“I hope you’ll excuse me,” she said carefully, “but after waking up in bed with a stranger leaning over me for the second time in as many days, I tend to overreact a little. And I wasn’t sure how the duke would respond to me going walkabout.”

“Really?” He raised an eyebrow.

“No shit.” She glanced around. The bathroom door was closed—she needed some Tylenol or some other painkiller bad. “Do you keep hot and cold running servants on this side, too?”

“Not many; there’s a cook and some occasional cleaning staff, but mostly this is reserved for Covert Operations, and we pay much more attention to secrecy. Over here it’s a…a safe house, I guess you’d call it, not a palace. I take it you haven’t eaten—can I invite you to join me downstairs for breakfast?”

“As long as I don’t have to dress for it,” she said, checking then pocketing her gun. She picked up her briefcase. “I dug the lecture about not being able to hide, I don’t want you to misunderstand me. But there are some things I really need to do around town today. Assuming I’m not under house arrest?”

Roland shrugged. “I don’t see why not,” he said. “I can answer for your security, in any case. Will you be able to do your stuff if I come along?”

Miriam looked out of the window and took a deep breath. “Well.” She looked at him again. “I guess so.” Damn, there goes my chance to warn Paulie. “Is it really that risky?”

“Breakfast first.” He was already heading for the door. He added, over his shoulder, “By now news of your arrival will have leaked out and junior members of at least two of the other families will be desperate, absolutely desperate. But they don’t know what you look like so you probably don’t need a permanent bodyguard yet. And once your position is secure, they won’t be able to touch you.”

“‘Breakfast,’” she said, “‘first.’”

There was a kitchen on the ground floor, but there was nothing medieval about it. With its stainless-steel surfaces, huge chest freezer, microwave ovens, and gas range, it could have been the back of a restaurant. The dining room attached to it didn’t look anything like Angbard’s private apartment, either. It reminded Miriam more of a staff room at an upmarket consultant’s office. A couple of guys in dark suits nodded at Roland from a table, but they were finishing up cups of coffee and they cleared out as soon as he offered her a seat. “Tell me, what did you think of, uh, Olga?”

While she tried to puzzle out what he meant by that question, a waitress appeared, notepad poised. “What’s on the menu this morning?” Miriam asked.