Young Miles - Lois McMaster Bujold [161]
Some of the women had children in tow. Most of these were sent to play in the woods in back, but a small party of whispering boys sneaked back around the cabin to peek up over the rim of the porch at Miles. Miles had obligingly remained on the porch with Dea, remarking that it was a better view, without saying for whom. For a few moments, Miles pretended not to notice his audience, restraining Pym with a hand signal from running them off. Yes, look well, look your fill, thought Miles. What you see is what you're going to get, for the rest of your lives or at any rate mine. Get used to it. . . . Then he caught Zed Karal's whisper, as self-appointed tour guide to his cohort—"That big one's the one that's come to kill Lem Csurik!"
"Zed," said Miles.
There was an abrupt frozen silence from under the edge of the porch. Even the animal rustlings stopped.
"Come here," said Miles.
To a muted background of dismayed whispers and nervous giggles, Karal's middle boy slouched warily up on to the porch.
"You three—" Miles's pointing finger caught them in mid-flight, "wait there." Pym added his frown for emphasis, and Zed's friends stood paralyzed, eyes wide, heads lined up at the level of the porch floor as if stuck up on some ancient battlement as a warning to kindred malefactors.
"What did you just say to your friends, Zed?" asked Miles quietly. "Repeat it."
Zed licked his lips. "I jus' said you'd come to kill Lem Csurik, lord." Zed was clearly now wondering if Miles's murderous intent included obnoxious and disrespectful boys as well.
"That is not true, Zed. That is a dangerous lie."
Zed looked bewildered. "But Da—said it."
"What is true, is that I've come to catch the person who killed Lem Csurik's baby daughter. That may be Lem. But it may not. Do you understand the difference?"
"But Harra said Lem did it, and she ought to know; he's her husband and all."
"The baby's neck was broken by someone. Harra thinks Lem, but she didn't see it happen. What you and your friends here have to understand is that I won't make a mistake. I can't condemn the wrong person. My own truth drugs won't let me. Lem Csurik has only to come here and tell me the truth to clear himself, if he didn't do it.
"But suppose he did. What should I do with a man who would kill a baby, Zed?"
Zed shuffled. "Well, she was only a mutie. . . ." then shut his mouth and reddened, not looking at Miles.
It was, perhaps, a bit much to ask a twelve-year-old boy to take an interest in any baby, let alone a mutie one . . . no, dammit. It wasn't too much. But how to get a hook into that prickly defensive surface? And if Miles couldn't even convince one surly twelve-year-old, how was he to magically transmute a whole District of adults? A rush of despair made him suddenly want to rage. These people were so bloody impossible. He checked his temper firmly.
"Your Da was a twenty-year man, Zed. Are you proud that he served the Emperor?"
"Yes, lord." Zed's eyes sought escape, trapped by these terrible adults.
Miles forged on. "Well, these practices—mutie-killing—shame the Emperor, when he stands for Barrayar before the galaxy. I've been out there. I know. They call us all savages, for the crimes of a few. It shames the Count my father before his peers, and Silvy Vale before the District. A soldier gets honor by killing an armed enemy, not a baby. This matter touches my honor as a Vorkosigan, Zed. Besides," Miles's lips drew back on a mirthless grin, and he leaned forward intently in his chair—Zed recoiled as much as he dared—"you will all be astonished at