table a long way from anyone else without difficulty, which turned out to be a good thing, because Brill was unable to control her surprise when the train began to move. “It’s so different!” she squeaked, taken aback.
“It’s called a train.” Miriam pointed out of the window. “Like that one, only faster and newer and built for carrying passengers. Where we’re going is within a day’s walk of Angbard’s palace, but it’ll only take us three hours to get there.”
Brilliana stared at the passing freight train. “I’ve seen movies,” she said quietly. “You don’t need to assume I’m stupid, ignorant. But it’s not the same as being here.”
“I’m sorry.” Miriam shook her head, embarrassed. She looked at Brill thoughtfully. She was doing a good job of bluffing, even though the surprises the world kept throwing at her must sometimes have been overwhelming. A bright kid, well-educated for her place in time, but out of her depth here-How would I cope if someone gave me a ticket to the thirtieth century? Miriam wondered. At a guess, there’d be an outburst of anger soon, triggered by something trivial-the realization that this wasn’t fairyland but a real place, and she’d grown up among people who lived here and withheld everything in it from her. I wonder which way she’ll jump?
Opposite her, Brilliana’s face froze. “What is it?” Miriam asked quietly.
“The… the second row of thrones behind you-that’s interesting. I’ve seen that man before. Black hair, dark suit.”
“Where?” Miriam whispered, tensing. Feeling for her shoulder bag, the small pistol buried at the bottom of it. No, not on a train…
“At court. He is a corporal of honour in service to Angbard. Called Edger something. I’ve seen him a couple of times in escort to one or another of the duke’s generals. I don’t think he’s recognized me. He is reading one of those intelligence papers the tinkers were selling at the palace of trains.”
“Hmm.” Miriam frowned. “Did you see any luggage when he got onboard? Anything he carried? Describe him.”
“There is a trunk with a handle, like yours, only it looks like metal. He has it beside him and places one hand on it every short while.”
“Ah.” Miriam relaxed infinitesimally. “Okay, I think I’ve got a handle on it. Is the case about the same size as mine?”
Brill nodded slowly, her eyes focused past Miriam’s left shoulder.
“That means he’s probably a courier,” Miriam said quietly. “At a guess, Angbard has him carry documents daily between his palace and Manhattan. That explains why he spends so little time at court himself-he can keep his finger on the pulse far faster than the non-Clan courtiers realize. If I’m right, he’ll be carrying a report about last night, among other things.” She raised a finger to her lips. “Trouble is, if I’m right, he’s armed and certainly dangerous to approach. And if I’m wrong, he’s not a courier. He’s going to wait for the train to stop, then try to kill us.” Miriam closed her hand around the barrel of her pistol, then stopped. No, that’s the wrong way to solve this, she thought. Instead she pulled out her wallet and a piece of paper and began writing.
Brilliana leaned forward. “He’s doing it again,” she murmured. “I think there’s something in his jacket. Under his arm. He looks uncomfortable.”
“Right.” Miriam nodded, then shoved the piece of paper across the table at Brill. There was a pair of fifty-dollar bills and a train ticket concealed under it. “Here is what we’re going to do. In a minute, you’re going to stand up while he isn’t looking and walk to the other end of this carriage-behind you, over there, where the doors are. If-” she swallowed-“if things go wrong, don’t try anything heroic. Just get off the train as soon as it stops, hide in the crowd, make damn sure he doesn’t see you. There’ll be another train through in an hour. Your ticket is valid for travel on it, and you want to get off in Cambridge. Go out of the station, tell a cab driver you want to go to this address, and pay with one of these notes, the way you saw me do it. He’ll give you change. It’s a small house; the number is on the front of the door. Go up to it and tell the woman who lives there that I sent you and I’m in trouble. Then give her this.” Miriam pushed another piece of paper across the table at her. “After a day, tell Paulette to use the special number I gave her. That’s all. Think you can do that?”
Brill nodded mutely. “What are you going to do now?” she asked quietly.
Miriam took a deep breath. “I’m going to do what we in the trade refer to as a hostile interview,” she said. “What was his name, again?”
“Hello, Edsger. Don’t move. This would not be a good place to get help for a sucking chest wound.”
He tensed and she smiled, bright and feral, like a mongoose confronting a sleepy cobra.
“What-”
“Don’t move, I said. That includes your mouth. Not very good, is it, letting your mark turn on you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“I think you do. And I think it’s slack of you, nodding off just because you’re on the iron road and no world- walkers can sneak up from behind.” She smiled wider, seeing his unnerved expression. “First, some ground rules. We are going to have a little conversation, then we will go our separate ways, and nobody will get hurt. But first, to make that possible, you will start by slowly bending forward and sliding that pistol of yours out into this shopping bag.”
The courier leaned forward. Miriam leaned with him, keeping her pistol jammed up against his ribs through her jacket. “Slowly,” she hissed.
“I’m slow.” He opened his jacket and slid a big Browning automatic out of the holster under his left armpit- two-fingered. Miriam tensed, but he followed through by dropping it into the open bag.
“And your mobile phone,” she said. “Now, kick it under the table. Gently.” He gave it a half-hearted shove with one foot.
“Put your hands between your knees and lean back slowly,” she ordered.
“Who are you?” he asked, complying.
“First, you’re going to tell me who you’re delivering that case to at the other end,” she said. “Ordinary postal service-or Angbard himself?”
“I can’t-”
She shoved the gun up against him, hard. “You fucking can,” she snarled quietly. “Because if you don’t tell me, you are going to read about the contents of that case on the front page of
“It goes to Matthias.”
“Angbard’s secretary, right.” She felt him tense again. “That was the correct answer,” she said quietly. “Now, I want you to do something else for me. I’ve got a message for Angbard, for his ears only, do you understand? It’s not for Matthias, it’s not for Roland, it’s not for any of the other lord-lieutenants he’s got hanging around. Remember, I’ve got your number. If anyone other than Angbard gets this message, I will find out and I will tell him and he will kill you. Got that? Good. What’s going to happen next is: The train’s stopping in a couple of minutes. You will stand up, take your case-not the bag with your phone-and get off the train, because I will be following you. You will then stand beside the train door where I can see you until it’s ready to move off, and you will stay there while it moves off because if you don’t stand that way I will shoot you. If you want to know why I’m so trigger-happy, you can ask Angbard yourself-after you’ve delivered his dispatches.”
“You must be-” his eyes widened.
“Don’t say my name.”
He nodded.
“You’re going to be an hour late into Boston -an hour later than you would have been, anyway. Don’t bother trying to organize a search for me because I won’t be there. Instead, go to the Fort Lofstrom doppelganger house, make your delivery to Matthias as usual, say you missed the train or something, then ask to see the old man and tell him about meeting me here.”
“What?” He looked puzzled. “I thought you had a message.”
“You are the message.” She grinned humourlessly. “And you’ve got to be alive to deliver it. We’re slowing up: Do as I tell you and it’ll all be over soon.”
He shook his head very slowly. “They were right about you,” he said. But when she asked him who he meant, he just stared at her.
There was an old building on Central Avenue, with windows soundproofed against the roar of turbo-fans.
