Miles, Mystery & Mayhem - Lois McMaster Bujold [37]
She rocked, just slightly, in frozen misery, in a faint rustle of fabrics.
"If you don't think I'm worthy of being let in on your secrets," Miles went on wildly, "then explain to me how you think I could possibly make things any worse than they are right now!"
Her blue eyes searched him, for he knew not what. But he thought if she asked him to open his veins for her, right here and now, the only thing he'd say would be How wide?
"It was my Celestial Lady's desire," she began fearfully, and stopped.
Miles clutched at his shredded self-control. Everything she'd spilled so far was either obviously deducible, or common knowledge, at least in her milieu. Now she was getting to the good stuff, and knew it. He could tell by the way she'd stalled out.
"Milady." He chose his words with extreme care. "If the ba did not commit suicide, it was certainly murdered." And we both have good reason to prefer the second scenario. "Ba Lura was your servitor, your colleague . . . dare I guess, friend? I saw its body in the rotunda. A very dangerous and daring person arranged that hideous tableau. There was . . . a deep mischief and mockery in it."
Was that pain, in those cool eyes? So hard to tell . . .
"I have old and very personal reasons to particularly dislike being made the unwitting target of persons of cruel humor. I don't know if you can understand this."
"Perhaps . . ." she said slowly.
Yes. Look past the surface. See me, not this joke of a body. . . . "And I am the one person on Eta Ceta you know didn't do it. It's the only certainty we share, so far. I claim a right to know who's doing this to us. And the only chance in hell I have to figure out who, is to know exactly why."
Still she sat silent.
"I already know enough to destroy you," Miles added earnestly. "Tell me enough to save you!"
Her sculpted chin rose in bleak decision. When she blessed him with her outward attention at last, it was total and terrifying. "It was a long-standing disagreement." He strained to hear, to keep his head clear, to concentrate on the words and not just on the enchanting melody of her voice. "Between the Celestial Lady and the Emperor. My Lady had long thought that the haut gene bank was too centralized, in the heart of the Celestial Garden. She favored the dispersal of copies, for safety. My Lord favored keeping it all under his personal protection—for safety. They both sought the good of the haut, each in their own way."
"I see," Miles murmured, encouraging her with as much delicacy as he could muster. "All good guys here, right."
"The Emperor forbade her plan. But as she neared the end of her life . . . she came to feel that her loyalty to the haut must outweigh her loyalty to her son. Twenty years ago, she began to have copies made, in secret."
"A large project," Miles said.
"Huge, and slow. But she brought it to fruition."
"How many copies?"
"Eight. One for each of the planetary satraps."
"Exact copies?"
"Yes. I have reason to know. I have been the Celestial Lady's supervisor of geneticists for five years, now."
"Ah. So you are something of a trained scientist. You know about . . . extreme care. And scrupulous honesty."
"How else should I serve my Lady?" She shrugged.
But you don't know much, I'll bet, about covert ops chicanery. Hm. "If there are eight exact copies, there must be eight exact Great Keys, right?"
"No. Not yet. My Lady was saving the duplication of the Key to the last moment. A matter of—"
"Control," Miles finished smoothly. "How did I guess?"
A faint flash of resentment at his humor sparked in her eyes, and Miles bit his tongue. It was no laughing matter to haut Rian Degtiar.
"The Celestial Lady knew her time was drawing near. She made me and the Ba Lura the executors of her will in this matter.