The Mountains of Mourning

Cetagandan occupation is a measure of how fiercely he could adapt, then throw it all away and adapt again. At the end of his life he was called a conservative, only because so much of Barrayar had streamed past him in the direction he had led, prodded, pushed, and pointed all his life.

'He changed, and adapted, and bent with the wind of the times. Then, in his age — for my father was his youngest and sole surviving son, and did not himself marry till middle age — in his age, he was hit with me. And he had to change again. And he couldn't.

'He begged for my mother to have an abortion, after they knew more or less what the fetal damage would be. He and my parents were estranged for five years after I was born. They didn't see each other or speak or communicate. Everyone thought my father moved us to the Imperial Residence when he became Regent because he was angling for the throne, but in fact it was because the Count my grandfather denied him the use of Vorkosigan House. Aren't family squabbles jolly fun? Bleeding ulcers run in my family, we give them to each other.' Miles strolled back to the window and looked out. Ah, yes. Here it came.

'The reconciliation was gradual, when it became quite clear there would be no other son,' Miles went on. 'No dramatic denouement. It helped when the medics got me walking. It was essential that I tested out bright. Most important of all, I never let him see me give up.'

Nobody had dared interrupt this lordly monologue, but it was clear from several expressions that the point of it was escaping them. Since half the point was to kill time, Miles was not greatly disturbed by their failure to track. Footsteps sounded on the wooden porch outside. Pym moved quietly to cover the door with an unobscured angle of fire.

'Dr. Dea,' said Miles, sighting through the window, 'would you be so kind as to administer that fast-penta to the first person through the door, as they step in?'

'You're not waiting for a volunteer, my lord?'

'Not this time.'

The door swung inward, and Dea stepped forward, raising his hand. The hypospray hissed. Ma Mattulich wheeled to face Dea, the skirts of her work dress swirling around her veined calves, hissing in return — 'You dare!' Her arm drew back as if to strike him, but slowed in mid-swing and failed to connect as Dea ducked out of her way. This unbalanced her, and she staggered. Speaker Karal, coming in behind, caught her by the arm and steadied her. 'You dare!' she wailed again, then turned to see not only Dea but all the other witnesses waiting: Ma Csurik, Ma Karal, Lem, Harra, Pym. Her shoulders sagged, and then the drug cut in and she just stood, a silly smile fighting with anguish for possession of her harsh face.

The smile made Miles ill, but it was the smile he needed. 'Sit her down, Dea, Speaker Karal.'

They guided her to the chair lately vacated by Lem Csurik. She was fighting the drug desperately, flashes of resistance melting into flaccid docility. Gradually the docility became ascendant, and she sat draped in the chair, grinning helplessly. Miles sneaked a peek at Harra. She stood white and silent, utterly closed.

For several years after the reconciliation Miles had never been left with his grandfather without his personal bodyguard. Sergeant Bothari had worn the Count's livery, but been loyal to Miles alone, the one man dangerous enough — some said, crazy enough — to stand up to the great General himself. There was no need, Miles decided, to spell out to these fascinated people just what interrupted incident had made his parents think Sergeant Bothari a necessary precaution. Let General Piotr's untarnished reputation serve — Miles, now. As he willed. Miles's eyes glinted.

Lem lowered his head. 'If I had known — if I had guessed — I wouldn't have left them alone together, m'lord. I thought — Harra's mother would take care of her. I couldn't have — I didn't know how -'

Harra did not look at him. Harra did not look at anything. 'Let us conclude this,' Miles sighed. Again, he requested formal witness from the crowd in the room and cautioned against interruptions, which tended to unduly confuse a drugged subject. He moistened his lips and turned to Ma Mattulich.

Again, he began with the standard neutral questions, name, birthdate, parents' names, checkable biographical facts. Ma Mattulich was harder to lull than the cooperative Lem had been, her responses scattered and staccato. Miles controlled his impatience with difficulty. For all its deceptive ease, fast-penta interrogation required skill, skill and patience. He'd got too far to risk a stumble now. He worked his questions up gradually to the first critical ones.

'Were you there, when Raina was born?'

Her voice was low and drifting, dreamy. 'The birth came in the night. Lem, he went for Jean the midwife. The midwife's son was supposed to go for me but he fell back to sleep. I didn't get there till morning, and then it was too late. They'd all seen.'

'Seen what?'

'The cat's mouth, the dirty mutation. Monsters in us. Cut them out. Ugly little man.' This last, Miles realized, was an aside upon himself. Her attention had hung up on him, hypnotically. 'Muties make more muties, they breed faster, overrun… I saw you watching the girls. You want to make mutie babies on clean women, poison us all…'

Time to steer her back to the main issue. 'Were you ever alone with the baby after that?'

'No, Jean she hung around. Jean knows me. She knew what I wanted. None of her damn business. And Harra was always there. Harra must not know. Harra must not… why should she get off so soft? The poison must be in her. Must have come from her Da, I lay only with her Da and they were all wrong but the one.'

Miles blinked. 'What were all wrong?' Across the room Miles saw Speaker Karal's mouth tighten. The headman caught Miles's glance and stared down at his own feet, absenting himself from the proceedings. Lem, his lips parted in absorption, and the rest of the boys were listening with alarm. Harra hadn't moved.

'All my babies,' Ma Mattulich said.

Harra looked up sharply at that, her eyes widening.

'Was Harra not your only child?' Miles asked. It was an effort to keep his voice cool, calm; he wanted to shout. He wanted to be gone from here…

'No, of course not. She was my only clean child, I thought. I thought, but the poison must have been hidden in her. I fell on my knees and thanked God when she was born clean, a clean one at last, after so many, so much pain… I thought I had finally been punished enough. She was such a pretty baby, I thought it was over at last. But she must have been mutie after all, hidden, tricksy, sly…'

'How many,' Miles choked, 'babies did you have?'

'Four, besides Harra my last.'

'And you killed all four of them?' Speaker Karal, Miles saw, gave a slow nod to his feet.

'No!' said Ma Mattulich. Indignation broke through the fast-penta wooze briefly. 'Two were born dead already, the first one, and the twisted-up one. The one with too many fingers and toes, and the one with the bulgy head, those I cut. Cut out. My mother, she watched over me to see I did it right. Harra, I made it soft for Harra. I did it for her.'

'So you have in fact murdered not one infant, but three?' said Miles frozenly. The younger witnesses in the room, Karal's boys and the Csurik brothers, looked horrified. The older ones, Ma Mattulich's contemporaries, who must have lived through the events with her, looked mortified, sharing her shame. Yes, they all must have known.

'Murdered?' said Ma Mattulich. 'No! I cut them out. I had to. I had to do the right thing.' Her chin lifted proudly, then drooped. 'Killed my babies, to please, to please… I don't know who. And now you call me a murderer? Damn you! What use is your justice to me now? I needed it then — where were you then?' Suddenly, shockingly, she burst into tears, which wavered almost instantly into rage. 'If mine must die then so must hers! Why should she get off so soft? Spoiled her… I tried my best, I did my best, it's not fair…'

The fast-penta was not keeping up with this… no, it was working, Miles decided, but her emotions were too overwhelming. Upping the dose might level her emotional surges, at some risk of respiratory arrest, but it would not elicit any more complete a confession. Miles's belly was trembling, a reaction he trusted he concealed. It had to be completed now.

'Why did you break Raina's neck, instead of cutting her throat?'

'Harra, she must not know,' said Ma Mattulich. 'Poor baby. It would look like she just died…'

Miles eyed Lem, Speaker Karal. 'It seems a number of others shared your opinion that Harra should not