The Family Trade by Charles Stross Page B

here.”
    “I—yes, my lord. If it pleases you to accept my apologies …”
    “How is the prisoner?” Angbard asked abruptly.
    “Oh. Last time I checked—fifteen minutes ago—she was unconscious but sleeping normally. She is in one of the doppelgänger cells. I removed the mnemonic she was wearing on her person and had one of the maids search her for tattoos. Her cell has no mirror, no shaving apparatus. I left instructions that I am to be called when she awakens.”
    “Hmm.” Angbard chewed on his upper lip with an expression of deep disapproval. “What does the doctor say?”
    “The doctor says that he might have to splint her arm, later—there is bruising—but she sustained no serious harm in the course of the pickup.”
    “Well.” Angbard waved one hand in the direction of the chairs positioned before his desk. “Sit down.” His nephew sat with alacrity, his back stiff. “Do we have any known loose ends, Earl Roland?”
    “Yes, sir, but nothing critical. We have retrieved the documents, camera, recorder, personal computer, and all the other effects that we could find. Her house was untidy, but we are fairly sure we were able to locate everything—her office was well-organized. The windows have been repaired, and the neighbours informed indirectly that she is on assignment away from home. She is unmarried and has few attachments.” Roland looked faintly disapproving. “There is reference to an elderly mother who lives alone. The only possible problem is referred to in the contractor’s report. Evidently on her last excursion a woman, identity unknown, arrived, collected her car, then her person, and drove her home. Presumably a friend. The problem is that she left the stakeout by taxi without any notice—I assume she summoned it by means of a mobile telephone—and our contractor team was too short-staffed to dispatch a tail. I have therefore instructed them to continue surveillance and reinstate the line tap, in the hope that the friend reappears. Once she does so—”
    Roland shrugged.
    “See that you do—I want them in custody as soon as possible.” Angbard harrumphed. “As to the prisoner’s disposition …” He paused, head cocked slightly to one side.
    “Sir?” Roland was a picture of polite attentiveness.
    “The prisoner is to be treated with all the courtesy due to one of your own station, indeed, as a senior Clan member, I say. As a respected guest, detained for her own protection.”
    “Sir!” Roland couldn’t contain his shock.
    Angbard stared at him. “You have something to say, my earl?” he asked coldly.
    Roland swallowed. “I hear and… and will of course obey,” he said. “Just, please permit me to say, this is a surprise—”
    “Your surprise is noted, ” Angbard stated coldly. “Nevertheless, I will keep my reasons to myself for the time being. All you need to know at present is that the prisoner must be treated with, as they say, kidskin gloves.” He stared at the young officer intently, but he showed no sign of defiance: and after a moment Angbard relented slightly. “This—” he gestured at the box before him—“raises some most disturbing possibilities.” He tapped one finger on the topmost sheet. “Or had you noticed any strangers out with the Clan who are gifted with the family talent?”
    “Mm, no, sir, I had not.” Roland looked suddenly thoughtful. “What are you thinking?”
    “Later,” Angbard said tersely. “Just see she’s transferred to a comfortable—but securely doppelgängered—suite. Be polite and hospitable, win her trust, and treat her person with the utmost respect. And notify me when she is ready to answer my questions.”
    “I hear and obey,” Roland acknowledged, less puzzled, but clearly thoughtful.
    “See that you do,” Angbard rumbled. “You are dismissed.”
    His nephew rose, straightened his suit jacket, and strode toward the door, a rapier banging at his side. Angbard stared at the door in silence for a