Clan Corporate (14 page)

“Um. I should be going, then.” She rubbed the palm of one hand nervously on her thigh. “I guess I should apologize to you for taking up your time.” She paused for a moment and forced herself to swallow her pride. “Do you have any specific advice for me, about how to proceed?”

“Hmm.” Baron Henryk stood and slowly walked over to the window casement.

“That’s an interesting question.” He turned, so that his face was shadowed against the bright daylight outside. “What do you want to achieve?”

“What do I-” Miriam’s mouth snapped shut. Her eyes narrowed against the glare.

“I think I made myself clear enough at the extraordinary meeting three months ago,” she said slowly.

“That’s not what I asked.” It was hard to tell, but Henryk seemed to be smiling. “Why don’t you go and think about that question? When you have a better idea, we should talk again. If you’d like to join me for dinner, in a couple of weeks? Have your confidante write to my secretary to arrange things.

Meanwhile, I’ll try to find out what has happened to your assistant, and I’ll ask someone in the security directorate to look into your affairs in New Britain so that you can go back to them as soon as possible. But if you’ll excuse me, I have other matters to deal with right now.”

Miriam rose. “Thank you for finding some time for me,” she said stiffly.

Halfway to the door she paused. “By the way, what is it you do exactly?”

Henryk stood. “Oh, this and that,” he said lightly. “Remember to write.”

Outside in the corridor, Miriam found a nervous Kara shifting from foot to foot impatiently. “Oh, milady! Can we go now?”

“Sure.” Miriam walked toward the staircase, her expression pensive. “Kara, do you know what Baron Henryk does here?”

“Milady!” Kara stared at Miriam, her eyes wide. “I thought you knew!”

“Knew? Knew what?” Miriam shook her head.

Kara scurried closer before whispering loudly. “The baron is his majesty’s master of spies! He collects intelligence for the crown, from countries far and wide, even from across the eastern ocean! I thought you knew …”

Miriam stopped dead, halfway down the first flight of stairs. I just barged in on the Director of Central Intelligence, she thought sickly. And he told me I’m under house arrest. Then: “Hang on, you mean he’s the king’s spymaster?

Not the Clan’s?”

“Well, yes! He’s a sworn baron, milady, sworn to his majesty, or hadn’t you noticed?” Kara’s attempt at sarcasm fell flat, undermined by her frightened expression. “We’re all his majesty’s loyal subjects, here, aren’t we? Aren’t we?”

Translated Transcript begins

(Click.)

“Ah, your lordship, how good to see you!”

“On the contrary, the honor is mine, your grace.” (Wheezing.) “Here. Walther, a chair for his grace, damnit. And a port for each of us, then make yourself scarce. Yes, the special reserve. I’m sure you’ve been even busier than I, your grace, this being a tedious little backwater most of the time, but if there’s anything I can do for you-”

“Nonsense, Henryk, you never sleep! The boot is on the other foot and the prisoner shrieking his plea as you heat it. You won’t get me with that nonsense-ah, thank you Walther.”

“That will be all.”

(Sound of door closing.)

“Sky Father’s eye! That’s good stuff. Please tell me it’s not the last bottle?”

“Indeed not, your grace, and I have it on good authority that there is at least a case left in the Thorold Palace cellars.” (Pause.) “Six?” (Pause.)

“Five? Damn your eyes, four and that’s my lowest!”

“I’ll have them sent over forthwith. Now, what brings you round here in a screaming hurry, nephew, when I’m sure there are plenty of other fires for you to be pissing on? Would I be right in thinking it’s something to do with woman trouble? And if so, which one?”

(Clink of glassware.)

“You know perfectly well which one could get me out of the office, pills or no pills. It’s the old bitches, Henryk, they are meddling in that of which they know not, and they are going to blow the entire powder keg sky-high if I don’t find a way to stop them. And I can’t just bang them up in a garret like the young pullet-”

“The shrew?”

“She’s not a shrew, she’s just overenthusiastic. A New Woman. They’ve got lots of them on the other side, I hear. But the old one, her manners may be good but her poison is of a fine vintage and she is getting much too close to our corporate insurance policy. Even if she doesn’t know it yet.”

“Your sister-”

“Crone’s pawn, uncle, Crone’s pawn. Do you think it was coincidence that it was Helge who came calling on you, and not Patricia? Patricia is in a cleft stick and dare not even hiss or rattle her tail, lest the old bitches lop it off. If we could move her back to the other side things would be different, but it’s all I can do to keep the situation over there from coming apart on us completely-we’ve lost more couriers in the past month than in the preceding decade, and if I can’t stop the leakage I fear we will have to shut the network down completely. Sending Patricia back simply isn’t an option, and now that she’s here she’s less effective than we expected. It’s that blasted wasting disease. The old bitches and their quackery have her mewed up like a kitten in a sack. Meanwhile, Helge isn’t much use to us here, either. I’ve sent her Lady B to take her in hand, which might begin to repair the damage to her high esteem among her relatives, in a year or three-or at least stop her from dancing blind in the minefield-but you can see how isolated she is. A real disappointment. I had such high hopes that those two might tackle the bitches, but the cultural barrier is just too high.”

“Come now, Angbard, there’s no need to be so pessimistic! The best-laid plans, et cetera. So what do you think the old she-devil is up to?”

“Well, I can’t be certain, but she’s certainly done something to shut Patricia up. And I find it somewhat fascinating to see Helge outmaneuvered so thoroughly without even knowing who she’s up against.”

“Do you think Patricia hasn’t told her?”

“Do I-” (Pause.) “Henryk, you sly fellow! And here I was thinking I was asking you for information!”

“The rack cares not who sleeps on it, and-”

“Indeed, yes, all very well and apposite and all that. Henryk, the old bitches are turbulent and the she-devil-in-chief is plotting something, I feel it in my bowels. I have more important things to worry about right now. I do not have time to be looking over my shoulder for daggers. I do not have time to dance the reel to the old bitch’s hurdy-gurdy, when I can’t sleep at night for fear of conspirators. What do I need to know?”

“I say-steady on, your grace! Here, let me remedy your glass … my agents at court opine that the she-devil has carried off a coup. Her stroking of the royal ego has come to something, it seems, and sparked a passing fancy with the revenant.”

“The-what? What’s she got to do with anything?”

“The royal succession-Oh dear! Here, use my kerchief.”

(Bell rings.)

“Walther! Walther, I say!”

(Sound of door opening.)

“A towel for his grace! Your grace, if you would care to make use of my wardrobe-”

“No need, thank you uncle, I am sure a little wine stain will hurt only my dignity.”

“Yes, but-”

(Sound of door closing.)

“That’s better.” (Pause.) “The royal succession! Curse me for an imbecile, which one is it, the Pervert or the Idiot? Don’t tell me, it’s the Idiot. More tractable, and the Pervert’s already promised to the Nordmarkt.”

“That, and the Pervert’s bad habits are becoming increasingly difficult to cover for. Royal privilege is all very well, but if Egon were anyone other than his father’s eldest son he’d be learning wisdom from the Tree Father by now. A nastier piece of work hasn’t graced the royal court in my memory. If his father is forced to notice his habits … remember our ruling dynasty’s turbulent origins? Nobody wants to see another civil war, not with Petermann feeling his oats just across our northern border and the backwoods peers staring daggers at our Clan families’ new earned wealth. I believe the old bitches think that the Pervert will go too far one of these days, in which case owning the Idiot would throttle two rabbits with one snare, nailing down Helge and securing the royal bloodline. They’re not stupid, they probably think Helge is smart enough to see the advantages, to take what’s being offered her, and to play along. One more generation and we-they-would be able to splice the monarchy into the Clan for good. Helge’s a bit old, but it wouldn’t be a first pregnancy-don’t look so shocked, we’ve got her medical records-and she’s in good health. Pray for an accident for the Pervert, a single pregnancy, and her payoff is, well, you know how they work.”

“They’re crazy!”

“What? You think she’d refuse?”

“Think? Blue mother, Henryk, did you listen to her at all? She is, to all intents and purposes, a modern American woman. They do not marry for duty. It was all I could do to stop her eloping with that waste of money, brains, and time, Roland! The old bitches had better hope they’ve got their claws into her deep, or she will kick back so hard-”

“Patricia.”

“Oh. What? That? Hmm, I suppose you’re right. She’s rather fond of her mother, that’s true. But I’m not sure it’ll be enough to hold her down in the long run. It raises an interesting question of priorities, doesn’t it?”

“You mean, the insurance policy versus the throne? Or … ?”

“Yes. I think-hmm. Helge, wearing her Miriam head, would understand the insurance policy. But not the old bitches. Whereas Patricia, for all her modernity and skeptical ways, probably wouldn’t buy it. She was raised by the she-devil, after all. And, ah, Miriam is very creatively unreliable. Yes. What do you think?”

“You’re hatching one of your plans, your grace, but you forget that I am not a mind reader.”

“Oh, I apologize. Given: we do not want the old bitches to get their hands on the levers of temporal power, are we agreed? They’ve got too much already.

They seem to have decided-well, it’s a bit early to be sure, but marrying Helge to the Idiot would simultaneously tie her down and put a spoke in the wheel the reformers are trying to spin, while also tying down Patricia. That debating society … Luckily for us, Helge is unreliable in exactly the right sort of way. Right now they’ve tied her up like a turkey and she hasn’t even realized what’s going on. That’s not very useful to us, is it? I say we should give her enough rope-no reason to tie the noose so tightly she can’t escape it, what-and then a little push, and see which way she runs. Yes? Do you think that could work?”

“Angbard-your grace-that verges on criminal irresponsibility! If she does hang herself-”

“She’ll have only herself to blame. And she’ll not be a dagger for her grandmother to hold to our throat.”

“She hates her grandmother! With a passion.”

“I believe you overestimate her vindictiveness; at present it is merely disdain on both sides. The dowager is more than happy to use any weapon that comes to hand without worrying about hurting its feelings. Helge doesn’t know enough to turn in her hand, yet. Perhaps if Helge has real reason to hate her grandmother …”

“Tell me you wouldn’t harm your own sister.”

“Mm, no. I wouldn’t need to go that far, Henryk. Dowager Hildegarde is quite capable of making Helge hate her without any help from me, although admittedly a few choice whispers might fan the flames of misunderstanding. What I need from you, uncle, is nothing more than that you play the bad cop to my good, and perhaps the use of your ears at court. We’re all loyal subjects of the Crown after all, yes? And it would hardly be in the Crown’s best interests to fall into the hands of the old bitches. Or the Pervert, for that matter.”

“I shall pretend I did not hear that last, as a loyal servant of the Crown.

Although, come to think of it, perhaps it would be in everyone’s best interests if nobody looked too hard for plots against Prince Egon, who is clearly loved by all. The resources can be better used looking for real threats, if you follow my drift. What kind of push do you intend to give Helge?”

(Glassware on tabletop.)

“Oh, a perfectly appropriate one, Henryk! A solution of poetic, even beautiful, proportions suggests itself to me. One that meshes perfectly with Helge’s background and upbringing, a bait she’ll be unable to resist.”

“Bait? What kind of bait?”

“Put your glass down, I don’t want you to lose such a fine vintage.”

(Pause.)

“I’m going to let her discover the insurance policy.”

transcript ends

Two days after Miriam visited Baron Henryk, the weather broke. Torrential rain streamed across the stone front of Thorold Palace, gurgling through the carved gargoyle waterspouts and down past the windows under the eaves. Miriam, still in a state of mild shock from her meeting with her great-uncle, stayed in her rooms and brooded. A couple of times she hauled out her laptop, plugged it into the solitary electrical outlet in her suite, and tried to write a letter to her mother. After the third attempt she gave up in despair. Patricia was a nut best cracked by Helge, but Miriam wanted nothing to do with her alter-ego, the highborn lady. Trying to be Helge had gotten her into a world of hurt, and trying to measure up to their expectations of her was only going to make things worse. Besides, she had an uneasy feeling that her mother was not going to thank her for muddying the waters with Henryk.

Shortly after lunch (a tray of cold cuts delivered by two servants from the great hall below), there came a knock on her dressing-room door. “Who is it?”

she called.

“Me, Miriam! Are you decent?” The door opened. “What’s the matter?” Brilliana d’Ost stepped inside and glanced around. “Are you hiding from someone? The servants speak of you as if you’re a forest troll, lurking in the shadows to bite the next passing trapper’s head off.”

“I’m not that bad, surely.” Miriam smiled. “Welcome back, anyway-it’s good to see someone around here who’s happy to see me. What have you been up to?” She stood up to embrace the younger woman.

“I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you,” Brill said lightly, hugging her back. Then her smile faded. “Don’t assume I’m exaggerating. I’ve been very busy lately. Some things I can’t talk about.” She shed her bulky shoulder-bag and pushed the door shut behind her. “Miriam. What do you mean, happy to see you? What on earth has been going on here? I got word by way of the duke’s office-”