“I said I’m sorry. Angbard isn’t used to being disobeyed. I’ve never seen anyone take such liberties with him and escape punishment!”
“Punishment-” she stopped. “You weren’t kidding about him being the head of secret police, were you?”
“He’s got many more titles than he told you about. He’s responsible for the security of the entire Clan. If you like, think of him as the head of the FBI here. There was a civil war before you or I were born. He’s probably ordered more hangings than you or I have had hot dinners.”
Miriam stumbled. “Ow, shit!” She leaned against the wall. “That’ll teach me to keep my eye on where I’m going.” She glanced at him. “So you’re telling me I wasn’t paying enough attention?”
“You’ll be all right,” Roland said slowly, “if you can adapt to it. I imagine it must be a great shock, coming into your inheritance so suddenly.”
“Is that so?” She looked him up and down carefully, unsure how to interpret the raised eyebrow-Is he trying to tell me something or just having a joke at my expense?-then a second thought struck her. “I think I’m missing something here,” she said, deliberately casually.
“Nothing around here is what it seems,” Roland said with a little shrug. His expression was guarded. “But if the duke is right, if you really are Patricia’s long-lost heir-”
Miriam recognized the expression in his eyes: It was belief. He really believes I’m some kind of fairy-tale princess, she realized with dawning horror. What have I got myself into!
“You’ll have to tell me all about it. In my chambers.”
Roland led her back to her suite and followed her into the huge reception room at its heart. He wandered over to the windows and stood there with his hands clasped behind his back. Miriam kicked her heels off and sat down in the huge, enveloping leather sofa opposite the window.
“When did you discover the locket?” he asked.
She watched him curiously. “Less than a week ago.”
“And until then you’d grown up in ignorance of your family,” he said. “Amazing!” He turned around. His face was set in a faintly wistful expression.
“Are you going to just stand there?” she asked.
“It would be impertinent to sit down without an invitation,” he replied. “I know it’s the case on the other side, but here, the elders tend to stand on points of etiquette.”
“Well-” her eyes narrowed. “Sit down if you want to. You’re making me nervous. You look as if you’re afraid I’ll bite.”
“Um.” He sat down uneasily on the arm of the big chair opposite her. “Well, it’s irregular, to say the least, to be here. You being unwed, that is.”
“What’s that got to do with it?” she snapped. “I’m divorced. Is that another of the things you people are touchy about?”
“ ‘Divorced?’ “ He stared at her hand, as if looking for a ring. “I don’t know.” Suddenly he looked thoughtful. “Customs here are distinctly different from the other side. This is not a Christ-worshiping land.” Another thought struck him. “Are you, uh…?”
“Does Miriam Beckstein sound Christian to you?”
“It’s sometimes hard to tell with people from the other side. Christ worship isn’t a religion here,” he said seriously. “But you are divorced. And a world-walker.” He leaned forward. “What that means is you are automatically a Clan shareholder of the first rank, eligible, unwed, and liable to displace a dozen minor distant relatives from their Clan shares, which they thought safe. Your children will displace theirs, too. Do you know, you are probably a great-aunt already?”
To Miriam this was insupportable. “I don’t want a huge bunch of feuding cousins and ancestors and children! I’m quite happy on my own.”
“It’s not as simple as that.” A momentary flash of irritation surfaced: “Our personal happiness has nothing to do with the Clan’s view of our position in life. I don’t like it either, but you’ve got to understand that there are people out there whose plans will be disrupted by the mere knowledge of your existence, and other people who will make plans for you, regardless of your wishes!”
“I-” she stopped. “Look, I don’t think we’ve got this straight. I may be related to your family by genetics, but I’m not one of you. I don’t know how the hell you think or what your etiquette is like and I don’t care about being the orphan of a countess. It doesn’t mean anything to me.” She sighed. “There’s been some huge mistake. The sooner we get it over with and I can go back to being a journalist, the better.”
“If you want it that way.” For almost a minute he brooded, staring at the floor in front of her. Miriam hooked one foot over the other and tried to relax enough to force her shoulders back into the sofa. “You might last six weeks,” he said finally.
“Huh?”
He frowned at a parquet tile. “You can ignore your relatives, but they can’t ignore you. To them you’re an unknown quantity. The Clan shareholders all have the ability to walk the worlds, to cross over and follow you. Over here they’re rich and powerful-but your current situation makes them insecure because you’re unpredictable. If you do what’s expected of you, you merely disrupt several inheritances worth a baron’s estate. If you try to leave, they will think you are trying to form a new schismatic family, maybe even lure away family splinters to set up your own Clan to rival ours. How do you think the rich and powerful deal with threats to their existence?” He looked grave. “I’d rather not measure you for a coffin so soon after discovering you. It’s not every day I find a new second cousin, especially one who’s as educated and intelligent as you seem to be. There’s a shortage of good conversation here, you know.”
“Oh.” Miriam felt deflated, frightened. What happens to business life when there’s no limit to liability and the only people you can work with are your blood relatives? Instinctively she changed the subject. “What did your uncle mean about tonight? And servants, I mean, servants!”
“Ah, that.” Roland slipped down into the seat at last, relaxing a little. “We are invited to dine with the head of one of the families in private. The most powerful family in the Clan, at that. It’s a formal affair. As for the servants, you’re entitled to half a dozen or so ladies-in-waiting, your own guard of honour, and various others. My uncle the duke sent the minor family members away, but in the meantime there are maids from below stairs who will see to you. Really I would have sent them earlier, when I brought you up here, but he stressed the urgent need for secrecy and I thought-” He paused. “You really did grow up over there, didn’t you? In the middle classes.”
She nodded, unsure just how to deal with his sudden attack of snobbery. Some of the time he seemed open and friendly, then she hit a blind spot and he was Sir Medieval Aristocrat writ large and charmless. “I don’t do upper class,” she said. “Well, business class, maybe.”
“Well, you aren’t in America any more. You’ll have get used to the way we do things here eventually.” He paused. “Did I say something wrong?”
He had, but she didn’t know how to explain. Which was why a couple of hours later she was sitting naked in the bathroom, talking to her dictaphone, trying to make sense of the insanity outside-without succumbing to hysteria-by treating it as a work assignment and reporting on it.
“Now I know how Alice felt in looking-glass land,” she muttered, holding her dictaphone close to her lips. “They’re mad. I don’t mean schizophrenic or psychotic or anything like that. They’re just not in the same universe as anyone else I know.” The same universe was a slip: She could feel the hysterical laughter bubbling up inside her. She bit her lower lip, painfully hard. “They’re nuts. And they insist I join in and play their game by their rules.”
There was some bumping and thumping going on in the main room of the suite. That would be the maidservants moving stuff around. Miriam paused the tape for a moment, considering her next words. “Dear Diary. Forty-eight hours ago I was hanging out in the forest, happy as a clam with my photographs of a peasant village that looked like something out of the middle ages. I was exploring, discovering something new, and it was great, I had this puzzle-box reality to crack open, a whole new story. Now I discover that I own that village, and a hundred more like it, and I literally have the power of life and death over its inhabitants. I can order soldiers to go in and kill every last one of them, on a whim. Once the Clans recognize me officially, at an annual session, that is. And assuming-as Roland says-nobody assassinates me. Princess Beckstein, signing off for The Weatherman, or maybe Business 2.0. Jesus, who’d have thought I’d end up starring in some kind of twisted remake of Cinderella? Or that it
