Chapter Seventeen
“For God’s sake, Bothari, we can’t take her in there,” hissed Koudelka.
They stood in an alley deep in the maze of the caravanserai. A thick-walled building bulked an unusual three stories high in the cold, wet darkness. High on its stuccoed face, scabrous with peeling paint, yellow light glinted through carved shutters. An oil lamp burned dimly above a wooden door, the only entrance Cordelia could see.
“Can’t leave her out here. She needs heat,” replied the sergeant. He carried Lady Vorpatril in his arms; she clung to him, wan and shivering. “It’s a slow night anyway. Late. They’re closing down.”
“What is this place?” asked Droushnakovi. Koudelka cleared his throat. “Back in the Time of Isolation, when this was the center of Vorbarr Sultana, it was a lord’s Residence. One of the minor Vorbarra princes, I think. That’s why it’s built like a fortress. Now it’s a … sort of inn.”
Oh, so this is your whorehouse, Kou, Cordelia managed not to blurt out. Instead she addressed Bothari, “Is it safe? Or is it likely to be stocked with informers like that last place?”
“Safe for a few hours,” Bothari judged. “A few hours is all we have anyway.” He set Lady Vorpatril down, handing her off to Droushnakovi, and slipped inside after a muffled conversation through the door with some guardian. Cordelia tucked little Ivan more firmly to her, tugging her jacket over him for all the warmth she could share. Fortunately, he had slept quietly through their several-minutes hike from the abandoned building to this place. In a few moments Bothari returned, and motioned them to follow.
They passed through an entryway, almost like a stone tunnel, with narrow slits in the walls and holes every half-meter above. “For defense, in the old days,” whispered Koudelka, and Droushnakovi nodded understanding. No arrows or boiling oil awaited them tonight, though. A man as tall as Bothari, but wider, locked the door again behind them.
They came out in a large, dim room that had been converted into some sort of bar/dining room. It was occupied only by two dispirited-looking women in robes and a man snoring with his head on the table. As usual, an extravagant fireplace glowed with coals of wood.
They had a guide, or hostess. A rangy woman beckoned them silently toward the stairs. Fifteen years ago, or even ten years ago, she might have achieved a leggy aquiline look; now she was bony and faded, misclad in a gaudy magenta robe with drooping ruffles that seemed to echo her inherent sadness. Bothari swept up Lady Vorpatril and carried her up the steep stairs. Koudelka stared around uneasily, and seemed to brighten slightly upon not finding someone.
The woman led them to a room off an upstairs hallway. “Change the sheets,” muttered Bothari, and the woman nodded and vanished. Bothari did not set the exhausted Lady Vorpatril down. The woman returned in a few minutes, and whisked off the bed’s rumpled coverings and replaced them with fresh linens. Bothari laid Lady Vorpatril in the bed and backed up. Cordelia tucked the sleeping infant in her arm, and Lady Vorpatril managed a grateful nod.
The—housewoman, Cordelia decided she would think of her—stared with a spark of interest at the baby. “That’s a new one. Big boy, eh?” her voice swung to a tentative coo.
“Two weeks old,” stated Bothari in a repelling tone.
The woman snorted, hands on hips. “I do my bit of midwifery, Bothari. Two hours, more like.”
Bothari shot Cordelia an odd look, almost a flash of fear. The housewoman held up a hand to ward off his frown. “Whatever you say.”
“We should let her sleep,” said Bothari, “till we’re sure she isn’t going to bleed.”
“Yes, but not alone,” said Cordelia. “In case she wakes up disoriented in a strange place.” In the range of strange, Cordelia suspected, this place qualified as downright alien for the Vor woman.
“I’ll sit with her a while,” volunteered Droushnakovi. She glowered suspiciously at the housewoman, who was apparently leaning too near the baby for her taste. Cordelia didn’t think Drou was at all fooled by Koudelka’s pretense that they had stumbled into some sort of museum. Nor would Lady Vorpatril be, once she’d rested enough to regain her wits.
Droushnakovi plunked down in a shabby padded armchair, wrinkling her nose at its musty smell. The others withdrew from the room. Koudelka went off to find whatever this old building used for a lavatory, and to try and buy them some food. An underlying tang to the air suggested to Cordelia that nothing in the caravanserai was hooked up to the municipal sewerage. No central heating, either. At Bothari’s frown, the housewoman made herself scarce.
A sofa, a couple of chairs, and a low table occupied a space at the end of the hall, lit by a red-shaded battery-driven lamp. Wearily, Bothari and Cordelia sat there. With the pressure off for a moment, not fighting the strain, Bothari looked ragged. Cordelia had no idea what she looked like, but she was certain it wasn’t her best.
“Do they have whores on Beta Colony?” Bothari asked suddenly.
Cordelia fought mental whiplash. His voice was so tired the question sounded almost casual, except that Bothari never made casual conversation. How much had tonight’s violent events disturbed his precarious balance, stressed his peculiar fault lines? “Well … we have the L.P.S.T.s,” she answered cautiously. “I guess they fill some of the same social functions.”
“Ellpee Estees?”
“Licensed Practical Sexuality Therapists. You have to pass the government boards, and get a license. You’re required to have at least an associate degree in psychotherapy. Except that all three sexes take up the profession. The hermaphrodites make the most money, they’re very popular with the tourists. It’s not … not a high social status job, but neither are they dregs. I don’t think we have dregs on Beta Colony, we sort of stop at the lower middle class. It’s like …” she paused, struggling for a cultural translation, “sort of like being a hairdresser, on Barrayar. Delivering a personal service to professional standards, with a bit of art and craft.”
She’d actually managed to boggle Bothari, surely a first. His brow wrinkled. “Only Betans would think you needed a bleeding university degree… . Do women hire them?”
“Sure. Couples, too. The … the teaching element is rather more emphasized, there.”
He shook his head, and hesitated. He shot her a sidelong look. “My mother was a whore.” His tone was curiously distant. He waited.
“I’d … about figured that out.”
“Don’t know why she didn’t abort me. She could have, she did those as well as midwifery. Maybe she was looking to her old age. She used to sell me to her customers.”
Cordelia choked. “Now … now that would not have been allowed, on Beta Colony.”
“I can’t remember much about that time. I ran away when I was twelve, when I got big enough to beat up her damned customers. Ran with the gangs, till I was sixteen, passed for eighteen, and lied my way into the Service. Then I was out of here.” His palms slid across each other, indicating how slick and fast his escape.
“The Service must have seemed like heaven, in comparison.”
“Till I met Vorrutyer.” He stared around vaguely. “There were more people around here, back then. It’s almost dead here now.” His voice went meditative. “There’s a great deal of my life I can’t remember very well. It’s like I’m all … patchy. Yet there are some things I want to forget and can’t.”
She wasn’t about to ask, What? But she made an I-am-listening noise, down in her throat.
“Don’t know who my father was. Being a bastard here is damn near as bad as being a mutant.”
“ ’Bastard’ is used as a negative description of a personality, but it doesn’t really have an objective meaning, in the Betan context. Unlicensed children aren’t the same thing, and they’re so rare, they’re dealt with on a case-by-case basis.” Why is he telling me all this? What does he want of me? When he started, he seemed almost fearful; now he looks almost contented. What did I say right? She sighed.
To her secret relief, Koudelka returned about then, bearing actual fresh sandwiches of bread and cheese, and bottled beer. Cordelia was glad for the beer; she’d have been dubious of the water in this place. She chased her first bite with a grateful swallow, and said, “Kou, we have to re—arrange. our strategy.”
He settled awkwardly beside her, listening seriously. “Yes?”
“We obviously can’t take Lady Vorpatril and the baby with us. And we can’t leave her here. We left five
