Tej threw a pillow at her.
The next day, the last of Ivan Xav’s leave, he spent ferrying them around to see a few locally-famous tourist sites, including a military history museum at Vorhartung Castle, the most looming of the old fortresses above the river that were, indeed, lit up colorfully at night. During this outing, he discovered that Tej and Rish not only didn’t drive ground vehicles, they couldn’t.
“We had sport grav-sleds, at this downside country villa my parents kept, but my older sibs usually hogged them,” Tej explained. “And in congested places, towns and cities like this”—she waved around—“even Dada used an armored groundcar with a dedicated driver and bodyguards. Outside the cities it’s all toll roads built and operated by assorted Houses, so you need a lot of money to get around.”
“Huh,” said Ivan Xav. “I bet I can fix that.”
His fix proved to be a private driver’s education service specializing in off-world tourists, whose personable instructor picked them up at the front of Ivan Xav’s building the next morning, after Ivan Xav went off to Ops for his day’s work.
“It’s an excellent choice to learn to drive in our beautiful Vorbarr Sultana,” the instructor informed them cheerfully. “After this, no other city on the planet will daunt you.”
Tej jumped into the challenge; Rish, claiming distressing sensory overload, opted out after a short trial that left her green, figuratively. In far fewer hours than Tej thought possible or even sane, she was issued a permit that allowed her to practice-drive under Ivan Xav’s supervision.
She only froze once, on their first evening’s outing, when trying to back the groundcar out of its parking space beneath the building. The pillar made such an ugly crunching noise…
“Don’t worry,” Ivan Xav told her jovially. “These groundcars are so crammed with safety features, you can hardly kill yourself even if you try. Why, I’ve had half-a-dozen crack-ups with barely a scratch. On me, that is. Harder on the groundcars, naturally. Except for that one time, but I was much younger then, so we don’t need to go into it.” He added after a moment, “Besides, this is the rental.”
Encouraged, Tej set her jaw and soldiered on. They arrived back an hour later without having cracked anything; not even, in her case, a smile, but that changed when she successfully piloted the beast back into its stall and powered down at last. “That wasn’t as scary as I thought it would be!”
“Oh, hey, you want scary—the best day I ever had with my Uncle Aral, who usually doesn’t have time for me in both senses of that phrase, but anyway, it was the first summer I had my lightflyer permit, and had gone down with Miles to their country place. Uncle Aral took me out, just me for a change, over the unpopulated hills and taught me what all you could really do with a lightflyer. He said it was in case I ever had to evade pursuit, but I think he was testing his new security fellows, who were along in the back seat. If he could make them scream, cry, or throw up, he won.”
“Er…did they? Did he?”
“Naw, they trusted him too much. I got a couple of the veterans to yelp, though.” He went on with unabated enthusiasm, “After you’re comfortable with groundcars, we’ll have to move you on into lightflyers. You need them to get around out in the more remote parts of the Districts, where the roads can get pretty rough. Too bad Uncle Aral is too old now to give you his special advanced course”—he pursed his lips—“probably. Anyway, he’s stuck on Sergyar viceroy-ing, which has disappointingly little to do with vice, he claims.”
The That Uncle Aral, Tej translated this. It was almost harder to imagine than The Gregor. “And your mother encouraged this…coaching?”
“Oh, sure. Of course, neither of us told her what we really did. Uncle Aral is nobody’s fool.”
Ivan Xav next discovered that neither Tej nor Rish, despite their sensory discrimination training, was more than a rudimentary cook. He claimed he was no master, but could survive in a kitchen, cooking a dinner at home for a change to prove it. He then hit on the bright idea of sending them both off to Ma Kosti for formal lessons, on the theory that she was underemployed and bored this week with most of the Vorkosigan household gone to Sergyar.
In appearance, Ma Kosti proved very much their first sample prole, short and dumpy and with a notably different accent and syntax than her employers, and she was at first visibly leery of Rish. This changed when Rish demonstrated her fine discriminatory abilities in taste and smell, plus less of a tendency than Tej to cut herself instead of the vegetables, and Rish was promptly adopted as a promising apprentice. Rish in turn recognized a fellow master-artist, if in a different medium. The days filled swiftly.
Two evenings out of three, Rish went off with Byerly, often not returning till the next day. “By’s place,” she remarked, “is surprisingly austere. He doesn’t bring his business back there much, as far as I can tell. Something of a refuge for him.” Tej handed her a pillow, and she punched it to fluff it up. “Not as austere as this couch, though. When am I going to get off this thing?”
Ivan Xav, passing by with a toothbrush in his mouth, removed it to say, “You know, I bet we could get you your own efficiency flat, right here in the building, if I try. Might have to wait for an opening. Or I could put myself on the waiting list for the next two- or three-bedroom unit that comes up. Call the moving service, we could shift digs in a day, no problem. Unless Byerly takes you off my hands.” Ivan Xav fluttered his fingers, to demonstrate their potential Rish-free state.
Rish sat up in her sheets and stared at him. “But we’re leaving.”
“Oh. Yeah.”
“When are we leaving?” she asked.
“That’s kind of up to ImpSec. They haven’t called.”
“But they could. At any time.”
“Well…yeah…”
“So what about this divorce ceremony you two have to go through before we can lift off?”
Tej perched on the couch’s padded arm, and said, “Ivan Xav said it would only take ten minutes.”
“Yeah, but how long do you have to stand in line to get the ten minutes? Is there a waiting list for that, too?”
“And how does it really work?” said Tej, unwillingly prodded into wondering. “I mean, in detail?” He’d never said. But then, she hadn’t thought to ask. They’d been busy.
“Hm,” said Ivan Xav, sticking his toothbrush into his T-shirt pocket and sinking down into a chair. “The thing we have to do is fly up to the Vorpatril’s District on one of the days Falco is holding Count’s Court in person. He does that at least once a week, when he’s in the District, more if he has time. That’ll save a world of explanation. We go in, say Please, Falco, grant us a divorce, he says Right, you’re divorced. Done!, bangs his courtly spear butt, and we skitter out.”
“Don’t you need lawyers and things?” said Rish.
“Shouldn’t think so. You’re not suing me for support, are you?” Ivan Xav asked Tej.
She shook her head. “No, just for a ride to Escobar, which The Gregor is giving us anyway.”
“If it’s something this Count Falco only does once a week, for a whole District—how many people are in the Vorpatril’s District, anyway?” said Rish.
“I dunno. Millions?”
“How does one man play judge to millions of people?” asked Rish, astonished.
“He doesn’t, of course. He’s got a whole District justice department, with all kinds of sub-territorial divisions for cities and towns and right on down to the Village Speaker level. But he keeps a hand in for the political symbolism of it, and to sample what his people really have to say. Most counts do, even Uncle Aral when he’s home. Which isn’t very often, true.”