“Hmm, I had thought as much.” Brilliana paced toward the far door, then paused. “Have you seen the morning room yet?”
“No.” Miriam followed her.
“Our ancestor Angbard the Sly walked the worlds and accrued a huge fortune. His children lacked the ability, and there were five sons, sons who married and had families, and another six daughters. In that generation some kin married their cousins directly, as was done in those days to forestall dower loss, and the talent was rediscovered. Which was a good thing, because they had fallen upon hard times and were reduced to common merchants. Since then we have kept the bloodline alive by marrying first cousins across alternate generations: Three families are tied together in a braid, two in each generation, to ensure the alliances are kept close. The kin with the talent are shareholders in the Clan, to which all belong. Those who lack the talent but whose children or grandchildren might have it are also members, but without the shares.” She waited at the door for Miriam, then lifted the heavy bolt with two hands and pulled it open.
“That’s amazing,” Miriam said, peering into the vast gloomy recess.
“It is, isn’t it?” replied Brilliana, squeezing through the half-open doorway as Miriam held it open for her. Miriam followed. “These murals were painted by The Eye himself, it is said.” Miriam blinked at dusty splendour, a red wool carpet and walls forming scenes disturbingly similar to-and yet different from-the traditional devotional paintings of the great houses of Europe. (Here a one-eyed god hung from a tree, his hands outstretched to give the benefit of his wisdom to the kneeling child-kings of Rome. There a prophet posed before a cave mouth within which lurked something unspeakable.) “The palace is held by the Clan in common trust. It is used by those family members who do not have houses in the capital. Each family owns one fifth of it-one tower-and Baron Oliver Hjorth occupies the High Tower, presiding over all, responsible for maintenance. I think he’s angry because the High Tower was burned to a shell eight years ago, and the cost of rebuilding it has proven ruinous,” she added thoughtfully.
“Very interesting,” murmured Miriam. Thinking: Yes, it’s about fifty feet long. This part of the palace was clearly doppelgangered, if the wall she’d seen in the warehouse was where she thought it was. Which meant that her own corner was far less secure than Angbard had implied. “Why was I accommodated here?”
“Why, because Baron Oliver refused you as a guest!” Brilliana said, a tight little smile on her face. Miriam puzzled for a moment, then recognized it as the nearest thing to anger she’d seen from the girl. “It is unconscionable of him, vindictive!”
“I’m getting used to it,” Miriam said dryly. She looked around the huge, dusty audience chamber then shivered from the chill leaching through its stones. The shutters were closed and oil lamps burned dimly in the chandelier, but despite all that it was as cold as a refrigerator. “What does he have against me, again?”
“Your braid. Your mother married his elder brother. You should inherit the Thorold Hjorth shares. You should, in fact, inherit the tower he has spent so long restoring. Duke Angbard has made it a personal project to bring Oliver to his knees for many years, and perhaps he thinks to use you to provoke the baron into an unforgivable display of disloyalty.”
“Oh shi-” Miriam turned to face the younger woman. “And you?” she demanded.
“Me?” Brilliana raised a slim hand to cover her mouth, as if concealing a laugh. “I’m in disgrace, most recently for calling Padrig, Baron Oliver’s youngest, a pimple-faced toad!” She shrugged uncomfortably. “My mother sent me away, first to the duke, then to the baron’s table, thinking his would be a good household for a young maid to grow up in.” For a moment, a flicker of nearly revealed anger lit up her face like lightning. “Hoping he’d take a horsewhip to me, more like.”
“Aha.” Miriam nodded. “And so, when I arrived…”
“You’re a countess” Brilliana insisted. “Travelling without companions! It’s a joke, a position of contempt! Ser Hjorth sent me to dwell with you in this drafty decaying pile with a leaking roof-as a punishment to me and an insult to you. He thinks himself a most funny man, to lay the glove against a cheek that does not even understand the intent behind the insult.”
“Let’s carry on.” Miriam surprised herself by reaching out and taking Brilliana’s arm, but the younger woman merely smiled and walked by her side as she headed toward a small undecorated side door. “What did you do to offend the Baron?”
“I wanted to go across to the other side,” Brilliana said matter-of-factly. “I’ve seen the education and polish and the source of everything bright in the world. I know I have not the talent myself, but surely someone can take me there? Is that too much to ask? I’ve a mother who saw miracles in her youth: carriages that fly and ships that sail against the wind, roads as wide as the Royal Mile and as long as a country, cabinets that show you events from afar. Why should I not have this, but for an accident of birth?” The anger was running close to the surface, and Miriam could feel it through her arm.
She paused next to the small door and looked Brilliana in the eye. “Believe me, if I could gift you with my talent I would, and thank you for taking it from me,” she said.
“Oh! But that’s not what I meant-” Brilliana’s cheeks coloured.
Miriam smiled crookedly. “Did your mother by any chance send you away because you pestered her to take you over to the other side one time too often? And did Oliver banish you here for the same reason?”
“Yes,” Brilliana nodded reluctantly. “A lady is someone who never knowingly causes pain to others,” she said quietly. “But what about causing pain to one’s self?”
“I think-” Miriam looked at her, as if for the first time: twenty-two years old, skin like milk and blonde hair, blue eyes, a puzzled, slightly angry expression, a couple of small craterlike scars marring the line of her otherwise perfect jaw. Wearing a slim black dress and a scarf around her hair, a silver necklace set with pearls around her neck, she looked too-tense was the word Miriam was looking for-to fit in here. But give her a jacket and briefcase and nobody would look twice at her in a busy downtown rush hour. “I think you have too low an opinion of yourself, Brill,” she said slowly. “What’s through this door, do you know?”
“It’ll be the way up to the roof.” She frowned, puzzled. “Locked, of course.”
“Of course.” This door had a more modern keyhole and lock. But when Miriam twisted the handle and tugged, it opened, admitting a frigid blast of damp air. “I think you’re right about it leading to the roof,” Miriam added, “but I’d like to know just where the unlocked doors lead, do you follow me?”
“Bit.” Brilliana shivered. She really wasn’t dressed for this, Miriam noted.
“Wait here,” Miriam instructed. Without pause she entered the doorway. Stone steps spiralled tightly up into blackness. She ascended, guided by touch as much as by vision. This must be higher than the doppelganger warehouse’s roof, she guessed. Cold wind smacked her in the face at the top. She turned and looked out across the steeply pitched roof, past machicolations, across gardens spread far below. And then the town, narrow streets and pitched roofs utterly unlike anything she’d see back home stretching away on all sides, dimly lit by lamplight. What do they burn”? she wondered. Above the entire scene, riding high atop a tattered carpet of fast-moving white clouds, hung the gibbous moon. Someone has been up here recently, she thought and shivered. It was freezing cold, wet, and dark. Clambering about on the roof held no appeal, so she turned and carefully descended back into the relative warmth of the moth-eaten outer reception room.
Brilliana jumped as she emerged. “Oh! By my soul, you gave me a fright, my lady. I was so worried for you!”
“I think I gave me a fright too,” Miriam commented shakily. She shut the door. “We’re going back to the heated quarters now,” she said. “And we’re going to bolt the door-on the inside. Come on. I wonder if that bath will be ready.”
The bath was indeed ready, although Miriam had to ransack her luggage for toiletries and chase two ladies- in-waiting and three servants out of the room before she could strip off and get in the tub. In any event, it grew cold too fast for her to soak in it for long. Baths hereabouts were a major chore, it seemed, and if she didn’t get across to the other side regularly, she’d have to get used to making it a weekly event. At least she didn’t have to put up with the local substitute for soap, which was ghastly beyond belief.
Drying herself with her feet up against the back side of the fireplace-which for a miracle had warmed right through the stonework-she reflected on the progress she’d made. Brilliana is going to be okay, she mused. Maybe I could give her to Paulie as a gofer? If she survived the culture shock. It’s no joke, she chided herself. She’d grown up with museums and films about the past-how much harder would she have it if she’d found herself catapulted into the equivalent of the twenty-sixth century, without any means of going home? She’d be helpless. Had Brilliana ever seen a light switch? Or a telephone? Perhaps-and then again, perhaps not. I keep forgetting that clothes don’t make the man-or woman, she prodded herself. You could go really badly wrong if you make that mistake here.
