The Traders' War (Merchant Princes Omnibus 2) (3 page)

‘Who are “they”?’

‘Aha! The right question, at last!’ Iris laboriously levered herself upright on her chaise. ‘I told you the Clan is democratic, in the classical sense of the word. The marriage
market is democracy in action, Helge, and as we all know, Democracy Is Always Right. Yes? Now, can you tell me who, within the family, provides the bride’s dowry?’

‘Why, the – ’ Helge thought for a moment. ‘Well, it’s the head of the household’s wealth, but doesn’t the woman’s mother have something to do with
determining how much goes into it?’

‘Exactly.’ The duchess nodded. ‘Braids cross three families, alternating every couple of generations so that issues of consanguinity don’t arise but the Clan gift –
the recessive gene – is preserved. To organize a braid takes some kind of continuity across at least three generations. A burden which naturally falls on the eldest women of the Clan. Men
don’t count: men tend to go and get themselves killed fighting silly duels. Or in wars. Or blood feuds. Or they sire bastards who then become part of the outer families and a tiresome burden.
They – the bastards – can’t world-walk, but some of their issue might, or their grandchildren. So we must keep track of them and find something useful for them to do –
unlike the rest of the nobility here we have an incentive to look after our by-blows. I think we’re lucky, in that respect, to have a matrilineal succession – other tribal societies I
studied in my youth, patrilineal ones, were generally unpleasant places to be born female. Whichever and whatever, the lineage is preserved largely by the old women acting in concert. A conspiracy
of matchmakers, if you like. The ‘old bitches’, as everyone under sixty tends to call them.’ The duchess frowned. ‘It doesn’t seem quite as funny now I’m
sixty-two.’

‘Um.’ Helge leaned toward her mother. ‘You’re telling me Hilde-garde wasn’t acting alone? Or she was being pressured by
her
mother? Or what?’

‘Oh, she’s an evil bitch in her own right,’ Patricia waved off the question dismissively. ‘But yes, she was pressured. She and the other ladies of a certain age
don’t have the two things that a young and eligible Clan lady can bargain with: they can’t bear world-walkers, and they can no longer carry heavy loads for the family trade. So they
must rely on other, more subtle tools to maintain their position. Like their ability to plait the braids, and to do each other favors, by way of their grandchildren. And when my mother was in her
thirties – little older than you are now – she was subjected to much pressure.’

‘So there’s this conspiracy of old women’ – Helge was grasping after the concept – ‘who can make everyone’s life a misery?’

‘Don’t underestimate them. They always win in the end, and you’ll need to make your peace with them sooner or later. I’m unusual, I managed to evade them for more than
three decades. But that almost never happens, and even when it does you can’t actually win, because whether you fight them or no, you end up becoming one yourself.’ She raised one
finger in warning. ‘You’re relatively safe, kid. You’re too old, too educated, and you’ve got your own power base. As far as I can see they’ve got no reason to meddle
with you
unless
you threaten their honor. Honor is survival here. Don’t
ever
do that, Miriam – Helge. Don’t ever threaten to dishonor them. If you do,
they’ll find a way to bring you down. All it takes is leverage, and leverage is the one thing they’ve got.’ She smiled thinly. ‘Think of them as Darwin’s revenge on
us, and remember to smile and curtsey when you pass them because until you’ve given them grandchildren they
will
regard you as an expendable piece to move around the game board. And
if you
have
given them a child, they have a hostage to hold against you. Until you, too, have grandchildren and graduate to playing the game yourself.’

*

Midafternoon, Helge returned to her rooms to check briefly on the arrangements for her travel to the Östhalle – it being high summer, with the sun setting well after
ten o’clock, she need not depart until close to seven – then turned to Lady Kara. ‘I would like to see Lady Olga, if she’s available. Will you investigate? I haven’t
seen her around lately.’

‘Lady Olga is in town today. She is down at the battery range,’ Kara said without blinking. ‘She told me this morning that you’d be welcome to join her.’

Most welcome to – then why didn’t you
tell
me?
Helge bit her tongue. Kara probably had some reason for withholding the invitation that had seemed valid at the time.
Berating her for not passing on trivial messages would only cause Kara to start dropping every piece of trivia to which she was privy on her mistress’s shoulders, rather than risk rebuke.
‘Then let’s go and see her!’ Helge said brightly. ‘It’s not far, is it?’

The battery range was near the outer wall of the palace grounds – the summer palace, owned and occupied by those of the Clan elders who needed accommodation in the capital, Niejwein
– and separated from those grounds by its own high stone wall. Miriam strolled slowly behind her guards, taking in the warm air and the scent of the ornamental shrubs planted to either side
of the path. Her butler held a silk parasol above her to keep the sunlight off her skin. It still felt strange, the whole noble lady shtick, but there were some aspects of it she could live with.
She paused at the gate in the wall. From the other side, she heard a muffled tapping sound. ‘Announce us,’ she told Kara.

‘Yes, milady.’ A moment later, the doors opened onto bedlam.

Lady Olga Thorold Arnesen – of Thorold, by Arnesen – was blond, pretty, and on first acquaintance a complete ditz. Her enthusiasms included playing the violin, dancing, and making a
good marriage. But first acquaintances could be extremely misleading when dealing with children of the Clan, as Miriam had discovered. Right now the ditz was lying in the grass on the other side of
the door, practicing her other great enthusiasm with the aid of a Steyr AUG assault rifle. The more delicately inclined Helge winced and covered her ears as Olga sent a final three-round burst
downrange, then safed the gun and bounced to her feet.

‘Helge!’ Olga beamed widely but refrained from hugging her, settling instead for brushing her cheek. ‘How charming to see you! A new creation, I see you’re working your
seamstress’s fingers to the ivory. I suppose you didn’t come to join me on the range?’

‘If only.’ Helge sniffed. ‘It’s business, I’m afraid.’ She took in Olga’s camo jacket and trousers. ‘Are you coming to tonight’s
circus?’

‘There’s enough time to prepare later,’ Olga said dismissively. ‘I say, Master of Arms! You there! I’m going now, clean this up.’ She handed the gun over,
then turned back to her visitor. ‘It’s an excellent device, you really must try it one of these days,’ she said, gesturing at the rifle. The range master and his apprentice were
fussing with it, unloading the magazine and stripping out the barrel and receiver. ‘There’s a short version too, chambered for 9mm ammunition: police forces use them a lot. I’m
going to get them for my bodyguards.’

‘Really?’ Helge found it impossible not to smile at Olga’s enthusiasm – except when it was pointed right at her, so to speak, a situation that had only happened once,
because of an unfortunate misunderstanding she was not keen to repeat. ‘Let’s walk. Somewhere quiet?’ She glanced round, taking in the plethora of servants, from the range master
and armorer and their assistants to her own bodyguard and butler and lady-in-waiting, and Olga’s two impassive-faced mercenaries from the Kiowa nation.

‘I’m hardly dressed for polite company.’

‘So let’s avoid it. The water garden?’

Olga cocked her head on one side: ‘Yes, I do believe it will be nearly empty at this time of year.’

‘Let’s go. Leave the escort at the edge, I want to talk.’

The water garden began near the far end of the firing range, where a carefully diverted stream ran underground through a steel-barred tunnel in the walls of the grounds and then through sinuous
loops around cunningly landscaped mounds and hollows. Trees shaded it, and small conservatories and rustic lodges provided a retreat for visitors tired of the bustle and business of the great
estate. However, it was designed for the lush spring or the fiery autumn, not the heat of summer. At this time of year the stream ran sluggishly, yielding barely more than a trickle of water to
damp down the mud, and most of the plants were either past their peak or not yet come to it.

Helge and Olga walked alongside the dry streambed on a brick path encrusted in yellow and brown lichen, Olga in her grass-stained camouflage fatigues, Helge in a silk gown fit for a royal garden
party. Presently, when they passed the second turn in the path, Olga slowed her pace. ‘All right, be you out with it.’

‘I’m – ’ Helge stopped, an expression of mild puzzlement on her face. ‘Let me be Miriam for a bit. Please?’

‘My dear, you already are!’

‘Huh.’ Miriam frowned. ‘Well, that’s the problem in a nutshell, I suppose. Have you been over to the workshop lately?’

‘Have I?’ Olga rolled her eyes. ‘Your uncle’s been running me ragged lately! Me and Brilliana – and everyone else. I think he sent in Morgan du Hjalmar to do the
day-to-day stuff in your workshop, and a couple of Henryk’s people to audit the organization for security, but honestly, I haven’t had time to keep an eye on it. It’s been a rat
race! I’m lucky to have the time to attend the midsummer season, he’s working me like a servant!’

‘I see.’ Miriam’s tone was dry.

Olga looked at her sharply. ‘What is it?’

‘Oh, nothing much: every time I ask if it’s safe for me to go over there and look in on my company I get some excuse from security like, ‘We can’t go there, the hidden
family gangsters may not honor the ceasefire’ or ‘We think Matthias’s little friends may be looking for you there’ or ‘It isn’t safe.’ It feels like
I’m being cut out, Olga, and they’re not even trying very hard to hide it. It’s insultingly obvious. I get to sit here in Thorold Palace practicing dance steps and Hochsprache and
court etiquette, and every time I try to make myself useful something comes up to divert me. From my own company! The one I set up in New Britain that’s showing a higher rate of profit growth
than anything else the Clan’s seen in thirty years!’

‘Profit growth from a very low baseline,’ Olga pointed out.

‘That’s not the
point
!’ Miriam managed to keep her temper under control. ‘While they’re keeping me on the shelf under glass I can’t actually meet
people and make deals and keep things moving! I’m isolated. I don’t know what’s going on. Hell, do
you
know what’s going on? Is Roger messing around with epoxides
again or is he working on the process quality issue? Did Jeremiah sort out the delivery schedules? Who’s handling payroll? If it’s that man of Bates’s it’s costing us an arm
and a leg. Well? Who’s minding the shop?’

Olga shook her head. ‘I’m sure Morgan was taking care of all that,’ she said slowly, not meeting Miriam’s eyes. ‘Things are very busy.’

‘Well, you’re actually going on-site,’ Miriam pointed out. ‘If you don’t know what to look for, how should Morgan know? I’m the only person in the Clan who
really knows what the company is good for or where everything goes, and if they’re keeping me away from it, there’s a good chance that –’ She stopped.

Olga busied herself looking around the lower branches of the trees for the mockingbird that had been serenading them only a minute before.

‘
Why
am I being frozen out?’ asked Miriam.

‘I couldn’t possibly comment,’ Olga sang, almost tonelessly, an odd affectation she sometimes used when forced to deliver bad news, ‘because were I to repeat anything I
heard from his excellency in the Security Directorate that would be an act of petty treason, not to say a betrayal of his trust in me – but has anything else happened to you
lately?’

‘Oh, lots.’ Miriam’s voice sharpened. ‘Deportment lessons. Dancing lessons. A daily dossier of relatives and their family trees to memorize. How to ride a horse
sidesaddle. How to address a prince, a pauper, or a priest of Sky Father. The use of reflexive verbs in Hochsprache. More clothing than I’ve ever needed before, all in styles I wouldn’t
have been seen dead in–or expected to see outside a museum or a movie theater. I’ve been getting a crash course.’ She grimaced, then glanced sidelong at Olga. ‘I went to see
Ma – Iris, I mean, Her Grace the Duchess Patricia – this afternoon. She’s turned almost as stone-faced and Machiavellian as my dear old grandmother.’

‘Really?’ Olga chirped, just a little too brightly. ‘Did she have anything interesting to say?’

‘Yes, as a matter of fact she did.’ Miriam tapped one foot impatiently. ‘She asked me what I thought about
marriage
, Olga. She knows damn well what I think about
marriage; she was there when I married Ben, and she was still there when the divorce came through, and
that
was over ten years ago. She knows about Roland.’ Her voice wobbled
slightly as she named him, and for a moment she looked a decade older than her thirty-three years. ‘Ma’s frightening me, Olga, it’s as if something’s broken inside her and
she’s decided it was all a mistake, running away, and she needs to conform to expectations.’

‘Well, maybe –’ Olga paused. She glanced around. ‘Look, Miriam. I
think
it’s safe to tell you this, all right? But don’t talk about it in front of
anybody else.’ She took a deep breath. ‘You
are
being kept away from your operation in New Britain. It’s a security thing, but not, not Matthias. I think her grace was
finding out what you think about marriage because that’s the fastest way to clear things up. If you were – unambiguously – part of the Clan, there’d be fewer grounds to
worry about you.’

‘About
me
? What do you think – ’

‘Hush, it’s not what
I
think that’s the problem!’

Miriam paused. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘I accept your apology, dear friend. No, it’s – the problem is, you’ve been too successful too fast. On your own. Think about Roland, think about what
he
tried
to do years ago. They’re afraid that a lot of young tearaways will look at your example and think, “I could do that,”’ and, well, copy everything except the way you came
home to face a council hearing and explain what you were doing.’