On the other hand, the thought of voluntarily going back to the drafty castle and the insane family politics was depressing. So she picked up the phone and dialed Roland’s number instead.

“Hello?” He answered on the first ring and she cheered up instantly.

“It’s me,” she said quietly. “Can you talk?”

“Yes.” A pause. “He’s not around right now, but he’s never far away.”

“Are they still watching my house?” she asked.

“Yeah, I think so. Where are you?”

“On a train halfway between New York and Boston.”

“Don’t tell me you’re running—”

“No,” she said too hastily, “but I’ve got unfinished business. Not just you—other stuff too. I want to see my mother, and I want to see some other people. Okay? Better not ask too many questions. I’m not going to do anything rash, but I have a feeling I don’t want to draw any attention to people I know. But look, are you able to get away for a day? Say, to New York?”

“They’ve got you in that stone pile?” he asked.

“Yeah. Do you know what it’s like?”

“You survived three days with Olga?” His tone was one of hopeful disbelief.

“The facilities are, uh, open plan, and I get to sit cheek by jowl with two of Olga’s less enlightened coworkers,” she said, eyes swiveling to track down the nearest passengers. She was clear—nobody within two seats of her. Quietly she added, “The ladies-in-waiting are like jail guards, only prettier, if you follow me. They stick like glue. I woke up and they were in my goddamn bed with me. You’d think Angbard had set them on me as minders. Honestly, I’m at my wit’s end. I’m going to go back this evening, but if you don’t come and rescue me soon, I swear I’ll kill someone. And I still haven’t filed copy on that dot-com busted flush feature I’m supposed to be writing for Andy.”

“My poor sweetheart.” He laughed, a little sadly. “You’re not having a good time. Maybe we should form a club?”

“Culture-shocked and brain-damaged?”

“That’s right.” A pause. “Going back after eight years away, that was the hardest thing. Miriam. You will go back to them?”

“Yes,” she said quietly. “If I don’t, I’ll never see you again, will I?”

“Not today. I’ll be over again the day after tomorrow,” he said. “New York, is it?”

“Yes.” She thought for a moment. “Rent a double room at the Marriott Marquis in Times Square. It’s anonymous and bland, but I think you’ve got more travel time than I have. Leave voice mail with the room number and the name you’re using and I’ll show up as early as possible.” She shivered at the thought, shuffling uncomfortably in her seat.

“I’ll be there. Promise.”