The Traders' War (Merchant Princes Omnibus 2) (35 page)

‘I have?’

‘Your babies will need that.’ She let go of Miriam’s arm, oblivious to her expression. ‘Come.’

They filed upstairs, into a chilly ballroom where servants with trays circulated, keeping everyone sufficiently lubricated with wine to ensure a smooth occasion. Miriam ended up with her back to
a wall, observing the knots of chattering women, the puff-chested clump of young men, the elders circulating and talking to one another. The menfolk mostly had swords. It wasn’t something
she’d seen in a social setting before – but many of her social encounters had been in the royal court, or with other senior members of the nobility present. Carrying ironwork in the
presence of the monarch was a faux pas of the kind that got you executed.
I’ve been sheltered. Or I just had too small and too skewed a sample to see much of how things
really
work here
.

Kara and the bald guy had been installed on two stools on a raised platform, and had much larger cups than anyone else. Miriam tried to establish eye contact, but the bride was so focused on the
floorboards that it would probably take a two-by-four to get her attention.
A happy occasion indeed
, she thought, and drained her glass.
How long until I can get away from
this?

A hand clutching a bottle appeared in front of her and tilted it over her glass. ‘A drop more, perhaps?’

‘Um.’ Startled, Miriam looked sideways. ‘Yes, please.’ He was in his late twenties, as far as she could tell, and he looked as if he had southeast Asian ancestry, which
made him stand out in this crowd as effectively as if he’d had green skin and eyes on stalks. He was dressed like most of the men hereabouts, in loose-cut trousers and a tunic, but unlike the
others he didn’t have a sword, or even a dagger, on his belt. ‘Do I know you?’

‘I think not.’ His English was oddly accented, but it wasn’t a Hochsprache accent – there was something familiar about it. ‘Allow me to introduce myself? I am
James, second son of Ang, of family Lee.’ He looked slightly amused at her reaction. ‘I see you have heard of me.’

‘I met your brother,’ she said before she could stop herself. ‘Do you know who
I
am?’

He nodded, and she tensed, scanning the room for the ferret, his guards, anyone – because the circumstances under which she’d met his brother were anything but friendly.
Damn,
where are they? Why now?
Her pulse roared and she took a deep breath, ready to yell for help, but then he chuckled and slopped a bolus of wine into her glass. ‘You convinced the thin
white duke to send him back to us alive,’ said Lee. He raised his own glass to her. ‘I would thank you for that.’

Miriam felt her knees go weak with relief. ‘It was the sensible thing to do,’ she said. The roaring in her ears subsided. She took a sip of wine to cover her confusion, and after a
moment she felt calm enough to ask, ‘Why are you here?’

‘Here? At this happy occasion in particular, or this primitive city in general?’ He seemed amused by her question. ‘I have the honor of being a hostage against my
brother’s safe return and the blood treaty between our families.’ Was it really amusement, or was it ironic detachment? Miriam blinked: she was finding James Lee remarkably difficult to
read, but at least now she could place his accent. Lee’s family had struck out for the west coast two centuries ago. In the process they’d gotten lost, detached from the Clan,
world-walking to the alien timeline of New Britain rather than the United States. His accent was New British – a form of American English, surely, but one that had evolved differently from
the vernacular of her own home. ‘I cannot travel far.’ He nodded toward a couple of unexceptional fellows standing near the door. ‘But they let me out to mingle with society. I
know Leon.’ Another nod at the balding middle-aged groom, now chatting animatedly to Kara’s father from his throne at the far end of the room. ‘We play cards regularly, whist and
black knave and other games.’ He raised his glass. ‘And so, to your very good health!’

Miriam raised her own glass: ‘And to yours.’ She eyed him speculatively. He was, she began to realize, a bit of a hunk – and with brains, too. What that implied was
interesting: he was a hostage, sure, but might he also be something more? A spy, perhaps?

‘Are you here because of, of her?’ asked Lee, glancing at the platform.

‘Yes. She was my lady-in-waiting. Before this happened.’

‘Hmph.’ He studied her face closely. ‘You say that as if it came as a surprise to you, milady.’

‘It did.’
Damn, I shouldn’t be giving this much away!
‘I wasn’t asked for an opinion, shall we say.’ It was probably the wine, on an empty stomach,
she realized. She was feeling wobbly enough as it was, and the sense of isolation was creeping up on her again.

‘I’d heard a rumor that you were out of favor.’

He was fishing, but he sounded almost sympathetic. Miriam looked at him sharply.
Handsome is as handsome does
, she reminded herself. ‘A rumor?’

‘There’s a, a grapevine.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m not the only guest of the families who is gathered to their bosom with all the kind solicitude due a rattlesnake’
– he snorted – ‘and people will talk, after all! One rumor made play of a scandal between you and a youngblood of the duke’s faction who, regrettably, died some months ago
in an incident nobody will discuss: according to others, you kicked up a fuss sufficient to wake the dead, rattling skeletons in their closets until other parties felt the need to move you from the
game board to the toy box, if you will pardon the mixed metaphor.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m sure the truth is both less scandalous and more sympathetic than any of the rumors
would have it.’

‘Really.’ She smiled tightly and took a full mouthful of wine. ‘As a matter of fact
both
the rumors are more or less true, in outline at least. I’m pleased
you’re polite enough not to raise the third one: it would be interesting to compare notes on the climate in New Britain some day, but right now I suspect we’d only upset our
minders.’

Now it was Lee’s turn to look unhappy. ‘I want you to know that I did not approve of the attempts on your life,’ he said rapidly. ‘It was unnecessary and stupid and
– ’

‘Purely traditional.’ Miriam finished her wine and pushed her glass at him. ‘Right. And you’re young and sensible and know how your hidebound grandparents ought to be
running the family if they weren’t stuck in the past?’

He gave her an ironic smile as he refilled both their glasses. ‘Exactly. Oh dear, this bottle appears to be empty, I wonder how that happened?’ He made a minute gesture and a servant
came sidling up to replace it:
How does he do that?
Miriam wondered.

‘Let me guess.’ Her nose was beginning to prickle, a sure sign that she’d had enough and that she needed to be watching her tongue, but right now she didn’t care about
discretion. Right now she felt like letting her hair down, and damn the consequences for another day. Besides, Lee was handsome and smart and a good listener, a rare combination in this benighted
backwater. ‘You’d been kicking shins a little too hard, so the honorable head of the family sent you here when he needed a hostage to exchange with Angbard. Right?’

James Lee sighed. ‘You have such an interesting idiom – and so forthright. To the bone. Yes, that is exactly it. And yourself . . . ?’

Miriam frowned. ‘I don’t fit in. They want to shut me in a box. Y’know, where I come from, women don’t take that. Not second-class citizens, not at all. I grew up in
Boston, the Boston of the United States. Able to look after myself. It’s different to the world you know: women have the vote, can own property, have legal equality, run businesses
–’ She took a deep breath, feeling the bleak depression poised, ready to come crashing down on her again. ‘You can guess how well that plays here.’

‘Hmm.’ His glass was empty. Miriam watched as he refilled it. ‘It occurs to me that we shall both be drunk before this is over.’

‘I can think of less appropriate company to get drunk in.’ She shrugged, slightly unbalanced by everything. A discordance of strings sought their tune from a balcony set back above
the doorway, musicians with acoustic instruments preparing to play something not unlike a baroque chamber piece. ‘And in the morning we’ll both be sober and Kara will still be married
to some fellow she hadn’t even met yesterday.’ She glanced around, wishing there was somewhere she could spit to get the nasty taste out of her mouth.

‘This is a problem for you?’

‘It’s not so much a problem as a warning.’ She took a step backward and leaned against the wall. She felt tired. ‘The bastards are going to marry me off,’ she heard
herself explaining. ‘This is so embarrassing. Where I grew up you just don’t
do
that to people. Especially not to your daughter. But Mom’s got her – reasons –
and I suppose the duke thinks he’s got his, and I, I made a couple of mistakes.’
Fucking stupid ones
, she thought despairingly.
It could be worse; if I wasn’t lucky
enough to be a privileged rich bitch and the duke’s niece to boot, they’d probably have killed me, but instead they’re just going to nail me down and use me as a pawn in their
political chess game. Oops
. She put a hand to her mouth.
Did I say any of that aloud?
Lee was watching her sympathetically.

‘We could elope together,’ he offered, his expression hinting that this suggestion was not intended to be taken entirely seriously.

‘I don’t think so.’ She forced a grin.
You’re cute but you’re no Roland. Roland I’d have eloped with in a split second. Damn him for getting himself
killed
. . . ‘But thanks for the offer.’

‘Oh, it was nothing. If there’s anything I can do, all you need is to ask.’

‘Oh, a copy of the family knotwork would do fine,’ she said, and hiccuped.

‘Is that all?’ He shook his head. ‘They’d chase you down if you went anywhere in the three known worlds.’

‘Three
known
worlds?’ Her glass was empty again. Couples were whirling in slow stately circles around the dance floor, and she had a vague idea that she might be able to
join them if she was just a bit more sober: her lessons had covered this one –

‘Vary the knotwork, vary the destination.’ James shrugged. ‘Once that much became clear, two of our youngsters tried it. The first couple of times, they got headaches and
stayed where they were. On the second attempt one of them vanished, then came back a few hours later with a story about a desert of ice. On the third attempt, they both vanished, and stayed
missing.’

Miriam’s eyes widened. ‘You’re kidding!’

He took her glass and placed it on the floor, alongside his own, by the skirting board. Then he straightened up again. ‘No.’

‘What did they find?’

He offered her his hand. ‘Will you dance? People will gossip less . . .’

‘Sure.’ She took it. He led her onto the floor. In deference to the oldsters the tempo was slow, and she managed to follow him without too much stumbling. ‘I’m bad at
this. Not enough practice when drunk.’

‘I shouldn’t worry.’ The room spun around her. ‘In answer to your question, we don’t know. Nobody knows. The elders forbade further experiments when they failed to
return.’

‘Oh.’ She leaned her weight against him, feeling deflated, the elephantine weight of depression returning to her shoulders. For a moment she’d been able to smell the fresh air
drifting through the bars of her cell – and then it turned out to be prison air-conditioning. The music spiraled to an end, leaving her washed up on the floor by the doorway. The ferret was
waiting, looking bored. ‘I think this is my cue to say good-bye,’ she told Lee.

‘I’m sure we’ll meet again,’ he said, smiling a lazy grin of intrigue.

*

As several days turned into a week and the evenings grew long and humid, Miriam grew resigned to her confinement. As prisons went, it was luxurious – multiple rooms,
anxious servants, no shortage of basic amenities, even a walled courtyard she could go and walk in by prior arrangement – but it lacked two essentials that she’d taken for granted her
entire life: freedom and the social contact of her equals.

After Kara’s marriage, she was left with only the carefully vetted maids and the ferret for company. The servants didn’t have a word of English between them, and the ferret had a
very low tolerance for chitchat. After a while Miriam gritted her teeth and tried to speak Hochsprache exclusively. While a couple of the servants regarded her as crack-brained, an imbecile to be
humored, a couple of the younger maids responded, albeit cautiously. A noblewoman’s wrath was subject to few constraints: they would clam up rather than risk provoking her. And it
didn’t take long for Miriam to discover another unwelcome truth: her servants had been chosen, it seemed, on the basis of their ignorance and tractability. They were all terrified of the
ferret, frightened of her, and strangers to the city (or overgrown town) of Niejwein. They’d been brought in from villages and towns outside, knew nobody here outside the great house, and
weren’t even able to go outside on their own.

About a week into the confinement, the boredom reached an excruciating peak. ‘I need something to read, or something to write,’ she told the ferret. ‘I’ll go out of my
head with boredom if I don’t have something to do!’

‘Go practice your tapestry stitch, then.’

Miriam put her foot down. ‘I’m crap at sewing. I want a notepad and mechanical pencil. Why can’t I have a notepad? Are you afraid I’ll keep a diary, or
something?’

The ferret looked at her. He’d been cleaning his fingernails with a wickedly sharp knife. ‘You can’t have a notepad,’ he said calmly. ‘Stop pestering me or
I’ll beat you.’

‘Why not?’

Something in her expression gave him pause for thought: ‘You might try to draw an escape knot from memory,’ he said.

‘Ri-ight.’ She scowled furiously. ‘And how likely do you think that is? Isn’t this place doppelgängered in New York?’

‘You might get the knot wrong,’ he pointed out.