Mirror Dance b-9

by Lois McMaster Bujold

  Howl handled the rest. He began to suspect Howl had been obscurely responsible for delivering them all to Ryoval in the first place. Finally, he’d come to a place where he could be punished enough. Never give aversion therapy to a masochist. The results are unpredictable. So Howl deserved what Howl got. The elusive fourth one just waited, and said that someday, they would all love him best.

  They did not always stay within their lines. Howl had a tendency to eavesdrop on Gorge’s sessions, which came regularly while Howl’s did not; and more than once Gorge turned up riding along with Grunt on his adventures, which then became exceptionally peculiar. Nobody joined Howl by choice.

  Having named them all, he finally found Mark by process of elimination. Gorge and Grunt and Howl and the Other had sent Lord Mark deep inside, to sleep through it all. Poor, fragile Lord Mark, barely twelve weeks old.

  Ryoval could not even see Lord Mark down in there. Could not reach him. Could not touch him. Gorge and Grunt and Howl and the Other were all very careful not to wake the baby. Tender and protective, they defended him. They were equipped to. An ugly, grotty, hard-bitten bunch, these psychic mercenaries of his. Unlovely. But they got the job done.

  He began to hum little marching tunes to them, from time to time.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Absence makes the heart grow fonder. And, Miles feared, the converse. Rowan had pulled her pillow over her head again. He continued to pace. And talk. He couldn’t seem to stop himself. In the time that had passed since his concealed memory cascade, he had evolved a multitude of plans for their escape, all with some fatal flaw. Unable to put any of them into effect, he had re-ordered and refined them out loud. Over and over. Rowan had stopped critiquing them … yesterday? In fact, she’d stopped talking to him at all. She’d given up trying to pet him and relax him, and instead tended to stay on the far side of the room, or hide for long periods in the bathroom. He couldn’t blame her. His returning nervous energy seemed to be building to something like a frenzy.

  This forced confinement was stressing her affection for him to the limit. And, he had to admit, he had not been able to conceal his slight new hesitation toward her. A coolness in his touch, an increased resistance to her medical authority. He loved and admired her, no question, and would be delighted to have her in charge of any sickbay he owned. Under his command. But guilt and the sense of no privacy had combined to cripple his interest in intimacy. He had other passions at the moment. And they were consuming him.

  Dinner was due soon. Assuming three meals per long Jacksonian day, they’d been here four days. The Baron had not spoken with them again. What schemes was Vasa Luigi evolving, out there? Had he been auctioned yet? What if the next person through the door was his buyer? What if nobody bid at all, what if they left him in here forever?

  Meals were usually brought on a tray by a servant, under the watchful eye of a couple of stunner-armed guards. He’d tried everything he could think of short of breaking his cover to suborn them, in their brief snatches of conversation. They’d just smiled at him. He was dubious of his ability to outrun a stunner-beam, but at the next opportunity, he resolved to try. He hadn’t had a chance to try anything lever. He was ready to try something stupid. Surprise sometimes worked… .

  The lock clicked. He spun, poised to dart forward. “Rowan, get up!” he hissed. “I’m going to try for it.”

  “Oh, hell,” she moaned, emerging. Without faith, brow-beaten, she rose and trudged around the bed to stand by his side. “Stunning hurts, you know. And then you throw up. You’ll probably have convulsions.”

  “Yes. I know.”

  “But at least it’ll shut you up for a while,” she muttered under her breath.

  He rose on the balls of his feet. Then sank back again as the servant entered. Oh, my. What’s this? There was suddenly a new player in he game, and his mind locked into over-drive. Rowan, watching him or his announced bolt, looked up too, and her eyes widened.

  It was the clone-girl Lilly—Lilly Junior, he supposed he must think of her—in her brown-and-pink silk house-servant’s uniform, a long wrap skirt and spangled jacket. Straight-backed, she carried their meal tray, and set it down on the table across the room. Incomprehensibly, the guard nodded at her and withdrew, closing the door behind him.

  She began to lay out their meal, servant-fashion; Rowan approached her, lips parted.

  He saw a dozen possibilities, instantly; also that this chance might ever come again. There was no way, in his debilitated state, that he could overpower the girl himself. What about that sedative Rowan had threatened him with? Could Rowan get the drop on her? Rowan was not good at catching oblique hints, and terrible at following cryptic orders. She’d want explanations. She’d want to argue. He could only try.

  “Goodness you two look alike,” he chirped brightly, glaring at Rowan. She gave him a look of exasperated bafflement, which she converted to a smile as the girl turned toward them. “How is it that we rate, uh, such a high-born servant, milady?”

  Lilly’s smooth hand touched her chest. “I am not my lady,” she lid, in a tone that suggested he must be a complete fool. Not without reason. “But you …” She looked searchingly at Rowan. “I don’t understand you.”

  “Did the Baronne send you?” Miles asked.

  “No. But I told the guards your food was drugged, and the Baronne sent me to stay and watch you eat it,” she added, somewhat off-the-cuff.

  “Is that, uh, true?” he asked.

  “No.” She tossed her head, making her long hair swing, and dropped him from her attention to focus hungrily upon Rowan. “Who are you?”

  “She is the Baronne’s sister,” he said instantly. “Daughter to your lady’s mother. Did you know you were named after your, uh, grandmother?”

  “… Grandmother?”

  “Tell her about the Durona Group, Rowan,” he said urgently.

  “Give me a chance to speak, then, why don’t you,” Rowan said through her teeth, smiling.

  “Does she know what she is? Ask her if she knows what she is,” he demanded, then stuffed his knuckle into his mouth and bit it. The girl hadn’t come for him. She’d come for Rowan. He had to let Rowan take this one.

  “Well,” Rowan glanced at the closed door, and back to the girl, “The Duronas are a group of thirty-six cloned siblings. We live under the protection of House Fell. Our mother—the first Durona—is named Lilly, too. She was very sad when Lotus—the Baronne—left us. Lotus used to be my … older sister, you see. You must be my sister too, then. Has Lotus told you why she had you? Are you to be her daughter? Her heir?”

  “I am to be united with my lady,” said the girl. There was a faint defiance in her tone, but her fascination with Rowan was obvious. “I wondered … if you were to take my place.” Jealousy? Madness.

  Rowan’s eyes darkened in muted horror. “Do you understand just what that means? What a clone-brain transplant is? She will take your body, Lilly, and you will be nowhere.”

  “Yes. I know. It’s my destiny.” She tossed her head again, flipping her hair back from her face. Her tone was one of conviction. But her eyes … was there the faintest question, in her eyes?

  “So much alike, you two,” he murmured, circling them in suppressed anxiety. Smiling. “I’ll bet you could exchange clothes with each other, and no one could tell the difference.” Rowan’s quick glance told him yes, she’d caught it, but thought he was pushing it too hard. “Naw,” he went on, pursing his lips and tilting his head, “I don’t think so. The girl’s too fat. Don’t you think she’s too fat, Rowan?”

  “I am not fat!” said Lilly Junior indignantly.

  “Rowan’s clothes would never fit you.”

  “You’re wrong,” said Rowan, giving up and letting herself be pushed into fast-forward. “He’s an idiot. Let’s prove it, Lilly.” She began to peel out of her jacket, blouse, trousers.

  Slowly, very curiously, the girl took off her jacket and skirt, and took up Rowan’s outfit. Rowan did no
t yet touch Lilly’s silks, laid out neatly on the bed.

  “Oh, that looks nice,” said Rowan. She nodded toward the bathroom. “You should go look at yourself.”

  “I was wrong,” Miles admitted nobly, steering the girl toward the bathroom. No time to plot, no way to give orders. He’d have to utterly rely on Rowan’s … initiative. “Actually, Rowan’s clothes look quite good on you. Imagine yourself as a Durona surgeon. They’re all doctors there, did you know? You could be a doctor too… .” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rowan tear the bands from her hair and shake it loose, and grab for the silks. He let the door shut behind him and Lilly, and aimed her at the mirror. He turned on the water, to mask the sound of Rowan’s knock on the outer door, of the guard opening it, of her retreat, hair swinging down across her face… .

  Lilly stared into the long mirror. She glanced at him by her side in it, waving his hand as if to introduce her to herself, then down at the top of his head by her shoulder. He grabbed a cup and took a gulp of water, to clear his throat for action. How long could he keep the girl distracted in here? He didn’t think he could successfully sap her on the skull, and he was not completely certain which item in Rowan’s medical satchel, sitting on the countertop, was the threatened sedative.

  To his surprise, she spoke first. “You’re the one who came for me, aren’t you. For all us clones.”

  “Uh …” The disastrous Dendarii raid on Bharaputra’s? Had she been one of the rescuees? What was she doing back here, then? “Excuse me. I’ve been dead, lately, and my brain isn’t working too well. Cryo-amnesia. It might have been me, but you might have met my clone-twin.”

  “You have clone-sibs too?”

  “At least one. My … brother.”

  “You were really dead?” She sounded faintly disbelieving.

  He pulled up his gray knit shirt and displayed his scars.

  “Oh,” she said, impressed. “I guess you were.”

  “Rowan put me back together. She’s very good.” No, don’t draw her attention to the missing Rowan. “You could be just as good, I’ll bet, if you tried. If you were trained.”

  “What was it like? Being dead?” Her eyes were suddenly intent upon his face.

  He shrugged his shirt back down. “Dull. Really boring. A blank. I don’t remember anything. I don’t remember dying—” His breath caught… . the projectile weapon’s muzzle, bright with flame … hischest bursting outward, terrible pain … He inhaled, and leaned against the counter, legs suddenly weak. “Lonely. You wouldn’t like it. I guarantee.” He took her warm hand. “Being alive is much better. Being alive is, is …” He needed something to stand on. He scrambled up on the counter instead, crouching eye to eye with her at last. He twined her hair in his hand, tilted his head, and kissed her, just a brief press of the lips. “You can tell you’re alive when somebody touches you back.”

  She drew back, shocked and interested. “You kiss differently from the Baron.”

  His brain seemed to hiccup. “The Baron has kissed you?”

  “Yes …”

  Sampling his wife’s new body early? How soon was that transplant scheduled? “Have you always lived with, uh, your lady?”

  “No. I was brought here after the clone-creche was wrecked. The repairs are almost complete, I’ll be moving back soon.”

  “But … not for long.”

  “No.”

  The temptations to the Baron must be … interesting. After all, she would have her brain destroyed soon, and be unable to accuse. Vasa Luigi could do anything but damage her virginity. What was this doing to her apparent mental conditioning, her allegiance to her destiny? Something, obviously, or she wouldn’t be here.

  She glanced at the closed door, and her mouth went round in sudden suspicion. She pulled her hand from his grip, and raced back to the empty bedroom. “Oh, no!”

  “Sh! Sh!” He ran after her, grabbed her hand again, lunged up to stand on the bed to turn her face to his and regain eye contact. “Don’t shout!” he hissed. “If you run out and tell the guards, you’ll be in terrible trouble, but if you just wait until she comes back, no one will ever know.” He felt quite vile, to be playing so on her obvious panic, but it had to be done. “Be quiet, and no one will ever know.” He had no idea if Rowan intended to come back, for that matter. By this point maybe she had just wanted to escape from him. None of his plans had assumed a piece of luck like this.

  Lilly Junior could physically overpower him with ease, though he was not sure if she realized it. One good punch to his chest would drop him to the floor. She wouldn’t even have to hit him very hard.

  “Sit down,” he told her. “Here, next to me. Don’t be afraid. Actually, I can’t imagine what you could possibly be afraid of, if your destiny doesn’t make you blink. You must be a courageous girl. Woman. Sit …” He drew her down; she glanced from him to the door in great uncertainty, but allowed herself to be settled, temporarily. Her muscles were tight as springs. “Tell me … tell me about yourself. Tell me about your life. You are a most interesting person, do you know?”

  “Me?”

  “I can’t remember much about my life, right now, which is why I ask. It’s a terror to me, not to be able to remember. It’s killing me. What’s the very earliest thing about yourself that you can remember?”

  “Why … I suppose … the place I lived before I came to the creche. There was a woman who took care of me. I have—this is silly—but I remember she had some purple flowers, as tall as,! was, that grew out of this little square of a garden, hardly a meter square, and they smelled like grapes.”

  “Yes? Tell me more about those flowers …”

  They were in for a long conversation, he feared. And then what? That Rowan had not yet been brought back was a very good sign. That she might not be coming back left an unsettling dilemma for Lilly Junior. So what could the Baron and Baronne possibly do to her? his mind mocked savagely. Kill her?

  They talked of her life in the creche. He teased out an account of the Dendarii raid from her point of view. How she had managed to re-join the Baron. Sharp, sharp kid. What a mess for Mark. The pauses grew longer. He was going to end up talking about himself soon, just to keep things going, and that was incredibly dangerous. She was running out of conversation, her eyes turning more and more often toward the door.

  “Rowan’s not coming back,” said Lilly Junior at last. “Is she.”

  “I think not,” he said frankly. “I think she’s escaped clean.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “If they had caught her, they would have come for you, even if they didn’t bring her back here. From their point of view, Rowan is still in here. It’s you who’s missing.”

  “You don’t think they could have mistaken her for me, do you?” she gasped in alarm. “Taken her to be united with my lady?”

  He wasn’t sure if she was afraid for Rowan, or afraid that Rowan would steal her place. What a ghastly, hideous new paranoia. “How soon are you … no,” he reassured her. Himself. “No. At a glance in the hallway, sure, you’d look quite alike, but someone would have to take a closer look for that. She’s years older than you. It’s just not possible.”

  “What should I do?” She tried to get to her feet; he held her arm, pulled her back to his side on the bed.

  “Nothing,” he advised. “It’s all right. Tell them—tell them I made you stay in here.”

  She looked askance at his littleness. “How?”

  “Trickery. Threats. Psychological coercion,” he said truthfully. “You can blame it on me.”

  She looked most dubious.

  How old was she? He’d spent the last two hours teasing out her whole life story, and there didn’t seem to be very much of it. Her talk was an odd mixture of sharpness and naivete. The greatest adventure of her life had been her brief kidnapping by the Dendarii Mercenaries.

  Rowan. She’s made it out. Then what? Would she come back for him? How? This was Jackson’s Whole. You couldn’t trust anyone. P
eople were meat, here. Like this girl in front of him. He had a sudden nightmarish picture of her, empty-skulled, blank-eyed.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “You are so beautiful … on the inside. You deserve to live. Not be eaten by that old woman.”

  “My lady is a great woman,” she said sturdily. “She deserves to live more.”

  What kind of twisted ethics drove Lotus Durona, to make of this girl an imitation-willing sacrifice? Who did Lotus think she was fooling? Only herself, apparently.

  “Besides,” said Lilly Junior. “I thought you liked that fat blonde. You were squirming all over her.”

  “Who?”

  “Oh, that’s right. That must have been your clone-twin.”

  “My brother,” he corrected automatically. What was this story, Mark?

  She was getting relaxed, now, reconciled to her strange captivity. And bored. She looked at him speculatively. “Would you like to kiss me again?” she inquired.

  It was his height. It brought out the beast in women. Unthreatened, they became bold. He normally considered it a quite delightful effect, but this girl worried him. She was not his … equal. But he had to kill time, keep her in here, keep her entertained for as long as possible. “Well … all right… .”

  After about twenty minutes of tame and decorous necking, she drew back and remarked, “That’s not the way the Baron does it.”

  “What do you do for Vasa Luigi?”

  She unfastened his trouser-strings and started to show him. After about a minute, he choked, “Stop!”

  “Don’t you like it? The Baron does.”

  “I’m sure.” Dreadfully aroused, he fled to the chair by the little dining table, and scrunched himself up in it. “That’s, um, very nice, Lilly, but it’s too serious for you and me.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Just exactly so.” She was a child, despite her grown-up body, he was increasingly certain of it. “When you are older … you will find your own boundaries. And you can invite people across them as you choose. Right now you scarcely know where you leave off and the world begins. Desire should flow from within, not be imposed from without.” He tried to choke off his own flow by sheer will-power, half-successfully. Vasa Luigi, you scum.