The Clan Corporate (ARC)

by Charles Stross

  Outside in the corridor, Miriam found a nervous Kara shifting from foot to foot impatiently. "Oh, milady! Can we go now?"

  "Sure." Miriam walked toward the staircase, her expression pensive. "Kara, do you know what Baron Henryk does here?"

  "Milady!" Kara stared at Miriam, her eyes wide. "I thought you knew!"

  "Knew? Knew what?" Miriam shook her head.

  Kara scurried closer before whispering loudly. "The baron is his majesty's master of spies! He collects intelligence for the crown, from countries far and wide, even from across the eastern ocean! I thought you knew . . ."

  Miriam stopped dead, halfway down the first flight of stairs. I just barged in on the Director of Central Intelligence, she thought sickly. And he told me I'm under house arrest. Then: "Hang on, you mean he's the king's spymaster? Not the Clan's?"

  "Well, yes! He's a sworn baron, milady, sworn to his majesty, or hadn't you noticed?" Kara's attempt at sarcasm fell flat, undermined by her frightened expression. "We're all his majesty's loyal subjects, here, aren't we? Aren't we?"

  Translated Transcript begins

  (Click.)

  "Ah, your lordship, how good to see you!"

  "On the contrary, the honor is mine, your grace." (Wheezing.) "Here. Walther, a chair for his grace, damnit. And a port for each of us, then make yourself scarce. Yes, the special reserve. I'm sure you've been even busier than I, your grace, this being a tedious little backwater most of the time, but if there's anything I can do for you-"

  "Nonsense, Henryk, you never sleep! The boot is on the other foot and the prisoner shrieking his plea as you heat it. You won't get me with that nonsense-ah, thank you Walther."

  "That will be all."

  (Sound of door closing.)

  "Sky Father's eye! That's good stuff. Please tell me it's not the last bottle?"

  "Indeed not, your grace, and I have it on good authority that there is at least a case left in the Thorold Palace cellars." (Pause.) "Six?" (Pause.) "Five? Damn your eyes, four and that's my lowest!"

  "I'll have them sent over forthwith. Now, what brings you round here in a screaming hurry, nephew, when I'm sure there are plenty of other fires for you to be pissing on? Would I be right in thinking it's something to do with woman trouble? And if so, which one?"

  (Clink of glassware.)

  "You know perfectly well which one could get me out of the office, pills or no pills. It's the old bitches, Henryk, they are meddling in that of which they know not, and they are going to blow the entire powder keg sky-high if I don't find a way to stop them. And I can't just bang them up in a garret like the young pullet-"

  "The shrew?"

  "She's not a shrew, she's just overenthusiastic. A New Woman. They've got lots of them on the other side, I hear. But the old one, her manners may be good but her poison is of a fine vintage and she is getting much too close to our corporate insurance policy. Even if she doesn't know it yet."

  "Your sister-"

  "Crone's pawn, uncle, Crone's pawn. Do you think it was coincidence that it was Helge who came calling on you, and not Patricia? Patricia is in a cleft stick and dare not even hiss or rattle her tail, lest the old bitches lop it off. If we could move her back to the other side things would be different, but it's all I can do to keep the situation over there from coming apart on us completely-we've lost more couriers in the past month than in the preceding decade, and if I can't stop the leakage I fear we will have to shut the network down completely. Sending Patricia back simply isn't an option, and now that she's here she's less effective than we expected. It's that blasted wasting disease. The old bitches and their quackery have her mewed up like a kitten in a sack. Meanwhile, Helge isn't much use to us here, either. I've sent her Lady B to take her in hand, which might begin to repair the damage to her high esteem among her relatives, in a year or three-or at least stop her from dancing blind in the minefield-but you can see how isolated she is. A real disappointment. I had such high hopes that those two might tackle the bitches, but the cultural barrier is just too high."

  "Come now, Angbard, there's no need to be so pessimistic! The best-laid plans, et cetera. So what do you think the old she-devil is up to?"

  "Well, I can't be certain, but she's certainly done something to shut Patricia up. And I find it somewhat fascinating to see Helge outmaneuvered so thoroughly without even knowing who she's up against."

  "Do you think Patricia hasn't told her?"

  "Do I-" (Pause.) "Henryk, you sly fellow! And here I was thinking I was asking you for information!"

  "The rack cares not who sleeps on it, and-"

  "Indeed, yes, all very well and apposite and all that. Henryk, the old bitches are turbulent and the she-devil-in-chief is plotting something, I feel it in my bowels. I have more important things to worry about right now. I do not have time to be looking over my shoulder for daggers. I do not have time to dance the reel to the old bitch's hurdy-gurdy, when I can't sleep at night for fear of conspirators. What do I need to know?"

  "I say-steady on, your grace! Here, let me remedy your glass . . . my agents at court opine that the she-devil has carried off a coup. Her stroking of the royal ego has come to something, it seems, and sparked a passing fancy with the revenant."

  "The-what? What's she got to do with anything?"

  "The royal succession-Oh dear! Here, use my kerchief."

  (Bell rings.)

  "Walther! Walther, I say!"

  (Sound of door opening.)

  "A towel for his grace! Your grace, if you would care to make use of my wardrobe-"

  "No need, thank you uncle, I am sure a little wine stain will hurt only my dignity."

  "Yes, but-"

  (Sound of door closing.)

  "That's better." (Pause.) "The royal succession! Curse me for an imbecile, which one is it, the Pervert or the Idiot? Don't tell me, it's the Idiot. More tractable, and the Pervert's already promised to the Nordmarkt."

  "That, and the Pervert's bad habits are becoming increasingly difficult to cover for. Royal privilege is all very well, but if Egon were anyone other than his father's eldest son he'd be learning wisdom from the Tree Father by now. A nastier piece of work hasn't graced the royal court in my memory. If his father is forced to notice his habits . . . remember our ruling dynasty's turbulent origins? Nobody wants to see another civil war, not with Petermann feeling his oats just across our northern border and the backwoods peers staring daggers at our Clan families' new earned wealth. I believe the old bitches think that the Pervert will go too far one of these days, in which case owning the Idiot would throttle two rabbits with one snare, nailing down Helge and securing the royal bloodline. They're not stupid, they probably think Helge is smart enough to see the advantages, to take what's being offered her, and to play along. One more generation and we-they-would be able to splice the monarchy into the Clan for good. Helge's a bit old, but it wouldn't be a first pregnancy-don't look so shocked, we've got her medical records-and she's in good health. Pray for an accident for the Pervert, a single pregnancy, and her payoff is, well, you know how they work."

  "They're crazy!"

  "What? You think she'd refuse?"

  "Think? Blue mother, Henryk, did you listen to her at all? She is, to all intents and purposes, a modern American woman. They do not marry for duty. It was all I could do to stop her eloping with that waste of money, brains, and time, Roland! The old bitches had better hope they've got their claws into her deep, or she will kick back so hard-"

  "Patricia."

  "Oh. What? That? Hmm, I suppose you're right. She's rather fond of her mother, that's true. But I'm not sure it'll be enough to hold her down in the long run. It raises an interesting question of priorities, doesn't it?"

  "You mean, the insurance policy versus the throne? Or . . . ?"

  "Yes. I think-hmm. Helge, wearing her Miriam head, would understand the insurance policy. But not the old bitches. Whereas Patricia, for all her modernity and skeptical ways, probably wouldn't buy it. She was rais
ed by the she-devil, after all. And, ah, Miriam is very creatively unreliable. Yes. What do you think?"

  "You're hatching one of your plans, your grace, but you forget that I am not a mind reader."

  "Oh, I apologize. Given: we do not want the old bitches to get their hands on the levers of temporal power, are we agreed? They've got too much already. They seem to have decided-well, it's a bit early to be sure, but marrying Helge to the Idiot would simultaneously tie her down and put a spoke in the wheel the reformers are trying to spin, while also tying down Patricia. That debating society . . . Luckily for us, Helge is unreliable in exactly the right sort of way. Right now they've tied her up like a turkey and she hasn't even realized what's going on. That's not very useful to us, is it? I say we should give her enough rope-no reason to tie the noose so tightly she can't escape it, what-and then a little push, and see which way she runs. Yes? Do you think that could work?"

  "Angbard-your grace-that verges on criminal irresponsibility! If she does hang herself-"

  "She'll have only herself to blame. And she'll not be a dagger for her grandmother to hold to our throat."

  "She hates her grandmother! With a passion."

  "I believe you overestimate her vindictiveness; at present it is merely disdain on both sides. The dowager is more than happy to use any weapon that comes to hand without worrying about hurting its feelings. Helge doesn't know enough to turn in her hand, yet. Perhaps if Helge has real reason to hate her grandmother . . ."

  "Tell me you wouldn't harm your own sister."

  "Mm, no. I wouldn't need to go that far, Henryk. Dowager Hildegarde is quite capable of making Helge hate her without any help from me, although admittedly a few choice whispers might fan the flames of misunderstanding. What I need from you, uncle, is nothing more than that you play the bad cop to my good, and perhaps the use of your ears at court. We're all loyal subjects of the Crown after all, yes? And it would hardly be in the Crown's best interests to fall into the hands of the old bitches. Or the Pervert, for that matter."

  "I shall pretend I did not hear that last, as a loyal servant of the Crown. Although, come to think of it, perhaps it would be in everyone's best interests if nobody looked too hard for plots against Prince Egon, who is clearly loved by all. The resources can be better used looking for real threats, if you follow my drift. What kind of push do you intend to give Helge?"

  (Glassware on tabletop.)

  "Oh, a perfectly appropriate one, Henryk! A solution of poetic, even beautiful, proportions suggests itself to me. One that meshes perfectly with Helge's background and upbringing, a bait she'll be unable to resist."

  "Bait? What kind of bait?"

  "Put your glass down, I don't want you to lose such a fine vintage."

  (Pause.)

  "I'm going to let her discover the insurance policy."

  Transcript Ends

  6

  Insurance

  Two days after Miriam visited Baron Henryk, the weather broke. Torrential rain streamed across the stone front of Thorold Palace, gurgling through the carved gargoyle waterspouts and down past the windows under the eaves. Miriam, still in a state of mild shock from her meeting with her great-uncle, stayed in her rooms and brooded. A couple of times she hauled out her laptop, plugged it into the solitary electrical outlet in her suite, and tried to write a letter to her mother. After the third attempt she gave up in despair. Patricia was a nut best cracked by Helge, but Miriam wanted nothing to do with her alter-ego, the highborn lady. Trying to be Helge had gotten her into a world of hurt, and trying to measure up to their expectations of her was only going to make things worse. Besides, she had an uneasy feeling that her mother was not going to thank her for muddying the waters with Henryk.

  Shortly after lunch (a tray of cold cuts delivered by two servants from the great hall below), there came a knock on her dressing-room door. "Who is it?" she called.

  "Me, Miriam! Are you decent?" The door opened. "What's the matter?" Brilliana d'Ost stepped inside and glanced around. "Are you hiding from someone? The servants speak of you as if you're a forest troll, lurking in the shadows to bite the next passing trapper's head off."

  "I'm not that bad, surely." Miriam smiled. "Welcome back, anyway-it's good to see someone around here who's happy to see me. What have you been up to?" She stood up to embrace the younger woman.

  "I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you," Brill said lightly, hugging her back. Then her smile faded. "Don't assume I'm exaggerating. I've been very busy lately. Some things I can't talk about." She shed her bulky shoulder-bag and pushed the door shut behind her. "Miriam. What do you mean, happy to see you? What on earth has been going on here? I got word by way of the duke's office-"

  "Am I in that much trouble, already?" Miriam asked, sitting down again. She saw that Brill had cut her black hair shorter than last time they'd met and was using foundation powder to cover the row of smallpox craters on the underside of her jaw. In her trouser-suit she could have been just another office intern on the streets of New York-Miriam's New York.

  "Trouble?" Brill shrugged dismissively. "Trouble is for little people. But I hear word, 'Brilliana, your mistress needs you, go and look to her side,' and I am thinking that perhaps not all is well-and here you are, hiding like a bear with a headache!" She sat down on one of the upholstered stools that served as informal seating. "Oh, his excellency says, 'Tell her to stop making waves and we'll sort everything out.'-"

  "Um. Right." Miriam closed the lid on her laptop. "Can I get you anything?" she asked. "A glass of wine? Coffee?"

  "Coffee would be precious, should you but have any." Brill looked wistful as Miriam tugged the bell rope. "The weather is as impoverished on the other side. Homeful for the ducks, but not enchanting lest your feet be webbed."

  "Nobody told me that Henryk was a palace ogre," Miriam complained. The door opened: "Two coffees, cream, no sugar," she directed. As it closed, she continued. "I've been stuck here, all isolated, for weeks. It's not easy to fit in. Kara's done her best to help me, but that isn't much-she just isn't perceptive enough to warn me before I put my foot in it. Andragh"-the head of her detachment of bodyguards-"is the strong silent type, not a political advisor. Mom's busy and has her own problems, Olga's in and out but mostly out, and I'm"-she took a deep breath-"lonely and bored."

  "Yes, well, that's what the boss said." Brill brooded for a moment, then burst out, "Miriam, I'm sorry!"

  "Hey, wait a moment-"

  "I mean it! I blame myself. I was supposed to stick to you like glue, but while you were in the hospital I had other tasks to attend to and my-I can't tell you who-needed me elsewhere. High priority jobs, lots of them-I've been run ragged. Our networks are in rags, new safe houses must be bought, identities created, safe procedures developed, contacts sanitized and renewed. An underground railroad which took us decades to build has to be scrapped and rebuilt from scratch, and his grace badly needs eyes and ears he can trust. I thought that you'd be all right here on your own, that not much could happen, but I didn't realize-if I had I'd have made a fuss, demanded to be released back to you!"

  Brill was upset and Miriam, who hadn't expected any of this, was taken aback. "Whoa! It's all right. Seriously, we've been in the middle of a real mess and if you had to go fight security fires for Angbard-or whatever-then obviously, there were higher priorities than acting nursemaid for me. And you're here now, which is the main thing, isn't it?"

  "Yes, but I should have been here earlier." Brill frowned. "Not letting you run amok." For a moment her flashing grin returned. "So what else have you been up to?"

  Miriam sighed. "Etiquette lessons. Basic hochsprache." She began ticking points off on her fingers: "Learning to ride, memorizing long lists of who's related to who, learning to dance-court dances, over here, that is-endless appointments with the dressmaker. Oh, and getting pissed off about being given the runaround. About when I can get back to my business, that kind of thing." She pulled a face. "What's missing from this picture?" B
esides brooding over- She stopped that line of thought dead. Brill hadn't concealed her opinion of Roland very effectively, but she knew better than to pick a fight with Miriam over his memory, especially when Miriam very definitely wasn't over him.

  "Let us see. Long lists of who is who-did Kara think to instruct you in their scandals or holdings? Or worse?" Brill raised an eyebrow. "No? Methought it unlikely. The rest is not unexpected. The travel restrictions . . ." She frowned again. "I think if it was solely the decision of your uncle you should be able to return from whence you were summoned immediately. He instructed me to tell you to pay your corvée regularly. I think he wishes to shine your loyalty, to demonstrate you are reliable enough as a courier to trust with world-walking. One week or two, he says, and you should be assigned a regular courier duty to the new outposts, with permission to overnight there when not needed here. This would be unofficial, but should anyone ask they can be told you're running errands simple, not looking to your faction. Discretion is the watchword."

  "Uh." Miriam blinked, taken aback. "That's-well. That's far too easy. After yesterday, I was expecting the third degree . . ."

  "Henryk convinced you that you were under arrest?" Brill tossed her head as the door opened. "I'll take that." The maid closed the door and Brill transferred the silver tray to the top of a chest of drawers. "The baron is jealous of the demands upon his time, whosoever makes them," she said. "He wished you subdued for the while. Either that, else there's a discord over how to handle you. Here, this is yours."

  Miriam took the mug. "I'm confused. Or he was trying to lower my expectations. Wasn't he?"

  "In all probability." Brill sat down again. "I can't believe you bearded the lion in his den, without appointment," she added with a curious grin.

  "I'm not sure I can, either," Miriam admitted. "Understand, I'm not going to blame Kara-but if she was up to managing my affairs herself I'd have known better than to go barging in. The whole issue just wouldn't have arisen in the first place. I'm not an idiot, Brill, just-"