“Shut up,” Paulette said fiercely. “You’re going to stay here till you’ve told me what you’ve seen and gotten your act together to move out properly! And bit the deadline,” she muttered under her breath.

“Deadline?” Miriam raised an eyebrow.

“The Clan summit,” Brill explained tonelessly. She yawned. “I told Paulie about it.”

“You can’t let them do it!” Paulette insisted.

“Do what?” Miriam blinked.

“Move to declare you incompetent and make you a permanent ward of whoever the Clan deems appropriate,” Brill explained. She looked puzzled.

“Didn’t you know? That’s what Olga said Baron Oliver was muttering about.”

Iris raised the cup of coffee to her lips with both hands. She looked a little shaky today, but Miriam knew better than to make a fuss. “So what did you do next?” she asked.

“I went to bed.” Miriam leaned back, then glanced around. The level of background noise in the museum food court was high and all their neighbors seemed to be otherwise preoccupied. “What else could I do? Beltaigne is nearly five months away, and I’m not going to let the bastards stampede me.”

“But the other place, this new one—” Iris sounded distracted—

“doesn’t it take you a whole day to go each way, even if you have somewhere to stay at the other end?”