Cryoburn - Lois McMaster Bujold [35]
"So Jin did make it here?"
"Um, yes, sir."
The problem had occurred on Jin's way back, then. Not good . . . Miles had waited in growing anxiety till midnight, then pressed Ako into substitute pet care and taken matters unto his own hands, or feet. The hours it had cost him to make it here unobserved had not improved his mood. Neither had the rain.
The consul's brows drew down as he took in Miles's appearance in turn, a very far cry from Miles's cultivated gray-eminence-look of their brief meeting last week. Although the ragged, stained clothing, two-day growth of face stubble, general reek, and peculiar shoes might not be the whole of why he flinched. But, showing a keen eye that was well-placed in the diplomatic corps, he caught Miles's gaze tracking his waving mug, and added smoothly, "Do you want to come to the kitchen and sit down, my Lord Auditor? We were just having breakfast."
"Tea, yes," said Miles, relieved from his impulse to wrench the mug out of the man's hand. Gods, yes.
Vorlynkin led through the back archway, saying, "How did you get here?"
"Walked. Thirty-odd kilometers since midnight, back ways, dodging twice because I didn't want to explain myself in my current condition to the local street guards. Needless to say, this was not my original plan."
The kitchen was a modest tidy room, with a round dining table squeezed into a sort of bay overlooking the walled back garden. The windows mostly reflected the room's bright interior, but beyond, the night's damp blackness was turning to bluer shadow. The blond kid, the attaché Johannes, turned from the microwave and almost dropped whatever pre-packaged bachelor fare he'd just heated. At his boss's head-jerk, he hastened to pull out a chair for the very important, if very unkempt, visitor. Miles fell into it, trying not to let his gratitude overcome his exasperation, because the latter was about all that was keeping him functional.
"Can I get you something, my lord?" asked the lieutenant solicitously.
"Tea. Also a shower, dry clothes, food, sleep, and a secured comconsole, though I'd settle for just the comconsole, but let's start with the tea." Or else he risked pillowing his head on his arms and going for the sleep first, right here. "Did you get my don't-panic message off to Barrayar, and my wife? Coded, I trust?"
Vorlynkin said, a little stiffly, "We notified ImpSec Galactic Affairs on Komarr that we'd heard from you, and that you were not in the hands of the kidnappers."
"Good enough. I'll send my own update in a bit." Miles trusted it would overtake any word anyone had been maladroit enough to hand on to Ekaterin, or he'd have some groveling to do when he got home. "Meanwhile, I've had no news since yesterday. Have you heard more on the hostages taken from the cryo-conference? Anything on Armsman Roic?"
Vorlynkin slid into his chair a quarter-wedge around the table from Miles. "Good news there, sir. Your Armsman managed to escape his captors long enough to reach a comlink of some sort and call the Northbridge authorities. The police rescue team reached them not long ago-we've been up all night following developments. It seems everyone was freed alive. I don't know how long it will take him to get back-he said he had to stay till he'd given his testimony.
"Ah, yes. Roic has a deal more sympathy for police procedure than I do." Miles took his first swallow of hot tea with profound relief. "And the boy-wait. And who might you be?" Miles eyed Yuuichi, who had taken refuge with Johannes on the far side of the kitchen.
"This is our consulate clerk, Yuuichi Matson," Vorkynkin put in. "Our most valuable employee. He's been here about five years." The clerk cast his boss a grateful look and slanted Miles a civil bow.
The consulate's only employee, actually. And since Vorlynkin had been here two years, and Johannes had only arrived last year, Matson was also the oldest, in time of service if not age. Who do you trust, my Lord Auditor? In