'It might have a psychological effect. Create enough disruption, and perhaps someone would turn him in just to get it over with.'
'Hm, possibly. Assuming he hasn't already left the area. He could have been halfway to the coast before we were done at the autopsy.'
'Only if he had access to transport.' Pym glanced at the empty sky.
'For all we know one of his sub-cousins had a rickety lightflyer in a shed somewhere. But . . . he's never been out of Silvy Vale. I'm not sure he'd know how to run, where to go. Well, if he has left the district it's a problem for Imperial Civil Security, and I'm off the hook.' Happy thought. 'But—one of the things that bothers me, a lot, are the inconsistencies in the picture I'm getting of our chief suspect. Have you noticed them?'
'Can't say as I have, m'lord.'
'Hm. Where did Karal take you, by the way, to arrest this guy?'
'To a wild area, rough scrub and gullies. Half a dozen men were out searching for Harra. They'd just called off their search and were on their way back when we met up with them. By which I concluded our arrival was no surprise.'
'Had Csurik actually been there, and fled, or was Karal just ring-leading you in a circle?'
'I think he'd actually been there, m'lord. The men claimed not, but as you point out they were relatives, and besides, they did not, ah, lie well. They were tense. Karal may begrudge you his cooperation, but I don't think he'll quite dare disobey your direct orders. He is a twenty-year man, after all.'
Like Pym himself, Miles thought. Count Vorkosigan's personal guard was legally limited to a ceremonial twenty men, but given his political position their function included very practical security. Pym was typical of their number, a decorated veteran of the Imperial Service who had retired to this elite private force. It was not Pym's fault that when he had joined he had stepped into a dead man's shoes, replacing the late Sergeant Bothari. Did anyone in the universe besides himself miss the deadly and difficult Bothari? Miles wondered sadly.
'I'd like to question
'Why don't you, then?' asked Pym logically.
'I may come to that. There is, however, a certain unavoidable degradation in a fast-penta interrogation. If the man's loyal it may not be in our best long-range interest to shame him publicly.'
'It wouldn't be in public.'
'No, but he would remember being turned into a drooling idiot. I need . . . more information.'
Pym glanced back over his shoulder. 'I thought you had all the information, by now.'
'I have facts. Physical facts. A great big pile of—meaningless, useless facts.' Miles brooded. 'If I have to fast-penta every backbeyonder in Silvy Vale to get to the bottom of this, I will. But it's not an elegant solution.'
'It's not an elegant problem, m'lord,' said Pym dryly.
They returned to find Speaker Karal's wife back and in full possession of her home. She was running in frantic circles, chopping, beating, kneading, stoking, and flying upstairs to change the bedding on the three pallets, driving her three sons before her to fetch and run and carry. Dr. Dea, bemused, was following her about trying to slow her down, explaining that they had brought their own tent and food, thank you, and that her hospitality was not required. This produced a most indignant response from Ma Karal.
'My lord's own son come to my house, and I to turn him out in the fields like his horse! I'd be ashamed!' And she returned to her work.
'She seems rather distraught,' said Dea, looking over his shoulder.
Miles took him by the elbow and propelled him out onto the porch. 'Just get out of her way, Doctor. We're doomed to be Entertained. It's an obligation on both sides. The polite thing to do is sort of pretend we're not here till she's ready for us.'
Dea lowered his voice. 'It might be better, in light of the circumstances, if we were to eat only our packaged food.'
The chatter of a chopping knife, and a scent of herbs and onions, wafted enticingly through the open window. 'Oh, I would imagine anything out of the common pot would be all right, wouldn't you?' said Miles. 'If anything really worries you, you can wisk it off and check it, I suppose, but—discreetly, eh? We don't want to insult anyone.'
They settled themselves in the homemade wooden chairs, and were promptly served tea again by a boy draftee of ten, Karal's youngest. He had apparently already received private instructions in manners from one or the other of his parents, for his response to Miles's deformities was the same flickering covert not-noticing as the adults, not quite as smoothly carried off.
'Will you be sleeping in my bed, m'lord?' he asked. 'Ma says we got to sleep on the porch.'
'Well, whatever your Ma says, goes,' said Miles. 'Ah … do you like sleeping on the porch?'
'Naw. Last time, Zed kicked me and I rolled off in the dark.'
'Oh. Well, perhaps, if we're to displace you, you would care to sleep in our tent by way of trade.'
The boy's eyes widened. 'Really?'
'Certainly. Why not?'
'Wait'll I tell Zed!' He danced down the steps and shot away around the side of the house. 'Zed, hey, Zed . . . !'
'I suppose,' said Dea, 'we can fumigate it, later. . . .'
Miles's lips twitched. 'They're no grubbier than you were at the same age, surely. Or than I was. When I was permitted.' The late afternoon was warm. Miles took off his green tunic and hung it on the back of his chair, and unbuttoned the round collar of his cream shirt.
Dea's brows rose. 'Are we keeping shopman's hours, then, m'lord, on this investigation? Calling it quits for the day?'
'Not exactly.' Miles sipped tea thoughtfully, gazing out across the yard. The trees and treetops fell away down to the bottom of this feeder valley. Mixed scrub climbed the other side of the slope. A crested fold, then the long flanks of a backbone mountain, beyond, rose high and harsh to a summit still flecked with dwindling dirty patches of snow.
'There's still a murderer loose out there somewhere,' Dea pointed out helpfully.
'You sound like Pym.' Pym, Miles noted, had finished with their horses and was taking his scanner for another walk. 'I'm waiting.'
'What for?'
'Not sure. The piece of information that will make sense of all this. Look, there's only two possibilities. Csurik's either innocent or he's guilty. If he's guilty, he's not going to turn himself in. He'll certainly involve his relations, hiding and helping him. I can call in reinforcements by comm link from Imperial Civil Security in Hassadar, if I want to. Any time. Twenty men, plus equipment, here by aircar in a couple of hours. Create a circus. Brutal, ugly, disruptive, exciting—could be quite popular. A manhunt, with blood at the end.
'Of course, there's also the possibility that Csurik's innocent, but scared. In which case . . .'
'Yes?'
'In which case, there's still a murderer out there.' Miles drank more tea. 'I merely note, if you want to catch something, running after it isn't always the best way.'
Dea cleared his throat, and drank his tea too.
'In the meantime, I have another duty to carry out. I'm here to be seen. If your scientific spirit is yearning for something to do to wile away the hours, try keeping count of the number of Vor-watchers that turn up tonight.'
Miles's predicted parade began almost immediately. It was mainly women, at first, bearing gifts as to a funeral. In the absence of a comm link system Miles wasn't sure by what telepathy they managed to communicate with each other, but they brought covered dishes of food, flowers, extra bedding, and offers of assistance. They were all introduced to Miles with nervous curtseys, but seldom lingered to chat; apparently a look was all their
