“I’m setting up an import/export business.” Miriam took a deep breath.

“I’ll announce it to the Clan at Beltaigne. By then, I should have a return on investment that will, um, justify your confidence in me.” Another deep breath. “I’d like another million dollars, though. That would make things run smoother.”

“Are you sure?” asked Angbard. He sounded almost amused, now.

“A million here, a million there, pretty soon you’re talking serious money. Yes, I’m sure. It’s a new investment opportunity in the family tradition. Like I said, I’m not setting up in competition—think of it as proof of concept for a whole new business area the Clan can move into. And a way of making Baron Oliver Hjorth and his backers look really stupid, if that interests you.”

“Well. If you insist, I’ll take your word for it.” He was using the indulgent paterfamilias voice again. “It’ll be in your account by the day after tomorrow. From central funds this time, not my own purse.” In a considerably icier tone: “Please don’t disappoint me in your investments. The Council has a very short way of dealing with embezzlement and not even your position would protect you.”

“Understood. One other thing, uncle.”

“Yes?”

“Why didn’t you tell me about the other branch of the Clan? The one that accidentally got mislaid a couple of hundred years ago and is now blundering around in the dark trying to kill people?”

“The—” He paused. “Who told you about them?”

“Sleep well,” she told him, and hit the “off” button on her phone with a considerable sense of satisfaction. She looked at the sky, saw night was pulling in already. It was time to go pick up Brill and visit the hospital. She hoped Olga would be able to talk to visitors. All she needed was confirmation of one little point and she could be on her way back to the far side, and the business empire she planned to establish.

Boston Medical Center was much like any other big general hospital, a maze of corridors and departments signposted in blue. Uniformed porters, clerical officers, maintenance staff, and lots of bewildered relatives buzzed about like a nest of bees. As they entered, Miriam murmured to Brill: “usual drill, do what I do. Okay?”

“Okay.” They walked up to reception and Miriam smiled. “Hi there, I’m wondering if it’s possible to visit a patient? An Olga, uh, Hjorth—”

The receptionist, bored, shoved hair up past her ear bug. “I’ll just check. Uh, what did you say your name was?”

“Miriam Beckstein. And a friend.”

“Yeah, they’re expecting you, go right up. You’ll find her on ward fourteen. Have a nice day!”

“This place smells strange,” Brill muttered as Miriam hunted for the elevators.

“It’s a hospital. Full of sick people, they use disinfectant to keep diseases down.”