Miles in Love - Lois McMaster Bujold [298]
Kareen decoded "visibly depressed" without difficulty. Gorge has got out. Probably Howl, as well. Oh, hell, and Mark had been doing so well in keeping the Black Gang subordinated . . . .
Pym went on smoothly, "I think I may speak for the entire Vorkosigan household when I say that we all wish Miss Kareen may return as soon as possible and restore order. Lacking information on the events in the Commodore's family, Lord Mark has been uncertain how to proceed, but that should be remedied now." His eyelid shivered in a ghost of a wink at Kareen. Ah yes, Pym was former ImpSec and proud of it; thinking sideways in two directions simultaneously was no mystery to him. Throwing her arms around his boots and screaming, Help, help! Tell Tante Cordelia I'm being held prisoner by insane parents! would be entirely redundant, she realized with satisfaction. Intelligence was about to flow.
"Also," Pym added in the same bland tone, "the piles of bug butter tubs lining the basement hall are beginning to be a problem. They toppled on a maid yesterday. The young lady was very upset."
Even the silently listening Ekaterin's eyes widened at this image. Martya snickered outright. Kareen suppressed a growl.
Martya glanced sideways at Ekaterin, and added somewhat daringly, "And so how's the skinny one?"
Pym hesitated, followed her glance, and finally replied, "I'm afraid the drain crisis brightened his life only temporarily."
He sketched a bow at all three ladies, leaving them to construe the stygian blackness of a soul that could find fifty kilos of bug butter in the main drain an improvement in his gloomy world. "Miss Martya, Miss Kareen, I hope we may see all the Koudelkas at Vorkosigan House again soon. Madame Vorsoisson, allow me to excuse myself, and apologize for any discomfort I may have inadvertently caused you. Speaking only for my own house, and Arthur, may I ask if Nikki may still be permitted to visit us?"
"Yes, of course," said Ekaterin faintly.
"Good evening, then." He touched his forehead amiably, and trod off to let himself out the garden gate in the narrow space between the houses.
Martya shook her head in amazement. "Where do the Vorkosigans find their people?"
Kareen shrugged. "I suppose they get the cream of the Empire."
"So do a lot of high Vor, but they don't get a Pym. Or a Ma Kosti. Or a—"
"I heard Pym came personally recommended by Simon Illyan, when he was head of ImpSec," said Kareen.
"Oh, I see. They cheat. That accounts for it."
Ekaterin's hand strayed to touch her bolero, beneath which that fascinating cream envelope lay hidden, but to Kareen's intense disappointment, she didn't take it out and break it open. She doubtless wouldn't read it in front of her uninvited guests. It was, therefore, time to shove off.
Kareen got to her feet. "Ekaterin, thank you so much. You've been more help to me than anybody—" in my own family, she managed to bite back. There was no point in deliberately ticking off Martya, when she'd allowed this grudging and partial allegiance against the parental opposition. "And I'm deadly serious about the bug redesign. Call me as soon as you have something ready."
"I'll have something tomorrow, I promise." Ekaterin walked the sisters to the gate, and closed it behind them.
At the end of the block, they were more or less ambushed by Pym, who waited leaning against the parked armored groundcar.
"Did she read it?" he asked anxiously.
Kareen nudged Martya.
"Not in front of us, Pym," said Martya, rolling her eyes.
"Huh. Damn." Pym stared up the block at the tile front of Lord Auditor Vorthys's house, half concealed in the trees. "I was hoping—damn."
"How is Miles, really?" asked Martya, following his glance and then cocking her head.
Pym absently scratched the back of his neck. "Well, he's over the vomiting and moaning part. Now he's taken to wandering around the house muttering to himself, when there's nothing