"You're not—" Richars looked taken aback. "You're surely not thinking of voting for her, are you? You can't imagine your father endorsing that!"
"Plainly, if I do, he does. I am his Voice."
"Your grandfather," Richars looked around the sitting room, "would spin in his grave!"
Miles's lips drew back on a humorless smile. "I don't know, Richars. Lord Dono makes an excellent first impression. He may be received everywhere the first time for curiosity, but I can well imagine him being invited back on his own merits."
"Is that why you received her at Vorkosigan House, for curiosity? I must say, you didn't help the Vorrutyers with that. Pierre was strange—did he ever show you his collection of hats lined with gold foil?—and his sister's no improvement. The woman should be clapped in an attic for this whole appalling escapade."
"You should get over your prejudices and meet Lord Dono." You can leave any time now, in fact. "He quite charmed Lady Alys."
"Lady Alys holds no vote in Council." Richars gave Miles a sharp frown. "Did he—she —charm you?"
Miles shrugged, compelled to honesty. "I wouldn't go that far. He wasn't my chief concern that night."
"Yes," said Richars grumpily, "I heard all about your problem."
What? Abruptly, Miles found that Richars had finally riveted his full, undivided attention. "And what problem would that be?" he inquired softly.
Richar's lip turned up in a sour smile. "Sometimes, you remind me of my cousin By. He's very practiced at the suave pose, but he's not nearly as slick as he pretends to be. I'd have thought you'd have had the tactical wits to seal the exits before springing a trap like that." He conceded after a moment, "Though I do think the better of Alexi's widow for standing up to you."
"Alexi's widow?" breathed Miles. "I didn't know Alexi was married, let alone deceased. Who's the lucky lady?"
Richars gave him a don't-be-stupid look. His smile grew odder, as it penetrated that he'd drawn Miles out of his irritating indifference at last. "It was just a leetle obvious, don't you think, My Lord Auditor? Just a leetle obvious?" He leaned back in his chair, squinting through narrowed eyes.
"I'm afraid you've lost me," said Miles, in an extremely neutral tone. As automatically as breathing, Miles's face, posture, gestures slid into Security mode, unrevealing, unobtrusive.
"Your Administrator Vorsoisson's so-convenient death? Alexi thinks the widow hadn't guessed earlier how—and why—her husband died. But judging from her flaming exit from your proposal-party, all of Vorbarr Sultana figures that she knows now."
Miles kept his expression to no more than a faint, slight smile. "If you are talking about Madame Vorsoisson's late husband Tien, he died in a breath mask accident." He did not add I was there . It didn't sound . . . helpful.
"Breath mask, eh? Easy enough to arrange. I can think of three or four ways to do it without even exerting myself."
"Motivation alone does not a murder make. Or . . . since you're so quick at this—what did happen the night Pierre's fianc?e was killed?"
Richars's chin rose. "I was investigated and cleared. You haven't been. Now, I don't know if the talk about you is true, nor do I greatly care. But I doubt you'd care for the ordeal either way."
"No." Miles's smile remained fixed. "Enjoyed your part in that inquest, did you?"
"No," said Richars plainly. "Little officious guard bastards crawling all over my personal affairs, none of which were any of their damned business . . . drooling all over myself on fast-penta . . . The proles love having a Vor in their sights, don't you know. They'd piss all over themselves for a shot at someone of your rank. But you're likely safe, in the Council up there above us all. It would take a brave fool to lay the charge there, and what would he gain? No win for anyone."
"No." Such a charge would be quashed, for reasons of which Richars knew nothing—and Miles and Ekaterin would have to endure the scurrilous speculation that would follow that quashing. No win at all.
"Except possibly for young Alexi and the widow Vorsoisson. On the other hand . . ." Richars eyed Miles in growing conjecture, "There's a visible benefit to you if someone doesn't lay such a charge. I see a possible win-win scenario here."
"Do you."
"Come on, Vorkosigan. We're both as Old Vor as it's possible to be. It's stupid of us to be brangling when we should both be on the same side. Our interests march together. It's a tradition. Don't pretend your father and grandfather weren't top party horse-traders."
"My grandfather . . . learned his political science from the Cetagandans. Mad Emperor Yuri offered him postgraduate instruction after that. My grandfather schooled my father." And both of them schooled me. This is the only warning you will receive, Richars. "By the time I knew Piotr, Vorbarr Sultana party politics were just an amusing pastime to him, to entertain him in his old age."
"Well, there you are, then. I believe we understand each other pretty well."
"Let's just see. Do I gather you are offering not to lay a murder charge against me, if I vote for you over Dono in the Council?"
"Those both seem like good things to me."
"What if someone else makes such an accusation?"
"First they'd have to care, then they'd have to dare. Not all that likely, eh?"
"It's hard to say. All of Vorbarr Sultana seems a suddenly enlarged audience to my quiet family dinner. For example, where did you encounter this . . . fabrication?"
"At a quiet family dinner." Richars smirked, obviously satisfied at Miles's dismay.
And what route had the information traveled? Ye gods, was there a security rupture behind Richars's mouthings? The potential implications ranged far beyond a District inheritance fight. ImpSec was going to have a hell of a time tracking this.
All of Vorbarr Sultana. Ohshitohshitohshit.
Miles sat back, looked up to meet Richars's eyes directly, and smiled. "You know, Richars, I'm glad you came to see me. Before we had this little talk, I had actually been undecided how I was going to vote on the matter of the Vorrutyer's District."
Richars looked pleased, watching him fold so neatly. "I was sure we could see eye to eye."
The attempted bribery or blackmail of an Imperial Auditor was treason. The attempted bribery or blackmail of a District Count during wrestling for votes was more in the nature of normal business practice; the Counts traditionally expected their fellows to defend themselves in that game, or be thought too stupid to live. Richars had come to see Miles in his Voting Deputy hat, not his Imperial Auditor hat. Switching hats, and the rules of the game, on him in midstream seemed unfair. Besides, I want the pleasure of destroying him myself. Whatever ImpSec found in addition would be ImpSec's affair. And ImpSec had no sense of humor. Did Richars have any idea what kind of lever he was trying to pull? Miles manufactured a smile.
Richars smiled back, and rose. "Well. I have other men to see this afternoon. Thank you, Lord Vorkosigan, for your support." He stuck out his hand. Miles took it without hesitation, shook it firmly, and smiled. He smiled him to the door of his suite when Pym arrived to escort him out, and smiled while the booted feet made their way down the stairs, and smiled until he heard the front doors close.