Cordelia's Honor - Lois McMaster Bujold [126]
"Hm. Yes, I had noticed a certain political bent to his conversations. In the middle of the most extraordinary circumstances, too. Marriage proposals, for instance."
Vorpatril laughed. "I can just picture it. When he was young he was a real conservative—if you wanted to know what Aral thought about anything, all you had to do was ask Count Piotr, and multiply by two. But by the time we served together, he was getting . . . um . . . strange. If you could get him going . . ." There was a certain wicked reminiscence in his eye, which Cordelia promptly encouraged.
"How did you get him going? I thought political discussion was forbidden to officers."
He snorted. "I suppose they could forbid breathing with about as much chance of success. The dictum is, shall we say, sporadically enforced. Aral stuck to it, though, unless Rulf Vorhalas and I took him out and got him really relaxed."
"Aral? Relaxed?"
"Oh, yes. Now, Aral's drinking was notable—"
"I thought he was a terrible drinker. No stomach for it."
"Oh, that's what was notable. He seldom drank. Although he went through a bad period after his first wife died, when he used to run around with Ges Vorrutyer a lot . . . um . . ." He glanced sideways, and took another tack. "Anyway, it was dangerous to get him too relaxed, because then he'd go all depressed and serious, and then it didn't take a thing to get him on to whatever current injustice or incompetence or insanity was rousing his ire. God, the man could talk. By the time he'd had his fifth drink—just before he slid under the table for the night—he'd be declaiming revolution in iambic pentameter. I always thought he'd end up on the political side someday." He chuckled, and looked rather lovingly at the stocky red-and-blue-clad figure seated with the Counts on the far side of the chamber.
The Joint Council vote of confirmation for Vorkosigan's Imperial appointment was a curious affair, to Cordelia's mind. She hadn't imagined it possible to get seventy-five Barrayarans to agree on which direction their sun rose in the morning, but the tally was nearly unanimous in favor of Emperor Ezar's choice. The exceptions were five set-jawed men who abstained, four loudly, one so weakly the Lord Guardian of the Speaker's Circle had to ask him to repeat himself. Even Count Vordarian voted yea, Cordelia noticed—perhaps Vortala had managed to repair last night's breach in some early-morning meeting after all. It all seemed a very auspicious and encouraging start to Vorkosigan's new job, anyway, and she said as much to Lord Vorpatril.
"Uh . . . yes, Milady," said Lord Vorpatril after a sideways smile at her. "Emperor Ezar made it clear he wanted united approval."
His tone made it clear she was missing cues, again. "Are you trying to tell me some of those men would rather have voted no?"
"That would be imprudent of them, at this juncture."
"Then the men who abstained . . . must have some courage of conscience." She studied the little group with new interest.
"Oh, they're all right," said Vorpatril.
"What do you mean? They are the opposition, surely."
"Yes, but they're the open opposition. No one plotting serious treason would mark himself so publicly. The fellows Aral will need to guard his back from are in the other mob, among the yes-men."
"Which ones?" Cordelia's brow wrinkled in worry.
"Who knows?" Lord Vorpatril shrugged, then answered his own question. "Negri, probably."
They were surrounded by a ring of empty seats. Cordelia hadn't been sure if it was for security or courtesy. Evidently the second, for two latecomers, a man in commander's dress greens and a younger one in rich-looking civilian clothes, arrived and apologetically sat in front of them. Cordelia thought they looked like brothers, and had the guess confirmed when the younger said, "Look, there's Father, three seats behind old Vortala. Which one's the new Regent?"
"The bandy-legged character in the red-and-blues, just sitting down to Vortala's right."
Cordelia and Vorpatril exchanged