The Merchants' War by Charles Stross Read Free Book Online Page B

put the car in gear and crept out of the parking lot, leaving the gray NIRT van and the range rubber-suited atomic bomb disposal specialists behind like a bad memory. "What a way to start the week." Somewhere out there in the city there was supposed to be another bomb. One that was activated four months earlier by Matt, when he defected from the Clan, as an insurance policy to hold over the Family Trade Organization's head, But Matt was dead, and Mike Fleming had failed to wheedle the location of the bomb out of him before he died-all they knew was, it was on a one-year countdown, and they had maybe two hundred days left to find it before they had to evacuate three or four million folks from Boston and Cambridge to avoid a disaster that would make 9/11 look like a parking violation.

    * * *

    Miriam had run through the emotional gamut in the past six hours, oscillating wildly between hope and terror, despair and optimism. Being taken out of the cellar room and escorted up to the top of this rickety pile of brick and lath by a pair of thugs, and ushered into a garret where a middle-aged woman with a kindly face and eyes like a hanging judge sat at a writing desk, and then being expected to give an account of herself, was more than Miriam was ready for. All she had to vouch for this woman was Erasmus Burgeson's word: and there was a lot more to the tubercular pawnbroker than met the eye. He had some very odd friends, and if he'd misread her when he suggested she visit this "Lady Bishop," then it was possible she'd just stuck her head in a noose. But on the other hand, Miriam was here right now, and there were precious few alternatives on offer.
    "I'd quite understand if you thought I was mad," Miriam said, shivering slightly-it was not particularly warm in this drafty attic room. "I don't really understand everything that's going on myself. I mean, I thought I did, but obviously not." She felt her cheek twitch involuntarily.
    Margaret Bishop leaned forward, her expression concerned. "Are you all right?" she asked.
    Miriam twitched again. "No, I'm-" She took a deep breath. "A few bruises, that's all. And I'm lucky to be alive, people have been trying to kill me all evening." She took another deep breath. "Sorry..."
    "Don't be." Lady Bishop rose to her feet and opened the door a crack. "Bring a pot of coffee, please. And biscotti. For two." She closed it again. "Would you like to tell me about it? Start from the beginning, if you please. Take your time." She sat down again. "I must apologize for the pressure, but I really need to know everything if I am to help you."
    "You'd help me?" Miriam blinked.
    "You've been very helpful to us in the past. We tend to be suspicious, with good reason-but we look after our friends." Lady Bishop looked at her gravely. "But I need in know more about you before I make any promises. Do you understand?"
    Miriam's vision blurred: for a moment she felt vertiginous, as if the stool she sat upon was half a mile high, balanced in a high wind. Relief combined with apprehension washed over her. Not alone -it was like waking suddenly from a nightmare. The world bad been narrowing around her like a prison corridor for so long that the idea that there might be a way out, or even people who would help her willingly, seemed quite alien for a moment. Then the dizziness passed. "I'll tell you everything," she heard herself saying, in a voice hoarse with gratitude. "Just don't expect too much."
    "Take your time." Lady Bishop sat back on her chair and waited while Miriam composed herself. "We've got all night."
    "There are at least three worlds." Miriam squeezed her tired eyes shut as she tried to fumble her way towards an explanation. "I'm told there may be more, but nobody knows how to reach them. The people who can reach them... they're my relatives, apparently. It's a hereditary talent. It's what geneticists call a recessive trait, meaning you can't inherit it unless it was present in both sides of your family