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"Not . . . really. Everyone thought I was just odd." She frowned deeply, and
Cordelia had the sense of stirring up a painful memory.
She regarded the girl thoughtfully. "Older brothers?"
Droushnakovi returned a wide blue gaze. "Why, yes."
"Figured." And I feared Barrayar for what it did to its sons. No wonder they
have trouble getting anyone to pass the tests. "So, you've had weapons
training. Excellent. You can guide me on my shopping trip today."
A slightly glazed look crept over Droushnakovi's face.
"Yes, Milady. What sort of clothing do you wish to look at?" she asked
politely, not quite concealing a glum disappointment with the interests of her
"real" lady soldier.
"Where in this town would you go to buy a really good swordstick?"
The glazed look vanished. "Oh, I know just the place, where the Vor officers
go, and the counts, to supply their liveried men. That is-I've never been
inside. My family's not Vor, so of course we're not permitted to own personal
weapons. Just Service issue. But it's supposed to be the best."
One of Count Vorkosigan's liveried guards chauffeured them to the shop.
Cordelia relaxed and enjoyed the view of the passing city. Droushnakovi, on
duty, kept alert, eyes constantly checking the crowds all around. Cordelia had
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the feeling she didn't miss much. From time to time her hand wandered to check
the stunner worn concealed on the inside of her embroidered bolero.
They turned into a clean narrow street of older buildings with cut stone
fronts. The weapons shop was marked only by its name, Siegling's, in discreet
gold letters. Evidendy if you didn't know where you were you shouldn't be
there. The liveried man waited outside when Cordelia and Droushnakovi entered
the shop, a thick-carpeted, wood-grained place with a little of the aroma of
the armory Cordelia remembered from her Survey ship, an odd whiff of home in
an alien place. She stared covertly at the wood paneling, and mentally
translated its value into Betan dollars. A great many Betan dollars. Yet wood
seemed almost as common as plastic, here, and as little regarded. Those
personal weapons which were legal for the upper classes to own were elegantly
displayed in cases and on the walls. Besides stunners and hunting weapons,
there was an impressive array of swords and knives; evidently the Emperor's
ferocious edicts against dueling only forbade their use, not their possession.
The clerk, a narrow-eyed, soft-treading older man, came up to them. "What may
I do for you ladies?" He was cordial enough. Cordelia supposed Vor-class women
must sometimes enter here, to buy presents for their masculine relations. But
he might have said, What may I do for you children? in the same tone of voice.
Diminutization by body language? Let it go.
"I'm looking for a swordstick, for a man about six-foot-four. Should be about,
oh, yea long," she estimated, calling up Koudelka's arm and leg length in her
mind's eye, and gesturing to the height of her hip. "Spring-sheathed,
probably."
"Yes, madam." The clerk disappeared, and returned with a sample, in an
elaborately carved light wood.
"Looks a bit ... I don't know." Flashy. "How does it work?"
The clerk demonstrated the spring mechanism. The wooden sheathing dropped off,
revealing a long thin blade. Cordelia held out her hand, and the clerk, rather
relucluntly, handed it over for inspection.
She wriggled it a little, sighted down the blade, and handed it to her
bodyguard. "What do you think?"
Droushnakovi smiled first, then frowned doubtfully. "It's not very well
balanced." She glanced uncertainly at the dork.
"Remember, you're working for me, not him," said Cordelia, correctly
identifying class-consciousness in action.
"I don't think it's a very good blade."
"That's excellent Darkoi workmanship, madam," the clerk defended coolly.
Smiling, Cordelia took it back. "Let us test your hypothesis."
She raised the blade suddenly to the salute, and lunged at the wall in a neat
extension. The tip penetrated and caught in the wood, and Cordelia leaned on
it. The blade snapped. Blandly, she handed the pieces back to the clerk.
How do you stay in business if your customers don't survive long enough for
repeat sales? Siegling's certainly didn't aquire its reputation selling toys
like that. Bring me something a decent soldier can carry, not a pimp's
plaything."
"Madam," said the clerk stiffly, "I must insist the damaged merchandise be
paid for."
Cordelia, thoroughly irritated, said, "Very well. Send the bill to my husband.
Admiral Aral Vorkosigan, Vorkosigan House. While you're about it you can
explain why you tried to pass off sleaze on his wife-Yeoman." This last was a
guess, based on his age and walk, but she could tell from his eyes she'd
struck home.
The clerk bowed profoundly. "I beg pardon, Milady. I believe I have something
more suitable, if Milady will be pleased to wait."
He vanished again, and Cordelia sighed. "Buying from machines is so much
easier. But at least the Appeal to the Irrelevant Authorities at Headquarters
works just as well here as at home."
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The next sample was a plain dark wood, with a finish like satin. The clerk
handed it to her unopened, with another little bow. "You press the handle
there, Milady." It was much heavier than the first swordstick. The sheathing
sprang away at velocity, landing against the wall on the other side of the
room with a satisfying thunk, almost a weapon in itself. Cordelia sighted down
the blade again. A strange watermark pattern down its length shifted in the
light. She saluted the wall once more, and caught the clerk's eye. "Do these
come out of your salary?"
"Go ahead, Milady." There was a little gleam of satisfaction in his eye.
"You can't break that one."
She gave it the same test as she had the other. The tip went much further into
the wood, and leaning against it with all her strength, she could barely bend
it. Even so, there was more bend left in it; she could feel she was nowhere
near the limit of its tensile strength. She handed it to Droushnakovi, who
examined it lovingly. "That's fine, Milady. That's worthy." "I'm sure it will [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]