“What you are going to do—both of you—is tell the servants we’re going to have a quiet supper: cold cuts or a pie or something plain and simple. Then we’re going to dismiss the servants and go to bed early so we are well rested for the morrow. After they bring our meal up and stoke the fireplace, they can leave.” She stood up and paced. “What’s really going to happen, once the servants have left is that two of Lady Olga’s guards—the guards Baron Hjorth hasn’t assigned to me—are going to enter the near audience chamber through the side door.”

She grinned at Brilliana’s surprise. “You will put on your cloaks and go where they lead you, which will be straight to Lady Olga’s rooms, where you will be able to sleep safe and warm until it’s time to come back here, in the morning.”

“And you, my lady?” asked Kara, searching her face. “You can’t spend the night alone here!”

“She doesn’t intend to,” Brill said tersely. “Do you?”

“Correct.” Miriam waited.

“You’re going to go over there,” Brilliana added. “How I’d like to follow you!”

“You can’t, yet,” Miriam said bluntly. “Someone is conspiring against me. I am going to have to move fast and be inconspicuous. On the other side, there is a teeming city with many people and strange customs. I can’t risk you attracting attention while I’m on the run.” She raised a finger to anticipate Brilliana’s objection. “I’ll take you along later, I promise. But not this time. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” Brill muttered something under her breath. Miriam pretended not to notice.

“That’s it, then. If someone comes calling in the night, all they’ll find are beds stuffed with pillows: You’ll be elsewhere. On the other side, the fewer people who know where I’m going, the safer I’ll be. I’ll meet you back here tomorrow afternoon, and we’ll decide what to do then, depending on whether the opening of the court of winter sessions is going ahead or not. Any last questions?”

It was snowing in New York, too, but nothing like the blizzard that had dumped two feet of snow on Neijwein in a day. Miriam met nobody in the warehouse. At the top of the stairs she paused. What was that trick? She wondered, racking her brains. A flashback to the training course, years ago: It had been a giggle at the time, spy tradecraft stuff for journalists who were afraid of having their hotel rooms burgled in Krygistan or wherever. But now it came back to her. Kneeling, she tied a piece of black cotton sewing thread from the wall to the handrail, secured with a needle. It was invisible in the twilight. If it was gone when she returned, that would tell her something.