Charles Stross - The Clan Corporate

He was breathing deeply, his hands twisted around the head of his cane. Miriam felt sticky dampness on her lip: her nose was bleeding. After a moment Henryk took a step back, breathing heavily.

"I hate you," she said quietly. "I'm not going to forget this."

"I don't expect you to." He straightened up, adjusting his short cape. "I'd be disappointed in you if you did. But I'm doing this for everyone's good. Once the Queen Mother placed her youngest grandson in play… well, one day you'll know enough to admit I was right, although I don't ever expect you to thank me for it." He glanced at the window. "You have enough time to get ready. A coach will be waiting for you at nine. It's up to you whether you go willingly, or in leg irons."

"Did Angbard approve this scheme?" she demanded. Would he really sacrifice Mom? His half-sister?

Henryk nodded. His cheek twitched. "It wasn't his idea, and he doesn't like it, but he believes it is essential to bring you to heel. And he agreed that this was the one threat that you would take seriously. Good day." He turned and strode toward the door, leaving her to gape after him, slack-jawed with helpless fury.

Translated Transcript Begins

Conspirator #1: "I am most unhappy about this latest development, Sudtmann."

Conspirator #2: "As am I, your royal highness, as am I."

(Metallic clink.)

Conspirator #3: (Unintelligible.) "-deeply worrying?"

Conspirator #1: "Not really. More wine, now." (Pause.) "That's better."

(Pause.)

Conspirator #2: "Your highness?"

Conspirator #1: (Sighs.) "It may be better to be feared than to be loved, but there is a price attached to maintaining a bloody reputation. And it seems the bill must still be honored whether the debtor be prince or pauper."

Conspirator #3: "Sir? I don't, do not-"

Conspirator #1: "He's weak. To be backed into the stocks like a goat! This is the plan of the tinkers, mark my word: the poison she-snake in our bosom intends to get an heir to the throne in her grasp soon enough. And he cannot gainsay her!"

Conspirator #2: "Sir? Your brother, surely he is unsuitable-"

Conspirator #1: "Yes, but any whelp of his would be another matter! And the libels continue apace."

Conspirator #4: "The libels play into our hands, sire. For the bloodier they be, the more feared you become. And fear is currency to the wise prince."

Conspirator #1: "Yes, but it wins me nothing should my accession not meet with the approval of the court of landholders. And the court of landholders is increasingly in the grip of the tinkers. A tithe of their rent would repay a quarter of the promissory notes my father and his father before him took from the west, but does he-"

(Pause.)

(Noises.)

(Unintelligible.) "-regularity of bowels."

Conspirator #2: "I'll see to it, sir."

Conspirator #3: "A pessary of rowan. There are other subtleties to consider."

Conspirator #4: "It will be suspicious. And remember, two may keep a secret-if one of them is dead."

Conspirator #1: "Enough skulking!"

Conspirator #2: "Sir?"

Conspirator #1: "It is clearly treasonable intent that we confront in this instance. They've addled whatever is left of my father's wits, turned him against me, and once they are sure of a succession I'll doubtless meet with a convenient hunting accident. I cannot-will not-permit this. But once it becomes clear that the tinkers are not the force they once were, I'll be seen as the savior of the realm. And feared without scruple of libel: honestly, as a prince should be."

Conspirator #4: "There is a reinforced company of the Life Guards stationed across the river. We shall have to move fast."

Conspirator #1: "On the contrary, they will do as I tell them-whose life did you think they were supposed to guard? Hah! But I am concerned about your alchemists and their expensive mud pie. Have they succeeded in killing themselves yet?"

Conspirator #4: "On the contrary. And they have enough fine powder stockpiled to blow down the wolf's lair. Not much use for the artillery, but…"

Conspirator #1: "We have a use for it on the stage. Arrange to have a roundup of plotters, marked for dispatch afterward-I'm sure you can arrange some witnesses, Sudtmann, guards who will swear to our instructions at the question? More in sorrow than in anger, I shall dispatch the traitors in the name of the Crown. And the kingdom will be secure against the blasted tinkers for another generation, at least."

Conspirator #3: "But your father-"

Conspirator #1: "He'll fall in with me of necessity." (Metallic noise.) "He may be weak, but he's not stupid. Once the tinkers realize the dice are cast, they will declare blood feud against the Crown. He'll have to do it. I stress, this is not a coup against the Crown, it is a coup for the Crown, to defend it from the enemies within."

Conspirator #3: "And none shall call it by any other name."

Conspirator #2: "And if the blast should fail to live up to expectations?"

Conspirator #1: "Then I shall lead the guards in an heroic attempt to rescue the palace from the rebels who appear to have seized it. Long live the king!"

Conspirator #4: "I should give the alchemists their final reward then, sir."

Conspirator #1: "Make it so, and may Sky Father have mercy on them in the afterlife, for their services to the Crown."

Translated Transcript Ends

Recovery from fentanyl poisoning was relatively rapid: the pain came later. They kept asking questions, even when he was on a drip and hallucinating. "What happened? What did he say?" All Mike could do was shake his head and mutter incoherently. Later, he made a full statement. And another. A whole goddamn committee camped by his hospital bed for an afternoon, trying to come up with an agreed timeline for the fuckup. Mike was expecting to be suspended pending investigation, but from the noises they were making it sounded like they wanted to sweep everything under the rug, pretend Matt had never existed. Maybe that was how the DOD dealt with unwelcome problems: or maybe they just didn't want to admit that they'd destabilized a willing defector. Later another committee came by to grill him about Matt's nuclear threat, but when he asked what action they were taking on it they told him he had no need to know-from which he deduced that they were taking it very seriously indeed.

It didn't matter to Mike. He was out of the loop, officially injured in the line of duty. He lay in bed for two days, numb with apathy and guilt, mind constantly circling back to worry at the same unwelcome realization. I fucked up. On the second day a card arrived from Nikki, an invitation to Pete's funeral. And then, just as he was graduating from depression to self-loathing, Smith dropped in.

"How are you feeling?"

"Better." Which was a lie. "Not sleeping too good."

"Yeah, well." Smith mustered a sympathetic expression that looked horribly artificial to Mike. "We need you back on duty."

"Huh?"

The colonel dragged the nearest chair over and sat down next to Mike's bed. Mike peered at him, noticing the bags under his eyes for the first time, the two-day stubble. "I'd like to be able to give you a month off, refer you for counseling, and let you recover at your own pace. Unfortunately, I can't. You were due into in-processing today and you're on the critical path for CLEANSWEEP. And your immediate backup was Pete."