The Merchant’s War

(Pause.) "I trust that you will do everything within your ability to find her and bring her back into the fold. To convince her, you may convey to her my assurances that she will face no retribution for having fled on this occasion-given the circumstances, it was entirely understandable. You may also remind her that Creon is dead, and the arrangement made on his behalf is therefore terminated. The events of the past week arc swept away as if they never transpired." (Pause.) "You may also want to tell her that Baron Hcnryk was killed in the fighting. If she cooperates, she has my personal guarantee of her safety."

"That's not all, is it?"

(Long pause.) "No."

"Then...?"

"I very much fear that Helge will not return willingly. She may want to go to ground on her own-or she might make overtures to the lost cousins. Worse, she might go back to her compulsive digging. She stumbled across a project that is not yet politically admissible: if she exposes it before the council, it could do immense damage. And worst of all, she might seek to obtain a copy of the primary knot and use it to return to her own Boston, then contact the authorities. They will believe her if she goes to them, and she is in a position to do even more damage than Matthias if she wants."

(Pause.) "You want me to kill her if she's turned traitor."

"I don't want you to kill her. However, it is absolutely vital that she be prevented from defecting to the new agency the Americans have set up. She could do us immense-immeasurable-damage if she did, and I would rather see her dead than turned into a weapon against us. Do you see now why I warned that you might see this as a conflict of loyalty?"

(Long pause.) "Oh yes, indeed, sir." (Pause.) "If I say no, what happens'?"

"Then I will have to send someone else. I don't know who, yet-we are grievously shorthanded in this task, are we not? Likely it will be someone who doesn't know her well, and doesn't care whether she can be salvaged." (Pause.) "I am not sending you to kill her, I am sending you to salvage her if at all possible. But I will not send you unless you are prepared to do your duty to the Clan, should it be necessary. Do you swear to me that you will do so?"

"I- yes, your grace. My liege. I so swear: I will do everything in my power to return Lady Helge voh Thorold d'Hjorth to your custody, alive. And I will take any measure necessary to prevent her adding her number to our enemies. Any-" (Pause.) "-measure."

"Good. Your starting point is inconveniently located-she will have crossed over near the palace, from Nicjwcin-but I am sure you are equal to the task of hunting her down. You may draw any necessary resources from second security directorate funds; talk to the desk officer. Harald is running things today. You'll want a support team for the insertion, and a disguise."

"I have a working cover identity on the other side already, sir. Was there anything else I should know?"

"Oh yes, as a matter of fact there is. It nearly slipped my mind. Hmm."

"Sir?" (Pause.) "Your grace?"

"Ah. Definitely a problem." (Pause.) "The arrangement with Creon... before the betrothal, she was visited more than once by Doctor ven Hjalmar. At the behest of Baron Hcnryk, I thought, but when I made inquiries I discovered it had been suggested by none other than Patricia."

"Patricia? What's she doing suggesting-hey, isn't Ven Hjalmar the fertility specialist?"

"Yes, Brilliana, and the treatment he subjected the countess Helge to is absolutely unconscionable: but I believe it was intended as insurance against the Idiot being unable to... you know. Be that as it may, he did it. Consequently, you have about twelve weeks to find Helge and bring her back. After that time... well, you know what happens to women who world-walk while they're pregnant, don't you?"

END TRANSCRIPT

Chapter 5

TRAVELERS

It was a warm day in New London, beneath the overcast. A slow onshore breeze was blowing, but the air remained humid and close beneath a stifling inversion layer that trapped the sooty, smelly effusions of a hundred thousand oil-burning engines too close to the ground for the comfort of tired lungs.

Two figures walked up the street that led away from Hogarth Villas, arm in arm: a tall, stooped man, his hair prematurely graying, and a woman, her shoulder-length black hair bundled up beneath a wide-brimmed sun hat. The man carried a valise in his free hand. They were dressed respectably but boringly, his suit clean but slightly shiny at elbows and seat, her outfit clearly well worn.

"Where now?" Miriam asked as they reached the end of the row of brick villas and paused at the curb, waiting for a streetcar to jangle and buzz past with a whine of hot electric motors. "Are we going straight back to Boston, or do you have business to attend to first?"

"Come on." He stepped out into the street and crossed hastily.

She followed: "Well?"