“Approximately.” He nodded. “The Clan’s strength is based on manpower. When we go back, you and me, we’ll have to carry some bags. Every time we cross over, we carry stuff to and fro. It’s the law, and you need a good reason to flout it. There’s a post room: You’re welcome to come and go at will as long as you visit it each time to carry post bags back and forth.”

“A post room,” she said.

“Yes, it’s in the basement. I’ll show you it after—ah, food.”

For a few minutes they were both too busy to talk. Miriam had to admit that the omelette she’d ordered was exceptionally good. As she was draining her coffee, Roland took up the conversation again. “I’m over here to run some business errands for the Boss today. I hope you don’t mind if I take a few minutes out while you’re doing whatever it is you were planning to do?”

“No, I mean, be my guest—” Miriam was nonplussed. “I’m not sure,” she added slowly. “There are a few things I needed to do, starting with, well, just seeing that I’m allowed out and about, know what I mean?”

“Did you have any concrete plans?” Roland looked interested.

“Well,” she leaned back and thought. “I have—had, before all this landed on me—a commission to write a feature for a magazine. Nothing hard, but I’ll need my iMac to write it on. And I must write it, if I don’t want to vanish off the face of the earth, career wise.” She tried a smile. “Got to keep my options open. I’m a working girl.”

Roland nodded. “Okay. And after that?”

“Well. I was thinking about going home. Check my answering machine, make sure everything’s okay, reassure the neighbours that I’m all right, that kind of thing.” Make sure they haven’t found Paulie’s CD-ROM. Try to get a message to her to keep her head down. “I don’t have to stay for long,” she added hastily. “I’m not thinking about running away, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Roland frowned thoughtfully. “Listen, is it just your mail and phone that you need? Because if so, it would be a lot safer just to divert everything. We’ve got a telephone switch in the subbasement and we can slam your domestic subscriber lines right over. But it would be a good thing if you avoided your home for the next few days. I can send someone around if there’s anything you need, but—” he shrugged.

“Why?” she asked.

“Because.” He put his butter knife down. “We, uh, when there’s a succession crisis or a war within the Clan, things can get very messy, very fast.” He paused for a moment, then rushed on: “I wouldn’t want to risk anyone getting a clean shot at you.”

Miriam sat very still, blood pounding in her ears. “Does that mean what I think it means?” she asked.

“Yes—your house is a target. We have it under surveillance, but accidents can happen, someone can miss something, and you might be walking into a booby trap. Tripwires inside the front door. It won’t be secure until we’ve doppelgängered it, which might take some time because it’s way out in the sticks on this side, and we’d need to fortify the area to stop anyone crossing over inside your living room. It took days for us to find you, even with the office chair in the forest as a marker. But you might not be so lucky next time.”

“Oh.” Miriam nodded to herself, absorbing this new and unwelcome fact. So you found me by the chair? “What about my mother?”

Roland looked puzzled. “But your mother’s—”

“No, I mean my adoptive mother.” Miriam gritted her teeth. “You know, the woman who raised me from a baby as her own? Who is now all alone and wheelchair-bound? Is she at risk? Because if so—” she realized that her voice was rising.

“I’ll see to it at once,” Roland said decisively and pulled out his mobile phone. It obviously hadn’t occurred to him that Iris was of any importance.

“Do so,” Miriam said tersely. “Or I’ll never speak to you again.”

“That’s uncalled for.” Roland looked serious. “Is there anyone else I should know about?” he asked after a moment.

Miriam took a deep breath. Here goes, she thought. “My ex-husband is remarried and has a wife and child,” she said. “Is he at risk?”

Roland mulled it over for a minute. “He’s a commoner,” he said finally. ‘There were no children and you’re divorced. So I guess he’s out of the frame.”

No children. Miriam shook her head. “You’ll have to tell me about your inheritance laws,” she said carefully. Oh, what complications! Someone out there in America was a twelve-year-old girl—Miriam didn’t know where, she only knew general details about her adoptive family—who might have inherited Miriam’s current problem. She’s too young, Miriam thought instinctively. And she has no locket. But the adoption records were sealed and nobody but Ben and Iris knew about the pregnancy. If the family hadn’t found her, then—

“Oh, they’re simple enough,” said Roland, a slightly bitter note in his voice. “The, um, family talent? It only breeds true among the pure-blooded line. They found that out pretty early. It’s what the biologists call a recessive trait. On the other side, um, marriage customs are different—cousin marriages are allowed, for one thing—and for another, children who don’t have the talent aren’t part of the Clan. But they’re kept in the families. They form the outer, nonshareholding part of the Clan, but if two of them marry some of their children may inherit the talent.”

Good news mixed with bad news. On the one hand, her daughter—who she hadn’t seen since two days after her birth—was safe from the attentions of the family, safe to lead a normal life unless Miriam drew attention to her. As long as the family dug no deeper than they had so far. On the other hand—“You’re telling me that my parents were cousins?”

“Second cousins once removed, I think,” Roland replied. “Yes. By family law and custom marrying out is forbidden. You might want to bear that in mind, by the way, it’s the one big taboo.” He glanced aside nervously. “But you’re probably safe because you did it over here and divorced him before anyone knew.” He was staring at the wall, she realized, staring at something that wasn’t there in an attempt to avoid her gaze. Unpleasant memories? “Otherwise there would be repercussions. Bad ones.”

“You’re telling me.” She noticed her fingers turning white around the rim of her coffee cup. “So presumably Uncle Angbard will make life hard for me if I try to take off and he wants me to marry someone who’s a not-too-close family member.”

“That’s an understatement.” Roland’s cheek twitched. “It’s not as if the council would give him any other options,” he muttered.

“What else?” Miriam asked as the silence grew uncomfortable.

“Well!” Roland shook himself and sat up. He began ticking off points on his fingers, his movements precise and economical and tense. “We are expected to abide by the rules. First, when you come over here, you stop by the post room in each direction and carry whatever’s waiting there. You get a free pass this time, but not in the future. Second, you check with Security before you go anywhere. They’ll probably want you to carry a mobile phone or a pager, or a bodyguard if the security condition is anything but blue—blue for cold. Oh, and third—” he reached into an inner pocket—“the duke anticipated that you might want to go shopping, so he asked me to give you this.” He passed her an envelope, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

“Hmm.” Miriam opened it. There was an unsigned silvery-coloured Visa card inside with her name on it “Hey, what’s this?”

“Sign it.” He offered her a pen, looking pleased with himself, then watched while she scribbled on the back. “Your estate is in escrow for now, but you should consider this an advance against your assets, which are reasonably large.” His grin widened. “There may be problems with the family, but spending money isn’t one of them.”