Cetaganda

its break for independence. No, not crude. Downright elegant.'

'The Ba Lura committed suicide. It was said.'

'No. Murdered. Cetagandan Imperial Security is on to that one, too. They will unravel it in time. No . . . they will unravel it eventually. I don't trust that it will be in time.'

'It is impossible for a ba servitor to commit treason.'

'Unless the ba servitor thinks that it is acting loyally, in a deliberately ambiguous situation. I don't think even the ba are so un-human that they cannot be mistaken.'

'… No.' Yenaro looked up at both the Barrayarans. 'You must believe, I would have no regrets whatsoever if you two fell off a cliff. But I would not push you myself.'

'I … so I judged,' said Miles. 'But for my curiosity—what were you to get out of the deal, besides a week's amusement in embarrassing a couple of loutish barbarians? Or was this art for art's sake on your part?'

'He promised me a post.' Yenaro stared at the floor again. 'You don't understand, what it is to be without a post in the capital. You have no position. You have no status. You are … no one. I was tired of being no one.'

'What post?'

'Imperial Perfumer.' Yenaro's dark eyes flashed. 'I know it doesn't sound very mighty, but it would have gained me entrance to the Celestial Garden, maybe the Imperial Presence itself. Where I would have worked among . . . the best in the empire. The top people. And I would have been good.'

Miles had no trouble understanding ambition, no matter how arcane its form. 'I imagine so.'

Yenaro's lips twitched in half a grateful smile.

Miles glanced at his chrono. 'God, I'm late. Ivan-can you handle this from here?'

'I think so.'

Miles rose. 'Good day, Lord Yenaro, and a better one than you were destined to have, I think. I may have used up a year's supply this afternoon already, but wish me luck. I have a little date with Prince Slyke now.'

'Good luck,' Yenaro said doubtfully.

Miles paused. 'It was Prince Slyke, was it not?'

'No! I was talking about Governor the haut Ilsum Kety!'

Miles pursed his lips, and blew out his breath in a slow trickle. I have just been either screwed or saved. I wonder which? 'Kety set you up … with all this?'

'Yes . . .'

Could Kety have sent his fellow governor and cousin Prince Slyke to scout out the Imperial Regalia for him, a stalking horse? Certainly. Or not. For that matter, could Slyke have set up Kety to operate Yenaro for him? Not impossible. Back to square one. Damn, damn, damn!

While Miles hovered in new doubt, the protocol officer rounded the corner. His hurried stride slowed as he spotted Miles and Ivan, and a look of relief crossed his face. By the time he strolled into the nook he was projecting the air of a tourist again, but he raked Yenaro with a knife-keen glance.

'Hello, my lords.' His nod took all three in equally.

'Hello, sir,' said Miles. 'Did you have an interesting conversation?'

'Extraordinarily.'

'Ah … I don't believe you've formally met Lord Yenaro, sir. Lord Yenaro, this is my embassy's protocol officer, Lord Vorreedi.'

The two men exchanged more studied nods, Yenaro's hand going to his chest in a sketch of a sitting bow.

'What a coincidence, Lord Yenaro,' Vorreedi went on. 'We were just talking about you.'

'Oh?' said Yenaro warily.

'Ah …' Vorreedi sucked his lip thoughtfully, then seemed to come to some internal decision. 'Are you aware that you seem to be in the middle of some sort of vendetta at present, Lord Yenaro?'

'I—no! What makes you think so?'

'Hm. Normally, ghem-lords' personal affairs are not my business, only the official ones. But the, ah, chance of a good deed has come up so squarely in my path, I shall not avoid it. This time. I just had a short talk with a, ah, gentleman who informed me he was here today with the mission of seeing that you, in his precise phrasing, did not leave the Moon Garden Hall alive. He was a little vague about what method he proposed to use to accomplish this. What made him peculiar in this venue was that he was no ghem. A purely commercial artist. He did not know who had hired him, that information being concealed behind several layers of screening. Do you have any guesses?'

Yenaro listened to this recital shocked, tight-lipped, and thoughtful. Miles wondered if Yenaro was going through the same set of deductions he was. He rather thought so. The haut-governor, it appeared, whichever one it was, had sent Yenaro's ploy some backup. Just to make sure nothing went wrong. Such as Yenaro surviving his own bombing to accuse his betrayer.

'I … have a guess, yes.'

'Would you care to share it?'

Yenaro regarded him doubtfully. 'Not at this time.'

'Suit yourself,' Vorreedi shrugged. 'We left him sitting in a quiet corner. The fast-penta should wear off in about ten minutes. You have that much lead-time to do—whatever you decide.'

'Thank you, Lord Vorreedi,' said Yenaro quietly. He gathered his dark robes about himself, and rose. He was pale, but admirably controlled, not shaking. 'I think I will leave you now.'

'Probably a good choice,' said Vorreedi.

'Keep in touch, huh?' said Miles. Yenaro gave him a brief, formal nod. 'Yes. We must talk again.' He strode away, glancing left and right.

Ivan chewed on his fingers. It was better than his blurting out everything to Vorreedi right here and now, Miles's greatest fear.

'Was that all true, sir?' Miles asked Colonel Vorreedi.

'Yes.' Vorreedi rubbed his nose. 'Except that I'm not so certain that it isn't any of our business. Lord Yenaro seems to be taking a great deal of interest in you. One can't help wondering if there might be some hidden connection. Sifting through that hired thug's hierarchy would be tedious and time-consuming for my department. And what would we find at the end?' Vorreedi's eye fell coolly on Miles. 'Just how angry were you at getting your legs burned the other night, Lord Vorkosigan?'

'Not that angry!' Miles denied hastily. 'Give me credit for a sense of proportion, at least, sir! No. It wasn't me who hired the goon.' Though he had just as surely set up Yenaro for this, by attempting to play all those cute little head-games with his possible patrons, Kety, Prince Slyke, and the Rond. You wanted a reaction, you got one. 'But . . . it's just a feeling, you understand. But I think pursuing this lead might be time and resources well spent.' ,fj

'A feeling, eh?'

'You surely have trusted your intuition before, in your work, sir.'

'Used, yes. Trusted, never. An ImpSec officer should be clear about the difference.'

'I understand, sir.'

They all rose to continue the tour of the exhibition, Miles carefully not glancing at the scorched spot on the pavement as they passed on. As they approached the west side of the dome, Miles searched the robed crowd for his contact-lady. There she was, sitting near a fountain, frowning. But he would never succeed in ditching Vorreedi now; the man was stuck like glue. He tried anyway. 'Excuse me, sir. I have to speak to a lady.'

'I'll come with you,' said Vorreedi pleasantly.

Right. Miles sighed, hastily composing his message. The dignified ghem-lady looked up as he approached with his unwelcome companions. Miles realized he didn't know the woman's name.

'Pardon me, milady. I just wanted to let you know that I will not be able to accept your invitation to visit, uh, this afternoon. Please convey my deepest regrets to your mistress.' Would she, and the haut Rian, interpret this as intended, as Abort, abort abort!? Miles could only pray so. 'But if she can arrange instead a visit to the man's cousin, I think that would be most educational.'

The woman's frown deepened. But she only said, 'I will convey your words, Lord Vorkosigan.'

Miles nodded farewell, mentally blessing her for avoiding the pitfall of any more complicated reply. When he