Cetaganda

'Now?' Miles said quietly.

'No.' Her cultured voice was a low-pitched alto. 'Meet me by the west entrance in thirty minutes.'

'I may not be able to achieve precision.'

'I'll wait.' She passed on.

'Crap,' said Ivan, after a moment's silence. 'You're really going to try to bring this off. You will be the hell careful, won't you?'

'Oh, yes.'

The protocol officer was taking a long time to find the nearest waste-disposal unit, Miles thought. But just as his nerves were stretching to the point of going to look for the man, he reappeared, walking quickly toward them. His smile of greeting seemed a little strained.

'My lords,' he nodded. 'Something has come up. I'm going to have to leave you for a while. Stay together, and don't leave the building, please.'

Perfect. Maybe. 'What sort of something?' asked Miles. 'We spotted Yenaro.'

'Our practical joker? Yes. We know he's here. My analysts judge him a non-lethal annoyance. I must leave you to defend yourselves from him, temporarily. But my outer-perimeter man, who is one of my sharpest fellows, has spotted another individual, known to us. A professional.'

The term professional, in this context, meant a professional killer, or something along those lines. Miles nodded alertly.

'We don't know why he's here,' Vorreedi went on. 'I have some heavier backup on the way. In the meanwhile, we propose to … drop in on him for a short chat.'

'Fast-penta is illegal here for anyone but the police and the imperials, isn't it?'

'I doubt this one would go to the authorities to complain,' murmured Vorreedi, with a slightly sinister smile.

'Have fun.'

'Watch yourselves.' The protocol officer nodded, and drifted away, as-if-casually.

Miles and Ivan walked on, pausing to examine a couple more rooted floral displays that seemed less unnervingly uncertain of their kingdom and phylum. Miles counted minutes in his head. He could break away shortly, and reach his rendezvous right on time. . . .

'Well, hello, sweet thing,' a musical voice trilled from behind them. Ivan turned around a beat faster than Miles. Lady Arvin and Lady Benello stood with arms linked. They unlinked arms and . . . oozed, Miles decided was the term, up on either side of Ivan, capturing one side each.

'Sweet thing?' Miles murmured in delight. Ivan spared him a brief glower before turning to his greeters.

'We heard you were here, Lord Ivan,' the blonde, Lady Arvin, continued. Tall Lady Benello concurred, her cascade of amber curls bouncing with her nod. 'What are you doing afterwards?'

'Ah … no particular plans,' said Ivan, his head swiveling in an attempt to divide his attention precisely in half.

'Ooh,' said Lady Arvin. 'Perhaps you would care to have dinner with me, at my penthouse.'

Lady Benello interrupted, 'Or, if you're not in an urban mood, I know this place not far from here, on a lake. Each patron is rowed out to their own little tiny island, and a picnic is served, alfresco. It's very private.'

Each woman smiled repellingly at the other. Ivan looked faintly hunted. 'What a tough decision,' he temporized.

'Come along and see Lady Benello's sisters pretties, while you think about it then, Lord Ivan,' said Lady Arvin equably. Her eye fell on Miles. 'You too, Lord Vorkosigan. We've been neglecting our most senior guest quite shamefully, I think. Upon discussion, we think this might be a regrettable oversight.' Her hand tightened on Ivan's arm, and she peeked around his torso to give her red-haired companion a bright, meaningful smile. 'This could be the solution to Lord Ivan's dilemma.'

'In the dark all cats are gray?' Miles murmured. 'Or at any rate, all Barrayarans?'

Ivan winced at the mention of felines. Lady Arvin looked blank, but Miles had a bad feeling the redhead had caught the joke. In any case, she detached herself from Ivan—was that a flash of triumph, crossing Lady Arvin's face?—and turned to Miles.

'Indeed, Lord Vorkosigan. Do you have any particular plans?'

'I'm afraid so,' said Miles with a regret that was not entirely feigned. 'In fact, I have to be going now.'

'Right now? Oh, do come . . . see my sister's exhibit, at least.' Lady Benello stopped short of linking arms with him, but seemed willing to walk by his side, even if it left her rival in temporary possession of Ivan.

Time. It wouldn't hurt to give the protocol officer a few more minutes to become fully engaged with his quarry. Miles smiled thinly, and allowed himself to be dragged along in the wake of the party, Lady Arvin in the lead towing Ivan. That tall redhead lacked the porcelain delicacy of the haut Rian. On the other hand, she was not nearly so … impossible. The difficult we do at once. The impossible takes . . .

Stop it. These women are users, you know that.

Oh, God, let me be used. . . .

Focus, boy, goddammit.

They walked down the switchback pathway, arriving at the next lower level. Lady Arvin turned in at a small circular open space screened by trees in tubs. Their leaves were glossy and jewel-like, but they were merely a frame for the display in the center. The display was a little baffling, artistically. It seemed to consist of three lengths of thick brocade, in subtle hues, spiraling loosely around each other from the top of a man-high pole to trail on the carpet below. The dense circular carpet echoed the greens of the bordering trees, in a complex abstract pattern.

'Heads up,' murmured Ivan.

'I see him,' breathed Miles.

Lord Yenaro, dark-robed and smiling, was sitting on one of the little curving benches that also helped frame the space.

'Where's Veda?' asked Lady Benello.

'She just stepped out,' said Yenaro, rising and nodding greetings to all.

'Lord Yenaro has been giving my sister Veda a little help with her entry,' Lady Benello confided to Miles and Ivan.

'Oh?' said Miles, staring around and wondering where the trap was this time. He didn't see it yet. 'And, uh . . . just what is her entry?'

'I know it doesn't look very impressive,' said Lady Benello defensively, 'but that's not the point. The subtlety is in the smell. It's the cloth. It emits a perfume that changes with the mood of the wearer. I still wonder if we ought to have had it made up into a dress,' this last comment seemed aimed at Yenaro. 'We could have had one of the servitors stand here and model it all day.'

'It would have seemed too commercial,' Yenaro said to her. 'This will score better.'

'And, um … it's alive?' asked Ivan doubtfully.

'The scent glands in the cloth are as alive as the sweat glands in your body,' Yenaro assured him. 'Nevertheless, you are right, the display is a bit static. Step closer, and we'll hand-demonstrate the effects.'

Miles sniffed, his paranoia-heightened awareness trying to individually check every volatile molecule that entered his nostrils. The dome was clouded with scents of every kind, drifting down from the displays upslope, not to mention the perfumes of the ghem-ladies and Yenaro in their robes. But the brocade did seem to be emitting a pleasant mixture of odors. Ivan didn't respond to the invitation to come closer either, Miles noticed. In addition to