Mirror Dance

of need for secrecy. When I go, so should she. If they thought you were Rowan, I bet you could just walk right out.”

“What … would I say?”

“As little as possible. Hello, Dr. Durona, your ride is here. Pick up your bag, and go.”

“I couldn’t.”

“You could try. If you fail, you’ll lose nothing. If you win, you’ll win everything. And—if you got away—you could tell people where I’ve gone. Who took me, and when. All it takes is a few minutes of nerve, and that’s free. We make it ourselves, out of ourselves. Nerve can’t be taken away from you like a purse or something. Hell, why am I telling you that? You escaped the Dendarii Mercenaries on nerve and wit alone.”

She looked utterly boggled. “I was doing it for my lady. I’ve never done anything for … for myself.”

He felt like crying, strung up to the point of pure nervous collapse. This was the sort of all-out exalted eloquence he usually reserved for persuading people to risk their lives, not save them. He leaned across to whisper demonically in her ear. “Do it for yourself. The universe will be around to collect its cut later.”

After breakfast, he tried to help her fix her hair Rowan-fashion. He was terrible at hair. Since Rowan was too, the final result was quite convincing, he fancied. They survived the delivery and removal of lunch.

He knew it wasn’t dinner when they didn’t knock before entering.

There were three guards, and a man in House livery. Two of the guards took him, wordlessly, and fastened his hands in front of him. He was grateful for that small favor. Behind his back would have been excruciating, after the first half-hour. They prodded him into the hall. No sign of Vasa and Lotus. Out looking for their lost clone, he hoped? He glanced back over his shoulder.

“Dr. Durona,” the House man nodded at Lilly Junior. “I am to be your driver. Where to?”

She brushed a loose wisp of hair from her eyes, picked up Rowan’s bag, stepped forward, and said, “Home.”

“Rowan,” Miles said. She turned.

“Take all, for it will all be taken back in time. That’s a grave truth.” He moistened dry lips. “Kiss me goodbye?”

She tilted her head, wheeled, bent. Pressed her lips to his, briefly. Followed the driver.

Well, it was enough to impress the guards. “How’d you rate that?” one inquired, amiably amused, as he was led in the opposite direction.

“I’m an acquired taste,” he informed them smugly.

“Cut the chat,” sighed the senior man.

He made two attempted breaks on the way to the groundcar; after the second, the biggest guard simply slung him over his shoulder, head-down, and threatened to drop him if he wriggled. They’d used enough force tackling him the second time that Miles didn’t think he was joking. They bundled him into the back of the vehicle between two of them.

“Where are you taking me?”

“To a transfer point,” one said.

“What transfer point?”

“That’s all you need to know.”

He kept up a steady stream of commentary, bribes, threats, insults, and at last, invective, but they never rose to the bait again. He wondered if any of them could be the man who’d killed him. No. No one involved in that mess at the surgical facility could be so calm about it all. These guys had been far away, that day. His voice went hoarse. It was a long ride. Groundcars were hardly used outside the cities, the roads were so bad. And they were far outside any city. It was past dusk when they pulled over beside a lonely intersection.

They handed him off to two humorless, flat-faced men in red and black House livery, who were waiting patiently as oxen. Ryoval’s colors. These men fastened his hands behind his back, and his ankles too, before slinging him into the back of a lightflyer. It rose silently into darkness.

Looks like Vasa Luigi got his price.

Rowan, if she’d made it, must send anyone looking for him to Bharaputra’s. Where Miles would not be. Not that he was so sure Vasa Luigi wouldn’t just cheerfully sic them right on to Ryoval.

But if Ryoval’s location was easy to find, they would have found it by now.

By God. I could be the first ImpSec agent on-site. He’d have to be sure and point that out, in his report to Illyan. He had looked forward to making posthumous reports to Illyan. Now he wondered if he was going to live long enough.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

“I hate to be the one to tell you this, Baron,” said the technician, “but your torture victim appears to be having a wonderful time.”

Gorge grinned around the tube gagging his mouth as Baron Ryoval walked around him and stared. Admiring his amazing stomach, perhaps.

“There are a number of possible psychological defenses in these situations,” Ryoval said. “Split personalities and identification with the captor included. I expected Naismith to work through them all, eventually, but—so soon?”

“I didn’t believe it either, sir, so I took a series of brain scans. The results were unusual.”

“If his personality is indeed splitting, it should show up on the scan.”

“Something shows up on the scan. He seems to be shielding portions of his mind from our stimuli, and his surface responses certainly suggest a split, but … the pattern is abnormally abnormal, if that makes sense, sir.”

“Not really.” Ryoval pursed his lips with interest. “I’ll take a look at them.”

“Whatever is going on, he’s not faking it. That I am sure of.”

“So impossibly fast …” murmured Ryoval. “When do you think he snapped? How could I have missed it?”

“I’m not sure. Early. The first day—maybe the first hour. But if he keeps it up, he’s going to be very elusive, to bring much force to bear upon. He can keep … changing shifts.”

“So can I,” stated Ryoval coldly.

The pressure in his stomach was growing into pain. Howl prodded anxiously, but Gorge would not give way. It was still his turn. The Other listened attentively. The fourth one always listened, when Baron Ryoval was present. Rarely slept, almost never spoke.

“I didn’t expect him to reach this stage of disintegration for months. It throws off my time-table,” the Baron complained.

Yes, Baron. Aren’t we fascinating? Don’t we intrigue you?

“I must consider how best to re-focus him,” Ryoval mused. “Bring him to my quarters later. I’ll see what a little quiet conversation and a few experiments will yield, in the way of new directions.”

Beneath his flattened affect, the Other shivered in anticipation.

Two guards delivered him/them to Baron Ryoval’s pleasant living room. There were no windows, though a large holovid display took up most of one wall, presently running a view of some tropical beach. But Ryoval’s quarters were surely underground. Nobody would break through windows here.

His skin was still patchy. The techs had sprayed the raw areas with some kind of coating, to keep him from oozing on Ryoval’s fine furniture, and dressed the other wounds with plastic bandage, so they wouldn’t break open and bleed and stain.