Dry at last, she walked over to the sideboard and the huge silver samovar, steaming gently atop a gas flame plumbed into the wall. She poured a glass full of hot water and dunked a sachet of Earl Grey tea into it. Finally, gratefully, she plopped herself down in the overstuffed armchair opposite the bedroom door, pulled out her dictaphone, and began to compose a report to herself. “Here I am, in Suite fourteen of the Brighton Hotel. The concierge tried to soak me. Getting a handle on the prices is hard—a pound seems to be equivalent to about, uh, two hundred dollars? Something like that. This is an expensive suite, and it shows, it’s got central heating, electric lights—incandescent filaments, lots of them, dim enough you can look right at them—and silk curtains.” She glanced through the open bathroom door. “The bathroom looks to be all brass and porcelain fittings and a flushing toilet. Hmm. Must check to see what their power distribution system’s like. Might be an opportunity to sell them electric showers.”

She sighed. “Tomorrow Erasmus will fix me up with a meeting with his attorney and start making inquiries about that house. He also said he’d look into a patent clerk and get me into the central reading library. Looks like their intellectual property framework is a bit primitive. I’ll need to bring over some more fungibles soon. Gold is all very well, but I’m not sure it isn’t cheaper here than it is back home. I wonder what their kitchens are short of,” she added, brooding.

“Damn. I wish there was someone to talk to.” She clicked off the little machine and put it down on the sideboard, frowning. Whether or not Erasmus Burgeson was trustworthy was an interesting question. Probably he was, up to a point—as long as he could sniff a way to put one over on the cops who were enforcing his unwilling cooperation. But he was most clearly a bachelor, and there was something uncomfortable, slightly strained about him when she was in his presence. He’s not used to dealing with women, other than customers in his shop, she decided. That’s probably it.

In any event, her head ached and she was feeling tired. Think I’ll leave the dining room for another day, she decided. The bed seemed to beckon. Tomorrow would be a fresh start…

Gold Bugs

The following morning, Miriam awakened early. It was still semi-dark outside. She yawned at her reflection in the bathroom mirror as she brushed her hair. “Hmm. They wear it long here, don’t they?” It would just have to do, she thought, as she dressed in yesterday’s clothes once more. She carefully sorted through her shoulder bag to make sure there was nothing too obtrusively alien in it, then pulled her boots on.

She paused at the foot of the main staircase, poised above the polished marble floor next to the front desk. “Can I help you, ma’am?” a bellhop offered eagerly.