Part 4.

StakeOut

Tip Off

It was a Friday morning late in January. The briefing room in the police fortress was already full as the inspector entered, and there was a rattle of chairs as a dozen constables came to their feet. Smith paused for a moment, savoring their attentive expressions. “At ease, men,” he said, and continued to the front of the room. “I see you’re all bright and eager this morning. Sit down and rest your feet for a while. We’ve got a long day ahead, and I don’t want you whining about blisters until every last one of our pigeons is in the pokey.”

A wave of approving nods and one or two coughs swept the room. Sergeant Stone stayed on his feet, off to one side, keeping an eye on his men.

“You’ll all be wondering what this is all about, then,” began Smith. “Some of you’ll ’ave heard rumors.” He glanced around the room, trying to see if anyone looked surprised. Rumors were a constable’s stock in trade, after all. “If any of ’em turns out to be true, I want to know about it, because if you’ve heard any rumors about what I’m telling you now, odds are the pigeons’ve heard it too. An’ today we’re going to smash a nest of rotten eggs.”

He scanned his audience for signs of unease: Here and there a head nodded soberly, but nobody was jumping up and down. “The name of the game is smuggling,” he said dryly. “In case you was wondering why it’s our game, and not the Excise’s, it turns out that these smugglers have a second name, too: Godwinite scum. The illegal press we cracked last week was bankrolled from here, in my manor, by a Leveler quartermaster. We ain’t sure where the gold’s coming from, but my money is on a woman who’s lately moved into town and who smells like a Frog agent to me. At least, if she ain’t French she’s got some serious explaining to do.”

Smith clapped his hands together briskly to warm them up.

“You men, your job is to help me give our little lady an incentive to sing like a bird. We are going to run this by shifts and you are going to stick to her like glue. Two tailing if she goes out, two on the manor, four hours on, four off, but the off team ready to go in if I says so. We are going to keep this up until she makes contact with a known seditionist or otherwise slips up, or until we get word that more gold is coming. Then we’re going to get our hands on her and find out who her accomplices are. When that happens we are going to get them back here, make them talk, and cut out the disease that has infected Boston for the past few years. A lot of traitors to the crown are going to go for a long walk to Hudson Bay, a bunch more are going to climb the nevergreen tree, and you are going to be the toast of the town.” Smith grinned humor-lessly. “Now, sergeant. If you’d like to run through the work details, we can get started …”

A few hours later, a woman stepped out from behind a hedge, kicked the snow from her boots, and glanced around the dilapidated kitchen garden.

“Hmm.” She looked at the slowly collapsing greenhouse, where holes in the white curtain revealed the glass panes that had fallen in. Then she saw the house, most of its windows dark and gloomy. “Hah!”

She strode up the garden path boldly, a huge pack on her shoulders: When she came to the side door she banged on it with a confident fist. “Anyone at home?” she called out.

“Just a minute there!” The door scraped ajar. “Who be you, and what d’you want, barging into our garden—”

“That’s enough, Jane, she’s expected.” The door opened wide. “Olga, come in!”

The maid retreated, looking suspiciously at the new arrival as she stepped inside and shut the door. Miriam called: “Wait!”

“Yes’m?”

“Jane, this is Olga, my young cousin. She’ll be staying here from time to time and you’re to treat her as a guest. Even if she has an, uh, unusual way of announcing her arrival. Is that understood?”

“Yes’m.” The kitchen maid bobbed and cast a sullen glance at Olga. Olga didn’t react. She was used to servants.

“Come on in and get out of the cold,” Miriam told her, retreating through the scullery and kitchen into a short corridor that led to the huge wooden entrance hall. “Did you have a good trip? Let’s get that pack stowed away. Come on, I’ll show you upstairs.” There was only one staircase in this house, with a huge window in front of it giving a panoramic view of the short drive and the front garden. Miriam climbed it confidently and gestured Olga toward a door beside the top step. “Take the main guest bedroom. Sorry if it looks a bit underfurnished right now—I’m still getting myself moved in.”

The bedroom was huge, uncarpeted, and occupied by a single wardrobe and a high-canopied bed. It could have come straight out of House Hjorth, except for the gurgling brass radiators under the large-paned windows, and the dim electric candles glowing overhead. “This is wonderful,” Olga said with feeling. She smiled at Miriam. “You’re looking good.”

“Huh.” Miriam shrugged. “I’m taking a day out from the office, slobbing around here to catch up on the patent paperwork.” She was in trousers and a baggy sweater. “I’m afraid I scandalized Jane. Had to tell her I was into dress reform.”

“Well, what does the help’s opinion matter? I say you look fine.” Olga slid out from under her pack and began to unbutton her overcoat. “Do you have anything I can take for a headache?”

“Sure, in the bathroom. I’ll show you.” Miriam paused. “How would you like a guided tour of the town?” she asked.

“I’d love it, when the headache is sorted.” Olga rubbed her forehead. “This cargo had better be worth it,” she said as Miriam knelt and began to work on the pack. “I feel like a pack mule.”

“It’s worth it, believe me.” Miriam worked the big, flattish box loose from the top of Olga’s pack. “A decent flat-panel monitor will make all the difference to running AutoCAD, believe me. And the medicine and clothes and, uh, other stuff.” Other stuff came in a velvet bag and was denser than lead, almost ten kilograms of gold in a block the size of a pint of milk. “Once I’ve stored this safely and changed, we can go out. We’ll need to buy you another set of clothes while you’re over here.”

“It can wait.” Olga reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a pistol, held it out to Miriam. “I brought this along, by the way. Lady Brilliana is waiting on the other side.”

“She is, is she?” Miriam pulled a mirthless smile. “Good. Did she bring that cannon of hers?”

“Yes.” Olga nodded.

“You’d better put that away,” Miriam warned. “People don’t go armed here, except the police. You don’t want to attract attention.”

“Yes. I noticed that in your world, as well.” Olga found an inner pocket in her coat and slid the gun into it carefully. “Who’s to defend you?”

“The thief-takers and constables, in theory. Ordinary thief-takers are mostly safe, but the police constabulary are somewhat different here—their job is to defend the state against its own subjects.” Miriam picked up the dense velvet bag with both hands and carried it to the doorway, glanced either way, then ducked through into the next room.

“This is your bedroom?” asked Olga.

“Yes.” Miriam grunted. “Here, help me move the bed.” There was a loose panel in the skirting board behind the bed. Miriam worried it loose, to reveal a small safe which she unlocked. The bag of bullion was a tight fit because the safe was already nearly full, but she worked it closed eventually and put the wooden slat back before shoving the bed up against it. “That’s about ten thousand pounds,” Miriam commented—”enough to buy this house nine times over.”

Olga whistled appreciatively. “You’re doing it in style.”

“Yeah, well, as soon as I can liquidate it, I’m going to invest it.” Miriam shrugged. “You’re sure Brill is alright?” she asked.