The glass-walled elevator car began to track up the outer wall of the tower. “That’s-oh my!” Brill leaned back against the far wall from the window. “I’d rather walk, I think,” she said shakily.
A thought struck Miriam at the top. “We’d better be careful going in,” she commented before the doors opened. “I want you to wait behind me.”
“Why?” Brill followed her out of the lift into an empty landing. She looked slightly green, and Miriam realized she hadn’t said anything on the way up.
“Because,” Miriam frowned, “we’re safe from the other side, here. But Roland knows which room I’m using.” He won’t have told anybody, she reasoned. Even if he has, they can’t have booby-trapped it from the inside, like the warehouse. Not on the twenty-second floor. I hope.
“All right.” Brill swallowed. “Which way?” she asked, looking bewildered.
“Follow me.” Miriam pushed through the fire doors, strolled along a hotel corridor, trying to imagine what it might look like to someone who’d never seen a hotel-or an elevator-before. “Wait here.”
She swiped her card-key through the lock, then stood aside, right hand thrust in her jacket pocket as she pushed the door open to reveal an empty suite, freshly prepared beds, an open bathroom door. “Quick.” She waved Brill inside then followed her, shut and locked the door, and sagged against it in relief.
“Oh shit, oh shit…” Her hands felt cold and shook until she clasped them together. Delayed shock, the analytical observer in her brain commented. Tonight you killed an assassin in self-defence, defused a bomb, discovered a murder and a conspiracy, and rescued Brill and Olga. Isn’t it about time you collapsed in a gibbering heap?
“Where is-” Brilliana was looking around, eyes narrowed. “It’s so small! But it’s hot. The fireplace-”
“You don’t have fireplaces in tall buildings,” Miriam said automatically. “We’re twenty-two floors up. We’ve got air-conditioning-that box, under the curtains, it warms the air, keeps it at a comfortable temperature all year around.” She rubbed her forehead: The pounding headache was threatening to make a comeback. “Have a seat.”
Brill picked a chair in front of the television set. “What now?” she asked, yawning.
Miriam glanced at the bedside clock: It was about one o’clock in the morning. “It’s late,” said Miriam. “Tonight we sleep. In the morning I’m going to take you on a journey to another city, to meet someone I trust. A friend. Then-” she instinctively fingered the pocket with the two lockets in it, her own and the one she’d taken from the assassin-“we’ll work out what to do next.”
They spent a nervous night in the anonymous hotel room, high above any threat from world-walking pursuers. In the morning Miriam pointed Brill at the shower-she had to explain the controls-while she called room service, then went to check the wardrobe.
A big anonymous-looking suitcase nearly filled the luggage niche, right where she’d left it. While breakfast was on its way up, Miriam opened it and pulled out some fresh clothing. Have to take time to buy some more, she thought, looking at what was left. Most of the suitcase was occupied by items that wouldn’t exactly render her inconspicuous on this side. Later, she resolved. Her wallet itched, reproaching her. Inside it was the platinum card Duke Angbard had sent her. Two million dollars of other people’s blood money. Either it was her “Get Out of Jail Free” card, or a death trap, depending on whether whoever had sent the first bunch of assassins-her enemy within the Clan, rather than without-was able to follow its transactions. Probably they wouldn’t be able to, at least not fast enough to catch up with her if she kept moving. If they were, Miriam wasn’t the only family member who was at risk. It’s probably safe as long as it keeps working and I keep moving, she reasoned. If somebody puts a stop on it, I’m in trouble. And better not go buying any air tickets. Not that she was planning on doing that-the idea of introducing airline passenger etiquette to Brill left her shaking her head.
There was a discreet knock at the door. Miriam picked up her pistol and, hiding it in her pocket, approached. The peephole showed her a bored bellhop pushing a trolley. She opened the door. “Thanks,” she said, passing him a tip. “We’ll keep the trolley.”
Back inside the suite, Brill emerged from the bathroom looking pink and freshly scrubbed-and somewhat confused. “Where does all the water come from?” she asked, almost complaining. “It never stopped!”
“Welcome to New York, baby,” Miriam drawled, lifting the cover off a plate laden with a full-cooked breakfast. “Land of plenty, home of-sorry,” she finished lamely and waved Brill toward a chair. “Come on, there’s enough food for both of us.” Damn, she thought. I don’t want to go rubbing her nose in it. Not like that.
“Thank you,” Brill said, primly picking up a knife and fork and going to work. “Hmm. It tastes slightly… odd.”
“Yeah.” Miriam chewed thoughtfully, then poured a couple of cups of coffee from the thermal jug. “The eggs aren’t as good. Are they?”
“It’s all a little different.” Brill frowned, inspecting her plate minutely. “They’re all the same, aren’t they? Like identical twins?”
“It’s how we make things here.” Miriam shrugged. “You’ll see lots of things that are identical. But not people.” She began working on her toast before she noticed Brill surreptitiously following her example with the small wrapped parcels of butter. “First, I’m going to call my friend. If she’s all right, we’re going to go on a journey to another city and I’m going to leave you with her for a few days. The way we tell it is: You’re a relative from out of state who’s coming to stay. Your parents are weird backwoods types, which is why there’s a lot of stuff you haven’t seen. My friend will know the truth. Also, she’s got a contact number for Roland. If I-” she cleared her throat-“she’ll get you back in touch, so you can go home. To the other side, I mean, when you need to.”
“ ‘When I need to’,” Brill echoed doubtfully. She glanced around the room. “What’s that?”
“That?” Miriam blinked. “It’s a television set.”
“Oh. Like Ser Villem’s after-dinner entertainments. I remember that! The cat and the mouse, and the talking rabbit, Bugs.” Brill smiled. “They are everywhere, here?”
“That’s one way of putting it.” Kid, I prescribe a week as a dedicated couch potato before we let you go outdoors on your own, she resolved. “I’ve got a call to make,” she said, reaching for her mobile.
The first thing Miriam did was switch her phone off, open the back, and replace the SIM chip with one she took from her billfold. Then she reassembled it. The phone beeped as it came up with a new identity, but there was no voice mail waiting for her. Steeling herself, she dialled a number-one belonging to another mobile phone she’d sent via FedEx a couple of days before.
“Hello?” The voice at the end of the line sounded positively chirpy.
“Paulie! Are you okay?”
“Miriam! How’s it going, babe?”
“It’s going messy,” she admitted. “Look, remember the other day? Are you still home?”
“Yes. What’s come up?”
“I’m going to come pay you a visit,” said Miriam. “First, I’ve got a lot of things to discuss, stuff to get in order-and a down payment. Second, I’ve got a lodger. How’s your spare room?”
“Oh, you know it’s been empty since I kicked that bum Walter out? What’s up, you wanting him to stay with me?”
Miriam glanced at Brill. “It’s a she, and I think you’ll probably like her,” she said guardedly. “It’s part of that deal I’ve made. I need you to put her up for a few weeks, on the company-I mean, I’m paying. Trouble is, she’s from, uh, out of state, if you follow me. She doesn’t know her way around at all.”
“Does she, like, speak English?” Paulette sounded interested rather than perturbed, for which Miriam was immensely grateful. Brilliana was toying with her coffee and pretending not to realize Miriam was discussing her, on an intimate basis, with
a talking box.
“Yeah, that’s not a problem. But this morning was the first time she’d ever met an electric shower, and that is a problem or me, because I’ve got a lot of travelling to do in the next few weeks and I need to put her where someone can keep an eye on her as she gets used to the way things are done over here. Can you do that?”
“Probably,” Paulette said briskly. “Depends if she hates my guts on first sight-or vice versa. I can’t promise more than that, can I?”
“Well-” Miriam took a deep breath. “Okay, we’re coming up today on the train. You going to be home in the afternoon?”
“For you, any day! You’ve got a lot to tell me about?”
“Everything,” Miriam said fervently. “It’s been crazy.”
“Bye, then.”
Miriam put the phone down and rubbed her eyes. Brill was watching her oddly. “Who was that?” she asked.
“Who-oh, on the phone?” Miriam glanced at it. So Brill had figured out that much? Bright girl. “A friend of mine. My, uh, business agent. On this side.” She grinned. “For the past few days, anyway. We’re going to see her this afternoon.”
“ ‘Her’?” Brill raised an eyebrow. “All the hot water you want, no need to feed the fire, and women running businesses? No wonder my mother didn’t want me coming here-she was afraid I’d never come back!”
“That seems to go with the territory,” Miriam agreed dryly.
After breakfast she chivvied Brill into getting dressed again. Her tailored suit and blouse would blend into the background just fine: another business traveller in the heart of New York. Miriam thought for a moment, then picked another jacket-this time a dressy one rather than one built for bad weather. She’d have to keep her pistol in her handbag, but she’d look more in keeping with Brill, and hopefully it would distract any killers hunting for a lone woman in her early thirties with thus-and-such features.
Miriam took the large suitcase when they left the room and headed downstairs. Brill’s eyes kept swivelling at everything from telephones to cigarette ads, but she kept her questions to herself as Miriam shepherded her into a nearby bank for ten minutes, then flagged down a taxi. “What was that about?” Brill murmured after Miriam told the driver where to go.
“Needed to take care of some money business,” Miriam replied. “Angbard gave me a line on some credit, but-” she stopped, shrugged. I’m talking Martian again, she realized.
“You’ll have to tell me how this credit thing works some time,” Brill commented. “I don’t think I’ve actually seen a coin since I came here. Do people use them?”
“Not much. Which makes some things easier-it’s harder to steal larger amounts-and other things more difficult-like transferring large quantities of money to someone else without it being noticed.”
“Huh.” Brill stared out of the window at the passing traffic, the pedestrians in their dark winter colours, and the bright advertisements. “It’s so noisy! How do you get any thinking done?”
“Sometimes it’s hard,” Miriam admitted.
She bought two tickets to Boston and shepherded Brill onto the express train without incident. They found a table a long way from anyone else without difficulty, which turned out to be a good thing, because Brill was unable to control her surprise when the train began to move. “It’s so different!” she squeaked, taken aback.
“It’s called a train.” Miriam pointed out of the window. “Like that one, only faster and newer and built for carrying passengers. Where we’re going is within a day’s walk of Angbard’s palace, but it’ll only take us three hours to get there.”
Brilliana stared at the passing freight train. “I’ve seen movies,” she said quietly. “You don’t need to assume I’m stupid, ignorant. But it’s not the same as being here.”
“I’m sorry.” Miriam shook her head, embarrassed. She looked at Brill thoughtfully. She was doing a good job of bluffing, even though the surprises the world kept throwing at her must sometimes have been overwhelming. A bright kid, well-educated for her place in time, but out of her depth here-How would I cope if someone gave me a ticket to the thirtieth century? Miriam wondered. At a guess, there’d be an outburst of anger soon, triggered by something trivial-the realization that this wasn’t fairyland but a real place, and she’d grown up among people who lived here and withheld everything in it from her. I wonder which way she’ll jump?
Opposite her, Brilliana’s face froze. “What is it?” Miriam asked quietly.
“The… the second row of thrones behind you-that’s interesting. I’ve seen that man before. Black hair, dark suit.”
“Where?” Miriam whispered, tensing. Feeling for her shoulder bag, the small pistol buried at the bottom of it. No, not on a train…
“At court. He is a corporal of honour in service to Angbard. Called Edger something. I’ve seen him a couple of times in escort to one or another of the duke’s generals. I don’t think he’s recognized me. He is reading one of those intelligence papers the tinkers were selling at the palace of trains.”
“Hmm.” Miriam frowned. “Did you see any luggage when he got onboard? Anything he carried? Describe him.”
“There is a trunk with a handle, like yours, only it looks like metal. He has it beside him and places one hand on it every short while.”
“Ah.” Miriam relaxed infinitesimally. “Okay, I think I’ve got a handle on it. Is the case about the same size as mine?”
Brill nodded slowly, her eyes focused past Miriam’s left shoulder.
“That means he’s probably a courier,” Miriam said quietly. “At a guess, Angbard has him carry documents daily between his palace and Manhattan. That explains why he spends so little time at court himself-he can keep his finger on the pulse far faster than the non-Clan courtiers realize. If I’m right, he’ll be carrying a report about last night, among other things.” She raised a finger to her lips. “Trouble is, if I’m right, he’s armed and certainly dangerous to approach. And if I’m wrong, he’s not a courier. He’s going to wait for the train to stop, then try to kill us.” Miriam closed her hand around the barrel of her pistol, then stopped. No, that’s the wrong way to solve this, she thought. Instead she pulled out her wallet and a piece of paper and began writing.
Brilliana leaned forward. “He’s doing it again,” she murmured. “I think there’s something in his jacket. Under his arm. He looks uncomfortable.”
“Right.” Miriam nodded, then shoved the piece of paper across the table at Brill. There was a pair of fifty-dollar bills and a train ticket concealed under it. “Here is what we’re going to do. In a minute, you’re going to stand up while he isn’t looking and walk to the other end of this carriage-behind you, over there, where the doors are. If-” she swallowed-“if things go wrong, don’t try anything heroic. Just get off the train as soon as it stops, hide in the crowd, make damn sure he doesn’t see you. There’ll be another train through in an hour. Your ticket is valid for travel on it, and you want to get off in Cambridge. Go out of the station, tell a cab driver you want to go to this address, and pay with one of these notes, the way you saw me do it. He’ll give you change. It’s a small house; the number is on the front of the door. Go up to it and tell the woman who lives there that I sent you and I’m in trouble. Then give her this.” Miriam pushed another piece of paper across the table at her. “After a day, tell Paulette to use the special number I gave her. That’s all. Think you can do that?”
Brill nodded mutely. “What are you going to do now?” she asked quietly.
Miriam took a deep breath. “I’m going to do what we in the trade refer to as a hostile interview,” she said. “What was his name, again?”
“Hello, Edsger. Don’t move. This would not be a good place to get help for a sucking chest wound.”
He tensed and she smiled, bright and feral, like a mongoose confronting a sleepy cobra.
“What-”
“Don’t move, I said. That includes your mouth. Not very good, is it, letting your mark
turn on you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“I think you do. And I think it’s slack of you, nodding off just because you’re on the iron road and no world-walkers can sneak up from behind.” She smiled wider, seeing his unnerved expression. “First, some ground rules. We are going to have a little conversation, then we will go our separate ways, and nobody will get hurt. But first, to make that possible, you will start by slowly bending forward and sliding that pistol of yours out into this shopping bag.”
The courier leaned forward. Miriam leaned with him, keeping her pistol jammed up against his ribs through her jacket. “Slowly,” she hissed.
“I’m slow.” He opened his jacket and slid a big Browning automatic out of the holster under his left armpit-two-fingered. Miriam tensed, but he followed through by dropping it into the open bag.
“And your mobile phone,” she said. “Now, kick it under the table. Gently.” He gave it a half-hearted shove with one foot.
“Put your hands between your knees and lean back slowly,” she ordered.
“Who are you?” he asked, complying.
“First, you’re going to tell me who you’re delivering that case to at the other end,” she said. “Ordinary postal service-or Angbard himself?”
“I can’t-”
She shoved the gun up against him, hard. “You fucking can,” she snarled quietly. “Because if you don’t tell me, you are going to read about the contents of that case on the front page of The New York Times, are you hearing me?”
“It goes to Matthias.”
“Angbard’s secretary, right.” She felt him tense again. “That was the correct answer,” she said quietly. “Now, I want you to do something else for me. I’ve got a message for Angbard, for his ears only, do you understand? It’s not for Matthias, it’s not for Roland, it’s not for any of the other lord-lieutenants he’s got hanging around. Remember, I’ve got your number. If anyone other than Angbard gets this message, I will find out and I will tell him and he will kill you. Got that? Good. What’s going to happen next is: The train’s stopping in a couple of minutes. You will stand up, take your case-not the bag with your phone-and get off the train, because I will be following you. You will then stand beside the train door where I can see you until it’s ready to move off, and you will stay there while it moves off because if you don’t stand that way I will shoot you. If you want to know why I’m so trigger-happy, you can ask Angbard yourself-after you’ve delivered his dispatches.”
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