The Revolution Business

Huw nodded. 'Bro, cover for me,' he told the tall, heavily built guy with the semiauto shotgun as he walked towards them. Huw was anything but husky: skinny and intense. 'Has something come up?'

'Huw.' Brill smiled, oddly cheerful. 'We've got a couple of hours to kill. Why don't you tell her grace what you found?'

Her grace? But I'm not a duchess. Miriam blinked. Suddenly bits of the big picture were falling into place. Heir to the throne. 'What you found, where?'

'We're calling it world four right now, but I think a better name for it would be Transition A-B,' Huw said as he sat down at the far end of the fallen trunk. 'It's where you go if you use the Hidden Family's knotwork as a focus in your world, uh, the United States.' He grinned, twitchily. 'Nobody was able to cross over in New England because, well, it's probably under an ice sheet-the weather there's definitely a lot colder than in any of the other time lines we know about.'

Hang on, time lines-Miriam held up a hand. 'What were you doing?'

'The duke tasked me with setting up a systematic exploration program,' Huw explained. 'So I started by taking the second known knotwork design and seeing where it'd take you if you used it in world two, in the USA, which the Hidden Family had no access to. The initial tests in Massachusetts and New York failed, so I guessed there might be a really large obstacle in the way. There's some kind of exclusion effect… but anyway, we found a new world.'

Miriam narrowly resisted the urge to grab him and start yelling questions. 'Go on.'

'World four is cold, as in, about ten degrees celsius below datum for the other worlds we've found. That's ice age cold. We didn't have time to do much exploring, but what we found-there were people there, once, but we didn't see any signs of current habitation. High tech, very high tech-perfect dentistry, gantries made out of titanium, and other stuff. We're still trying to figure out the other stuff, but it's a whole different ball game. The building we found looked like it had been struck from above by some kind of directed energy weapon-'

'Some kind of-'Miriam stopped. On the opposite side of the clearing, the young blond woman who'd come with Huw was kneeling, her weapon trained on something invisible through the trees.

Brill was already moving. 'Get ready to go.'

'But it's too early,' Miriam started.

'What's Elena spotted?' Huw rose to his feet. The big guy at the far side of the clearing-the one Huw had called ' bro'- was crouching behind the blonde, his shotgun raised: A moment later she turned and scrambled towards them, staying low.

'Riders,' she said quietly, addressing Brill. 'At least three, maybe more. They're trying to stay quiet. Milady, we await your instructions.'

'I think'-Brill's eyes hardened-'we'd better cross over. Right now. Huw, can you carry her grace?'

'I think so.' Huw knelt down. 'Miriam, if you could climb on my shoulders?'

Miriam swallowed. 'Is this necessary? It's too early-'

Brill cut her off. 'It is necessary to move as fast as possible, unless you want another shoot-out. I generally try to limit them to no more than one before lunch on any given day. Huw, get her across. We'll be along momentarily.'

Miriam stood up, wrapped her arms around Huw's shoulders, and tried to haul her legs up. Huw rose into a half-crouch. She strained to clamp her knees around his waist. 'Are you alright?' she asked anxiously.

'Just a second,' he gasped. 'Alright. Three. Two.' Something flickered in the palm of his hand, just in the corner of her vision: a fiery knot that tried to turn her eyes and her stomach inside out. 'One.'

The world around them flickered and Huw collapsed under her, dry-retching. Miriam fell sideways, landing heavily on one hip.

They were in scrubland, and alone. Someone's untended back lot, by the look of it: a few stunted trees straggling across a nearby hillside like hairs across a balding man's pate, a fence meandering drunkenly to one side. A windowless barn that had clearly seen better days slumped nearby.

Miriam rose to her feet and dusted herself off. Her traveling clothes, unremarkable in New Britain, would look distinctly odd to American eyes: a dark woolen coat of unusual cut over the mutant offspring of a shalwar kameez. Along with her temporarily blond, permed hair it was a disguise that had outlived its usefulness. 'Where are you parked?' she asked Huw as his retching subsided.

'Front of. Barn.' He staggered to a crouch. 'Need. Painkillers…'

Something moved in the corner of her sight. Miriam's head whipped round as she thrust a hand in her coat pocket, reaching for the small pistol Erasmus had given her before she recognized Elena. A few seconds later Huw's brother Hulius popped into view, followed almost immediately by Brilliana. 'Come on, people!' Brill sounded more annoyed than nauseous. 'Cover! Check!'

'Check,' Huw echoed hollowly. 'I think we're still alone.'

RCvo!

'Check!' trilled Elena. 'Did they see you, Yul? Ooh, you don't look so good!'

'Guuuh… Check. I don't think so. Going. Be sick.'

Brill clapped her hands. 'Let's get going, people.' She was almost tapping her feet with impatience. 'We've got a safe house to go to. You can throw up all you like once we report in, but first we've got a job to do.' She nodded at Miriam. 'After you, milady.'

In a soot-stained industrial city nestling in the Appalachians, beneath a sky stained amber by the fires of half a million coal-burning stoves, there was a noble house defended by the illusion of poverty.

The Lee family and their clients did not like to draw attention to themselves. The long habit of secrecy was deeply ingrained in their insular souls; they'd lived alone among enemies for almost ten generations, abandoned by the eastern Clan that had once-so they had thought until recently, so some still thought-cast them out and betrayed them. Here in the industrial heartland of Iron-gate there was little love for rich foreigners, much less wealthy Chinese merchants, at the best of times. And the times were anything but good: With the empire locked in a bewildering and expensive overseas war (to say nothing of multiple consecutive crop failures and a bare treasury, deflation, and high unemployment) the city was as inflammable as a powder keg.

Consequently, the Lees did not flaunt their wealth and power openly. Nor did their home resemble a palatial mansion. Rather, it resembled a tenement block fronted by the dusty window displays of failing shops (for only the pawnbroker's business remained good). Between two such shops there stood a blank-faced door, a row of bellpulls discreetly off to one side. It might have been a stairwell leading to the cramped flats of shopkeepers and factory foremen. But the reality was very different.

'Be seated, nephew,' said the old man with the long, wispy beard. 'And tell me what brings you here?'

James Lee bowed his head, concealing his unease for a few more moments. As was right, he went to his knees and then sat cross-legged before the low platform on which his great uncle, the eldest of days-and his companions, the eldest's younger sibling, Great-Uncle Huan, and his first wife-perched.

'The Clan has gone too far,' he began, then paused.

'Tea for my favorite nephew,' the eldest commented, and one of the servants who had been standing behind James bowed and slipped out through a side door. 'You may continue.'

James took a deep breath. 'They resumed their scheme to capture the royal house. My understanding is that the chosen bride, the long-lost daughter of the western alliance, was not an enthusiastic participant: The architect of the marriage, her grandmother, allied with the conservative faction at court to coerce her.

He paused for a moment as the servant, returning, placed a tray bearing a steaming cup before him. 'I considered the merits of direct action, but concluded the cost would outweigh any benefit. It would be interpreted as base treachery, and I did not feel able to take such measures without your approval.'

'Just so.' His great-uncle nodded. 'What happened next?'

James chose his next words very carefully, aware of the tension in the room: There was no whispering in corners, and none of the usual cross-play between the ancients that was normal when the eldest held court. 'The baroness and her coconspirators made a fundamental error of judgment when they arranged the betrothal of the heir Miriam to the youngest son of the King. They failed to see how this would be received by his elder brother. Prince Egon is not of the blood and therefore they ignored him; Creon, though damaged, was thought by them to be an occulted carrier'-one who carried the recessive gene for the world-walking ability, but was not able himself to