The Family Trade by Charles Stross Page A

roast too, then you don’t know me as well as I think you do.”
    “That,” Paulette remarked as she pulled over into the parking space next to Miriam’s house, “was a very mixed metaphor.”
    “Don’t listen to what I say; listen to what I mean, okay?”
    “I get the picture. Dinner’s on you.”
    After half an hour in the bathroom, Miriam felt human, if not entirely dry. She stopped in her bedroom for long enough to find some clean clothes, then headed downstairs in her bare feet.
    Paulette had parked herself in the living room with a couple of mugs of coffee and an elegant-looking handbag. She raised an eyebrow at Miriam: “You look like you’ve been dry-cleaned. Was it that bad?”
    “Yeah.” Miriam settled down on the sofa, then curled her legs up beneath her. She picked up one of the mugs and inhaled deeply. “Ah, that’s better.”
    “Ready to tell me what the hell is going on?”
    “In a moment.” Miriam closed her eyes, then gathered up the strands of still-damp hair sticking to her neck and wound them up, outside her collar. “That’s better. It happened right after they screwed us over, Paulie. I figured you’d think I’d gone off the deep end if I just told you about it, which is why I didn’t call you back the same day. Why I asked you to drive. Sorry about the surprise.”
    “You should be: I spent an hour in the woods looking for you. I nearly called the police twice, but you’d said precisely when you’d be back and I thought they’d think I was the one who was nuts. ‘Sides, you’ve got a habit of dredging up weird shit and leaving me to pick up the pieces. Promise me there are no gangsters in this one?”
    “I promise.” Miriam nodded. “Well, what do you think?”
    “I think I’d like some lemon chicken. Sorry.” Paulette grinned impishly at Miriam’s frown. “Okay, I believe you’ve discovered something very weird indeed. I actually videoed you vanishing into thin air in front of the camera! And when you appeared again—no, I didn’t get it on tape, but I saw you out of the corner of my eye. Either we’re both crazy or this is for real.”
    “Madness doesn’t come in this shape and size,” Miriam said soberly. She winced. “I need a painkiller.” She rubbed her feet, which were cold. “You know I’m adopted, right? My mother didn’t quite tell me everything until Monday. I went to see her after we were fired …”
    For the next hour Miriam filled Paulette in on the events of the past week, leaving out nothing except her phone call to Andy. Paulette listened closely and asked the right questions. Miriam was satisfied that her friend didn’t think she was mad, wasn’t humouring her. “Anyway, I’ve now got tape of my vanishing, a shitload of photographs of this village, and dictated notes. See? It’s beginning to mount up.”
    “Evidence,” said Paulette. “That would be useful if you want to go public.” Suddenly she looked thoughtful. “Big if there.”
    “Hmm?” Miriam drank down what was left of her coffee.
    “Well, this place you go to—it’s either in the past or the future, or somewhere else, right? I think we can probably rule out the past or future options. If it was the past, you wouldn’t have run across a village the way you described it; and as for the future, there’d still be some sign of Boston, wouldn’t there?”
    “Depends how far in the future you go.” Miriam frowned. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. It’s funny; when I was a little girl I always figured the land of make-believe would be bright and colourful. Princesses in castles and princes to go around kissing them so they turned into frogs—and dragons to keep the royalty population under control. But in the middle ages there were about a thousand peasants living in sordid poverty for every lord of the manor, who actually had a sword, a horse, and a house with a separate bedroom to sleep in. A hundred peasants for every member of the nobility—the lords and