The Hidden Family

Miriam relaxed slightly. “I see.” She slid the envelope into a jacket pocket carefully. The five ten-pound notes in it were more than she’d expected to browbeat out of him. “Is your dealer able to take larger quantities of bullion?” she asked, abruptly updating her plans.

“I believe so.” His face was drawn and tired. “I’ve had some thinking to do.”

“I can see that,” she said quietly. Fifty pounds here was equivalent to something between three and seven thousand dollars, back home. Gold was expensive, a sign of demand, and what did that tell her? Nothing good. “What’s the situation? Do you trust Bates?”

“About as far as I can throw him,” Erasmus admitted. “He isn’t a fellow traveler.”

“Fellow traveler.” She nodded to herself. “You’re a Marxist?”

“He was the greatest exponent of my faith, yes.” He said it quietly and fervently. “I believe in natural rights, to which all men and women are born equal; in democracy: and in freedom. Freedom of action, freedom of commerce, freedom of faith, just like old Karl. For which they hanged him.”

“He came to somewhat different conclusions where I come from,” Miriam said dryly, “although his starting conditions were dissimilar. Are you going to shut up shop and tell me what’s troubling you?”

“Yes.” He strode over and turned the sign in the door, then shot the bolt. “In the back, if you please.”

“After you.” Miriam followed him down a narrow corridor walled in pigeon holes. Parcels wrapped in brown paper gathered dust in them, each one sprouting a plaintive ticket against the date of its redemption—graveyard markers in the catacombs of usury. She kept her hand in her right pocket, tightening her grip on the small pistol, heart pounding halfway out of her chest with tension.

“You can’t be a police provocateur,” he commented over his shoulder.

“For one thing, you didn’t bargain hard enough over the bullion. For another, you slipped up in too many ways, all of them wrong. But I wasn’t sure you weren’t simply a madwoman until you showed me that intricate engine and left the book.” He stepped sideways into a niche with a flight of wooden steps in it, leading down. “It’s far too incredible a story to be a flight-of-the mind concoction, and far too…expensive. Even the publisher’s notes! The quality of the paper. And the typeface.” He stopped at the foot of the stairs and stared up at her owlishly, one hand clutching at a load-bearing beam for support.

“And the pocket kinomagraph. I think either you’re real or I’m going mad,” he said, his voice hollow.

“You’re not mad.” Miriam took the steep flight of steps carefully.

“So?”

“So it behooves me to study this fascinating world you come from, and ask how it came to pass.” Erasmus was moving again. The cellar was walled from floor to ceiling in boxes and packing cases. “It’s fascinating. The principles of enlightenment that your republic was founded on—you realize they were smothered in the cradle, in the history I know of? Yes, by all means, the Parliamentary Settlement and the exile were great innovations for their time—but the idea of a republic! Separation of Church and State, a bill of rights, a universal franchise! After the second Leveler revolt, demands for such rights became something of a dead issue here, emphasis on the dead if you follow me…hmm.” He stopped in a cleared space between three walls of crates, a paraffin lamp hanging from a beam overhead.

“This is a rather big shop,” Miriam commented, tightening her grip on the gun.

“So it should be.” He glanced at her, saw the hand in her pocket. “Are you going to shoot me?”

“Why should I?” She tensed.

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “You’ve obviously got some scheme in mind, one that means someone no good, whatever else you’re doing here. And I might know too much.”

Miriam came to a decision and took her hand out of her pocket—empty.

“And I’m not an innocent either,” Erasmus added, gesturing at the crates. “I’m glad you decided not to shoot. Niter of glycerol takes very badly to sudden shocks.”

Miriam took a deep breath and paused, trying to get a grip on herself. She felt a sudden stab of apprehension: The stakes in his game were much higher than she’d realized. This was a police state, and Erasmus wasn’t just a harmless dealer in illegal publications. “Listen, I have no intention of shooting anyone if I can avoid it. And I don’t care about you being a Leveler quartermaster with a basement full of explosives—at least, as long as I don’t live next door to you. It’s none of my damn business, and whatever you think, I didn’t come here to get involved in your politics. Even if it sounds better than, than what’s out there right now. On the other hand, I have my own, uh, political problems.”

Erasmus raised an eyebrow. “So who are your enemies?”

Miriam bit her lip. Can I trust him this far? She couldn’t see any choices at this point but, even so, taking him into her confidence was a big step. “I don’t know,” she said reluctantly. “They’re probably well-off. Like me, they can travel between worlds—not to the one in the book I gave you, which is my own, but to a much poorer, medieval one. One in which Christianity never got established as the religion in Rome, the dark ages lasted longer, and the Norse migration reached and settled this coast, as far inland as the Appalachians, and the Chinese empire holds the west. These people will be involved in trading, from here to there—I’m not sure what, but I believe ownership of gold is something to investigate. They’ll probably be a large and prosperous family, possibly ennobled in the past century or two, and they’ll be rich and conservative. Not exactly fellow travelers.”

“And what is your problem with them?”

“They keep trying to kill me.” Now she’d said it, confiding in him felt easier. “They come from over here. This is their power base, Erasmus. I believe they consider me a threat to them. I want to find them before they find me, and order things in a more satisfactory manner.”

“I think I see.” He made a steeple of his fingers. “Do you want them to die?”

“Not necessarily,” she said hesitantly. “But I want to know who they are, and where they came here from, and to stop their agents trying to kill me. I’ve got a couple of suspicions about who they are that I need to confirm. If I’m correct I might be able to stop the killing.”

“I suggest you tell me your story then,” said Erasmus. “And we’ll see if there’s anything we can do about it.” He raised his voice, causing her to start. “Aubrey! You can cease your lurking. If you’d be so good as to fetch the open bottle of port and three glasses, you may count yourself in for a long story.” He smiled humorlessly. “You’ve got our undivided attention, ma’am. I suggest you use it wisely…”

Back at the hotel a couple of hours later, Miriam changed into her evening dress and went downstairs, unaccompanied, for a late buffet supper. The waiter was unaccountably short with her, but found her a solitary small table in a dark corner of the dining room. The soup was passable, albeit slightly cool, and a cold roast with vegetables filled the empty corners of her stomach. She watched the well-dressed men and few women in the hotel from her isolated vantage point, and felt abruptly lonely. Is it just ordinary homesickness? she wondered, or culture shock? One or two hooded glances came her way, but she avoided eye contact and in any event nobody attempted to engage her in conversation. It’s as if I’m invisible, she thought.

She didn’t stay for dessert. Instead she retreated to her room and sought sollace with a long bath and an early night.

The next morning she warned the concierge that she would be away for a few days and would not need her room, but would like her luggage stored. Then she took a cab to the lawyer’s office. “Your papers are here, ma’am,” said Bates’s secretary.

“Is Mr. Bates free?” she asked. “Just a minute of his time.”

“I’ll just check.” A minute of finger twiddling passed. “Yes, come in, please.”

“Ah, Mr. Bates?” She smiled. “Have you made progress with your inquiries?”

He nodded. “I am hoping to hear about, the house tomorrow,” he said. “Its occupant, a Mr. Soames, apparently passed away three months ago and it is lying vacant as part of his estate. As his son lives in El Dorado, I suspect an offer for it may be received with gratitude. As to the company—” He shrugged. “What business shall I put on it?”

Miriam thought for a moment. “Call it a design bureau,” she said. “Or an engineering company.”

“That will be fine.” Bates nodded. “Is there anything else?”

“I’m going to be away for a week or so,” she said. “Shall I leave a deposit behind for the house?”

“I’m sure your word would be sufficient,” he said graciously. “Up to what level may I offer?”

“If it goes over a thousand pounds I’ll have to make special arrangements to transfer the funds.”