The second man looked over his shoulder, and echoed, "Thank God! But why didn't he call in?" Then, after a moment more, "What? What?"

The lieutenant turned the letter over and they both read on. "Is he insane?"

The older man cast Jin a very narrow look, stirring up all Jin's worst fears. Policemen loomed in his imagination.

"Is this real?" the older man demanded.

Jin bent, picked up the fallen envelope, and held it out mutely. He swallowed and managed, "He said you'd like the thumbprint. He said it would be just like his grandfather's seal."

"Is that blood?"

"Um, yah…??"

The older man handed the envelope to the lieutenant. "Take that downstairs and check it."

"Yes, sir." Trev-san disappeared through the doorway at the back of the hall. After a moment, Jin heard a door slam, and feet thumping down some other stairs.

"Excuse me, sir, are you the consul?" Jin had gained the vague notion that a consul was something like an ambassador, but smaller. Rather like his house, really. "Because Miles-san said, only give his letter to the lieutenant or Consul Vorlynkin." He managed to get that last name out without stumbling over his tongue, this time. Jin would have expected an ambassador proper to be stouter and older, but this man was lean and not as old as Miles-san, or at least, he didn't have any gray in his brown hair.

"I'm Vorlynkin." His stare at Jin intensified. His eyes were very blue, like a hot summer sky. "Where did you see Lord Auditor Vorkosigan?"

"I, um, met him last night. He'd been lost in the Cryocombs. He said."

"Is he all right?"

The answer seemed more complicated than the question, but Jin decided to skip all that and just reassure him: "He's much better this morning. I gave him eggs."

Vorlynkin blinked, and looked at the letter some more. "If this wasn't a letter in his own hand-if this isn't a letter in his own hand-I'd have you under fast-penta so…?eh. Where did you see him?"

"Um, where I live."

"And where's that?"

He was in trouble now, between Suze and this alarming stranger. He was never supposed to talk to strangers, or tell anyone about the facility, he'd been told that often enough. He wondered if he could bolt back out the door and down the walk before the consul could grab him. "Um, my place…??"

"What…" To his surprise, Vorlynkin did not pursue this, but turned the letter over again. "What did he seem to be about?"

"Um…?he asked a lot of questions." Jin thought a moment, and offered, "He's not kidnapped any more, you know."

"But why send a child as a courier…??" Vorlynkin muttered. Jin wasn't sure if the question was addressed to him, so did not attempt to volunteer an answer. It didn't seem the time to explain about almost twelve, either. He was beginning to think that the less he said, the safer he would be.

The other fellow-Lieutenant Johannes, Trev-san, whatever-stumped back into to the entry hall, waving the envelope at his boss. "This part's real. Now what, sir?"

"We still have to find his armsman just the same-he seems to think Roic was taken. No change there with respect to the locals. I suppose we have to do exactly what this says. But send a holo of the letter to ImpSec Galactic Affairs on Komarr, priority, scrambled."

The lieutenant looked hopeful. "Maybe they'll have an order. Some other order. One that makes more sense."

"Not for some days. And think who they'd have to go to for an override." The two men looked at each other in mysterious perturbation. "We're still on our own, here."

Jin diffidently cleared his throat. "Miles-san said I was to bring back a reply."

"Yes," said the consul. "Wait there." He pointed to a spindly chair against the wall, one of a pair flanking a little bureau with silk flowers atop it, and a mirror above. Both men thumped downstairs again.

Jin sat. Only the firmness and brevity of that Yes gave him the courage not to run away while he had this chance. However doubtful they were of Jin, they seemed to take Miles-san's letter seriously, which was a relief.

He was left alone for a long time. He got up once, to peer into the rooms flanking the entry hall. One was a sort of living room, very fancy; the other was more severe and officelike. No sign of pets, not even a bird in a cage or a cat. He was glad he hadn't gone poking around searching for any when another man emerged from the back hall, looked at him in surprise, and said, "May I help you?"

This fellow spoke in a normal Kibou accent, at least. Jin shook his head vigorously. "Lieutenant Johannes is seeing to, um, it. Me."

The ease with which Jin spun off the lieutenant's name seemed to reassure the man. "Oh," he said, and wandered into the office, to sit at the comconsole and begin some sort of work there. Jin stayed in his seat after that.

After a great deal more time, Vorlynkin came back. He held another sealed envelope in his hand, plain and businesslike, much bulkier than the one Jin had delivered.

"Do you think you can give this back into the hand of Lord Vorkosigan-only?"

Jin stood up. "I got this far."

"So you did." With visible reluctance, the consul handed the envelope over. Jin stuffed it into his shirt once more, and lost no time in escaping.

I didn't understand any of that. Jin looked back apprehensively as he passed out the iron gate once more. But he was glad Miles-san seemed to have some friends. Of a sort.

As soon as he'd seen Jin safely over the parapet, Miles retraced his steps to the basement cafeteria, careful to make no wrong turns. He was apparently early for lunch, as only a few heads turned in suspicion to follow him. It occurred to him that he was less conspicuous here in his tattered garb than if he'd been wearing his full-on Imperial Auditor grays, a suit so severe as to signal Serious Person Here anywhere in the Nexus regardless of the vagaries of local fashion. Street Refugee Here was a much better choice for his current needs.

The scattering of tables was divided from the cooking area by a long serving counter, with metal cupboards above. He made his way around it to find a sort of large electric samovar promising tea. Next to the dispenser was a mismatched collection of mugs, with a hand-lettered sign over it, Wash your cup! He couldn't quite tell if these were personally owned or up for grabs, which gave him a perfect opening for conversation with the woman, evidently Ako's replacement, who was stirring a ten-liter pot of soup.

He addressed her, "May I use one of these?"

She shrugged. "Go ahead. Wash it after, though." She tapped her spoon on the pot rim and laid it aside. "You new here?"

"Very new."

"Rules are, cook what you want, clean up after yourself, replace what you use, contribute money to the pantry when you can. Sign up on the cleaning duty roster on the front of the fridge."

"Thanks. Just tea for now…" Miles took a sip. It was stewed, cheap, bitter, and served his purposes as a prop in both senses. "You been here long yourself?"

"I came with my grandmother. It won't be much longer."

As he was figuring out how to lead her on to parse that, a familiar, querulous voice sounded from beyond the counter: "That soup ready yet?" A tall, bent old man stooped to peer through the serving hatch. Impressive white mustachios drooped down, framing his frown, and wriggled as he spoke. Like an insect's palps, ah.

"Another half hour," the woman called back. "Just go sit."

"I believe I've met him," Miles murmured to her. "Name of Yani?"

"Yah, that's him."

Yani shuffled in to collect a mug of tea from the dispenser. He scowled at Miles.

Miles returned a cheery smile. "Good morning, Yani."

"So, you've sobered up. Good. Go home." Yani clutched his mug in two hands, to average out the shakes perhaps, and shuffled back to one of the tables. Miles, undaunted, followed and slid in across from him.