It was indeed Olga, wearing the green outfit she’d bought from Burgeson by way of disguise. She smiled broadly as she entered the dining room and Miriam met her halfway in a hug. “Are you alright?” Olga asked.

“Yes. Have you eaten?”

“No.” Olga rubbed her forehead.

“Jane, another place setting for my cousin! How good of you to call.” As Jane hurried to the kitchen, Miriam added, “We can talk upstairs while she’s washing up.” Louder, “I was just preparing for my trip to New London tomorrow. Are you tied down here, or do you fancy the ride?”

“That’s why I came,” said Olga, sitting down and leaning back as the harried maid planted a place setting before her. “You didn’t think I’d let you go there all on your own, did you, cuz?” Jane rushed out, and Olga winked at Miriam. “You’re not getting out of it so easily! What did you say to put the Iron Duke in such a mood?”

“It’s going to be such a party tomorrow night!” Miriam said enthusiastically, then waited for Jane to place a bowl before Olga and withdraw to the scullery. Quietly, “I told him his little shell game was up. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what?” Olga paused, blowing on a spoon full of hot broth.

“That Angbard had planted you on me. As a bodyguard.”

“A what?” Olga shook her head. “This is intelligence of a rare and fantastic nature. Not me, Helge, not me.” She grinned. “Who’s been spinning you these tales?”

“Angbard,” said Miriam. She shook her head. “Are you certain you don’t work for him?”

“Certain?” Olga frowned. “About as certain as I am that the sun rises in the east. Unless—” She looked annoyed. “—you are telling me that he has been using me?”

“I couldn’t possibly comment,” Miriam said, then changed the subject as fast as possible. Let’s just say Angbard’s definition of someone who works for him doesn’t necessarily match up to the definition of an employee in federal employment law. “I suppose you know about the extraordinary meeting?”

“I know he’s called one.” Olga looked at Miriam suspiciously. “That’s most unusual. Is it your fault?”

“Yup. Did you bring the dictaphone?”

“The what? Oh, your recording angel? Yes, it is in my bag. Paulie gave it to me, along with these battery things that it eats. Such a sweet child he is,” she added. “A shame we’ll have to hang him.”

“We—” Miriam caught herself. “Who, the Clan? Lin, or Lee, or whatever he’s called? I don’t think that’s a good idea.”