The Trade of Queens by Charles Stross Read Free Book Online Page B

stick-in-the-mud faction, fearful of change, were on the edge of all-out revolt—
    â€”had in fact revolted, that event possibly triggered by the very fact of her absence from the royal court; and other matters out of nightmare were in train, the Clan’s stolen atomic weapons lost and possibly deployed. So here they were, bumping along a logging road towards a secret, undisclosed location where Clan Security maintained a cache of equipment and a doppelgangered transfer house—
    The SUV was slowing. Miriam opened her eyes. “Nearly there,” Sir Alasdair grunted.
    Riordan was still glued to his cell phone, nodding occasionally between bursts of clipped hochsprache. Miriam tapped him on the shoulder. He held up a hand. “Be right back,” he told his absent conversationalist. “What is it?”
    â€œIf there’s a mole inside ClanSec, how do you know your Plan Black site hasn’t been rigged?” she asked. “If I was trying to mousetrap you, I can’t think of a better way to do it than scaring you into running for a compromised rendezvous.”
    Riordan looked thoughtful. Miriam noticed Sir Alasdair’s shoulders tense. Brilliana chirped up from the back row of seats: “She’s right, you know.”
    â€œYes,” Riordan said grudgingly. “But we need to evacuate—”
    â€œIt can be booby-trapped here, or in the Gruinmarkt,” Olga pointed out, her voice icy cold. “If here, we can deal with it. Over there—we shall just have to reconnoiter, no?”
    â€œSounds like a plan,” said Sir Alasdair. “Who are we expecting here, my lord?”
    â€œThis site is meant to be held by Sir Helmut’s second lance.” Riordan sounded thoughtful as he stared at the screen of the tablet PC in his lap. “Two over here, six over there with two active and four in recovery or ready for transfer. The site on the other side is a farmhouse, burned out during the campaign, I’m afraid, but defensible.”
    â€œCan you identify them?” asked Brilliana.
    â€œBy sight, yes, most probably. Outer-family aspirants, a couple of young bloods—I can show you their personnel files, with photographs. Why?”
    â€œBecause if I see the wrong faces on duty I want to be sure before I shoot them.”
    The Explorer was slowing. Now Sir Alasdair took a sharp left onto a dirt trail barely any wider than the SUV. “We’re about two hundred yards out,” he warned. “Where do you want me to stop?”
    â€œRight here.” Riordan glanced at Brilliana. “Are you ready, my lady?”
    Brill nodded, reaching into her shoulder bag to pull out a black, stubby gun with a melted-looking grip just below the muzzle and a box magazine stretching along the upper surface of the barrel. “Sir Alasdair—”
    â€œI’m coming too,” rumbled Miriam’s head bodyguard. He pulled the parking brake. “My lord, would you care to take the wheel? If a quick withdrawal is required—”
    â€œI can drive,” Miriam heard herself saying. “You don’t need me for anything else, and I’m sure you need your hands?”
    Riordan glanced at her, worried, then nodded. “Here’s the contact sheet.” He passed the tablet PC back to Brill, who peered at it for a few seconds.
    â€œOkay, I am ready,” she announced, and opened her door.
    For Miriam, the next few minutes passed nightmarishly slowly. As Alasdair and Brill disappeared up the track and into the trees alongside it, she took Sir Alasdair’s place behind the wheel, adjusting the seat and lap belt to fit. She kept the engine running at a low idle, although what she’d do if it turned out to be an ambush wasn’t obvious—backing up down a dirt trail while under fire from hostiles didn’t seem likely to have a happy outcome. She sighed, keeping her eyes on the road ahead, waiting.
    â€œThey know