James tried not to wince visibly. “But what can they do?”
“Quite a lot.” Miriam frowned and glanced at the skinny young fellow called Huw. “Huw? Tell him about the project my uncle gave you.”
Huw fidgeted with his oddly styled spectacles. “I was detailed to test other knotwork designs and to systematically explore the possibility of other worlds.” He rested a hand on a strange device molded out of resin that lay on the table before him. “I can show you—”
“No,” Miriam interrupted. “Just the summary.”
“Okay. We found and visited three other worlds before the coup attempt—and identified fifteen different candidate knots that look promising. One of the worlds was accessible using your, the Lee family, knotwork from the United States. We found ruins, but very high-tech ruins. Still slightly radioactive.” James squinted slightly at the unfamiliar jargon. “The others were all stranger. Upshot: The three worlds we know of are only the tip of an iceberg.”
“Let me put Huw’s high technology in perspective.” Miriam’s smile tightened with a moue of distaste: “He means high tech in comparison to the United States. Which is about as far ahead of New Britain as New Britain is ahead of the Gruinmarkt. There is strange stuff out there, and no mistake.”
“Perhaps, but of what use is it?” James shrugged, trying to feign disinterest.
“Well, perhaps the fact that the United States government has threatened us, and appears to have the ability to build machines that can move between worlds, will be of interest to you?” Miriam looked at him expectantly.
“Not really. They can’t find us here, after all.” James crossed his arms. “Unless you’ve told them where to look…?”
“We haven’t—we wouldn’t know who to talk to, or how.” James froze.
“Why are you here?” Alasdair asked pointedly.
Miriam held up a warning hand. “Stop,” she told him. Looking back at James: “Let me see. This might just be a social visit.” She looked amused. “But on balance, no, I don’t think so. You’re here to deliver a message.”
James nodded.
“From your elders—” Miriam stopped, registering his expression. “Oh shit. You’re not here on your uncle’s behalf?”
“You are not the only people with a problem,” James confessed ruefully. “I am afraid my elders have made an error of judgment, one that is in nobody’s best interests—not ours, nor yours.”
“An error—”
“Shut up, Huw.” This from Brilliana. “What have they done, and what do you think we can do about it?”
“These are dangerous, turbulent times.” James stopped, hunting for the least damaging way of framing his confession. These are dangerous, turbulent people, he reminded himself. Who were until a year ago enemies of our blood. “They sought a patron,” he confessed.
“A patr—” Miriam stared at him. “Crap. You mean, they’ve gone public?”
“Yes.” Wait and see. James crossed his arms.
“How public?” asked Miriam. “What have they done?”
“It started nearly a month ago.” James met her eyes. “When they learned of the upheaval in the Eastern states, the elders became alarmed. Add your cousins’ manifest difficulties with their own strange world, the America, and there was … cause for concern. My uncle sought advice on the wisdom of maintaining the rule of secrecy. His idea was that we should seek out a high-ranking minister within the provisional government, provide them with discreet services—ideally to the point of incrimination, to compel their cooperation later—and use their office to secure our safety. Does this sound familiar?”
They were all nodding. “Very,” said Miriam. “We made the same mistake.” She glanced sidelong at Brill. “Getting involved in local politics. Hmm.”
“Don’t blame me,” Brill said with some asperity.
“I’m not. But if the Council hadn’t wanted to place a world-walker on the throne, or to do business with local politicians in Wyoming, we wouldn’t be in this fix now.”
Fascinating, thought James. There was familial loyalty on display here, and also a strangely familiar bitterness. He cleared his throat. “Then a defector from your own ranks showed up.”
“Who?”
“A doctor—” He stopped. They were staring at him, as if he’d grown a second head. “—I believe you know him. Ven Hjalmar, he’s called.” Their faces—cold sweat sprang out in the small of his back. “Why? Is something wrong?”
“Please continue.” Miriam’s voice was flat.
“But you—”
“It’s a personal matter.” She made a cutting gesture. James took in the other signs: Sir Alasdair, Lady Brilliana—sudden focus, as attentive as hounds at the trail of a fox. “What happened?”
Suddenly lots of things slid into place. “You have reason to hate him?” Good. “He has convinced my uncle that it is necessary to conspire with a political patron, and to sell him a, a breeding program he says your families established in America. Preposterous nonsense, but…” He trailed off. Miriam’s expression was deathly.
“He did, did he?”
“Yes—” James took a deep breath. “It’s true? He’s telling the truth? There is a breeding program? The American doctors can breed world-walkers the way a farmer breeds sheep?”
“Not exactly like that, but close enough for government work.” Miriam made eye contact with Alasdair. “We’re in so much shit,” she said quietly. She looked back to James: “Which commissar is your uncle doing business with?”
“Commissioner Reynolds, overstaff supervisor in charge of the Directorate of Internal Security.” James took no pleasure from their expressions. “A man I love even less than the doctor. He carries a certain stink; if I was a Christian I’d say he’s committed mortal sins, and knows himself for one of the damned.” He smiled crookedly. “I was in at their last meeting, yesterday; to my eternal shame my uncle believes my loyalty knows no limits, and I have not yet disabused him of this notion. Yesterday. The meeting … the doctor told Reynolds that your acquaintance Mr. Burgeson was trying to acquire world-walkers of his own. I’m not entirely sure whether he was telling the truth or not, and this is purest hearsay and gossip—I know nothing specific about your arrangements, my lady, and I don’t want to. But if the doctor was telling the truth, you’d better warn your patron sooner rather than later.…”
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