The Merchant’s War

Miriam shook her head. "There's only one thing I truly want," she said tiredly, "and he can't give it to me." The claustrophobic sense of losing control that she'd lied from weeks ago was back, crushingly heavy. She lowered one hand to her belly, self-consciously: Why didn't I think of this earlier? she wondered. All those examinations... Shit. Then another thought struck her, and she chuckled.

"What ails you?" Brilliana asked anxiously.

"Oh, nothing." Miriam tried to regain control. "It's just that being figurehead queen mother or whatever scheme Angbard's penciled in for me isn't exactly a job with a secure future ahead of it. Even if you get this rebellion under control."

"My lady?"

"I was planning on bargaining," Miriam tried to explain. "But I don't need to, so I guess you want to know this anyway: it's too late. I ran into an old acquaintance on my way out of the burning palace. His people had been watching it when the shit hit the fan. It's the U.S. government. They've got agents into the Gruinmarkt, and it's only a matter of time before-"

"Oh, that," Brill snorted dismissively and stood up. "That's under control for now; your mother's running the negotiations."

Miriam held a hand before her eyes. Make it stop, she thought faintly. Too much!

"In any event, we have worse things to worry about now," she added. "Sir Huw was sent to do a little job for the duke that I think you suggested-he'll brief you about what he found on the flight home. The CIA or the DEA and their friends are the least of our worries now." Brill laid a hand on her shoulder. Quietly, she added: "We need you, Miriam. Helge. Or whoever you want to be. It's not going to be the same this time round. The old guard have taken a beating: and some of us understand what you're trying to do, and we're with you all the way. Come home with me, Miriam, and we'll take good care of you. We need you to lead us..."

* * *

The treason room was a simple innovation that Angbard's last-but-two predecessor had installed in each of the major Clan holdings: a secret back door against the day when (may it never arrive) Clan Security found itself locked out of the front. Like almost all Clan holdings of any significance, the Hjalmar Palace was doppelgangered-that is, the Clan owned, and in most cases had built on, the land in the other world that any world-walker would need to cross over from in order to penetrate its security.

For an empty field, the location where they'd set up the HISTORY FAIRE had a remarkably sophisticated security system, and the apparently decrepit barns at the far end of the field, collocated with the palatial eastern wing, were anything but easy to break into.

The treason room in the Hjalmar Palace had once been part of a guard room on the second floor of the north wing. That is, it had been part of the guard room until Clan Security had moved everybody out one summer, installed certain innovative features, then built a false wall to conceal it. The cover story was that they'd been installing plumbing for the nobs upstairs. In fact, the treason room, its precise location surveyed to within inches, was an empty space hidden behind a false wall, located twenty feet above the ground. The precise coordinates of the treason rooms were divided between the head of Clan Security, and the office of the secretary of the Clan's commerce committee, and their very existence was a dark secret from most people.

Now, Helmut watched tensely as two of his men ascended towards the middle of the tent on a hydraulic lift.

"Ready!" That was Martyn. Big and beefy, he waved at Helmut.

"Me too," called Jorg. He pulled the oxygen mask over his head and made a show of adjusting the flow from his tank, then gave a thumbs-up while Martyn was still fiddling with his chin straps.

"Move out when you're both ready," Helmut called.

Martyn turned, lumbering, and switched on the tactical light clamped under the barrel of the MP5 he wore in a chest sling. Then he knelt down. Jorg climbed onto his back. The platform creaked and its motor revved slightly as he stood up, raising his left wrist to eye level before him. Silently and without any fuss, they disappeared from sight: a perfect circus trick.