A reluctant smile twitched Taura's mouth for a moment. "Oh, that's Quinn, all right."
"If that's truly Quinn, then this" — he pointed at the pearls—"can't be. Eh? Trust me. Trust your own judgment."
Slowly, with the deepest distress in her strange gold eyes, Taura wrapped the box in the cloth and handed it to him.
Then Roic found himself facing the task, all by himself, of stirring up ImpSec Supreme headquarters in the middle of the night. He almost wanted to wait for Pym's return, But he was a Vorkosigan armsman: senior man present, even if merely because sole man present. It was his duty, it was his right, and time was of the essence, if only to relieve Taura's troubled mind at the earliest possible instant. She hovered, bleak and worried, as he gulped for nerve and fired up the secured comconsole in the nearby library.
A serious-looking ImpSec captain reported to the front hall in less than thirty minutes. He recorded everything, including Roic's verbal report, Taura's description of what the pearls had looked like to her, both their accounts of Madame Vorsoisson's witnessed symptoms, and a copy of Pym's original security check records. Roic tried to be straightforward, as he'd often wished witnesses would have been to him back in Hassadar, although in this version the fraught confrontation in the antechamber became merely Sergeant Taura voiced a suspicion to me. Well, it was true.
For Taura's sake, Roic made sure to mention the possibility that the pearls had not been sent by Quinn at all and pointed out the other gift certainly known to be from her. The captain frowned and bundled up the live fur as well, and looked as though he wanted to bundle up Taura along with it. He carried off the pearls, the still-purring blanket, and all related packaging in a series of sealed and labeled plastic bags. All this chill efficiency took a bare half hour more.
"Do you want to go to bed?" Roic asked Taura when the doors closed behind the ImpSec captain. She looks so tired. "I have to stay up anyway. I can give you a call to your room when there's any news. If there's any news."
She shook her head. "I couldn't sleep. Maybe they'll have something soon."
"There's no telling, but I hope so."
They settled down to wait together on a sturdy-looking sofa in the antechamber opposite the one displaying the gifts. The noises of the night — odd squeaks of the house settling against the winter cold, the faint whir or hum of distant automated machinery — were very noticeable in the stillness. Taura stretched what Roic suspected were knotted shoulders, and he was briefly inspired to offer a back rub, but he wasn't sure how she'd take it. The impulse dissolved in cowardice.
"Quiet around here at night," she said after a moment.
She was speaking to him again. Please, don't stop. "Yeah. I sort of like it, though."
"Oh, you, too? The night watch is a philosophical kind of time. Its own world. Nothing moving out there but maybe people being born or people dying, necessity, and us."
"Eh, and the bad night people we're put on watch against."
She glanced through the archway into the great hall and beyond. "Apparently so. What an evil trick…" She trailed off in a grimace.
"This Quinn, you've known her a long time?"
"She was in the Dendarii mercenaries at the time I joined the fleet—'original equipment,' as she says. A good leader, a friend by many shared disasters. And victories, sometimes. Ten years adds up to some weight, even if you're not watching. Especially if you're not watching, I suppose."
He followed the thought spoken by her glance, as well as her words. "Eh, yeah. God spare me from ever facing such a puzzle. It would be as bad as having your count revolt against the emperor, I suppose. Or like finding m'lord in on some insane plot to murder Empress Laisa. Shouldn't wonder that you've been running around in circles in your head all night."
"Tighter and tighter, yes. I couldn't enjoy the emperor's party from the moment I thought of it, and I know Miles so wanted me to. And I couldn't tell him why — I'm afraid he thought I was feeling out of place. Well, I was, but it wasn't a problem, exactly. I'm usually out of place." She blinked tawny eyes gone dark and wide in the half-light. "What would you do? If you discovered or suspected such a horror?"
His lips twisted. "That's a tough one. A higher honor must underlie ours, the count says. We can't ever obey unthinkingly."
"Huh. That's what Miles says, too. Is that where he got it, from his father?"
"I shouldn't be surprised. M'lord's brother Mark says integrity is a disease, and you can only catch it from someone who has it."
A little laugh sounded in her throat. "That sounds like Mark, all right."
He considered her question with the seriousness it merited. "I'd have to turn him in, I guess. I hope I'd have the courage, anyways. Nobody would win, in the end. Least of all me."
"Oh, yeah. I can see that."
Her hand lay on the sofa fabric between them, clawed fingers tapping. He wanted to take it and squeeze it for comfort — hers, or his? But he didn't dare. Dammit, try, can't you?
His argument with himself was interrupted when his wrist com sounded. The gate guard reported the return of the Vorkosigan House party from the Imperial Residence. Roic coded down the house shields and stood aside as the crowd disembarked from a small fleet of groundcars. Pym was in close attendance upon the countess, smiling at something she was saying over her shoulder to him. The guests, variously cheerful, drowsy, or drunk, streamed past chatting and laughing.
"Anything to report?" Pym inquired perfunctorily. He glanced in curiosity past Roic at Taura, looming over his shoulder.
"Yes, sir. See me in private as soon as you can, please."
The benign sleepy look evaporated from Pym's features. "Oh?" He glanced back at the mob now divesting wraps and streaming up the stairs. "Right."
Low-voiced as Roic had been, the countess had caught the exchange. A wave of her finger dismissed Pym from her side. "Although, if this is of moment, Pym, I'll take a report before bed," she murmured.
"Yes, my lady."
Roic jerked his head toward the antechamber of the library, and Pym followed him and Taura through the archway. The moment the guests had cleared the next room, Roic decanted a short precis of the night's adventure, self-plagiarized from the one he'd given to the ImpSec forensics captain. Omitting, again, the part about Taura's attempted theft. He hoped like hell that it wasn't going to turn out to be horribly pertinent later. He would submit the full account to in lord's judgment, he decided. When the devil was m'lord going to return?
Pym grew rigid as he took in the report. "I checked that necklace myself, Roic. Scanned it clear of devices — the chemical sniffer didn't pick up anything either."
"Did you touch it?" asked Taura.
Pym's eyes narrowed in memory. "I mainly handled it by the clasp. Well… well, ImpSec will run it through the wringer. M'lord always claims they can use the exercise. It can't hurt. You acted correctly, Armsman Roic. You can continue about your duties now. I'll follow it up with ImpSec."
With this tepid praise, he moved off, frowning.
"Is that all we get?" Taura whispered as Pym's ascending footsteps faded on the winding staircase.
Roic glanced at his chrono. "Till ImpSec reports back, I guess. It depends on how hard that dirty stuff you saw" — he didn't insult her by phrasing it as you claimed you saw—"is to identify."