"A Man About Town" for minor_ramblings
Title: A Man About Town
Author: hossgal
Rating: PG-13
For: minor_ramblings, who asked for "Byerley Vorrutyer, ImpSec, and a Plot".
Spoilers: Through Civil Campaign
Summary: One does what one must. 2,000 words
A Man About Town
Vorbarr Sultana, fourth year of the reign of Gregor Vorbarra
The café was bordered on one side by a steep drop, on a second by a cobblestone road. The steep drop granted an unshadowed morning but, alas for increasing custom, no view of the river. Instead, the venue overlooked the finance district - a graceless forest of steel and presstone rising in jumbled formation - and provided the visitor a glimpse of the north-most corner of the caravanserai.
This morning the vista included a drift of smoke, some distance off; Midsummer was past now, and the heat still rising. Summertime traditionally brought riots scattered through the lower quarter. The municipal men were kept hustling from blaze to blaze within the city proper, and this time of year there were always burn warnings in the hills.
At daybreak on a holiday morning, though, there was little traffic, either on the roads or in the shops. Nestled on the border of the finance district - prepared to sleep the holiday away - and the residential enclave of the High Vor - still somnolent, or else just now, at dawn, stumbling home, the café was all but empty. Two waiters yawned behind their hands and clung to the bar and its coffee press, leaving the sole customer to himself on the patio.
Byverly Vorrutyer considered his rapidly cooling coffee and judged the plebian brew a fair trade for solitude.
Enough of companionship, for now. Perhaps for always.
It will get you killed. You, or your friends. A flash of sense-memory overcame him, from the night just past. Voices about him, terse in the darkness, shoulders tense under his arms. He had let his head loll, make them think he more drunk than he was. Another town clown, -
wastrel, lout, drone
- spending his family's money in the least improving and most expansive manner possible. Like the men - boys - with him, piled into the back of a groundcar, off to meet another.
Set the park ablaze, watch the municipals scurry to put it out! What a laugh! Not like the old days, with the Regent, no fun at all. Humorless grunting thug, no sense of proportion. Say, isn't the ImpSec plaza overgrown this year?
He had gone to the party chasing a marsh-mist of a hint of a rumor - someone had been saying something they should not have. Perhaps. And perhaps it was just his Vorrutyer blood, that connected Vorkosigan with ruin, at some level below logical thought. He hadn't been drunk then, but the tumbling thread of conversation had been enough to freeze the vodka in his blood, in the first hour past sunset, and Byverly had not taken another drop after.
Wouldn't that be a sight, ImpSec by firelight? The author of that merry line had laughed, but the laugh had not gone past his mouth. Or, even, old Vorkosigan House, with the trees outside burning! Think what a confusion there would be!
A delirious confusion, Byverly had thought, and quit drinking in that same heartbeat. Anything might happen, in the chaos. Anything. He had been suddenly, completely, sober.
He wished he was drunk now, though. He took another sip of his coffee and made a face.
"Would the young sir care for another cup?" The waiter was hovering at his elbow, hand out. "Or perhaps a pastry?"
Nodding wordlessly, Byverly handed the cup and saucer over. The waiter bustled away, back to the bar. On the way, he passed his alternate on the way out, guiding another customer into the sun. A woman, older, in morning visiting dress. The click of her boot heels on the flagstones out of time of the swirl of her skirt.
"This will suit," she said, and seated herself after the waiter pulled the chair out for her. Facing south, as was Byverly, one table over - the young sun too strong to face directly, even at daybreak.
Byverly gazed about at the empty courtyard - a dozen tables, three times as many chairs, and all of them empty. The waiter fussed at her placemat, then bowed and darted back to the kitchen, returning after a moment with two cups of coffee and a pastry.
The woman waved away the offer of sugar and cream. The waiter retreated, leaving the two to sip coffee and consider the south-west sky. A single groundcar made its way up the narrow road and then away again, leaving behind a stillness that mocked peace.
Am I to sit here, silent, until bidden to speak? The thought made bile rise in his throat. Not after this last night. "You're about early today, Lady Vorpatril."
The woman set her cup down but did not turn towards him. For a moment, he thought she might snub him. And what would be the fun of that, with no one to hear? The waiters were back in their cave. The street was clear. "As are you, young man."
No names, then. And no title.
"No, alas, I am not yet home." Had he been, he doubted Alys Vorpatril would have stirred from her rooms, even for a deathbed. Were there men in wait for him there, to bring him back to ImpSec for another question or ten?
They would not break his cover like that. Not while you remain useful, he told himself. And then, All glory fades.
Not so soon, he wished.
"What brings you out so shortly after dawn? I thought I might have seen you at Vorrutyer House, last evening." Everyone had seen him, of that he was sure. He and Rafal and Rafal's cousin Kiryl had made a hellish racket, coming down the stairs singing that dreadful Greekie doggerel. Byverly was still surprised that it had been another hour before their elders had thrown them out of the House proper, and out onto the city. Out of earshot - and council - of wiser ears. Out of the protection of Vorrutyer's guardsmen.
"A hospital visit. The nephew of a friend was admitted last night, and I took the liberty of calling up on her at the clinic."
"An errand of mercy, then."
"One does what one must."
Oh, yes, we do. Or, some of us do. "It must be a comfort to your friend, to have someone take notice of those distressing events. Not everyone is so fortunate." He found, somewhat to his surprise, that he was shredding the pastry into fragments. The fingers of that hand were trembling. Abandoning the pastry, he carefully set his arm down on the little table. The bandages were thick, but the flesh beneath still throbbed.
She sipped her coffee. She might have been considering his statement.
"I do hope the young man was not seriously injured. Was it a matter of sport?"
"One might say. It was a groundcar accident. He was burned."
Burned and smoked and stinking of scorched flesh, and oh, god, the screaming. The bottle of vodka had been half-full, had gone up like a torch when it smashed to the ground.
The driver had never gotten out.
"How distressing. Was he - there was a great deal of traffic last night, after the fireworks. Was he the only one injured?"
Calm, solicitous, beguiling. He kept his face pleasant and open, even when she half turned in his direction, a frown playing in her eyes. But that was perhaps only a trick of the light. She faced away again, took another sip of coffee.
"No, one of his companions was...killed. Another driver has been arrested, on grounds of illegal drug use."
Was that how it was being played?
He had no doubt that one of last night's louts had indeed been an acquaintance of Lady Vorpatril - she could be said to know all of the High Vor of the capital. Byverly had swum in that pool for half his life. Long enough to recognize Alys Vorpatril as among the great predators, moving among smaller creatures such as himself with little more than a glance and a shrug.
Long enough to realize how much more could lie beneath minor ripples as a groundcar accident.
But if ImpSec was fool enough to still assume that the aborted strike had been germinated among the idle young men of the town set...Byverly set his teeth as his bandaged forearm dragged against the table edge. He had told them. Surely they had set their nets wider.
"Oh, my. How tragic. And yet, an arrest already? The traffic authorities can move swiftly, can they not?" If they choose to. If given reason to. A reason such as an ImpSec request, followed by an ImpSec confiscation of prisoners. And evidence.
And witnesses. Assuming ImpSec knew where to find those witnesses.
The silence spread on. And on. He gritted his teeth, played it over again and again in his mind. Rafal, yes, and Kyril, but it had not been their idea. There had been three others, and among them a man that Byverly had not recognized.
The man had been a stranger, and his groundcar had sat too low to the ground. Too heavy.
"The man arrested, was he...?" The words had left his mouth before Byverly realized he had decided to speak.
"A plebian, of no name." But of course. "Or, none that I noted. I took more concern with the relative of my friend, and his cousin, young Rafal Vorkalloner. Such a waste, at such a young age."
Byverly still did not know what had set it off. The stranger's paranoia, some motion of Rafal's. Something you did. The plasma arc had taken Rafal at chest-level, at no more than eight strides. Six more, and Rafal might have lived, at least for a little while. Two more, and the plasma arc's nimbus might have been wide enough to encompass Byverly entirely, instead of merely scorching his reaching arm. It had been the second shot that had lit the bottle of vodka.
"Oh, yes. Such a shame, when young people are caught up with unsavory acquaintances."
She did frown at that, and Byverly subsided. Best not to mock one's elders.
But he had spent five hours under interrogation, three of those with his arm unbandaged, and throughout it all kept his temper and his tongue. He would forgive himself a slip or three, now.
Finally she said, "True enough, but in this case, the other driver was a stranger, unknown to the young men. There is no question of their involvement in his...activities." She drained her cup and motioned to the waiter. "I understand the...authorities have been sufficiently apprised of that."
"Ah." There did not seem much else to say.
The waiter bowed over Lady Vorpatril's coin and backed away. Lady Vorpatril busied herself with her gloves and satchel.
She said, back still to the dawn, "I understand it is sometimes difficult for the municipal men, when there has been an accident, to decide where to block the roads. Sometimes they set the roadblocks too wide, and confusion sets it. Or - more distressing - too close, and injuries spill outward. It is vital, in those cases, for them to have as much information concerning...the accident, as they can gather." Finally, her eyes met his. "A clear-sighted witness proves invaluable in such situations. Beyond price, in fact."
Greatly daring, Byverly said, "One might think the...authorities wise to recognize, even reward, such assistance."
Now Alys smiled. "Virtue, I am told, is its own reward." A final tug on her gloves, and she was turning to go. "You should sleep, young man, before returning to your duties."
She was gone before he could remind her that he had none, himself. Except for the ones he could not publicly claim, no more than he could the burn on his arm. Instead, he drank his coffee slowly, and listened to the city awaken around him.
Author: hossgal
Rating: PG-13
For: minor_ramblings, who asked for "Byerley Vorrutyer, ImpSec, and a Plot".
Spoilers: Through Civil Campaign
Summary: One does what one must. 2,000 words
A Man About Town
Vorbarr Sultana, fourth year of the reign of Gregor Vorbarra
The café was bordered on one side by a steep drop, on a second by a cobblestone road. The steep drop granted an unshadowed morning but, alas for increasing custom, no view of the river. Instead, the venue overlooked the finance district - a graceless forest of steel and presstone rising in jumbled formation - and provided the visitor a glimpse of the north-most corner of the caravanserai.
This morning the vista included a drift of smoke, some distance off; Midsummer was past now, and the heat still rising. Summertime traditionally brought riots scattered through the lower quarter. The municipal men were kept hustling from blaze to blaze within the city proper, and this time of year there were always burn warnings in the hills.
At daybreak on a holiday morning, though, there was little traffic, either on the roads or in the shops. Nestled on the border of the finance district - prepared to sleep the holiday away - and the residential enclave of the High Vor - still somnolent, or else just now, at dawn, stumbling home, the café was all but empty. Two waiters yawned behind their hands and clung to the bar and its coffee press, leaving the sole customer to himself on the patio.
Byverly Vorrutyer considered his rapidly cooling coffee and judged the plebian brew a fair trade for solitude.
Enough of companionship, for now. Perhaps for always.
It will get you killed. You, or your friends. A flash of sense-memory overcame him, from the night just past. Voices about him, terse in the darkness, shoulders tense under his arms. He had let his head loll, make them think he more drunk than he was. Another town clown, -
wastrel, lout, drone
- spending his family's money in the least improving and most expansive manner possible. Like the men - boys - with him, piled into the back of a groundcar, off to meet another.
Set the park ablaze, watch the municipals scurry to put it out! What a laugh! Not like the old days, with the Regent, no fun at all. Humorless grunting thug, no sense of proportion. Say, isn't the ImpSec plaza overgrown this year?
He had gone to the party chasing a marsh-mist of a hint of a rumor - someone had been saying something they should not have. Perhaps. And perhaps it was just his Vorrutyer blood, that connected Vorkosigan with ruin, at some level below logical thought. He hadn't been drunk then, but the tumbling thread of conversation had been enough to freeze the vodka in his blood, in the first hour past sunset, and Byverly had not taken another drop after.
Wouldn't that be a sight, ImpSec by firelight? The author of that merry line had laughed, but the laugh had not gone past his mouth. Or, even, old Vorkosigan House, with the trees outside burning! Think what a confusion there would be!
A delirious confusion, Byverly had thought, and quit drinking in that same heartbeat. Anything might happen, in the chaos. Anything. He had been suddenly, completely, sober.
He wished he was drunk now, though. He took another sip of his coffee and made a face.
"Would the young sir care for another cup?" The waiter was hovering at his elbow, hand out. "Or perhaps a pastry?"
Nodding wordlessly, Byverly handed the cup and saucer over. The waiter bustled away, back to the bar. On the way, he passed his alternate on the way out, guiding another customer into the sun. A woman, older, in morning visiting dress. The click of her boot heels on the flagstones out of time of the swirl of her skirt.
"This will suit," she said, and seated herself after the waiter pulled the chair out for her. Facing south, as was Byverly, one table over - the young sun too strong to face directly, even at daybreak.
Byverly gazed about at the empty courtyard - a dozen tables, three times as many chairs, and all of them empty. The waiter fussed at her placemat, then bowed and darted back to the kitchen, returning after a moment with two cups of coffee and a pastry.
The woman waved away the offer of sugar and cream. The waiter retreated, leaving the two to sip coffee and consider the south-west sky. A single groundcar made its way up the narrow road and then away again, leaving behind a stillness that mocked peace.
Am I to sit here, silent, until bidden to speak? The thought made bile rise in his throat. Not after this last night. "You're about early today, Lady Vorpatril."
The woman set her cup down but did not turn towards him. For a moment, he thought she might snub him. And what would be the fun of that, with no one to hear? The waiters were back in their cave. The street was clear. "As are you, young man."
No names, then. And no title.
"No, alas, I am not yet home." Had he been, he doubted Alys Vorpatril would have stirred from her rooms, even for a deathbed. Were there men in wait for him there, to bring him back to ImpSec for another question or ten?
They would not break his cover like that. Not while you remain useful, he told himself. And then, All glory fades.
Not so soon, he wished.
"What brings you out so shortly after dawn? I thought I might have seen you at Vorrutyer House, last evening." Everyone had seen him, of that he was sure. He and Rafal and Rafal's cousin Kiryl had made a hellish racket, coming down the stairs singing that dreadful Greekie doggerel. Byverly was still surprised that it had been another hour before their elders had thrown them out of the House proper, and out onto the city. Out of earshot - and council - of wiser ears. Out of the protection of Vorrutyer's guardsmen.
"A hospital visit. The nephew of a friend was admitted last night, and I took the liberty of calling up on her at the clinic."
"An errand of mercy, then."
"One does what one must."
Oh, yes, we do. Or, some of us do. "It must be a comfort to your friend, to have someone take notice of those distressing events. Not everyone is so fortunate." He found, somewhat to his surprise, that he was shredding the pastry into fragments. The fingers of that hand were trembling. Abandoning the pastry, he carefully set his arm down on the little table. The bandages were thick, but the flesh beneath still throbbed.
She sipped her coffee. She might have been considering his statement.
"I do hope the young man was not seriously injured. Was it a matter of sport?"
"One might say. It was a groundcar accident. He was burned."
Burned and smoked and stinking of scorched flesh, and oh, god, the screaming. The bottle of vodka had been half-full, had gone up like a torch when it smashed to the ground.
The driver had never gotten out.
"How distressing. Was he - there was a great deal of traffic last night, after the fireworks. Was he the only one injured?"
Calm, solicitous, beguiling. He kept his face pleasant and open, even when she half turned in his direction, a frown playing in her eyes. But that was perhaps only a trick of the light. She faced away again, took another sip of coffee.
"No, one of his companions was...killed. Another driver has been arrested, on grounds of illegal drug use."
Was that how it was being played?
He had no doubt that one of last night's louts had indeed been an acquaintance of Lady Vorpatril - she could be said to know all of the High Vor of the capital. Byverly had swum in that pool for half his life. Long enough to recognize Alys Vorpatril as among the great predators, moving among smaller creatures such as himself with little more than a glance and a shrug.
Long enough to realize how much more could lie beneath minor ripples as a groundcar accident.
But if ImpSec was fool enough to still assume that the aborted strike had been germinated among the idle young men of the town set...Byverly set his teeth as his bandaged forearm dragged against the table edge. He had told them. Surely they had set their nets wider.
"Oh, my. How tragic. And yet, an arrest already? The traffic authorities can move swiftly, can they not?" If they choose to. If given reason to. A reason such as an ImpSec request, followed by an ImpSec confiscation of prisoners. And evidence.
And witnesses. Assuming ImpSec knew where to find those witnesses.
The silence spread on. And on. He gritted his teeth, played it over again and again in his mind. Rafal, yes, and Kyril, but it had not been their idea. There had been three others, and among them a man that Byverly had not recognized.
The man had been a stranger, and his groundcar had sat too low to the ground. Too heavy.
"The man arrested, was he...?" The words had left his mouth before Byverly realized he had decided to speak.
"A plebian, of no name." But of course. "Or, none that I noted. I took more concern with the relative of my friend, and his cousin, young Rafal Vorkalloner. Such a waste, at such a young age."
Byverly still did not know what had set it off. The stranger's paranoia, some motion of Rafal's. Something you did. The plasma arc had taken Rafal at chest-level, at no more than eight strides. Six more, and Rafal might have lived, at least for a little while. Two more, and the plasma arc's nimbus might have been wide enough to encompass Byverly entirely, instead of merely scorching his reaching arm. It had been the second shot that had lit the bottle of vodka.
"Oh, yes. Such a shame, when young people are caught up with unsavory acquaintances."
She did frown at that, and Byverly subsided. Best not to mock one's elders.
But he had spent five hours under interrogation, three of those with his arm unbandaged, and throughout it all kept his temper and his tongue. He would forgive himself a slip or three, now.
Finally she said, "True enough, but in this case, the other driver was a stranger, unknown to the young men. There is no question of their involvement in his...activities." She drained her cup and motioned to the waiter. "I understand the...authorities have been sufficiently apprised of that."
"Ah." There did not seem much else to say.
The waiter bowed over Lady Vorpatril's coin and backed away. Lady Vorpatril busied herself with her gloves and satchel.
She said, back still to the dawn, "I understand it is sometimes difficult for the municipal men, when there has been an accident, to decide where to block the roads. Sometimes they set the roadblocks too wide, and confusion sets it. Or - more distressing - too close, and injuries spill outward. It is vital, in those cases, for them to have as much information concerning...the accident, as they can gather." Finally, her eyes met his. "A clear-sighted witness proves invaluable in such situations. Beyond price, in fact."
Greatly daring, Byverly said, "One might think the...authorities wise to recognize, even reward, such assistance."
Now Alys smiled. "Virtue, I am told, is its own reward." A final tug on her gloves, and she was turning to go. "You should sleep, young man, before returning to your duties."
She was gone before he could remind her that he had none, himself. Except for the ones he could not publicly claim, no more than he could the burn on his arm. Instead, he drank his coffee slowly, and listened to the city awaken around him.