The Trade of Queens

“The hell with that.” Miriam glared at her. “These are my people, aren’t they? I need to be here.” And I need to know … The sense of dread gnawing at her guts was beyond awful.

In late afternoon, despite the apparent defection of most of the Clan postal office’s lords to the traitors’ side—at least, it was hard to put any other interpretation on their total failure to comply with the executive head of Clan Security’s increasingly heated orders to report—they managed to establish a solid radio network with the other security sites in the Gruinmarkt; and the New York office was still sufficiently functional to arrange a three-hourly courier run with digital video tapes from the Anglischprache world’s news feeds. Shortwave and FM didn’t have the bandwidth to play back video, but the headlines off the wire services were more than enough to make Miriam sick to her stomach and leave Brilliana and Sir Alasdair anxious for her health.

REUTERS: THIRD ATOMIC WEAPON FAILS TO DETONATE AT PENTAGON

AP: FLIGHTS, STOCK MARKET TRADING SUSPENDED INDEFINITELY

REUTERS: VICE PRESIDENT SWORN IN AS WHITE HOUSE CONFIRMED DESTROYED: PRESIDENT WAS “AT HOME”

UPI: IRAN CONDEMNS “FOOLISH AND ILL-ADVISED” ATTACK

REUTERS: SADR LEADS NIGHTTIME DEMONSTRATION IN BAGHDAD: MILLION PROTESTORS IN FIRDOS SQUARE

AP: PRESIDENT TO ADDRESS NATION

But there was even more important news.

At first there was nothing more than a knot of turmoil around the table where Olga and three clerical assistants were coordinating intelligence reports and updating the list of known survivors and victims of the coup attempt. “I don’t believe it,” said Sir Alasdair, making his way back towards Miriam. “It can’t be a coincidence!” His expression was glazed, distant.

“What’s happened?” Brill, who had been leaning over a clipboard crossing off the names of couriers who had made too many crossings for the day, looked up at the tone in Miriam’s voice.

“The duke,” said Sir Alasdair. He cleared his throat. “I am very sorry, my lady. Your uncle. The latest report from the clinic says. Um. He went into cardiac arrest this morning.”

“This morning?” Miriam caught Brilliana staring at her. She clutched the arm of her folding director’s chair. “Can’t be. Can’t possibly be. Are they sure?” She swallowed. Angbard, the thin white duke: For over thirty years he’d been the guiding will behind the Clan Security operation, the hand that held the reins binding the disparate squabbling families together. Since his stroke two months ago his duties had been carved up and assigned to Olga and Riordan, but not without question or challenge: The Clan Council was not eager to see any individual ever again wield that much power. “He’s dead?” She heard her voice rising and raised a hand to cover her mouth.

“If it’s a coincidence I’ll eat this table. I’m sorry, my lady,” Sir Alasdair added, “but it can’t possibly be an accident. Not with a revolt in progress and, and the other news. From the Americans.”

“Brill, I’m sorry—” Miriam’s voice broke. Angbard hadn’t felt like an uncle to her— more like a scary Mafia godfather who, for no obvious reason, had taken a liking to her—but he’d been a huge influence on Brilliana. And Olga, Miriam reminded herself. Shit. “Is there any word on who killed him? Because when we find them—”

“It wasn’t a killing, according to the clinic,” Sir Alasdair reminded her. “Although it beggars belief to suppose it a coincidence, for now it must needs be but one more insult to avenge at our convenience. One of our doctors was in attendance, Dr. ven Hjalmar—”

“Shit. Shit.” Miriam clenched her fist. Brill was watching her, a dangerous light in her eyes.

Sir Alasdair paused. “Is there a problem?” he asked.

“Dr. ven Hjalmar is a wanted man,” Brilliana said, her tone colorless.

“Very,” Miriam added, her voice cracking. “Sir Alasdair. Should you or your men find Dr. ven Hjalmar … I will sleep better for knowing that he’s dead.”

Sir Alasdair nodded. “I’m sure that can be arranged.” He paused. “Is there a reason?”

Brilliana cleared her throat. “A necessary and sufficient one that need not concern you further. Oh, and his murder of Duke Angbard should be sufficient, should it not?”

“Ah—really?” Sir Alasdair’s eyebrow rose. “Well, if you say so—” He noticed Miriam’s expression. “You’re sure?”

“Very sure,” she said flatly.

“In that case, I’ll put the order out. By your leave.” Sir Alasdair beat a hasty retreat.

Miriam glanced at Brill, trying to gather her wits. “Come on, I want to find out what’s happening.”

The card indexes, divided by faction members and known status, were growing in size and complexity—and a third list had joined the first two: known fatalities. Earl Riordan was deep in conversation with one of his lieutenants as Miriam approached him—“Then tomorrow morning, we shall relocate to Koudrivier House. Assign two lances to establish a security cordon and a third for courier and doppelganger duties. The rest of your men I want—my lady?” He straightened up. “What can I do for you?”

“My uncle is dead,” Miriam managed, the words feeling strange in her mouth. The uncle I never had time to get to know has been murdered.… “Is my mother accounted for? Or my grandmother?”

Earl Riordan looked irritated for a moment, then thoughtful. “Your grandam is unaccounted for. Along with several of her friends, who appear to be involved in the insurrection.” He turned to one of the clerks and asked a question in rapid hochsprache. “We shall find out about about her grace your mother shortly, I trust. Is there anything else?”

“Yes.” Miriam gripped her hands tightly behind her back. “The duke is dead. How fast can we get a quorum of the Clan Council together? Just enough to confirm”—she caught Olga’s head turning towards her, the warning look too late—“you as official head of Clan Security,” she continued. “And an extraordinary meeting to discuss policy.”

“We’ll do that as soon as—” Riordan glanced at the map table across the aisle from his clerks. “We have a cabal of insurrectionists to arrest first—”

“No.” The firmness in her voice surprised Miriam. Even though her guts were burning, acid bile and churning stress in her belly: Can’t stop now. “I don’t think you grasp how far this has gone. WARBUCKS has just been sworn in as president. You know he worked for the duke: This is a comprehensive clusterfuck. WARBUCKS wants to destroy us, destroy the evidence, and the fuckwit faction have just handed him the perfect excuse. The American military are going to find a way to come over here and they will kill everybody. You’re thinking months or weeks. We probably don’t have that long.” Miriam stared at Riordan. He was not entirely an enigma, but she couldn’t say that she knew him well; another of the younger generation, like Roland, educated to college level or higher in the United States, but bound to serve in the traditional family trade. “We just nuked the White House,” she reminded him. “What would you do in their shoes?”

“I’d—” His expression would have been funny if the situation hadn’t been so serious. “Oh. Scheisse.” A momentary expression of pure disgust flickered across his face. “What do you suggest?”

“We need to establish safe locations in New Britain right now, today. Get our people across there, start setting up an evacuation pipeline. You’re right about suppressing the, the rebels—but we’re not going back to business as usual over here. Never again. They won’t give us time; if we want to survive we need to evacuate. There are folk I know who might be able to help us, if we can—”

Riordan raised a hand. “There will be no cutting and running,” he said firmly. “Your point is well taken, but if we ‘cut and run’ while the houses are divided, our organization will … it won’t remain viable. The rebels will harry us and our less loyal relatives will desert us, until there’s nothing left. The Clan stands or dies as a group. But.” He looked at Brilliana. “My lady, this world is not safe for her royal highness, not now, and probably not for some time. And she is quite right about the need for us to prepare an evacuation pipeline, against the hazard she so vividly identifies. Can you take her to New Britain and see to her safety?”

“Now wait a—” Miriam began, but Brill cut in before she could get going.

“Yes, I can do that.” She nodded. “I’ll need muscle. Sir Alasdair, her royal highness’s household, a number of