“What do you think the clinic’s doing?” Brill demanded.
“What?” Paulette shook her head. “It’s a fertility clinic, isn’t it? It helps people have babies. Artificial insemination, that kind of…” she trailed off.
“Yup,” Brill said lightly. “And they’ve been helping couples have children for nearly twenty years now. The fact that the children just happen to be de facto outer family members, carriers of the world-walking trait, is an extra. The clinic is still helping couples who’re desperate to have children.” She looked down at the table. “Half of the children are female. In due course, some of them will be getting letters from a surrogacy agency, offering them good money for the use of their wombs. And they’ll be helping other couples have children, too. Children who will be world-walkers. And when they grow up, they’ll get a very special job offer.”
Paulette nodded slowly. “I’d gotten that much.”
“About twenty years from now, the Clan’s going to have to absorb a thousand Miriams, and their male counterparts. They’ll all crop up at once, over about a decade. A torrent of world-walkers. At the peak of our power, before the civil war, there were less than ten thousand of us; now, I’m not sure, but I think only a couple of thousand, at most. Think what that change means. One of the reasons everyone has been bearing down on Miriam is that she’s, she’s a
“What’s it to you?” Paulie demanded. She stared at Brilliana for a few seconds, then jammed her fist across her mouth. “Oh. Oh shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”
“Not your fault. My mother had…difficulties. Around the time the clinic was being set up. Angbard proposed to my father that he and my mother…”
“Oh. Oh dear.”
“My father has
“What kind of carrot? And stick?”
“He promised not to execute her, if she married the King’s younger son, the Idiot. She agreed—reluctantly. And to ensure the succession, he arranged for artificial insem—are you all right, my lady?”
Paulette finished coughing. “Bastards.” She stared at Brill blearily. “The bastard. He did
Brill shrugged. “Evidently. He didn’t tell Angbard: this all came to light later, by which time it was too late. There was a betrothal ceremony, to be followed by a wedding at the palace. Egon—the Idiot’s elder brother—got wind of it, and realized he would be a liability once the younger brother’s wife bore a child, so he—”
“Hang on, this is the crown prince we’re talking about? Why would his younger brother’s offspring be a threat?”
“Creon might be damaged, but he’s outer family. There’s a test. The clinic only developed it in the past two years. Egon is not even outer family, he is merely royalty. Obviously, he was afraid that once a royal Clan member was to hand, he might suffer an unfortunate hunting accident. So he contrived an explosion in the great hall and proceeded to kill his father, usurp the throne, and start a civil war in the Gruinmarkt. In the middle of all this, Miriam disappeared. She is either here, or in New Britain. I have agents searching for her over there, and over here—” she shrugged again “—I thought she’d come to you if she was in trouble.”
“Oh sweet Mary, mother of God…” The coffeemaker spluttered and hissed as Paulette stood up and shuffled over to it. She pulled two mugs down from the cupboard: “How do you take yours? White, no sugar, isn’t it?”
“Yes, please.” Brill waited while Paulette filled the mugs and carried them over to the table. Finally she said, in a small voice, “Her plight is perilous.”
Paulette froze for a few seconds. “I seem to recall you said this was good news. Is there anything worse?”
“Oh, plenty.” Brill picked up her mug. “Your government knows about us now. We have reason to believe they know Miriam is connected to us, too. They obviously don’t know about you yet, because they haven’t dragged you off to a secret underground detention facility. Hopefully they won’t notice you—they are tracing the Clan courier routes, which you have never been connected with—but if she shows up on your doorstep, there is a chance they will follow her and find you.” She reached into her handbag and pulled out a business card case. “Here’s my mobile number. If Miriam shows up, ring me at once. If I’m not there, the phone will be answered by a trusted associate. Tell them the word
“Bolt-hole.” Paulette licked her lips.
“They’ll tell you where to go and what to do. From that moment on, we will ensure your security. Once we’ve got Miriam back, if you want to go home we’ll make sure it’s safe to do so.” She paused. Paulette was staring at something on the table. Following her gaze, Brill noticed her handbag was gaping. “Oh. I am sorry.” She reached across and flipped it shut.
“You’re carrying. Concealed.”
“Yes.” Brill met her gaze evenly. “It’s not meant for you.”
“Why—” Paulette stopped for a moment. “Why don’t you shoot me? If there’s such a security risk? Surely I know too much?”
“I don’t believe you know anything that could jeopardize our security. The breeding program is being moved: the patient records are already in a safe location while a new clinic is set up. So, strictly speaking, you can’t actually harm us. Besides.” She pulled up a wan grin: “I try not to kill my friends.”
Paulette chuckled weakly. After a moment, Brill joined in.
Things in New Britain had clearly gone to hell in a hand-basket while she’d been away, but Miriam’s first intimation that they might have more personal consequences for her came from the set of Erasmus’s shoulders as the streetcar rumbled and clanked past the end of the street.
“What is it?” she asked, as he raised his newspaper to shield his face from the window.
“We’re getting off at the next stop,” he said, standing up to ring the bell. The streetcar turned a corner, wheels screeching on their track, and began to slow. “Come on.”
Miriam followed him out onto the high street’s sidewalk. “Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”
“The shop’s under surveillance.” His expression was grim.
“I see.” They walked past a post box.
“I’m going back there, by the back alley.” He reached into an inner pocket and passed her a small envelope. “You might want to wait in the tearoom up New Bridge Way. If I don’t reappear within half an hour—”
“I’ve got a better idea,” she interrupted. “I’m going first. If there’s someone inside—”
“It’s too—”
“No, Erasmus, going in on your own is the dumbest thing you can do. Come on, let’s go.”
He paused by the entrance to an alleyway. “You don’t want to make my life easy, woman.”
“I don’t want to see you get yourself arrested or mugged, no.”
“Hah. Remember last time?”
“Come on.” She entered the alley.
Piles of rubbish subsided against damp-rotted brickwork: galvanized steel trash cans composting week-dead bones and fireplace ashes. Miriam stifled a gag reflex as Burgeson fumbled with a rusting latchkey set in a wooden gate. The gate creaked open on an overgrown yard piled with coal and metalwork. Erasmus headed for a flight of cellar steps opening opposite. Miriam swallowed, and squeezed past him. “What exactly are we picking up?” she asked.
He glanced over his shoulder: “Clothing, cash, and an antiquarian book.”
“Must be some book.” He nodded jerkily. “Who was watching the shop?”