Miles, Mystery & Mayhem - Lois McMaster Bujold [75]
And what method could Lord X come up with for disposing of the Barrayaran envoys one-half so baroque and perfect as Yenaro had been? Yenaro was a masterpiece, as far as the art of assassination went, beautifully choreographed in three movements and a crescendo. Now all that elaborate effort was wasted. Lord X would be as livid at the spoiling of his lovely pattern as at the failure of his plot, Miles swore. And he was an anxious impatient artist who couldn't leave well enough alone, who had to add those clever little touches. The kind of person who, as a child given his first garden, would dig up the seeds to see if they'd sprouted yet. (Miles felt a tiny twinge of sympathy for Lord X.) Yes, indeed, Lord X, playing for great stakes and losing both time and his inhibitions, was now well and classically primed to make a major mistake.
Why am I not so sure that's such a great idea?
"More to add, Lord Vorkosigan?" said Vorreedi.
"Hm? No. Just, uh, thinking." Besides, it would only upset you.
"I would request, as the embassy officer ultimately responsible for your personal safety as an official envoy, that you and Lord Vorpatril end your social contacts with a man who is apparently involved in a lethal Cetagandan vendetta."
"Yenaro is of no further interest to me. I wish him no harm. My real priority is in identifying the man who supplied him with that fountain."
Vorreedi's brows rose in mild reproach. "You might have said so earlier."
"Hindsight," said Miles, "is always better."
"That's for damned sure," sighed Vorreedi, in a voice of experience. He scratched his nose, and sat back. "There is another reason I called you here this morning, Lord Vorkosigan. Ghem-Colonel Benin has requested a second interview with you."
"Has he? Same as before?" Miles kept his voice from squeaking.
"Not quite. He specifically requested to speak with both you and Lord Vorpatril. In fact, he's on his way now. But you can refuse the interview if you wish."
"No, that's . . . that's fine. In fact, I'd like to talk to Benin again. I, ah . . . shall I go fetch Ivan, then, sir?" Miles rose to his feet. Bad, bad idea to let the two suspects consult before the interrogation, but then, this wasn't Vorreedi's case. How fully had Miles convinced the man of his secret clout?
"Go ahead," said Vorreedi affably. "Though I must say . . ."
Miles paused.
"I do not see how Lord Vorpatril fits into this. He's no courier officer. And his records are as transparent as glass."
"A lot of people are baffled by Ivan, sir. But . . . sometimes, even a genius needs someone who can follow orders."
* * *
Miles tried not to scamper, hustling down the corridor to Ivan's quarters. The luxury of privacy their status had bought them was about to come to a screeching halt, he suspected. If Vorreedi didn't turn on the bugs in both their rooms after this, the man either had supernatural self-control or was brain dead. And the protocol officer was the voraciously curious type; it went with his job.
Ivan unlocked his door with a drawl of "Enter," at Miles's impatient knock. Miles found his cousin sitting up in bed, half-dressed in green trousers and cream shirt, leafing through a pile of hand-calligraphed colored papers with an abstracted and not particularly happy air.
"Ivan. Get up. Get dressed. We're about to have an interview with Colonel Vorreedi and ghem-Colonel Benin."
"Confession at last, thank God!" Ivan tossed the papers up in the air and fell backward on his bed with a woof of relief.
"No. Not exactly. But I need you to let me do most of the talking, and confirm whatever I assert."
"Oh, damn." Ivan frowned up at the ceiling. "What now?"
"Benin has