"Charles Stross - Merchant princes 03 - The Clan Corporate" - читать интересную книгу автора (Stross Charles)

bedroom in jeans and sweater, her seat a folding aluminum camp chair, a laptop
balanced on her knees and a mug of coffee cooling on the floor by her feet. If
I can't do I can at least plan, she told herself wryly. She had a lot of
plans, more than she knew what to do with. The whole idea of turning the
Clan's business model around, from primitive mercantilism to making money off
technology transfer between worlds, seemed impossibly utopian-especially
considering how few of the Clan elders had any sort of modern education. But
without plans, written studies, and costings and risk analyses, she wasn't
going to convince anyone. So she'd ground out a couple more pages of proposals
before realizing someone was watching her.
"Yes?"
"Milady." Kara bent a knee prettily, a picture of instinctive teenage grace
that Miriam couldn't imagine matching. "You bade me remind you last week that
this eve is the first of summer twelvenight. There's to be a garden party at
the Östhalle tonight, and a ball afterward beside, and a card from her grace
your mother bidding you to attend her this afternoon beforehand." Her face the
picture of innocence she added, "Shall I attend to your party?"
If Kara organized Helge's carriage and guards then Kara would be coming along
too. The memories of what had happened the last time Helge let Kara accompany
her to a court event made her want to wince, but she managed to keep a
straight face: "Yes, you do that," she said evenly. "Get Mistress Tanzig in to
dress me before lunch, and my compliments to her grace my mother and I shall
be with her by the second hour of the afternoon." Mistress Tanzig, the
dressmaker, would know what Helge should wear in public and, more important,
would be able to alter it to fit if there were any last-minute problems.
Miriam hit the save button on her spreadsheet and sighed. "Is that the time?
Tell somebody to run me a bath; I'll be out in a minute."
So much for the day off, thought Miriam as she packed the laptop away. I
suppose I'd better go and be Helge . . .


"Have you thought about marriage?" asked the duchess.
"Mother! As if!" Helge snorted indignantly and her eyes narrowed. "It's been
about, what, ten weeks? Twelve? If you think I'm about to shack up with some
golden boy so soon after losing Roland-"
"That wasn't what I meant, dear."
Helge drew breath. "What do you mean?"
"I meant . . ." The duchess Patricia glanced at her sharply, taking stock:
"The, ah, noble institution. Have you thought about what it means here? And if
so, what did you think?"
"I thought"-a slight expression of puzzlement wrinkled Helge's forehead-"when
I first arrived, Angbard tried to convince me I ought to make an alliance of
fortunes, as he put it. Crudely speaking, to tie myself to a powerful man who
could protect me." The wrinkles turned into a full-blown frown. "I nearly told
him he could put his alliance right where the sun doesn't shine."
"It's a good thing you didn't," her mother said diplomatically.
"Oh, I know that! Now. But the whole deal here creeps me out. And then." Helge
took a deep breath and looked at the duchess: "There's you, your experience. I
really don't know how you can stand to be in the same room as her grace your
mother, the bitch! How she could-"