Captain Vorpatril's alliance

Ivan’s head came up. “The only thing left is the Imperial fleet.”

“Just so.”

“Crap, Byerly, if there was even a hint of that sort of thing going on, Service Security would swoop in. Damned hard.”

“But even Service Security needs to know where and when to swoop. I am doing, as it were, a preliminary pre‑swoop survey. Not only because mistakes are embarrassing, especially if they involve accusations of Vor scions with arrogant and powerful relatives, but because they tip off the real crims, who then promptly escape one’s tediously set net. And you’ve no idea how tedious that can get.”

“Mm,” said Ivan. “And once military personnel get involved with, they think, simple civilian crime, they become vulnerable to more treasonous blackmail.”

By bared his teeth. “I’m so pleased you keep up. One of your saving graces.”

“I’ve had practice.” Ivan hissed alarm. “Desplains should know about this.”

“Desplains will know about it, in due course. In the meanwhile, try to remember you don’t know.” Byerly paused. “That caution is cancelled, of course, should my dead body turn up in a lewd and compromising position in some ditch outside the dome in the next few days.”

“Think it might?”

“The stakes are very high. And not just the money.”

“So how’s this girl connected, again?”

Byerly sighed. “She’s not with my crew. She’s definitely not with the non‑Barrayarans they’re dealing with, though it’s not outside the realm of reason that she could be a defector. And she’s not what she pretends to be. What’s left, I am forced to leave to you to find out, because I can’t risk coming here again, and I’m not going to have time in the next few days for side‑issues.”

Ivan said slowly, “You think she’s in danger of her life?” Because why else would By bother to set even a side‑friend on this side‑issue? By didn’t make his living through charity.

But he did make his living through a weird sort of loyalty. And, somewhere underneath the persiflage, camouflage, and just plain flage, he was high Vor of the highest…

“Let’s just say, you would gratify me by staying alert. I should not care to explain any accidents that might befall you to your lady mother.”

Ivan allowed the concern with a rueful nod. “So where am I to find this so‑called girl?”

“I am fairly certain she’s a real girl, Ivan.”

“You think? With you, one never knows.” He eyed By dryly, and By had the grace to squirm just a bit, in acknowledgement of his cousin Dono nee Donna of lamented memory. Donna, that is. Count Dono Vorrutyer was all too vivid a presence, on the Vorbarr Sultana political scene.

By dodged the diversion and, so to speak, soldiered on, though the idea of By in any branch of the Service made Ivan wince in imagination. “She works as a packing clerk at a place called Swift Shipping. Here’s her home address, too‑which was unlisted, by the way, so unless you can devise a convincing reason for turning up there, probably better to run into her coming into or out of work. I don’t gather she does much partying. Make friends, Ivan. Before tomorrow night, by preference.” He rubbed his face, pressing his hands to his eyes. “Actually‑by tomorrow night without fail.”

Ivan accepted the contact data with misgivings. By stretched, rose a bit creakily to his feet, and made his way to the door. “Adieu, dear friend, adieu. Sweet dreams, and may angels guard your repose. Possibly angels with clouds of dark curls, sun‑kissed skin, and bosoms like heavenly pillows.”

“Dry up.”

By grinned over his shoulder, waved without turning around, and blew out.

Ivan returned to his couch, sat with a thump, and picked up the flimsy, studying it cautiously. At least By was right about the heavenly pillows. What else was he right about? Ivan had an unsettling premonition that he was going to find out.

Tej was conscious of the customer from the moment he walked in the door, ten minutes before closing. When she’d started this job a month ago, in the hopes of stretching her and Rish’s dwindling resources, she’d been hyperaware of all customers who entered the shop. A job that exposed her directly and continuously to the public was not a good choice, she’d realized almost at once, but it had been the entry‑level position she could get with the limited fake references she commanded. A promotion to the back office was mentioned, so she’d hung grimly on. It was being slow in opening up, though, and she’d wondered if her boss was stringing her along. In the meanwhile, her jagged nerves had slowly grown habituated. Till now.