Miles opened a hand to Suze, half persuasion, half plea. "Think it through. You lose no secrecy you haven't lost already"-he cut the unless you propose to have me murdered-no point in planting suggestions-"and you gain my gratitude."

"And what's that worth?"

On Barrayar, quite a lot. But they were not, as Roic had several times pointed out, on Barrayar. "I'll think of something."

Her eyebrows signaled severe skepticism. But she spoke instead to Jin: "Didn't Yani tell you to leave him out there? See what trouble comes of good deeds, Jin!" Miles wasn't sure if this counted for a yea or a nay, but she heaved a sigh and went on, "Take Vorkosigan-san down to the storerooms and find him something to write with. And on."

Jin shot eagerly to his feet. Miles made his thanks and followed him out before Suze could change her mind.

?

Jin watched, shifting from foot to foot, as Miles-san, as he'd decided to think of him, because that last name was a jaw-breaker, sorted through the few half-empty boxes of notepaper on the shelf in the storeroom. It was mostly the kind that old ladies used for writing formal thank-you notes, decorated with flowers and such, though Jin eyed one that bore puppies with a certain covetousness. With a quirk of his eyebrows, the little man made his selection, then turned to testing pens from the box of assorted discards. He found two that worked, stuck them in his pocket, and looked around.

"This place looks like a junk shop. Or the attic of Vorkosigan House…"

"Whenever anybody has findings that they don't want, they bring them down here for anybody to use," Jin explained. "Or else when…?um." When they go downstairs to Tenbury for the last time, but he couldn't say that. He wasn't sure he was even supposed to know that.

Miles-san's gaze caught. "Ah! Shoes!" He limped over to the pile. Jin tagged along, and helpfully also began sorting. The galactic's feet were a little smaller than his own, but then, Jin had had to find replacement shoes here just a month ago, when his toes had pushed through his last pair like spring shoots through soil. The ladies' fancy shoes were all useless even to most of the ladies here, and tended to accumulate, but Miles found a pair of sport shoes that fit at last. They were a girly flowered print, but he didn't seem to notice as he shoved them on and fastened the straps. "That's better. Now I can move." He turned, scanning the stores more closely. "Huh. Canes!"

He went to the collection leaning in a corner and picked though it, passing up some sturdy medical ones with multiple rubber feet, and others that were too long. He made his final choice by sweeping them around like swords and thwacking them against the wall, so that Jin wasn't sure if he was looking for a prop or a weapon. But just in case it was the former, Jin led him back to his rooftop home by the inside route, up the emergency stairs and out the exchanger tower door.

Miles-san took over the table and chair, set out his paper, and frowned, face intent. The he bent and began scratching with the pen, with occasional long, thoughtful pauses. Jin had cleaned out the chickens' boxes, counted the chicks just in case any had found the parapet again, and brushed Lucky before the man finished writing, sealed the note, and looked up, squinting around.

"Do you have a clean sharp knife? Or pin, or needle?"

"I'll look." Jin eventually found a little scalpel in the half-a-medicine-kit he'd once collected, and handed it over. Miles-san eyed it, shrugged, and to Jin's alarm poked his thumb with the sharp end. After squeezing out a drop of blood, he bent and pressed it over the flap, leaving a clear thumbprint across the line, which he then circled and initialed.

"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 attache 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. Vorkosigan." 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!"