The Merchants' War Read Free Page B

moment. But he obviously knew the place. What's so funny about it? She nodded, then grabbed hold of the rail and pulled herself up. The cabbie made no move to help her in, other than to look down at her incuriously. But if he had any opinion of her odd outfit he kept it to himself, for which she was grateful. As soon as she was on the foot plate, he twitched the reins.
    I'm going to have to pay him, Miriam thought, furiously racking her brains for ideas as the cab rattled across the stone pavements. What with? She fumbled in her greatcoat's pockets. One of them disgorged a foul-smelling cheesecloth bag full of loose tobacco. The other contained nothing but a loose button. Oh, great. They were turning past Highgate now, down in what corresponded to the East Village in her world. Not an upmarket neighborhood in New London, but there were worse places to be-like inside a thief-taker's lockup for trying to cheat a cabbie of his fare. What was the woman's name, Bishop? Margaret Bishop? I'm going to have to ask her to pay for me. Miriam tensed up. Or I could world-walk hack to the other side, wait a couple of hours, and -but her headache was already telling her no. If she crossed back to the Gruinmarkt she'd be good for nothing for at least three hours, and knowing her luck she'd come out somewhere much worse than an alley full of muggers. For the time being, returning to the other side was unthinkable. Damn it, why did James have to give me the wrong locket?
    The journey seemed interminable, divided into a million segments by the plodding clatter of hooves. Probably a yellow cab in her own familiar New York would have gotten across town no faster-there was less traffic here- but her growing sense of unease was driving her frantic, and the lack of acceleration made her grind her teeth. That's what's wrong with this world, she realized, there's no acceleration. You can go fast by train or airship, but you never get that surging sense of purpose-
    The traffic thickened, steam cars rattling and chuffing past the cab. The lights were brighter, some of the street lights running on electricity now: and then there was a wide curving boulevard and a big row of town houses with iron railings out front, and a busy rank of cabs outside it, and people bustling around. "Hogarth Villas coming up, mam, Gin Lane on your left, Beer Alley to your right." The cabbie bent down and leered at her between his legs. "That'll be sixpence ha'penny."
    "The doorman will pay," Miriam said tensely, mentally crossing her fingers. j
    "Is that so?" The leer vanished, replaced by an expression of contempt. "Tell it to the rozzers!" He straightened up: "I know your type." A rattle of chain and a leather weather shield began to unroll over the front of the cab,
    Blocking off escape. "I'll get me fee out of you one way or the other, it's up to you how you pays."
    "Hey!" Miriam waved at a caped figure standing by the gate, pushing the side of the leather screen aside. "You! I need to see Lady Bishop! Now!"
    The caped figure turned towards her and stepped up to-wards the cab. The cabbie up top swore: "Bugger off!"
    "What did you say?" Miriam quailed. The man in the cape was about six feet six tall, built like a brick outhouse, and his eyes were warm as bullets.
    "I need to see Lady Bishop," Miriam repeated, trying to keep a deadly quaver out of her voice. "I have no money and it's urgent," she hissed. "I was told she was here."
    "I see." Bullet-eyes tracked upwards towards the cabbie. "How much?"
    "Sixpence, guv, that's all I need," the cabbie whined.
    Bullet- eyes considered for a moment. Then a hand with lingers as thick as a baby's forearm extended upwards. A flash of silver. "You. Come with me."
    The weather screen was yanked upwards: Miriam lost no time clambering down hastily. Bullet-eyes gestured towards a set of steps leading down one side of the nearest town house. "That way."
    "That- " Miriam was already halfway to the steps before several other details of the