Lois Bujold - Cryoburn

“Yah, wow,” said Jin. “Why’d you do that?”

“DNA. Thumbprint’s as good a mark as my grandfather’s seal-dagger. Better. They didn’t do DNA scans in his day. After all, one couldn’t expect the attaché to bestir himself for just any anonymous note off the street.”

He then proceeded to give Jin a rather complicated set of directions for after he’d reached the east side, which he made Jin recite back; the result made him sigh, and bend again to write the man’s name and address on the outside of the envelope after all. “I expect you’ll get there one way or another. Don’t give this into the hand of anyone but Lieutenant Johannes or Consul Vorlynkin, mind. It’s very private.”

Jin promised this, and went to find his box of coins, fishing out enough for the tube-tram fare, both ways. It didn’t leave much.

“Is that your whole bank?” Miles-san asked, peering over his shoulder. Jin nodded. “Well, if you make my delivery, you’ll get it back.”

Jin wasn’t sure how much store to set by this, but he nodded anyway. In turn he gave Miles-san a set of instructions should any animal emergencies arise while he was gone, which made the man blink a little. But he recited them back flawlessly. Jin tucked the letter inside his shirt, cast one last doubtful look over his shoulder, and descended the ladder.

Jin was nervous on the tube-tram, afraid people were looking at him, but no one seized him by the arm and dragged him to Security. He almost lost himself in the big transfer station downtown, the east side routes being unfamiliar to him, but he kept his eyes rigidly on the wall maps and made an effort to not look panicked. Helpful people could be as dangerous to him as suspicious ones. He found the right tube and the right stop at last.

A six-block walk, without too many turns, brought him to his destination. The neighborhood was full not of tidy apartment buildings of the sort he’d grown up in, but of forbiddingly fine houses in walled gardens. Several bore shiny brass plaques beside their gates labeling them as planetary embassies—Escobar’s was an especially large and impressive mansion. The Barrayaran Consulate, thankfully also clearly labeled, was not so intimidating by contrast—quite a small house, really, set close to the street so Jin didn’t have time to get scared going up the walk. No uniformed guards, and the decorative iron gate was so low Jin might have hopped over it, if it hadn’t been left invitingly open. Jin gulped and pressed the buzzer.

The door was opened by a blond man in shirtsleeves, his slim green trousers held up by braces. He looked rumpled and tired and in need of a depilatory. He stared at Jin with lowered brows. “No solicitors or beggars,” he said unencouragingly.

He had the same rumbly accent as Miles-san, and Jin realized to his dismay that not all Barrayarans were short. This man was very tall. “Please, sir, I’m a messenger. I have a letter for Lieutenant Johannes or Consul Vor, um, Vorlynkin.” From Miles-san’s brief description of the lieutenant, Jin thought this might be him, but did lieutenants answer doors? Further, Jin thought with some outrage, Miles-san had called him a nice kid, not a scary grownup . Though he supposed lieutenants had to be grownups.

“I’m Johannes.”

Jin reached inside his shirt; the man tensed, but eased again when Jin drew out the letter. “From Miles-san—from Mr. Vor ko sigan.” Jin was careful with the pronunciation.

“ Shit! ”

Jin flinched. Lieutenant Johannes then terrified him further by grabbing his arm, dragging him into the front hall, and slamming the door shut. He snatched the letter, held it up to the light, then tore it open, pausing only to shout up the stairway, “ Stefin! ”

He began running his eyes down the neat, tightly-written lines. “Alive, oh thank God! We’re saved!”

A second grownup, somewhat older and even taller than the first, clattered down the stairs. He was dressed like any Northbridge businessman right down to the hakama-like trousers, except that his wide-sleeved haori coat hung open, and he looked as squinty-eyed and tired as the lieutenant. “What, Trev?”

“Look at this! A letter from Lord Vorkosigan—he’s free!”

The second man looked over his shoulder, and echoed, “Thank God! But why didn’t he call in?” Then, after a moment more, “What? What? ”

The lieutenant turned the letter over and they both read on. “Is he insane ?”

The older man cast Jin a very narrow look, stirring up all Jin’s worst fears. Policemen loomed in his imagination.

“Is this real?” the older man demanded.

Jin bent, picked up the fallen envelope, and held it out mutely. He swallowed and managed, “He said you’d like the thumbprint. He said it would be just like his grandfather’s seal.”

“Is that blood ?”

“Um, yah… ?”

The older man handed the envelope to the lieutenant. “Take that downstairs and check it.”

“Yes, sir.” Trev-san disappeared through the doorway at the back of the hall. After a moment, Jin heard a door slam, and feet thumping down some other stairs.

“Excuse me, sir, are you the consul?” Jin had gained the vague notion that a consul was something like an ambassador, but smaller. Rather like his house, really. “Because Miles-san said, only give his letter to the lieutenant or Consul Vorlynkin.” He managed to get that last name out without stumbling over his tongue, this time. Jin would have expected an ambassador proper to be stouter and older, but this man was lean and not as old as Miles-san, or at least, he didn’t have any gray in his brown hair.

“I’m Vorlynkin.” His stare at Jin intensified. His eyes were very blue, like a hot summer sky. “Where did you see Lord Auditor Vorkosigan?”

“I, um, met him last night. He’d been lost in the Cryocombs. He said.”

“Is he all right?”

The answer seemed more complicated than the question, but Jin decided to skip all that and just reassure him: “He’s much better this morning. I gave him eggs.”

Vorlynkin blinked, and looked at the letter some more. “If this wasn’t a letter in his own hand—if this isn’t a letter in his own hand—I’d have you under fast-penta so… eh. Where did you see him?”

“Um, where I live.”

“And where’s that?”

He was in trouble now, between Suze and this alarming stranger. He was never supposed to talk to strangers, or tell anyone about the facility, he’d been told that often enough. He wondered if he could bolt back out the door and down the walk before the consul could grab him. “Um, my place… ?”

“What…” To his surprise, Vorlynkin did not pursue this, but turned the letter over again. “What did he seem to be about?”

“Um… he asked a lot of questions.” Jin thought a moment, and offered, “He’s not kidnapped any more, you know.”

“But why send a child as a courier… ?” Vorlynkin muttered. Jin wasn’t sure if the question was addressed to him, so did not attempt to volunteer an answer. It didn’t seem the time to explain about almost twelve, either. He was beginning to think that the less he said, the safer he would be.

The other fellow—Lieutenant Johannes, Trev-san, whatever—stumped back into to the entry hall, waving the envelope at his boss. “This part’s real. Now what, sir?”

“We still have to find his armsman just the same—he seems to think Roic was taken. No change there with respect to the locals. I suppose we have to do exactly what this says. But send a holo of the letter to ImpSec Galactic Affairs on Komarr, priority, scrambled.”

The lieutenant looked hopeful. “Maybe they’ll have an order. Some other order. One that makes more sense.”