Cryoburn - Lois McMaster Bujold [44]
An unwelcome memory rose in Jin's mind. It wasn't the clammy smell of the night that triggered it, because the policewomen had come for his mother in the daytime, but the clammy chill in his gut that day had felt much like this. Mom kneeling down, gripping his shoulders, saying, Jin, help look after Mina, all right? Be a good big brother, and do what Aunt Lorna tells you.
Jin had given up on that last when Aunt Lorna had insisted that he get rid of all of his pets, yes, all, a clean sweep, there was no room and they smelled and pooped too much and that bird was homicidal and to top everything, Ken was supposedly allergic to Lucky, who was too lazy to scratch anyone. Jin just figured his cousin was doing all that sniffling and blowing on purpose, to be annoying, in which he certainly succeeded. Jin had forgotten the first part of that maternal parting . . . blessing, curse, whatever it was, because, after all, nobody yelled at Mina they way they'd yelled at him and his pets.
He wished he hadn't remembered that.
They had a good long walk ahead of them just to get out of this area, which they needed to do before they were missed. Maybe they'd better lie up and hide during school hours. Jin selected a direction he was almost sure was south, and kept trudging.
Chapter Seven
Two days after his dawn return to the consulate, Miles's party assembled on the front walk and watched the WhiteChrys groundcar pull up to collect them. It was long, sleek, gleaming, and settled to the pavement with a sigh like a satisfied lover.
Roic's eyebrows rose. "Better t'n that bus-thing they ferried us conference delegates around in, I'll give it that."
"Indeed," said Miles. "Good job, Vorlynkin. It looks like WhiteChrys means to grovel in style."
This won an uncertain head-duck from the consul, who had spent a good part of yesterday in repeated calls to and from their would-be host to set all this up, while Miles played hard-to-get. At least the delay had given him time to recover from the induced seizure.
But while it would do no harm to Miles's cause if Barrayar's own diplomat plainly found him alarming, he was not altogether sure if the man was under control. Or sure whose control he's under? He favored the consul with a brief smile. "By the by, Vorlynkin, please refrain from commenting on anything you hear me say or see me do today. For the duration, you're the yes-man."
An unreadable pause. "Yes, my Lord Auditor."
Capable of irony, was he? Good. Probably.
"It'll be just like watching a play," Roic reassured him. Vorlynkin's brows quirked, albeit not in an especially reassured way. Dr. Durona, engaged in examining the variegated hostas lining the walk, straightened and turned his braided head with interest as the groundcar's rear compartment canopy rose and a woman exited.
She was as sleek as the groundcar, if considerably more delicate. Her long black hair was drawn back and bundled with enameled combs in an elegant construction that Miles was sure Raven must envy. Kibou natives wore a variety of fashions both local and galactic-inspired; Miles had been here just long enough to decode her garb as business-traditional, female version. A skin-skimming top, a fitted undercoat, and the loose cord-fastened outer coat might be worn by either men or women, but then, instead of the wide trousers tied in at the ankles adopted by men, she showed off trim calves with a short skirt and leggings. All in subtle autumnal shades that set off her deep brown eyes. The overall effect was simultaneously upper-class and sexy, like a very expensive courtesan-Miles had once had the geisha tradition explained to him on a visit to Earth itself, on its island of origin, a side-benefit of having a bride with a mania for gardens. The sense that this woman was a weapon aimed directly at him came mainly from her diminutive height, which nearly matched his own, and the fact that she wore flat sandals.
"Good morning, ohayo gozaimasu." She favored them all with a