'Who does get his bundle?'
'His daughter, I guess. His titles go to—let me think—Count Vordrozda, who doesn't even need 'em. From what I've heard of Vordrozda, he'd rather have the money. Don't know if he'd go as far as marrying the daughter to get it, though, she's about fifty years old.'
They both gazed into space.
'God,' said Ivan after a while, 'I hope those orders Dimir got when I ducked out weren't to go home or something. They'll think I've been AWOL for three weeks—there won't be enough room on my record for all the demerits. Thank God they've eliminated the old-style discipline parades.'
'You were there when Dimir got his orders? And you didn't stick around to see what they were?' asked Miles, astonished.
'It was like pulling teeth to get that pass out of him. I didn't want to risk it. There was this girl, you see—I wish now I'd taken my beeper.'
'You left your comm link?'
'There was this girl—I really did almost really forget it. But he was opening the stuff by then, and I didn't want to go back in and get nabbed.'
Miles shook his head hopelessly. 'Can you remember anything unusual about the orders? Anything out of the ordinary?'
'Oh, sure. It was the damndest packet. In the first place, it was delivered by an Imperial Household courier in full livery. Lessee, four data discs, one green for Intelligence, two red for Security, one blue for Operations. And the parchment, of course.'
Ivan had the family memory, at least. What would it be like to have a mind that retained nearly everything, but never bothered to put it any kind of order? Exactly like living in Ivan's room, Miles decided. 'Parchment? ' he said. 'Parchment?'
'Yeah, I thought that was kind of unusual.'
'Do you have any idea how bloody—' he surged up, sat back down, squeezed his temples with the heels of his hands in an effort to get his brain into motion. Not only was Ivan an idiot, but he generated a telepathic damping field that turned people nearby into idiots too. He would point this out to Barrayaran Intelligence, who would make of his cousin the newest weapon in their arsenal—if anyone could be found who could remember what they were doing once they closed on him … 'Ivan, there are only three kinds of thing written on parchment any more. Imperial edicts, the originals of the official edicts from the Council of Counts and from the Council of Ministers, and certain orders from the Council of Counts to their own members.'
'I know that.'
'As my father's heir, I am a cadet member of that Council.'
'You have my sympathy,' said Ivan, his gaze wandering back to the window. 'Which of those ships out there is the fastest, d'you think, the Illyrican cruiser or the—'
'Ivan, I'm psychic,' Miles announced suddenly. 'I'm so psychic, I can tell what color the ribbon was on that parchment without even seeing it.'
'I know what color it was,' said Ivan irritably. 'It was—'
'Black,' Miles cut across him. 'Black, you idiot! And you never thought to mention it!'
'Look, I have to take that stuff from my mother and your father, I don't have to take it from you, too—' Ivan paused. 'How did you know?'
'I know the color because I know the contents.' Miles rose to pace uncontrollably back and forth. 'You know them too, or you would if you ever stopped to think. I've got a joke for you. What's white, taken from the back of a sheep, tied up with black bows, shipped thousands of light years, and lost?'
'If that's your idea of a joke, you're weirder than—'
'Death.' Miles's voice fell to a whisper, making Ivan jump. 'Treason. Civil war. Betrayal, sabotage, almost certainly murder. Evil …'
'You haven't had any more of that sedative you're allergic to, have you?' asked Ivan anxiously.
Miles's pacing was becoming frenetic. The urge to pick Ivan up and shake him, in the hope that all that information floating randomly around inside his head would start to polymerize into some chain of reason, was almost overwhelming.
'If Dimir's courier ship's Necklin rods were sabotaged during the stopover at Beta Colony, it would be weeks before the ship was missed. For all the Barrayaran embassy would know, it left on its mission, made the jump—no way for Beta Colony to know if it came out the other side or not. What a thorough way to get rid of the evidence.' Miles imagined the dismay and terror of the men aboard as the jump began to go wrong, as their bodies began to run and smear like watercolors in the rain—he forced his mind back to abstract reason.
'I don't understand. Where d'you think Dimir is?' asked Ivan.
'Dead. Quite thoroughly dead. You were meant to be quite thoroughly dead too, but you missed the boat.' A high, wheezing laugh escaped Miles. He took hold of himself, literally, wrapping his arms around his torso. 'I guess they figured if they were going to all that trouble to get rid of that parchment, they'd throw you in at the same time. There's a certain economy in the plot—you might expect it from a mind that ended up in Procurement.'
'Back up,' demanded Ivan. 'What do you figure the parchment was, anyway—and who the devil are 'they'? You're beginning to sound as paranoid as old Bothari.'
'The black ribbon. It had to have been a capital charge. An Imperial order for my arrest on a capital charge laid in the Council of Counts. The charge? You said it yourself. Violation of Vorloupulous's law. Treason, Ivan! Now ask yourself—who would benefit by my conviction for treason?'
'Nobody,' said Ivan promptly.
'All right,' Miles rolled his eyes upward. 'Try it this way. Who would suffer by my conviction for treason?'
'Oh, it would destroy your father, of course. I mean, his office overlooks the Great Square. He could stand at his window and watch you starve to death every working day.' An embarrassed laugh escaped Ivan. 'It would have to about drive him crazy.'
Miles paced. 'Take his heir, by execution or exile, break his morale, bring him down and his Centrist coalition with him—or—force him to make the false charges real, attempting my rescue. Then bring him down for treason as well. What a demonic fork!' His intellect admired the plot's abstract perfection, even while rage at its cruelty nearly took his breath away.
Ivan shook his head. 'How could anything like that get this far and not be quashed by your father? I mean, he may be famous for impartiality, but there are limits even for him.'
'You saw the parchment. If Gregor himself had been worked over into a state of suspicion …' Miles spoke slowly. 'A trial clears as well as convicts. If I showed up voluntarily, it would go a long way toward proving I had no treasonable intent. That cuts both ways, of course—if I don't show, it's a strong presumption of guilt. But I could hardly show up if I weren't informed it was taking place, could I?'
'The Council of Counts is such a cantankerous body of old relics,' argued Ivan. 'Your plotters would be taking an awful chance they could swing the vote their way. Nobody would want to get caught voting for the losing side in something like that. Either way, there'd be blood drawn at the end.'
'Maybe they were forced. Maybe my father and Illyan finally moved in on Hessman, and he figured the best defense would be a counterattack.'
'So what's in it for Vordrozda? Why doesn't he just throw Hessman to the wolves?'
'Ah,' said Miles. 'There I'm … I really wonder if I haven't gone a little paro, but—follow this chain. Count Vordrozda, Lord Vortaine, you, me, my father—who is my father heir to?'
'Your grandfather. He's dead, remember? Miles, you can't convince me that Count Vordrozda would knock off five people to inherit the Dendarii Province. He's the Count of Lorimel, for God's sakes! He's a rich man. Dendarii would drain his purse, not fill it.'
'Not my grandfather. We're talking about another title altogether. Ivan, there is a large faction of historically-minded people on Barrayar who claim, defensibly, that the salic bar to Imperial inheritance has no foundation in Barrayaran law or custom. Dorca himself inherited through his mother, after all.'
'Yes, and your father would like to ship every one of that faction off to, er, summer camp.'
'Who is Gregor's heir?'
