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"You'll get through it. Ah... close on which side?" By inquired.
"The wrong one. Unfortunately. Well..." Dono sighed, "it will have been a
great try."
Olivia said sturdily, "You're going to make history." Dono pressed her hand to
his arm, and smiled gratefully at her.
Byerly shrugged, which by his standards qualified as a consoling gesture. "Who
knows what might happen to turn things around?"
"Between now and tomorrow morning? Not much, I'm afraid. The die is pretty
much cast."
"Chin up. There're still a couple of hours to work on the men at Vorsmythe
House. Just stay sharp. I'll help. See you over there...."
And so Ivan found himself not with a private opportunity to make time with
Olivia, but rather, trapped with her, Dono, Szabo, and two other Vorrutyer
Armsmen in the back of the late Count Pierre's official car. Pierre's was one
of the few vehicles Ivan had ever encountered that could beat Miles's Regency
relic for both fusty luxury and a paranoid armoring that made its best
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progress a sort of lumbering wallow. Not that it wasn't comfortable
; Ivan had slept in space station hostel rooms that were smaller than this
rear compartment. But Olivia had somehow ended up seated between Dono and
Szabo, while Ivan shared body heat with a couple of Armsmen.
They were two-thirds of the way to Vorsmythe House when Dono, who had been
staring out the canopy with little vertical lines scored between his brows,
suddenly leaned forward and spoke into the intercom to his driver. "Joris,
swing around by Count
Vorfolse's again. We'll give him one more try."
The car lumbered around the next corner, and began to backtrack. In a couple
of minutes, the apartment building containing
Vorfolse's flat loomed into view.
The Vorfolse family had a remarkable record for picking the losers in every
Barrayaran war of the last century, including choosing to collaborate with the
Cetagandans and backing the wrong side in Vordarian's Pretendership. The
somewhat morose present heir, oppressed by his ancestors' many defeats, eked
out his life in the capital by renting the drafty old Vorfolse clan
mansion to an enterprising prole with grandiose ambitions, and living entirely
off the proceeds. Instead of the permitted squad of twenty, he kept only a
single Armsman, an equally depressed and rather elderly fellow who doubled as
every servant the Count had. Still, Vorfolse's apprehensive refusal to align
himself with any faction or party or project, no matter how benign it
appeared, at least meant he wasn't an automatic yes for Richars. And a vote
was a vote, Ivan supposed, no matter how eccentric.
A narrow, multilevel parking garage attached to the building provided spaces
for the prole residents to house their vehicles, at a stiff surcharge Ivan had
no doubt. Parking space in the capital was normally leased by the square
meter. Joris oozed Pierre's groundcar into the meager clearances, then
suffered a check when he discovered all the ground-floor visitor parking to be
taken.
Ivan, planning to stay in the comfy car with Olivia, revised his plan when
Olivia jumped out to accompany Dono. Dono left
Joris waiting for a space to open up, and, flanked by Olivia and his security
outriders, strode out through the street-level pedestrian access and around
toward the apartment building's front entrance. Torn between curiosity and
caution, Ivan trailed along. With a short gesture, Szabo left one of his men
to take station by the outer door, and the second by the lift tube exit on the
third floor, so that by the time they arrived at Vorfolse's flat they were a
not-too-intimidating party of four.
A discreet brass tag was screwed a little crookedly to the door above the
apartment's number; it read
Vorfolse House in a script that was meant to be imposing, but, in context,
succeeded mainly in being rather pathetic. Ivan was reminded of his Aunt
Cordelia's frequent assertion that governments were mental constructs. Lord
Dono touched the chime-pad.
After a couple of minutes, a querulous voice issued from the intercom. The
little square of its vid viewer stayed blank. "What do you want?"
Dono glanced at Szabo, and whispered, "That Vorfolse?"
"Sounds like," Szabo murmured back. "It's not quavery enough to be his old
Armsman."
"Good evening, Count Vorfolse," Dono said smoothly into the com. "I'm Lord
Dono Vorrutyer." He gestured at his companions. "I believe you know Ivan
Vorpatril, and my senior Armsman, Szabo. Miss Olivia Koudelka. I stopped by to
talk to you about tomorrow's vote on my District's Countship."
"It's too late," said the voice.
Szabo rolled his eyes.
"I have no wish to disturb your rest," Dono pressed on.
"Good. Go away."
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Dono sighed. "Certainly, sir. But before we depart, may I at least be
permitted to know how you intend to vote on the issue tomorrow?"
"I don't care which Vorrutyer gets the District. The whole family's deranged.
A plague on both your parties."
Dono took a breath, and kept smiling. "Yes, sir, but consider the
consequences. If you abstain, and the vote falls short of a decision, it will
simply have to be done over again. And over and over, until a majority is
finally reached. I would also point out that you would find my cousin Richars
a most unrestful colleague - short-tempered, and much given to factionalism
and strife."
Such a long silence issued from the intercom, Ivan began to wonder if Vorfolse
had gone off to bed.
Olivia leaned into the scan pickup to say brightly, "Count Vorfolse, sir, if
you vote for Lord Dono, you won't regret it. He'll give diligent service to
both the Vorrutyer's District and to the Imperium."
The voice replied after a moment, "Eh, you're one of Commodore Koudelka's
girls, aren't you? Does Aral Vorkosigan support this nonsense, then?"
"Lord Miles Vorkosigan, who is acting as his father's voting deputy, supports
me fully," Dono returned.
"Unrestful. Eh!
There's unrestful for you."
"No doubt," said Dono agreeably. "I have noticed that myself. But how do you
intend to vote?"
Another pause. "I don't know. I'll think about it."
"Thank you, sir." Dono motioned them all to decamp; his little retinue
followed him back toward the lift tubes.
"That wasn't too conclusive," said Ivan.
"Do you have any idea how positive
I'll think about it seems, in light of some of the responses I've gotten?"
said Dono ruefully. "Compared to certain of his colleagues, Count Vorfolse is [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
