in a light plane and was even less comfortable. A twenty-minute slog in a freezing cold carriage, sandwiched between Kara and Brilliana, didn’t do anything good to Miriam’s sense of tolerance and goodwill. The subsequent hour of walking across the king’s brilliantly polished parquet supporting a fixed, gracious grin and a straight back wouldn’t normally have done anything to help, either-but Miriam had done trade shows before, and she found that if she treated this whole junket as a fancy-dress industry event, she actually felt at home in it. Normally she’d use a dictaphone to record her notes-a lady-in-waiting in a red gown would have been rather obtrusive at a trade show-but the principle was the same, she decided, getting into the spirit of things. “Is that so?” she cooed, listening attentively to Lord Ragnr and Styl hold forth on the subject of the lobster fishermen under his aegis. “And do they have many boats?” she asked. “What kind do they prefer, and how many men crew them?”
“Many!” Lord Ragnr and Styl puffed up his chest until it almost overshadowed his belly, which was proud and taut beneath a layer of sashes and diadems. “At last census, there were two hundred fishing crofts in my isles! And all of them but the most miserable with boats of their own.”
“Yes, but what type are they?” Miriam persisted, forcing a smile.
“I’m sure they’re perfectly adequate fishing boats; I shouldn’t worry on their behalf, my lady. You should come and visit one summer. I am sure you would find the fresh sea air much to your favour after the summer vapours of the city, and besides-” he huffed-“didn’t I hear you say you were interested in the whales?”
“Indeed.” Miriam dipped her head, chalking up another dead loss-yet another feudal drone who didn’t know or wouldn’t talk about the source of his own wealth, being more interested in breeding war horses and feudin
g with the king’s neighbours. “May I have the pleasure of your conversation later?” she asked. “For I see an old friend passing, and it would be rude not to say hello-”
She ducked away from Ragnr and Styl, and headed toward the next nobleman and his son-she was beginning to learn how to spot such things-and wife. “Ambergris, Brill, may be available from Ragnr and Styl. Make a note of that, please, I want to follow it up later. Who’s this fellow, then?”
“This is Eorl Euan of Castlerock. His wife is Susan and the son is, um, I forget his name. Rural aristocracy, they farm and, uh, they’re clients of the Lords Arran. How do you spell Ambergris?”
Miriam advanced on Eorl Euan with a gracious smile. “My lord!” She said. “I am sorry, but I have not been gifted with the privilege of your acquaintance before. May I intrude upon your patience for a few minutes?”
It was, she had discovered, a surprisingly effective tactic. The manners were different, the glitz distracting, and the products and press releases took a radically dissimilar form-but the structure was the same. At a trade show she was used to stalking up to a stand where some bored men and women were waiting to fall upon such as she and tell her their business plans and their life stories. She’d had no idea what happened at a royal court event, but evidently a lot of provincial nobility turned up in hope of impressing all and sundry and carving out a niche as providers of this or that-and they were as much in search of an audience with a bright smile and a notepad as any marketing executive, did they but know it.
“What are you doing, mistress?” Brilliana asked during one gap in the proceedings.
“I’m learning, Brill. Observe and take notes!”
She was nodding periodically and looking seriously, as Lord Something of This told her about Earl Other of That’s infringement upon his historically recognized deer forest in pursuit of coal in the Netherwold Mountains down the coast, when she became aware of a growing silence around her. As Lord Something ran down, she turned her head-and saw a posse advancing on her, led by a dowager of fearsomely haughty aspect, perhaps eighty years old but as dry as a mummy, with curiously drooping eyelids, two noble ladies to either side, and a train borne by no less than three pages astern. “Ah,” said the dowager. “And this is the Countess Thorold Hjorth I have heard so much about?” she asked the younger of her two companions, who nodded, avoiding Miriam’s eyes.
Miriam turned and smiled pleasantly. “Whom do I have the honour of addressing?” she asked. Where’s Brill? She wondered. Dammit, why did she have to wander off right now? The dowager was exuding the kind of chill Miriam associated with cryogenic refrigerants. Or maybe her venom glands were acting up. Miriam smiled wider, trying to look innocent and friendly.
“This is the grand dowager Duchess Hildegarde Thorold Hjorth, first of the Thorold line, last of the Thorold Hjorth braid,” announced the one who’d spoken to the dowager.
Oh. Miriam dipped as she’d been taught: “I’m honoured to meet you,” she said.
“So you should be.” Miriam nearly let her smile slip at that, the first words the duchess had spoken to her. “Without my approval, you wouldn’t be here.”
“Oh, really?” Her smile was becoming painful. “Well, then I am duly grateful to you.” Brilliana! Why now? Who is this dragon?
“Of course.” The dowager’s expression finally relaxed, from an expression of intense disapproval into full-on contempt. “I felt the need to inspect the pretender for myself.”
‘Pretender’? “Explain yourself,” Miriam demanded, tensing. There must have been something frightening about her expression: One of the ladies-in-waiting took a step backward and the other raised a hand to her mouth. “Pretender to what?”
“Why, to the title you assume with so little preparation and polish, and manners utterly unfitted to the role. A mere commoner from the mummer’s stand, jumped up and gussied up by Cousin Lofstrom to stake his claim.” The dowager’s look of fierce indignation reminded Miriam of a captive eagle she’d once seen in a zoo. “A pauper, dependent on the goodwill and support of others. If you were who you claim to be, you would be of substance.” Duchess Hildegarde Thorold Hjorth made a little flicking motion, consigning her to the vacuum of social obscurity. “Come, my-”
“Now you wait right here!” Miriam took a step forward, right into the dowager’s path. “I am not an impostor,” she said, her voice pitched low and even. “I am who I am, and if I am not here happily and of my own free will, I will not be spoken to with contempt.”
“Then how will you be spoken to?” asked the duchess, treating her to a little acid smile that showed how highly she rated Miriam in this company.
“With the respect due my station,” Miriam threw at her, “or not at all.”
The dowager raised one hooded eyebrow. “Your station is a matter of debate, child, but not for you-and it is a debate that will be settled at Beltaigne, when I shall take great pleasure in ensuring that it is brought before the Clan council and given the consideration it deserves. And you might wish to give some thought to the matter of your competence, even if your identity is upheld.” The little smile was back, dripping venom: “If you joust with the elite, do not be surprised when you are unhorsed.” She turned and walked away, leaving Miriam gaping and angry.
She was just beginning to realize she’d been outmaneuvered when Brilliana appeared at her elbow. “Why didn’t you warn me?” she hissed. “Who is that poisonous bitch?”
Brilliana looked astonished. “But I thought you knew! That was your grandmother.”
“Oh. Oh.” Miriam clapped a hand to her mouth. “I have a grandmother?”
“Yes and a-” Brilliana stopped. “You didn’t know,” she said slowly.
“No,” Miriam said, looking at her sharply.
“Everyone says you’ve got the family temper,” Brill let slip, then looked shocked.
“You mean, like-that.” Miriam looked at her, aghast.
“Hmm.” Brill clammed up, her face as straight as a gambler with an inside flush. “Oh look,” she said, glancing behind Miriam. “Isn’t that-”
Miriam glanced around, then turned, startled. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” she said, trying to pull herself together in the aftermath of the duchess’s attack.
The duke’s keeper of secrets nodded. “Neither was I, until yesterday,” he said stone-faced. He looked her up and down. “You appear to be settling in here.”
“I am.” Miriam paused, unsure how to continue. Matthias looked just as intimidating in Niejwein court finery as he had in a business suit. It was like having a tank take a pointed interest in her. “Yourself? Are you doing all right?”
“Well enough.” Matthias noticed Brilliana. “You. Please leave us, we have important matters to discuss.”
“Humph.”
Brill turned and was about to leave. “Do we?” Miriam asked, pointedly. “I rather think we can talk in front of my lady-in-waiting.”
“No we can’t.” Matthias smiled thinly. “Go away, I said.” He gestured toward the wall, where secluded window bays, curtain-lined against the cold, provided less risk of being overhead. “Please come with me.”
Miriam followed him reluctantly. If they ever make a movie about the Clan, they’ll have to hire Schwarzenegger to play this guy, she decided. But Arnie has a sense of humour. “What is there to talk about?” she asked quietly.
“Your uncle charged me to deliver this to you.” Matthias held out a small wooden tube, like a miniature poster holder.
“For the king, a sworn affidavit testifying to your identity.” His expression was unreadable. “I am to introduce you to his majesty on behalf of my master.”
“I, uh, see.” Miriam took the tube. “Any other messages?”
“Security.” Matthias shook his head. “It’s not so good here. I gather that Baron Hjorth assigned you no guards? That’s bad. I’ll deal with it myself in the morning.” He leaned over her like a statue.
“Um.” Miriam looked up at him. �
�Is that all?”
“No.” His cheek twitched. “I have some questions for you.”
“Well. Ask away.” Miriam glanced around, increasingly uncomfortable with the way Matthias had corralled her away from the crowd. “What about?”
“Your upbringing. This is important because it may help me identify who is trying to kill you. You were adopted, I believe?”
“Yes.” Miriam shrugged. “My parents-I was in care, the woman I was found with was dead, stabbed, a Jane Doe. So when Morris and Iris went looking for a child to adopt, I was around.”
“I see.” Matthias’s tone was neutral. “Was your home ever burgled when you were a child? Did anyone ever attack your parents?”
“My-no, no burglaries.” Miriam shook her head. “No attacks. My father’s death, that was a hit-and-run driver. But they caught him; he was just a drunk. Random chance.”
“ ‘Random chance.’” Matthias sniffed. “Do not underestimate random chance.”
“I don’t,” she said tersely. “Listen, why the third degree?”
“Because.” He stared at her unblinkingly: “I take a personal interest in all threats to Clan security.”
“Bullshit. You’re secretary to the duke. And a member of the outer families, I believe?” She looked up at him. ‘That puts a glass ceiling right over your head, doesn’t it? You sit in Fort Lofstrom like a spider, pulling strings, and you run things in Boston when the duke is elsewhere, but only by proxy. Don’t you? So what’s in it for you?”
“You are mistaken.” Matthias’s eyes glinted by candlelight. “To get here, I left the duke’s side this morning.”
“Oh, I get it. Someone gave you a lift across and you caught the train.”
“Yes.” Matthias nodded. “And here is something else you should understand, your ladyship. I am not of high birth. Or rather, but for an accident of heredity… but like many of my relatives I have reached an accommodation with the Clan.” He took her arm. “I know a little about your history. Not everyone who lives here is entirely happy with the status quo, the way the Clan council is run. You have a history of digging-”
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