"I don't see how joining us now would improve their position. Their cover's worked for several weeks. If we succeed at the Residence, maybe we can try for them on the way back. Certainly have Illyan send loyalist agents to help them, if we get back . . ." Damn. If she were an official raid, she'd have just the contacts the Vorpatrils needed. But then, if she were an offical raid, she doubtless would not have come this way. She sat thinking. "No. No contact yet. But we'd better do something to discourage your friend downstairs."

"I have," said Bothari. "Told him I knew where I could get a better price, and not risk my head later. We may be able to bribe him to help us."

"You'd trust him?" said Droushnakovi doubtfully.

Bothari grimaced. "As far as I can see him. I'll try to keep an eye on him, while we're here. 'Nother thing. I caught a broadcast on his vid in the back room. Vordarian had himself declared Emperor last night."

Kou swore. "So he's finally gone and done it."

"But what does it mean?" asked Cordelia. "Does he feel himself strong, or is it a move of desperation?"

"Last-ditch ploy to try to sway the space forces, I'd guess," said Kou.

"Will it really attract more men than it offends?"

Kou shook his head. "We have a real fear of chaos, on Barrayar. We've tried it. It's nasty. The Imperium has been identified as a source of order ever since Dorca Vorbarra broke the power of the warring counts and unified the planet. Emperor is a real power-word, here."

"Not to me," Cordelia sighed. "Let's get some rest. Maybe by this time tomorrow it'll all be over." Hopeful/gruesome thought, depending on how it was construed. She counted the hours over for the thousandth time, one day left to penetrate the Residence, two to get back to Vorkosigan's territories . . . not much to spare. She felt as if she was flying, faster and faster. And running out of turning room.

* * *

Last chance to call the whole thing off. A fine misting rain had brought early dusk to the city. Cordelia stared out the dirty window into the slick street, striped with the reflections of a few sickly amber-haloed streetlights. Only a few bundled shapes hurried along, heads down. It was as if war and the winter had inhaled autumn's last breath, and blew back out a deathly silence. Nerves, Cordelia told herself, straightened her back, and led her little party downstairs.

The desk was deserted. Cordelia was just deciding to skip such formalities as checking out—they had, after all, paid in advance—when the 'keep came stomping in through the front door, shaking cold drops from his jacket and swearing. He spotted Bothari.

"You! It's all your fault, you gutless git. We missed it, we bloody missed it, and now someone else will collect. That reward could've been mine, should've been mine—"