Young Miles - Lois McMaster Bujold [122]
Miles's pantomime gestures cued the engineer. Baz leaned back with a grin, and picked up his lead.
"My lord, I ask your permission and aid to wed the first daughter of Armsman Konstantine Bothari, that my sons may serve you."
Miles cocked his head, and smirked. "Ah, good, we've all been watching the same vid dramas, I see. Yes, certainly, Armsman; may they all serve me as well as you do. I shall send the Baba."
He flipped the scarf into a triangle and tied it around his head. Leaning on an imaginary cane, he hobbled arthritically over to Elena's side of the table, muttering in a cracked falsetto. Once there, he removed the scarf and reverted to the role of Elena's liege-lord and guardian, and grilled the Baba as to the suitability of the suitor she represented. The Baba was sent bobbing back twice to Baz's liege-commander, to personally check and guarantee his a) continued employment prospects and b) personal hygiene and absence of head-lice.
Muttering obscene little old lady imprecations, the Baba returned at last to Elena's side of the table to conclude her transaction. Baz by this time was cackling with laughter at assorted Barrayaran in-jokes, and Elena's smile had at last reached her eyes.
When his clowning was over and the last somewhat scrambled formula was completed, Miles hooked a third chair into its floor bolts and fell into it.
"Whew! No wonder the custom is dying out. That's exhausting."
Elena grinned. "I've always had the impression you were trying to be three people. Perhaps you've found your calling."
"What, one-man shows? I've had enough of them lately to last a lifetime." Miles sighed, and grew serious. "You may consider yourselves well and officially betrothed, at any rate. When do you plan to register your marriage?"
"Soon," said Baz, and "I'm not sure," said Elena.
"May I suggest tonight?"
"Why—why . . ." stammered Baz. His eyes sought his lady's. "Elena? Could we?"
"I . . ." She searched Miles's face. "Why, my lord?"
"Because I want to dance at your wedding and fill your bed with buckwheat groats, if I can find any on this benighted space station. You may have to settle for gravel; they've got plenty of that. I'm leaving tomorrow."
Three words should not be so hard to grasp as all that. . . .
"What?" cried Baz.
"Why?" repeated Elena in a shocked whisper.
"I have some obligations to pursue." Miles shrugged. "There's Tav Calhoun to pay off, and—and the Sergeant's burial." And, very possibly, my own . . .
"You don't have to go in person, do you?" protested Elena. "Can't you send Calhoun a draft, and ship the body? Why go back? What is there for you?"
"The Dendarii Mercenaries," said Baz. "How can they function without you?"
"I expect them to function quite well, because I am appointing you, Baz, as their commander, and you, Elena, as his executive officer—and apprentice. Commodore Tung will be your chief of staff. You understand that, Baz? I'm going to charge you and Tung jointly with her training, and I expect it to be the best."
"I—I—" gasped the engineer. "My lord, the honor—I couldn't—"
"You'll find that you can, because you must. And besides, a lady should have a dowry worthy of her. That's what a dowry is for, after all, to provide for the bride's support. Bad form for the bridegroom to squander it, note. And you'll still be working for me, after all."
Baz looked relieved. "Oh—you'll be coming back, then. I thought—never mind. When will you return, my lord?"
"I'll catch up with you sometime," Miles said vaguely. Sometime, never . . . "That's the other thing. I want you to clear out of Tau Verde local space. Pick any direction away from Barrayar, and go. Find employment when you get there, but go soon. The Dendarii Mercenaries have had enough