Ivan drew up extra chairs, and all disposed themselves around the small table near the window. Madame Vorsoisson took a seat beside m'lord, decorously but with no wasted centimeters between. He gripped her hand. Roic managed to slip in next to Taura; she smiled down at him. These chambers had once belonged to the late great General Piotr Vorkosigan, before they'd been claimed by his grandson, the rising young Lord Auditor. This spot, not the grand public rooms downstairs, was the site of more military, political, and secret conferences of historic import to Barrayar than Roic could readily imagine.
"I dropped by early to give you ImpSec's latest report in person, Miles, Madame Vorsoisson, Count, Countess." Allegre, half-leaning on a sofa arm, nodded around. He reached into his tunic and withdrew a plastic bag in which something white glimmered and gleamed. "And to return these. I had my forensics people clean them after collecting and recording the evidence. They're safe now."
Gingerly, m'lord took the pearls from his hand and set them down on the table. "And do you know yet who gets the thank-you note for this gift? I'm rather hoping to deliver it in person." Ill-concealed menace vibrated beneath his light tone.
"That has actually broken open much faster than I was expecting," said Allegre. "It was a very nice forgery job on the date stamps from Escobar on the outer packaging, but the inner decorative wrapping checked out under analysis as of Barrayaran origin. Once we knew which planet to look on, the item was sufficiently unique — the necklace is of Earth origin, by the way — we were able to trace it by jeweler's import records almost at once. It was purchased two weeks ago in Vorbarr Sultana for a large sum of cash, and the store security vids for the month hadn't been erased yet. My agent positively identified Lord Vorbataille."
M'lord hissed through his teeth. "He was on my short list, yes. No wonder he was trying so hard to get off planet."
"He was up to his eyebrows in the plan, but he wasn't its originator. Do you remember how you said to me three weeks ago that while there had to be brains behind this operation, you'd swear they weren't in Vorbataille's head?"
"Yes," said m'lord. "I had him pegged for a front man, suborned for his connections. And his yacht, of course."
"You were right. We picked up his Jacksonian crime consultant about three hours ago."
"You have him!"
"We have him. He'll keep, now." Allegre gave m'lord a grim nod. "Although he had the wit to not bring attention to himself by trying to get off planet, one of my analysts, who came in last night to look over the new evidence that came in with the necklace, was able to run a back-trace and cross-connect, and so identify him. Well, actually he fingered three suspects, but fast-penta cleared two of them. The source for the toxin was a fellow by the name of Luca Tarpan."
M'lord mouthed the syllables; his face screwed up. "Damn. Are you sure? I've never heard of him."
"Quite sure. He appears to have ties with the Bharaputra syndicate on Jackson's Whole."
"Well, that would give him access to quite a lot of somewhat scrambled two-year-old information about me and Quinn, yes. Both mes, in fact. And it accounts for the superior forgery. But why such a heinous attack? It's almost more disturbing to think that some total stranger would — Have we crossed paths before?"
Allegre shrugged. "It seems not. The preliminary interrogation suggests it was a purely professional ploy — although he clearly had no love left for you by the time you were about half done ripping open this case. Your talent for making interesting new enemies has evidently not deserted you. The plan was to create distracting chaos in your investigation just after the group made its getaway — Vorbataille was preselected to be thrown to us for a goat, it turns out — but we shut them down about eight days early. The necklace had only just been slipped into the delivery service's records and dispatched at that point."
M'lord's teeth set. "You've had Vorbataille in your hands for two days. And fast-penta didn't turn this up?"
Allegre grimaced. "I just reviewed the transcripts before I drove over here. It came very close to surfacing. But to get an answer, even — especially — under fast-penta, as useful a truth drug as it is, you must first know enough to ask the question. My interrogators were concentrating on the Princess Olivia. It was Vorbataille's yacht that was used to insert the hijacking team, by the way."
"Knew it had to be," grunted m'lord.
"We'd have caught up with this necklace scheme in a few more days on our own, I think," said Allegre.
M'lord glanced at his chrono and said rather thickly, "You'd have caught up with it in about one more hour, actually. On your own."
Allegre tilted his head in frank acknowledgment. "Yes, unfortunately. Madame Vorsoisson" — he touched his brow in a considerably more formal gesture than the usual ImpSec salute—"on behalf of myself and my organization, I wish to offer you my most abject apologies. My Lord Auditor. Count. Countess." He looked up at Roic and Taura, sitting side by side on the sofa opposite. "Fortunately, ImpSec was not your last line of defense."
"Indeed," rumbled the count, who had seated himself on a straight chair turned backward, arms comfortably crossed over its back, listening intently but without comment till now. Countess Vorkosigan stood by his side; her hand touched his shoulder, and he caught it under his own thicker one.
Allegre said, "Illyan once told me that half the secret of House Vorkosigan's preeminence in Barrayaran history was the quality of the people it drew to its service. I'm glad to see this continues to hold true. Armsman Roic, Sergeant Taura — ImpSec salutes you with more gratitude than I can rightly express." He did so, in a sober gesture altogether free of his sporadic irony.
Roic blinked, ducking his head in lieu of the return salute he wasn't sure if he was supposed to make. He wondered if he was expected to say something. He hoped to hell no one would want him to make a speech, like after that incident in Hassadar. That had been more horrifying than the needler fire. He glanced up to find Taura glancing down at him, eyes bright. He wanted to ask her — he wanted to ask her a thousand things, but not here. Would they ever get a private moment again? Not for the next several hours, that was certain.
"Well, love," — m'lord blew out his breath, staring down at the plastic bag—"I think that's your final warning. Travel with me and you travel into hazard. I don't want it to be so. But it's going to go on being so, as long as I serve… what I serve."
M'lady-to-be glanced at the countess, whose return smile was decidedly twisted. "I never imagined it would be otherwise for a Lady Vorkosigan."
"I'll have these destroyed," m'lord said, reaching for the pearls.
"No," said m'lady-to-be, her eyes narrowing. "Wait."
He paused, raising his eyebrows at her.
"They were sent to me. They're my souvenir. I shall keep them. I'd have worn them as a courtesy to your friend." She reached past him and scooped up the bag, tossed it up and caught it again out of the air, her long fingers closing tightly around it. Her edged smile took Roic aback. "I'll wear them now as a defiance to our enemies."
M'lord's eyes blazed back at her.
The countess seized the moment — possibly, Roic thought, to cut off her son from further blithering — and tapped her chrono. "Speaking of wearing things, it's time to get dressed."
M'lord went a shade paler. "Yes, of course." He kissed m'lady-to-be's hand as she rose, looking as if he never wanted to let it go again. Countess Vorkosigan herded everyone except m'lord and his cousin into the hallway, shutting the door to the suite firmly behind her.