Warning: I'm referencing (non-graphic) abuse in the past by Serg Vorbarr and Ges Vorrutyer, and some really horrible (but typically Barrayaran) treatment of the victims afterward. So par for the universe, but still warning-worthy.
#
“A promotion?” Ivan laughed at that; By looked hurt. “I’d just be promoted to ship duty."
“Not an ordinary promotion. The kind where you can ask for your next assignment -- and get it.”
Ivan shook his head. “Those don’t exactly grow on trees.”
By had taken the chair and pulled out a datapadd; he was scribbling at a furious rate. “No,” he said slowly. “Not trees. But they do grow on treason. Yes, this could do very well.... I mean finding it, not committing it, by the way.”
“I know what you meant,” Ivan snapped, suddenly angry. “I’m not going to let some nefarious scheme come to fruition just so I can get me some glory or whatever the hell you’re thinking of.”
By looked up from the datapadd, his expression very calm. He was angry, too; he wasn’t trying to hide it, so much, as control it. He didn’t look fribbly at all any more. He looked like he could beat the shit out of Ivan and not for fun. “You are confusing me with someone else,” he said, very crisply. “I do not stand aside. That said, I can’t exactly be jumping at shadows, either. No one will take my word about the Vorlaigles. Hell, I don’t even take my word about the Vorlaigles.”
There was bad blood of some kind between the Vorrutyers and the Vorlaigles; Ivan didn’t know the details, didn’t want to know, but every Vor hostess knew better than to invite members of both families to her soirée. If someone did and she were lucky, her guests would merely walk out on her; there had been some scandals, when Ivan was a child, that he vaguely remembered included bloodshed. If By thought the Vorlaigles were up to something -- why? – he was right that no one would believe him.
“I won’t press some claim just on your say-so,” he said, though he knew he was looking for a reason to still be mad. By couldn’t be so stupid as to expect him to do anything like that.
“No, no. You’ll find out. I only talk like I’m doubtful, because I know I’m biased. I’m sure. This will work. You find out, you bring it to proper authorities, they throw roseleaves on you, you ask for some cushy post in HQ. We could make sure you get nicely beaten up somehow. All the girls will throw themselves at you.”
“And the Ivanophiles.”
“Just so.” By cheered at the thought, briefly.
“So what’s your beef with the Vorlaigles?” Ivan asked. “And why are you so sure they are plotting treason?”
By frowned. “How much of that history do you know?”
A shrug. “I know not to invite a Vorrutyer and a Vorlaigle to the same party. Beyond that....”
“Ok. This goes back -- way back. The Count Vorlaigle at that time opposed the invasion of Escobar.”
“That does go back.” Before he was born, certainly. How much older was Byerly? He had to admit he wasn’t entirely sure: By was the only person he knew of who had successfully gotten himself kicked out of every Vor school he’d been enrolled in, and so he had no idea how many grades ahead of him By had been. Funny how kids measured time in schoolyears. A few. Maybe not so many. Did he even have a diploma? He looked pretty young, but he also had a reputation for using fancy face creams to be pretty, and avoiding hard work and the sun.
By, unaware of his distraction, was explaining thirty years of Vor feud with admirable economy. “Basically, Prince Serg and Sainted Uncle Ges ended their opposition. The Vorlaigle heir was found drowned in a sewer in the Caravanserai in Vorbarr Sultana.”
“Argh.” The sewer did not seem appreciably better than, say, a tidal pump on the Thames river. Possibly less stink.
“Sorry.” He actually did seem apologetic. “No one proved it was them, but no one would, either. They also assaulted Countess Vorlaigle.”
“A Countess?” Ivan said, incredulous.
“It was hushed up,” By said sourly. “Anyway. That is why they hate the Vorrutyers. They can’t exactly hate the Emperor for it.”
“At least not publicly.”
“Exactly. They feud with us, but my family has not exactly been shy in returning the favor. I’m not even sure if my cousins know why.”
“You don’t seem the feuding type, though,” Ivan observed. “Why are you so biased?”
By fumbled his stylus. Ivan almost didn’t see it; he caught himself quickly and smoothly and then it was as if nothing had happened. “Not long after the war, they decided to return the favor on one of Ges’ relatives, never mind that my Uncle was dead and wouldn’t have cared anyway. I’m fine,” he insisted, waving his hand. Ivan nodded. Of course he was. “They were amateurs.” Now that was an unsettling thought, that By had opinions on the quality of his abuse. “But I’m not a trustworthy witness against them.”
“No, I can see that. Who’s involved, d’you think?”
“The current Count’s younger brother and sister, and possibly the Dowager Countess.”
“The Dowager Countess Vorlaigle?” Ivan repeated in shock. He knew neither of Count Vorlaigle’s younger sibs except by sight: they were near his own age, and handsome, though the girl was brunette while the rest of the family was blond. She’d always been acknowledged a Vorlaigle, though. He’d exchanged polite words with the Count -- very polite, they’d taken each other in instant dislike -- but he didn’t remember hearing of a Dowager Countesses Vorlaigle in his lifetime.
By looked very grim. “They ‘hushed it up’ by putting her in an insane asylum. Not one of the nice ones. She’s been moved around a few times, but never let out. I don’t know if she was mad then – probably, since my uncle was nothing if not thorough -- but she probably is now. And if she does want revenge, she has reason. If she were aimed at Serg and Ges, I’d give her a disrupter and cheer.”
“Wait. The younger Vorlaigles were born after the war. Whose children are they?” Divorce among the high Vor was unheard of, even in extreme cases of madness and abuse, and anyway she wouldn’t still be Dowager Countess -- or obscure -- oh. Ivan swallowed his rising gorge. Conjugal visits to the insane asylum, for someone who had been treated as Prince Serg was known to treat women...that was vile.
By apparently saw from his face that he didn’t need to answer. “I believe that, denied their right to justice, they have turned to a more serious sort of revenge than just hurting teenagers for the hell of it.”
Ivan suddenly remembered something that turned the idea of treason from being too implausibly long-term, after three decades, to seeming the natural, almost proper, order of the Vorlaigle lives. “Isn’t...isn't the Vorlaigle girl’s name Jessie?”
“Why do you think I believe they will never forget?” By replied. He looked more sad than anything else. “I don’t want them to have been planning treason. I don’t want them executed. I want them -- salvaged. Somehow. Why do you think I’ve let this sit as long as I have?”
Ivan could understand that. He really could. But he’d always known that By’s venom and vanity hid a lethally sharp understanding of people; how could his darts find their target without it? He believed, down to his toes, that By was right about the Vorlaigles. He wondered how long By had thought them acting on treason, and stood aside in guilt and self-doubt. “And you think I can do it?”
“I can’t think of anyone else who’d bother to try.”
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Ship Duty 3: Now with warnings!
Date: 2010-08-06 02:52 pm (UTC)#
“A promotion?” Ivan laughed at that; By looked hurt. “I’d just be promoted to ship duty."
“Not an ordinary promotion. The kind where you can ask for your next assignment -- and get it.”
Ivan shook his head. “Those don’t exactly grow on trees.”
By had taken the chair and pulled out a datapadd; he was scribbling at a furious rate. “No,” he said slowly. “Not trees. But they do grow on treason. Yes, this could do very well.... I mean finding it, not committing it, by the way.”
“I know what you meant,” Ivan snapped, suddenly angry. “I’m not going to let some nefarious scheme come to fruition just so I can get me some glory or whatever the hell you’re thinking of.”
By looked up from the datapadd, his expression very calm. He was angry, too; he wasn’t trying to hide it, so much, as control it. He didn’t look fribbly at all any more. He looked like he could beat the shit out of Ivan and not for fun. “You are confusing me with someone else,” he said, very crisply. “I do not stand aside. That said, I can’t exactly be jumping at shadows, either. No one will take my word about the Vorlaigles. Hell, I don’t even take my word about the Vorlaigles.”
There was bad blood of some kind between the Vorrutyers and the Vorlaigles; Ivan didn’t know the details, didn’t want to know, but every Vor hostess knew better than to invite members of both families to her soirée. If someone did and she were lucky, her guests would merely walk out on her; there had been some scandals, when Ivan was a child, that he vaguely remembered included bloodshed. If By thought the Vorlaigles were up to something -- why? – he was right that no one would believe him.
“I won’t press some claim just on your say-so,” he said, though he knew he was looking for a reason to still be mad. By couldn’t be so stupid as to expect him to do anything like that.
“No, no. You’ll find out. I only talk like I’m doubtful, because I know I’m biased. I’m sure. This will work. You find out, you bring it to proper authorities, they throw roseleaves on you, you ask for some cushy post in HQ. We could make sure you get nicely beaten up somehow. All the girls will throw themselves at you.”
“And the Ivanophiles.”
“Just so.” By cheered at the thought, briefly.
“So what’s your beef with the Vorlaigles?” Ivan asked. “And why are you so sure they are plotting treason?”
By frowned. “How much of that history do you know?”
A shrug. “I know not to invite a Vorrutyer and a Vorlaigle to the same party. Beyond that....”
“Ok. This goes back -- way back. The Count Vorlaigle at that time opposed the invasion of Escobar.”
“That does go back.” Before he was born, certainly. How much older was Byerly? He had to admit he wasn’t entirely sure: By was the only person he knew of who had successfully gotten himself kicked out of every Vor school he’d been enrolled in, and so he had no idea how many grades ahead of him By had been. Funny how kids measured time in schoolyears. A few. Maybe not so many. Did he even have a diploma? He looked pretty young, but he also had a reputation for using fancy face creams to be pretty, and avoiding hard work and the sun.
By, unaware of his distraction, was explaining thirty years of Vor feud with admirable economy. “Basically, Prince Serg and Sainted Uncle Ges ended their opposition. The Vorlaigle heir was found drowned in a sewer in the Caravanserai in Vorbarr Sultana.”
“Argh.” The sewer did not seem appreciably better than, say, a tidal pump on the Thames river. Possibly less stink.
“Sorry.” He actually did seem apologetic. “No one proved it was them, but no one would, either. They also assaulted Countess Vorlaigle.”
“A Countess?” Ivan said, incredulous.
“It was hushed up,” By said sourly. “Anyway. That is why they hate the Vorrutyers. They can’t exactly hate the Emperor for it.”
“At least not publicly.”
“Exactly. They feud with us, but my family has not exactly been shy in returning the favor. I’m not even sure if my cousins know why.”
“You don’t seem the feuding type, though,” Ivan observed. “Why are you so biased?”
By fumbled his stylus. Ivan almost didn’t see it; he caught himself quickly and smoothly and then it was as if nothing had happened. “Not long after the war, they decided to return the favor on one of Ges’ relatives, never mind that my Uncle was dead and wouldn’t have cared anyway. I’m fine,” he insisted, waving his hand. Ivan nodded. Of course he was. “They were amateurs.” Now that was an unsettling thought, that By had opinions on the quality of his abuse. “But I’m not a trustworthy witness against them.”
“No, I can see that. Who’s involved, d’you think?”
“The current Count’s younger brother and sister, and possibly the Dowager Countess.”
“The Dowager Countess Vorlaigle?” Ivan repeated in shock. He knew neither of Count Vorlaigle’s younger sibs except by sight: they were near his own age, and handsome, though the girl was brunette while the rest of the family was blond. She’d always been acknowledged a Vorlaigle, though. He’d exchanged polite words with the Count -- very polite, they’d taken each other in instant dislike -- but he didn’t remember hearing of a Dowager Countesses Vorlaigle in his lifetime.
By looked very grim. “They ‘hushed it up’ by putting her in an insane asylum. Not one of the nice ones. She’s been moved around a few times, but never let out. I don’t know if she was mad then – probably, since my uncle was nothing if not thorough -- but she probably is now. And if she does want revenge, she has reason. If she were aimed at Serg and Ges, I’d give her a disrupter and cheer.”
“Wait. The younger Vorlaigles were born after the war. Whose children are they?” Divorce among the high Vor was unheard of, even in extreme cases of madness and abuse, and anyway she wouldn’t still be Dowager Countess -- or obscure -- oh. Ivan swallowed his rising gorge. Conjugal visits to the insane asylum, for someone who had been treated as Prince Serg was known to treat women...that was vile.
By apparently saw from his face that he didn’t need to answer. “I believe that, denied their right to justice, they have turned to a more serious sort of revenge than just hurting teenagers for the hell of it.”
Ivan suddenly remembered something that turned the idea of treason from being too implausibly long-term, after three decades, to seeming the natural, almost proper, order of the Vorlaigle lives. “Isn’t...isn't the Vorlaigle girl’s name Jessie?”
“Why do you think I believe they will never forget?” By replied. He looked more sad than anything else. “I don’t want them to have been planning treason. I don’t want them executed. I want them -- salvaged. Somehow. Why do you think I’ve let this sit as long as I have?”
Ivan could understand that. He really could. But he’d always known that By’s venom and vanity hid a lethally sharp understanding of people; how could his darts find their target without it? He believed, down to his toes, that By was right about the Vorlaigles. He wondered how long By had thought them acting on treason, and stood aside in guilt and self-doubt. “And you think I can do it?”
“I can’t think of anyone else who’d bother to try.”