It took a while, but half an hour later Erasmus slid to the front of a queue of supplicants. They were queuing to see the man in the mayor's office, but the man behind the mayor's desk was not the mayor, and he wasn't doing ordinary civic business as usual. When Erasmus entered the room he was holding forth animatedly with a group of hard-looking types who he recognized instantly as party cadres. Sir Adam Burroughs had aged in the nearly twenty years since Erasmus had last seen him: His hair was thin and straggling, and his high forehead was deeply grooved with worry lines. But the magnetic charm and hyperactive temperament remained-

"Hello? Who's this?" Burroughs looked at him for a few seconds. Then his eyes widened. "Joshua? Is that you?"

"It is indeed." Erasmus bowed low-not a flourishing courtier's bow, but a salute born of deep respect. "Lady Margaret sends her regards, and her hopes for your success in this venture." He smiled. "Though it seems to me that you've made a good start already!"

"Joshua, man-" Burroughs stood up and flew from behind his desk, then gripped Erasmus by the shoulders. "It's been too long!" He turned to face his half-dozen assistants. "This man is Joshua Cooke! During the eighty-six he was my secretary and correspondent, he ran the People's Voice in New York. Since then he's been a mainstay of the movement out east." Eyes were staring, lips mumbling silently. "You've come to join us, I take it."

"Oh yes." Erasmus nodded. "But I go by the name of Erasmus Burgeson these days, and it's gotten to be something of a habit. And to plug you into what's been happening out east. I was delayed, I'm afraid, by the Polis-got away, but it was a near thing. And everywhere I went, rumor was chasing falsehood's tail for truth's bone. I take it loyalists are thin on the ground around here?"

"Vanished like rats from a sinking ship," grumped one of Burroughs's new assistants, a heavy-set fellow with a nautical beard. "We'll root 'em out."

"Organization first," Burroughs said mildly. "Josh-Erasmus, is it?-you've arrived at exactly the right time. We've got to get the word out, now that the Hanoverian has emptied his treasury, get control-I want you to take a flying picket down to the Petrograd Times and get the presses rolling again. And the telautograph senders on the east bay mount. You're going to be in charge of the propaganda ministry. Can you do that?"

Erasmus cracked his knuckles, grinning cadaverously. "It'll be a good start."

"An accident." Miriam stared at Brill across the width of the safe house's kitchen. She looks like someone told her the family dog's got cancer. "What kind of accident?"

"The duke-" Brill swallowed.

Huw sidestepped towards the sink, making an adroit grab for a water glass.

"Yes?" Miriam said encouragingly, her heart sinking.

"He's had a stroke, they say. World-walking."

"But why would he-" Huw fell silent, seeing Miriam's expression.

"The pretender's army took the Hjalmar Palace by treachery. His grace was organizing a force to take it back when… something happened, something bad. Near Concord. Everyone had to cross over in a hurry. They retook the fortifications, but the duke-"

Brilliana swallowed.

"Well shit," Huw said angrily.

Miriam raised a finger. "Is he still alive?" she asked. "Is he conscious? Because-"

"Wait." Brill took the water glass from Huw's fingers. "Anything. To put in this?"

"There's a bottle of brandy in the luggage." Huw headed for the door. "Don't go away. Be right back."

Miriam pulled a stool out and steered it behind Brilliana, who sat, gratefully.

"He's in a bad way," she said eventually, visibly gathering her wits. "Paralyzed on one side. They need to get him to a neurology ward but they're trapped in the Hjalmar Palace-a big castle near Concord, in this world-by some Winter Crone-cursed police or paramilitary force that tried to raid them just as they were mounting the counterattack on the pretender's forces."

Huw reappeared with a dark green bottle. "Here." He splashed amber fluid into Brill's glass, then fetched down another and offered it to Miriam. "Yourself?"

"No thanks." She glanced at him dubiously as he poured two fingers for himself. "What if you need to drive somewhere?"

"Firstly, I delegate to Yul, and secondly, there's a difference between having a shot and getting drunk. Are you sure?…"

"Oh hell, go ahead." Miriam snorted. Sometimes it was the little things about her relatives who'd grown up in the Gruinmarkt that tripped her up the hardest, like their extremely un-American attitude to alcohol. "Can they get him to a hospital?"

Brill lowered her glass. "It's in train, I think. I mean, Olga's there, she's working something out with Earl Riordan. They couldn't tell me more-need to know. But-it's spooky. The feds swooped on ClanSec just as they concentrated to go across to relieve the Hjalmar Palace. It's almost as if someone told them exactly when-"

"Matthias is dead," Miriam interrupted.

"Matthias?" Huw looked fascinated. "Wasn't he the duke's personal secretary? I knew he disappeared, but-"

Miriam looked at Brill, who silently shook her head. "Later, Huw," she promised. "Brill, we need to get back to, to-" She stopped, the words to wherever we need to be piling up like a car crash on her tongue.

Brill took a sip of brandy. "By the time we could get back to the east coast it'll all be over," she said huskily. "The important thing is what happens after that."

I can't believe how fast it's all falling apart. Miriam shook her head. "Something about this doesn't make sense," she said slowly. "Things fell apart in Niejwein when Egon decided Henryk's little power play was a personal threat to him, that's clear. But this new stuff, the feds-it's one coincidence too many." She paused. "Could they be connected? Beyond the obvious, beyond Matthias defecting and spilling his guts?"

Brill gave her an odd look. "You might think that. I couldn't possibly comment."

"Oh for-" Miriam forced herself to stop. "Okay, let me tell you what I think is probably happening, Brill. You're in Angbard's chain of command, you deal with it."

"You'd better wait outside, Huw," Brill said sharply.

He shrugged and walked over to the door. "Call me when you've finished politicking," he called, then closed it.

Miriam took a deep breath and tried to gather the unraveling threads of her concentration. Too much, too fast. "I think that we figured out Matthias had defected seven, eight months ago, when it first happened. And what followed was a factional race to get into the best position to come out on top when the US government figured out what was going on and brought the hammer down on the trade network. I stood up and told them their business model was flawed, and they didn't do anything-but they weren't all ignoring me. The conservative faction, led by Baron Henryk, decided to shut me up, but they had to be subtle about it. Angbard didn't block him because he hoped they'd fail. Meanwhile, some other groups were looking into the possibilities dragged up by my stumbling over the hidden family and New Britain. That'd be where Huw comes in, yes? Angbard's sitting at the center of a web, like a spider, holding everything together-trying to keep business running as usual, but trying to hedge everybody's bets."

She swallowed, then took a sip of brandy. "Trouble is, everybody's doing different things. There have been sub rosa attempts to modernize the Clan going on for decades; I just didn't recognize them. That's what I got wrong-I took you all at face value, didn't look below the surface. Everyone pays lip service to the status quo, but not everyone goes along with it. There's the breeding program that was intended to rebuild the population base eroded by the civil war over the past fifty years, and crack the manpower monopoly effectively controlled by the marriage-brokering old grannies"-she watched Brilliana for signs of surprise, but didn't see any-"and that debating society and talking shop Huw's into. There's even Clan Security, for heaven's sake! Which is more like the, the Russian KGB, than something you'd expect in a post-feudal society like the Gruinmarkt. Am I right?"