The Traders' War (Merchant Princes Omnibus 2) by Stross Charles Page A
Authors: Stross Charles
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walks.’
She nodded. ‘The mint, the national debt, and the ability to debase the currency, has always been the criminal-in-chief’s best weapon, Erasmus. He could buy out the bourgeoisie from
under our banner in a split second, did he but recognize their importance. It’s time
we
recognized that, and acted accordingly.’
‘Well.’ Erasmus took a sip of brandy. It was fine stuff, liquid fire that warmed his old bag of bones from the inside out. ‘Judging from what your “intimate source”
told me, even if he recognized its importance he probably wouldn’t act on it until it was too late. Indecisive doesn’t begin to describe this one, milady. Stranded in a well-stocked
kitchen John Frederick could starve himself to death between two cookbooks. He looks solid with the machinery of state behind him, but if he’s forced to make tough choices he’ll dither
and haver until he’s half past hanging.’
‘Well, that’s his look out,’ she said tartly. ‘Was there anything we can
use
?’
‘Yes. If you don’t mind risking the source – at least, this week. It’s so big that it will leak sooner rather than later; the French have exploded a corpuscular petard.
Caught the navy napping, too; they weren’t supposed to have that high a command of the new physics. The flash was visible from Blackpool, apparently, and the toadstool cloud from
Lancaster.’
‘Oh.’ Her eyes widened. ‘And with wars, and rumors of wars – ’
‘Yes, milady. I think something is going to have to happen, sooner or later. The situation in Persia if nothing else is a source of friction, and the temptation to
send a message
to the court of the Sun King – I wouldn’t place money on it starting this year, but I can’t see him lasting out the decade without strife. John Frederick wants to leave his mark
on the history books, lest his son is followed rapidly by a nephew or cousin in the line of succession.’
‘Then let’s start making plans, shall we?’ She smiled. It was not a pleasant expression. ‘If the leviathan is determined to drink the blood of the people, there’s
going to be plenty to spare for the ticks.’
Erasmus shivered. ‘Indeed, milady.’
‘Well then.’ She put her glass down. ‘Which brings me to another matter I have in mind. I think it’s past time you arranged for me to meet this Miss Beckstein, who you
say is so like me. I have many questions for her; I’m sure we can trade more than toys once we understand each other better.’
SPOOK SUMMIT
Twelve weeks earlier:
Mike Fleming was on his way home from his office at the DEA, completely exhausted.
Sometimes, when he was extremely tired, he’d lose his sense of smell. It was as if the part of his brain that dealt with scents and stinks and stuff gave up trying to make sense of the
world and went to sleep without him. At other times it would come back extra strong, and any passing scent might dredge up a slew of distracting memories. It was a weird kind of borderline
synesthesia, and it reminded him uncomfortably of a time a couple of years ago when he’d been on assignment in some scummy mosquito-ridden swamp down in Florida. The hippie asshole he was
staking out had made the tail, and instead of doing the usual number with a MAC-10 or running, had spiked his drink with acid. He’d spent a quarter of an hour in the bathroom of his hotel
room staring at the amazing colors in the handle of his toothbrush, marveling at the texture of his spearmint dental gel, until he’d thrown up. And now he was so tired it was all coming back
to him in unwelcome hallucinatory detail.
Mike worked in Cambridge, but he lived out in the sticks. The T only took him part of the way, and as he stumbled onto the platform he realized fuzzily that he was far too tired to drive.
Did I really just pull a fifty-hour shift in the office?
he wondered.
Or am I imagining an extra day?
Whatever the facts, he was beyond tired. He was at the point where his
She nodded. ‘The mint, the national debt, and the ability to debase the currency, has always been the criminal-in-chief’s best weapon, Erasmus. He could buy out the bourgeoisie from
under our banner in a split second, did he but recognize their importance. It’s time
we
recognized that, and acted accordingly.’
‘Well.’ Erasmus took a sip of brandy. It was fine stuff, liquid fire that warmed his old bag of bones from the inside out. ‘Judging from what your “intimate source”
told me, even if he recognized its importance he probably wouldn’t act on it until it was too late. Indecisive doesn’t begin to describe this one, milady. Stranded in a well-stocked
kitchen John Frederick could starve himself to death between two cookbooks. He looks solid with the machinery of state behind him, but if he’s forced to make tough choices he’ll dither
and haver until he’s half past hanging.’
‘Well, that’s his look out,’ she said tartly. ‘Was there anything we can
use
?’
‘Yes. If you don’t mind risking the source – at least, this week. It’s so big that it will leak sooner rather than later; the French have exploded a corpuscular petard.
Caught the navy napping, too; they weren’t supposed to have that high a command of the new physics. The flash was visible from Blackpool, apparently, and the toadstool cloud from
Lancaster.’
‘Oh.’ Her eyes widened. ‘And with wars, and rumors of wars – ’
‘Yes, milady. I think something is going to have to happen, sooner or later. The situation in Persia if nothing else is a source of friction, and the temptation to
send a message
to the court of the Sun King – I wouldn’t place money on it starting this year, but I can’t see him lasting out the decade without strife. John Frederick wants to leave his mark
on the history books, lest his son is followed rapidly by a nephew or cousin in the line of succession.’
‘Then let’s start making plans, shall we?’ She smiled. It was not a pleasant expression. ‘If the leviathan is determined to drink the blood of the people, there’s
going to be plenty to spare for the ticks.’
Erasmus shivered. ‘Indeed, milady.’
‘Well then.’ She put her glass down. ‘Which brings me to another matter I have in mind. I think it’s past time you arranged for me to meet this Miss Beckstein, who you
say is so like me. I have many questions for her; I’m sure we can trade more than toys once we understand each other better.’
SPOOK SUMMIT
Twelve weeks earlier:
Mike Fleming was on his way home from his office at the DEA, completely exhausted.
Sometimes, when he was extremely tired, he’d lose his sense of smell. It was as if the part of his brain that dealt with scents and stinks and stuff gave up trying to make sense of the
world and went to sleep without him. At other times it would come back extra strong, and any passing scent might dredge up a slew of distracting memories. It was a weird kind of borderline
synesthesia, and it reminded him uncomfortably of a time a couple of years ago when he’d been on assignment in some scummy mosquito-ridden swamp down in Florida. The hippie asshole he was
staking out had made the tail, and instead of doing the usual number with a MAC-10 or running, had spiked his drink with acid. He’d spent a quarter of an hour in the bathroom of his hotel
room staring at the amazing colors in the handle of his toothbrush, marveling at the texture of his spearmint dental gel, until he’d thrown up. And now he was so tired it was all coming back
to him in unwelcome hallucinatory detail.
Mike worked in Cambridge, but he lived out in the sticks. The T only took him part of the way, and as he stumbled onto the platform he realized fuzzily that he was far too tired to drive.
Did I really just pull a fifty-hour shift in the office?
he wondered.
Or am I imagining an extra day?
Whatever the facts, he was beyond tired. He was at the point where his
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