Charles Stross - The Family Trade

“Why, to the title you assume with so little preparation and polish, and manners utterly unfitted to the role. A mere commoner from the mummer’s stand, jumped up and gussied up by Cousin Lofstrom to stake his claim.” The dowager’s look of fierce indignation reminded Miriam of a captive eagle she’d once seen in a zoo. “A pauper, dependent on the goodwill and support of others. If you were who you claim to be, you would be of substance.” Duchess Hildegarde Thorold Hjorth made a little flicking motion, consigning her to the vacuum of social obscurity. “Come, my-”

“Now you wait right here!” Miriam took a step forward, right into the dowager’s path. “I am not an impostor,” she said, her voice pitched low and even. “I am who I am, and if I am not here happily and of my own free will, I will not be spoken to with contempt.”

“Then how will you be spoken to?” asked the duchess, treating her to a little acid smile that showed how highly she rated Miriam in this company.

“With the respect due my station,” Miriam threw at her, “or not at all.”

The dowager raised one hooded eyebrow. “Your station is a matter of debate, child, but not for you-and it is a debate that will be settled at Beltaigne, when I shall take great pleasure in ensuring that it is brought before the Clan council and given the consideration it deserves. And you might wish to give some thought to the matter of your competence, even if your identity is upheld.” The little smile was back, dripping venom: “If you joust with the elite, do not be surprised when you are unhorsed.” She turned and walked away, leaving Miriam gaping and angry.

She was just beginning to realize she’d been outmaneuvered when Brilliana appeared at her elbow. “Why didn’t you warn me?” she hissed. “Who is that poisonous bitch?”

Brilliana looked astonished. “But I thought you knew! That was your grandmother.”

“Oh. Oh.” Miriam clapped a hand to her mouth. “I have a grandmother?”

“Yes and a-” Brilliana stopped. “You didn’t know,” she said slowly.

“No,” Miriam said, looking at her sharply.

“Everyone says you’ve got the family temper,” Brill let slip, then looked shocked.

“You mean, like-that.” Miriam looked at her, aghast.

“Hmm.” Brill clammed up, her face as straight as a gambler with an inside flush. “Oh look,” she said, glancing behind Miriam. “Isn’t that-”

Miriam glanced around, then turned, startled. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” she said, trying to pull herself together in the aftermath of the duchess’s attack.

The duke’s keeper of secrets nodded. “Neither was I, until yesterday,” he said stone-faced. He looked her up and down. “You appear to be settling in here.”

“I am.” Miriam paused, unsure how to continue. Matthias looked just as intimidating in Niejwein court finery as he had in a business suit. It was like having a tank take a pointed interest in her. “Yourself? Are you doing all right?”

“Well enough.” Matthias noticed Brilliana. “You. Please leave us, we have important matters to discuss.”

“Humph.”

Brill turned and was about to leave. “Do we?” Miriam asked, pointedly. “I rather think we can talk in front of my lady-in-waiting.”

“No we can’t.” Matthias smiled thinly. “Go away, I said.” He gestured toward the wall, where secluded window bays, curtain-lined against the cold, provided less risk of being overhead. “Please come with me.”

Miriam followed him reluctantly. If they ever make a movie about the Clan, they’ll have to hire Schwarzenegger to play this guy, she decided. But Arnie has a sense of humour. “What is there to talk about?” she asked quietly.

“Your uncle charged me to deliver this to you.” Matthias held out a small wooden tube, like a miniature poster holder.

“For the king, a sworn affidavit testifying to your identity.” His expression was unreadable. “I am to introduce you to his majesty on behalf of my master.”

“I, uh, see.” Miriam took the tube. “Any other messages?”

“Security.” Matthias shook his head. “It’s not so good here. I gather that Baron Hjorth assigned you no guards? That’s bad. I’ll deal with it myself in the morning.” He leaned over her like a statue.

“Um.” Miriam looked up at him. “Is that all?”

“No.” His cheek twitched. “I have some questions for you.”

“Well. Ask away.” Miriam glanced around, increasingly uncomfortable with the way Matthias had corralled her away from the crowd. “What about?”

“Your upbringing. This is important because it may help me identify who is trying to kill you. You were adopted, I believe?”

“Yes.” Miriam shrugged. “My parents-I was in care, the woman I was found with was dead, stabbed, a Jane Doe. So when Morris and Iris went looking for a child to adopt, I was around.”

“I see.” Matthias’s tone was neutral. “Was your home ever burgled when you were a child? Did anyone ever attack your parents?”

“My-no, no burglaries.” Miriam shook her head. “No attacks. My father’s death, that was a hit-and-run driver. But they caught him; he was just a drunk. Random chance.”

“ ‘Random chance.’” Matthias sniffed. “Do not underestimate random chance.”

“I don’t,” she said tersely. “Listen, why the third degree?”

“Because.” He stared at her unblinkingly: “I take a personal interest in all threats to Clan security.”

“Bullshit. You’re secretary to the duke. And a member of the outer families, I believe?” She looked up at him. ‘That puts a glass ceiling right over your head, doesn’t it? You sit in Fort Lofstrom like a spider, pulling strings, and you run things in Boston when the duke is elsewhere, but only by proxy. Don’t you? So what’s in it for you?”

“You are mistaken.” Matthias’s eyes glinted by candlelight. “To get here, I left the duke’s side this morning.”

“Oh, I get it. Someone gave you a lift across and you caught the train.”

“Yes.” Matthias nodded. “And here is something else you should understand, your ladyship. I am not of high birth. Or rather, but for an accident of heredity… but like many of my relatives I have reached an accommodation with the Clan.” He took her arm. “I know a little about your history. Not everyone who lives here is entirely happy with the status quo, the way the Clan council is run. You have a history of digging-”

“Let go of my wrist,” Miriam said quietly.

“Certainly.” Matthias dropped his grip. “Please accept my apologies. I did not intend to give offence.”

Miriam paused for a moment. “Accepted.”

“Very well.” Matthias glanced away. “Would you care to hear some advice, my lady?”

“It depends,” she said, trying to sound noncommittal, trying to stay in control. First a hostile grandmother, now what…? She felt slightly dizzy, punch-drunk from too much information, much of it unwelcome. “In what spirit is the advice offered?”

Matthias’s face was as stiff and controlled as a mask. “In a spirit of friendly solicitude and perfect altruism,” he murmured.

She shrugged uncomfortably. “Well, then, I suppose I should take it in the manner in which it is intended.”

Matthias lowered his voice. “The Clan has many secrets, as you have probably realized, and there are things here that you should avoid showing a conspicuous interest in. In particular, the alignment of inner members, those who vote within the council, is vulnerable to disturbance if certain proxies were realigned. You should be careful of embarrassments; the private is public, and you never know what seeming accidents may be taken by your enemies as proof of your incompetence. I say this as a friend: You would do well to find a protector-or a faction to embrace-before you become a target for the fears of every conspirator.”