The Revolution Business

'Meanwhile, Earl Riordan sent his compliments, and would like to know what additional resources you need to move the duke, and when you'll be ready.'

Since when is he employing you as a messenger boy? Olga stepped aside from the window and turned to face him. 'I've got a corpsman and two soldiers, one to do the portage and one secondary bodyguard; between them they're a stretcher team. That's plenty until we get to the crossover point. What I then need is for Grieffen or whoever's in Central Ops to arrange to have a secure ambulance waiting for us in Concord at zero four hundred hours, and I need their mobile number so I can guide them in when we cross over.' She patted her belt. 'I've got a GPS unit and a phone. We'll travel with everyone else as far as the drop zone then continue on a little further before we go back to the United States.' It wasn't the entire truth-and not just because she didn't trust the Baron. Oliver was trustworthy after his own fashion; but his loyalty was to his conception of the Clan, not to Olga's faction. He didn't have any need to know the details, and Olga wasn't inclined to take even the remotest of risks with the duke's personal security.

'Do you want me to arrange the ambulance?' he asked attentively.

That did it: He was questioning her competence. 'No!' she snapped. 'I'll do it myself. The sooner I see him in a hospital bed the happier I'll be.' Moving an acute stroke patient was risky enough without trying to do it in the dark, possibly under fire, and without benefit of any specialized medication more sophisticated than a couple of aspirin; the only reason even to consider it was out there in the dark and the chaos before the gatehouse, broken on the wheel.

'So will we all,' he said piously, turning to leave.

The hours passed quickly, in a frenzy of preparations for the evacuation. Not everyone was to leave; someone had to light the keep, fill the helmets visibly watching over it, and fire the occasional volley to convince the besieging forces that the palace wasn't an empty prize. But eight in every ten men and women would be world- walking out of the Hjalmar Palace before dawn, stealing away like thieves in the night once the hastily printed and laminated knotwork cards arrived. Almost everyone-Olga, the duke, and the wounded excepted-would return, with the early morning sun at their backs, half a mile behind the pretender's encampment. Trapped between the machine guns on the battlements and the rifles and recoilless rockets of the mobile force, the royalists would have scant time to regret their misplaced allegiance; their best strategy ought to be to melt back into the trees again. But from the lack of movement in the enemy camp it looked as if they'd swallowed the bait: While they clearly knew of the world-walker's ability, it seemed that they had not fully understood its tactical significance. That, or their commander was getting greedy.

Olga took a couple of hours to catch a nap, on a cot at the end of Angbard's bed. She awakened in near- darkness as a hand touched her shoulder. She grasped a wrist almost before she opened her eyes. 'What time? …'

'Midnight plus four minutes, milady.' The soldier-a stocky woman called Irma, one of Helmut's lance and the daughter of an earl, if Olga remembered her rightly-straightened up. 'Martyn and I are your detail, along with Gerd'-the corpsman-'to take his grace to safety, is that right?'

'Yes,' Olga said tersely. She rubbed her eyes and sat up, shook her head to clear the cobwebs, and yawned. 'You have a stretcher, yes? And suitable clothes.'

'A stretcher, aye,' Gerd called softly from the far side of the four-poster bed. 'He still sleeps, milady,' he added, forestalling her next question.

Irma grimaced. 'I hate stretchers.' She stepped back, to leave Olga some space. 'On the subject of suitable clothes-we are going to America, to meet an ambulance, at dead of night, I was told? But this other world, I've never been there before. So I don't know what's a suitable disguise for sneaking around there…'

'Don't worry about that aspect of things, we've got transport.' I hope. Olga sat up creakily. 'Here's the plan. We're going to cross over with everyone else. Have the cards arrived yet?' Irma shook her head. 'Well. When they arrive-it's a new world. This site is undeveloped farmland. Our agents have laid on trucks, and they'll drive Captain Hjorth and his force to the drop-off point for the counterattack. We'll be taking a car into Irongate, which is near as makes no difference sitting on the south side of Concord, and where there's a doppelgangered building in this world. Then we make two more transfers, crossing back at zero five hundred, and I'll phone for an ambulance. I've got GPS, so we should be picked up within half an hour. Our main challenges are: keeping his grace comfortable, avoiding attention from the locals, and not killing ourselves by world-walking too much. Is that clear?'

'Yes, milady. Makes things easier.' Irma shook her head. 'Four crossings in four hours-that's harsh.'

'Yes. That's why for the first crossing we'll all be going piggyback on whichever members of your lance draw the short straws. And for the second crossing, Gerd will carry his grace and Martyn will carry you. On the third crossing, you can take the duke. The fourth will be the hardest, but that way, only one of us risks breaking our head.'

'Do you think we should ditch our field gear?'

Olga thought for a moment. 'If it's not too much to carry, I think we should hang onto it until we're ready to make the final transit. But once we hit Concord'-she paused-'we can't be wearing armor or carrying long arms. What clothing did you find for us?'

'Nothing for sure, milady, we must see if it fits-but the baron's family maintained a wardrobe with some American clothing, and it has not been looted yet. I hope,' she added under her breath.

'Let's go see, shall we,' Olga suggested, stretching as she stood up. Her own state she passed over: She and Angbard had never expected to wind up here, and her neat trouser suit would be fine. 'We need clothing that will pass at a distance for Gerd, Martyn, and you.'

'This way, then.' Irma led her from the master bedroom into an adjacent room, its rich paneling splintered and holed by small arms fire. Chests of drawers and a huge wooden chest dominated half a wall. 'I think this is what you're looking for.'

Late afternoon.

Miriam segued into wakefulness to the rattle and jabber of daytime television fuzzed into incoherence through a thin stud wall. Gathering her wits, she rolled over. The bed isn't moving, she realized. She'd found it difficult to rest, her worries chasing their tails through her mind, but she'd spent the last few nights on a transcontinental express train and the novelty of a bed that didn't sway side-to-side and periodically bump across railroad points had eventually drawn her down into a deep abyss of dreamless sleep. Yawning, she sat up and rolled off the comforter. What time is it?… She glanced at the dressing table. Her notebook PC sat there, its LEDs winking as it charged. Whether it would start up was a moot point-it had spent six months in a hidden compartment in a disused office-but it had a clock; maybe it would still be working. She reached over and pressed the power button, then started gathering her clothes.

The regular startup chord and busy clicking of a hard disk provided welcome background noise as she dressed; but as the computer seemed to want to twiddle its thumbs instead of talking to her, she locked the screen and headed for the bathroom, and then the stairs, rather than waiting. To think that only four days ago she'd risked arrest and imprisonment to retake the thing, seeing it as central to her hopes for survival and prosperity!… Her understanding of her circumstances was changing almost from hour to hour, leaving her adrift and unable to rely on plans she'd made only the day before. It gave her an anxious sense of insecurity, rising to the level of nervous dread whenever her thoughts circled back to the pregnancy question.

The television noise was coming from the living room, along with other sounds. As Miriam pushed the door open she caught a burst of conversation: 'She's right, then what are we going to do? We won't be able to go back! Had you thought of'-A blond head turned-'Oh, hi!'

Miriam paused. 'I hope I'm not interrupting anything…'

'Not really.' Huw was slouched in a recliner, propping up a laptop, while the two younger ones, Yul and Elena, had been either watching TV or arguing about something while sharing a large pizza of uncertain parentage. 'Feel free to join us.'

'Yah,' agreed Yul, chewing rhythmically.

Elena thumped him. 'Don't talk with your mouth full!'

'Yuh.' He took her punch on one shoulder, looking amused rather than hurt.

Miriam turned to address Huw. 'Where's Brill?'

'Oh, she went out.' He sounded disinterested. 'Hmm, that's interesting.'