Hulius appeared at the top of the staircase, wearing a towel around his waist, long blond hair hanging damply: “what ruins?”
“The black stones in the forest. Those ruins.”
“What stones—” Yul looked blank for a moment, then his expression cleared. “Oh, those. Are they important?”
“Are they—” Huw tugged at his hair distractedly. “Lightning Child! Do I have to explain everything in words of one syllable? Where’s Elena?”
“She’s in the—hey, what’s up?”
I’m hyperventilating again. Stop it, Huw told himself. Not that it seemed to help much. “There’s no radio, it’s really cold, and you stumbled across a fucking road! Or what’s left of one. Not a dirt track or cobblestones, but asphalt! Do I have to do all the thinking around here?”
“What’s so special about asphalt?” Hulius asked, hitching up his towel as he came downstairs.
“What’s so special? Well, maybe it means there was a civilization there not so long ago!” Nervous energy had Huw bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. “Think, bro. If there was a civilization there, what else does it mean?”
“There were people there?” Hulius perked up. “Hey, I think that rates at least a bottle of wine…”
“We’re going back over, tomorrow,” Huw said bluntly. “I’ll e-mail a report to the duke tonight. Then we’re going to double-check on that road and see where it leads.”
Pursuit
The small house hunkered a short way back from the sidewalk, one of a row of houses in an area that wasn’t exactly cheap—nowhere in Boston was cheap—but that had once been affordable for ordinary working people. Brilliana knew it quite well. She’d been watching it discreetly for over an hour, and she was pretty sure that nobody was home and, more important, nobody else was watching it. Which suited her just fine, because if it was under surveillance what she was about to do would quite possibly get her killed.
Swallowing to clear her over-dry mouth, Brill opened the car door and stepped out into the hot summer sunlight. She slung the oversized leather handbag on her left shoulder, discreetly checking that she could get a hand into it in a hurry, then let the door of the rental car swing shut. The key was in the ignition: the risk of someone stealing the car was, in her view, minor compared to the risk of not being able to get away fast if things went wrong.
The road was clear. She glanced both ways before crossing it, a final check for concealed watchers. I hope Paulie’s all right, she fretted. The ominous turn of recent events was bad enough for those who could look after themselves. Paulette wasn’t a player, and didn’t have the wherewithal to escape if things spun out of control. And Brill owed her. Not that she’d had much time to demonstrate it, lately—the past week had run her ragged, and this was the first free day she’d had to spend in the United States for weeks.
She paused for a moment at the front door, straining for any sign of wrongness, then shrugged. The key slid into the lock and turned smoothly: Brill let herself inside, then closed the door behind her. “Paulie?” She called softly.
No reply. The house felt empty. Brill began to relax. She’s shopping, or at work. Whatever “work” meant these days—Brill couldn’t be sure, but the huge mess that Miriam had landed in had probably cut Paulie loose from her sinecure. She glanced around the living room. The flat-screen TV was new, but the furniture was the same. Yo, big spender! Paulette wasn’t stupid about money. She kept a low profile. Hopefully she’d avoided being caught up in the dragnet so far.
Brill put her bag down on the kitchen counter and pulled out a black box. Switching it on, she paced out the ground floor rooms, front to back, checking corners and walls and especially light fittings. The bug detector stayed stubbornly green-lit. “Good,” she said aloud as she stashed it back in the bag. Next, she pulled out another box equipped with a telephone socket and extension cable, and plugged each of the phone handsets into it in order. A twitter of dialing tones, but the speaker on the box stayed silent: nobody had sneaked an infinity bug onto her landline. That left the Internet link, and Brill didn’t know enough about that to be sure she could sweep Paulie’s computer for spyware; but she was pretty sure that unplugged PCs didn’t snoop on conversations.
“Okay…” Brill picked up her bag and scouted the top floor briefly, then returned to the kitchen. The carton of half-and-half in the fridge was fresh, and there was a neat pile of unopened mail on the tabletop, the most recent postmarked the day before. And there was no dust. She checked her watch: ten past four. Might as well wait, she thought, and began to set up the coffee machine.
An hour later, Brill heard footsteps on the front path, and a rattle of keys. She dropped her magazine and stood up silently, standing just inside the living room door as the front door opened. One person, alone. She tensed for a moment, then recognized Paulette. “Hey, Paulie,” she called.
“What!” A clatter of dropped bags. Brill stepped into the passageway. “Brill! How did you—”
Brill raised a finger to her lips. Paulette glared at her, then bent down to pick up the spilled grocery bags. “Let me,” Brill murmured. “Shut the door.” She gathered the bags: Paulette didn’t need prompting twice, and locked the front door before turning back to stare at her, hands on hips.
“What do you want?”
Brilliana shrugged apologetically. “To talk to you. Do you have a cellular telephone?”
“Yes.” Paulie’s hand tightened on her handbag.
“Please switch it off and remove the battery.”
“But—” Paulie looked round once, then shook her head. “Like that, is it?” she asked, then reached into her bag and pulled out a phone. “What happens next?” Brilliana waited. After a moment Paulette slid the battery out of the phone. “Is that what you wanted?”
Brill nodded. “Thank you. I’d already swept your house for bugs. Would you like a coffee? I’m afraid I’ve been here a while, it’s probably stale, but I could make some more—”
Paulette managed a brief chuckle of laughter. “You slay me, kid.”
“No, never.” Brill managed a wan smile. “I apologize for breaking in. But I had to check that you weren’t under observation.”
“Observation—” Paulette frowned “—why do I get the feeling I’m not going to like this?”
“Because.” Brill took a deep breath: “You’re not going to like it. Before I say any more—when did you last see Miriam?”
“Shit, kid.” For a moment Paulette’s face twisted in pain. “She’s in trouble, isn’t she?”
“When did you last see her?” Brilliana repeated.
“Must be, let me see…about three months ago. We did lunch. Why?” Her expression was guarded.
Brill sighed. “You’re right, she’s in trouble. The good news is, I’ve been ordered to get her out of it. The duke thinks it can be papered over, if she cooperates. I can’t promise you anything, but if you happen to see her, if you could make sure that’s the first thing you tell her…?”
Paulie frowned. “I’m telling you the truth.”
“I know that,” Brill said quietly. “Not everybody would choose to believe you, though. They’d want to believe you’re protecting her. She’s missing, Paulie. Nobody’s seen her for a week, and we’re pretty sure she’s on the run. I’m talking to you because I figure if she makes it over here you’re one of the first people she’ll turn to for help—”
“What do you mean, if?”
“It is a long story.” Brill pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and sat down. “I know part of it. I think you know another part of it?” She raised an eyebrow, but Paulette stared at her mulishly and refused to answer. “All right. Three months ago, Miriam did something really foolish. She stole some information about a project she was not supposed to know of, and then she tried to bluff her way into it. It’s a Clan operation on this side, that’s all I’m allowed to say, and she tampered with the Clan’s postal service—that alone is a high crime. To make matters
worse, she was caught by the wrong person, a conservative member of the council’s security oversight board. What Miriam did, that sort of thing—” she shrugged uncomfortably “—carries the death penalty. I’m not exaggerating. Sneaking into that particular operation—” She stopped. “You know the one I’m talking about?”
Paulie nodded once, sharply. “She told me what she was going to do. I tried to talk her out of it, but she wasn’t listening.”
Brilliana rolled her eyes. “I am going to pretend I didn’t hear what you just said, because if I had heard you say it, certain superiors of mine would want to know why I didn’t kill you on the spot.”
“Ah—” Paulette’s face paled. “Thanks, I think.”
“No problem. Just remember, those are the stakes. Don’t let anyone else know that you know.” Brill gestured at the coffee machine. “Shall I refill it? This may take some time.”
“Be my guest.” There was no trace of irony in Paulette’s voice. “You meant that. About the Clan’s involvement in a fertility clinic being so secret people can be killed out of hand for knowing about it?”
Brill stood up and walked over to the coffee machine. “Yes, Paulie, I am absolutely serious. The project the center is working on is either going to change the structure of the Clan completely, and for the better—or it will trigger a civil war. What’s more, the authorities here are now aware of the Clan’s existence. There have been disturbing signs of covert operations…If they discover what has been happening at the clinic, we can’t be certain how they will respond, but the worst case is that several thousand innocent teenagers and their parents will find themselves on a one-way trip down the rabbit hole.” She finished with the coffeemaker and switched it on.
“I find that hard—”
“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 prototype, if you like. Raised outside the Clan. Not uncivilized, but she thinks like an American. They all want to see how—if—she can be integrated. If she’s going to fit in. If Miriam can learn to be part of the Clan, then so can the children. But if not…in fifty years time they could be a majority of our members. And the established elders will not willingly give up their power, or that of their children, in favor of uncivilized upstarts. Think what Miriam is going to do to their lives, if she makes a mess of things now!” Brill stopped abruptly. Her shoulders were shaking.
“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 issues,” Brill said bitterly. “I believe that is the accepted euphemism. Over here, it’s easy enough to say ‘test tube baby.’” Over there…” She lapsed into silence as the coffee machine began to burble and spit. “In any case. To the matter in hand: Miriam stuck her nose into sensitive business—making life much harsher for people she has never met—and was imprisoned, under house arrest. Baron Henryk decided to see if he could domesticate her, using the stick alongside the carrot.”
“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 that?”
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. You will remember that?”
“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. Especially when the friend in question is one of the two people who Miriam is most likely to go to for help, she added silently, and resolved to check back on what progress her employees had made with the other one as soon as possible.
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.
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