The Merchant’s War

Mike reran the scene in his mind's eye; the perp-even now, he couldn't drop the law enforcement outlook-with thee knife, trying to stab the woman in the black gown, the Mink of burning wood, snarling fear, taking the time to aim carefully, waiting for a clear shot as the woman shoved hack hard against her assailant... then the shock of recognition. It's her! Despite the longer, intricately coiled hair, the drawn expression, the bruise on her cheek, and the rich Victorian widow's weeds, it was like nothing had changed since that ambiguous last dinner at Wang's, just off Kendall Square. The shock of recognition was still with him: the realization that, all along, the world he moved in was smaller than he'd realized, that during the whole fruitless search for the east coast phantom network he'd been dating a woman who could have-if she herself had known what she was-put him right on top of it. If. Getting involved hadn't been good for her. They've got Mom. And something about an arranged marriage. The smell of raw sewage running through the gutters in the middle of the unpaved road-

"Wake up." A hand touched his shoulder.

"I'm awake." Mike looked round. Hastert crouched beside him.

"There's an open area about fifty yards wide before the wall, which is eight feet high. Just the other side of the wall there's a road. O'Neil's setting up a distraction. We have"-Hastert glanced at his watch-"six minutes to get to the edge of the apron and wait. Then we have thirty seconds to get over the wall and across the road. Take the second alley on the left, proceed down it for twenty yards then take the right turn, fourth door on the left is transit house gamma. You ready?"

Mike nodded. "Guess so."

"Then let's get going."

TRANSLATED TRANSCRIPT BEGINS:

"Shit. He didn't."

"I'm afraid so."

(Sigh.) "That means we're down by what, two? Three? Seats on the council. And the king. This is an absolute disaster. Who else have we lost?"

(Pause.) "Of our party, most of them. The dowager Hildegarde is yammering her head off, but she survived, as did her daughter. James Lee, we rescued. He's concussed but will live-"

"Small mercies. Damn her for-damn her!"

"It's not your fault, your grace, elf hers, that this had to happen at the worst time."

(Sigh.) "Continue."

"We lost Wilem, Maris, Erik, three juniors of Hjorth-Arnesen's cadet branch, and four others of middling rank.

We lost her majesty the queen mother, and the cadet branch of the royal family in the person of Prince Creon. He's a confirmed kill, by the way. About thirty retainers and outer family members, but that's by the by. The main losses are the royal family-except for the crown prince-and Henryk, Wilem, Maris, Erik, and others."

(Long pause.)

"Shit."

"We've taken worse-"

"No, it's not that. It's the little shit. The Pervert. What's he up to?"

"Holed up with Niejwein on the back lawn, scheming about something. Everyone with half a clue is rushing over to offer their firstborn to him."

"Has he sent up any smoke signals yet?"

"No."

"Damn. That confirms it, he's got what he wants and we're going to get the blame. He's hated us all along, since he learned about Creon's latency, and if he's listening to that snake Niejwein..."

"Your grace?"

(Sigh.) "I know, I'm rambling. What's your analysis?"

"I think we're in the shit, sir. I think-" (pause)- he's going to try to roll us over. All of us. Niejwein and Sudtmann) and that crowd have been feeling their oats and they will take this opportunity once and for all to put us in our place. And the Pervert will use us as a lever to consolidate his power over them. He doesn't trust anyone, sir, and the rumors-"

"I don't care if he shags goats or rapes virgins, what I care about is us. Sky Father, this is a fifty-year setback!" (Inaudible muttering.) "Yes, yes, I already thought of that. Oliver, I know we see eye to eye over very little-"

"Your grace is overstating matters-"

"Permit an old man his moment of humor in the chaos: if you please'? Good. I believe we do see eye to eye on the fundamentals. This is a war to the knife. We have a rogue king on the throne and even after we remove him from it we shall have civil war for the next decade-not family against family, but Clan against all. Do you agree?"

(Pause.) "Damn you."

"Indeed: I am damned."

(Pause.) "What do you propose to do?"

"Whatever I can. First, we must take our own to safety-then we must prepare to defend our possessions. Identify our allies, I should add. But if we can no longer count on being able to run our caravans up the coast in safety we must look for alternatives."

"The upstart bitch's plan."

"Be careful what you call my late niece, sir."

"I- " (Pause.) "-Please accept my apologies, your grace. You did not inform me of your bereavement. I had assumed she was rescued."

"She was not. She's not among those confirmed to be dead, but after the palace burned..." (Pause.) "I had high hopes for her."

"But her plan! Come now. You can't really believe it will work?"