Roic took this, resignedly, as, If you jumped him and I cheered you on . . .

Raven frowned.  "Except this crew doesn't seem to come or go very often.  All locked down tight, making no noise.  Till you came along, I was starting to wonder if I should let myself back into my room and pretend this never happened, wait for some better chance."

"I don't think I could do that," said Roic, remembering his ruined doorframe.  He craned his neck to stare over the roof edge at that third darkened structure.  If that was an old shoreline down there . . .  "What's that other building?"

"Don't know.  I haven't seen anybody go in or out."

"I'm thinking it could be a boathouse.  Or a tool shed—an isolated place like this would need one—but likely a boathouse."

Raven glanced wryly at the dried lake bed, and murmured, "I've never ridden in a boat.  This doesn't seem the night to start.  Tools, now . . . do you think you could pry open a lightflyer?  But then you'd still need the code keys to power it up.  Crowbar's no use there.  Except maybe to hit the owner on the head?"

"M'lord keeps boats.  He has a place on a lake down in the Vorkosigan's District, back on Barrayar, couple hours from the capital by lightflyer."  A thought niggled in Roic's aching head.  "I say, let's go see."

Raven gave him a dubious look, but shrugged agreement.

With painful caution, they lowered themselves from the roof and tiptoed down the far stairs.  They made a straight line for the cover of the trees, then circled to come out on the shore side of the low building.  The effect of the sticks, rocks, and debris on Roic's bare feet made him reluctantly agree with Raven's negative view of any longer walk in the woods.

The window glass was unbreakable, the entry facing the ex-lake padlocked, but it gave way to the same method Roic had used on his room door.  Raven winced at the rending crunch; they both froze, listening hard, but no outcry came.  They edged inside.

The outer door opened onto an office; the door beyond was, thanks be, unlocked.  Roic swung it open upon a garage-like space.  Also very dark, but—could one smell boats?  The scent of wood and oil and old bilge and dried waterweed was quite unmistakable, and strangely happy, like preserved summer.  As his eyes adjusted, Roic could just make out half a dozen kayak-or-canoe shapes slung from the ceiling, and a couple of wider hulls up on sturdy cradles.  Workbench on the far side of the room, mostly cleared away.  Raven started for it, hands held out before him in wariness of head-cracking pillars or other shadowy obstacles, but Roic whispered him back.

"Come over here.  This big power boat—help me get the cover off."

"Roic, even if we could haul it out the doors, the lake is dry."

"That's not it.  Just help, all right?"