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Aral was sitting alone in the living room on the second floor of Vorkosigan House. Before him was an open bottle of whisky, partly empty, but he didn't feel drunk yet, though he wished he did. Outside the window the early autumn twilight was closing in, the gloomy drizzle reinforcing his black depression like bony fingers pressing against his temples.
He shuddered involuntarily when the door was noisily flung open, and a young Armsman did not so much cross as fly over the threshold. Carried forwards a few more steps by inertia, he could barely stand to attention and could not wipe the panic from his face.
"My lord, you have a--" he began in a faltering voice, but did not finish in time. Smirking, Ges Vorrutyer entered the room with a soft, cat-like step.
"Aral, your lackey's brains are addled." Approaching the frozen Armsman, Ges brusquely pushed him away, passing him and heading to the table in the centre of the room. He made himself at home, collapsing watchfully into an armchair opposite Vorkosigan, picking up his glass and filling it to the brim with whisky. "If you can believe it, this dolt tried to tell me I couldn't come in and you weren't at home!"
Not dignifying Ges with an answer, Aral turned to his Armsman. "You may leave, Andrei."
The boy gave an unregulation nod, turned and walked stiff-legged to the door. Ges gave him a mock-appraising look.
"So, darling, you've been holed up here for a week. Who are you hiding from - not me, surely?" His sensual lips twisted in a snakelike smile.
"Partly from you." Vorkosigan gave him a frowning look.
"Ah yes." His grin widened. "Of course, if I had such pleasant company, I would become a hermit too. How long have you had this sweet young man? I haven't seen him before, and you can be sure I wouldn't have failed to notice such a lovely handsome face. I hope you've taught the boy some good skills with his velvet tongue. Will you lend me him for a day or two? Come, Aral, you can't be greedy! Or, of course, three is fun--you could call him back."
Aral felt rage boil inside him, and he grasped the arms of his chair, restraining himself. But Ges's trained eye did not miss the gesture, and his dark brown eyes glowed in satisfaction. Damn, all he wants to do is wind me up and then enjoy the spectacle of me climbing the walls. No, he won't have that pleasure today!
"You're quite right, Ges: I really don't want to see you, so why don't you get out of my house and go to hell!"
"What's eating you, my dear? I've only just arrived and I'm not in the least hurry to go anywhere else." Ges settled himself comfortably in the armchair. "And I've missed you, taking this little holiday like some provincial maiden. Today I'll be having some excellent company around, so bring your lovely lackey and come have a good time with us."
Aral winced. "I went to a party with you a week ago. Ges, you've gone too far and I don't want to have any part in it. I advise you to do the same. No good will come of it."
"Ah--" Ges fluttered his long black eyelashes in mock surprise "--since when have you been so delicate, Aral? And preaching sermons really doesn't suit you, believe me. We were only having a bit of fun--what's the problem with that? Besides, it was all an accident. An unfortunate accident, nothing more."
"Your 'unfortunate accident' cost him an eye! And I saw perfectly clearly how you 'accidentally' hit him in the face with a shock stick, 'accidentally' set to full power."
"It was that idiot's own fault. He shouldn't have minced around trying to hold me off. He hit me first--what do you think I should have done, let him beat me up? And besides, he was happy enough in the end with that fat purse he got as compensation. Plenty for him to resign his commission and go live peacefully in the country."
Aral wanted to argue that the boy had been unarmed, that he hadn't attacked Vorrutyer, only accidentally struck him whilst trying to escape his kiss, but suddenly realised that Ges was deliberately trying to draw him into an argument, trying to lead him into the well-worn groove: excuses, counter-arguments, urging him on, appeals to pity, all sorts of attacks, again and again, working through the same crazy dance without a hitch, honing it to perfection. And the result was always the same--goaded to anger, Aral would completely lose his self-control, and Ges, more than happy with his rage, would throw his arms around him, apologising and assuring him that he was driven only by love and jealousy. And as always, this tactic would disarm Aral; he would give up and forgive Ges, chalking everything up to his lover's difficult personality, and the conflict would end up, as usual, in bed...
But it was precisely that finale Aral was trying to avoid this time, and therefore he had to break the vicious circle. He took a deep breath and said in a low voice, "Ges, I'm not interested in your excuses. You enjoy enacting dramas on the people around you, and it makes me sick. I don't want to have anything to do with you. Take yourself off quietly, or I will have to ask my Armsmen to kick you out."
The grin slowly fell from Vorrutyer's lips, his smooth handsome face contorting with anger. He sprang to his feet. Aral thought for a second Ges was going to hit him, but instead he strode around the room, hissing and frothing like an enraged viper.
"Oh, you moralising son of a bitch! You sanctimonious bastard! Where was all your vaunted virtue when you killed my beloved sister?"
Aral froze, clenched his fists till his knuckles turned white. "You know perfectly well I did not kill her, Ges." His voice was quiet, dangerously quiet.
Vorrutyer could not stop himself. "Is that so? Well, you dare expose me, and tomorrow the entire capital, no, the entire Empire, will know that you're a vicious murderer and a sodomite. A merry widower who didn't even wait to bury his wife before starting to amuse himself with her handsome brother! I'll provide you with a reputation you'll never be able to wash clean!"
For a moment a deathly silence hung in the room. Then Aral stood up, walked to the door and opened it.
"I don't care about my reputation, Ges, but do not spit on my honour. You must know that, surely. Get out."
For a moment Vorrutyer seemed truly frightened by his thunderous whisper echoing in his ears and his steely eyes gleaming fiercely, but he immediately recovered and changed his tactics. His lips twisted again in a mocking smirk, and an icy anger lit his eyes.
"Well, I'll go if you insist, but I must give you a little parting present. Who do you think, my dear virtuous friend, introduced your sweet wife to her future lovers? And why do you think I told you about them? Surely you can guess? Oh, it was wonderful to see you, my dear puppet, so obediently playing out the scenario I made for you. You are so predictable, my dear. So easy to manage."
Ges extended his hand as if to pat Aral on the cheek, and at the same moment a small knife flashed in his fingers, scalpel-sharp, its handle decorated with gems.
Aral's excellent reflexes saved him: instead of landing on his throat, the knife struck to the left against his jaw, leaving a deep cut. He felt no pain, a wave of rage sweeping through him, increasing his strength tenfold. With trained fighting skills he knocked the knife from Vorrutyer's hands and they rolled on the carpet, attacking each other violently. Ges was a little taller and heavier, but he had never gone in for intensive training, and intemperance in food and alcohol had already begun to affect his figure. Aral wasn't in the best shape either, but his skills and reflexes were not yet lost. Barely a few minutes passed before Vorrutyer received a powerful blow to the jaw and howled in pain. And a moment later Aral caught him in a hold and began to choke him, leaning his whole body into it, pressing him back against the floor. Ges wheezed, gasping, a pink foam forming on his lips, but Aral did not weaken his grip.
Three Armsmen in Vorkosigan livery ran into the room. Seeing them, Aral released Vorrutyer and stood up, breathless. "Escort Captain Vorrutyer to his car," he commanded in a hoarse voice. "And if he tries to enter this house again, you have my permission to stun him and throw him down the stairs."
Ges struggled to his feet, contemptuously pushing away the hand of the Armsman who stooped down to help him. When he turned to Vorkosigan, his eyes blazed with hatred. "You'll be sorry for this, you fucking bastard," he hissed, spitting blood and broken teeth.
Vorkosigan silently turned away and walked to the bathroom. Bandaging the cut on his jaw, he considered himself gloomily in the mirror. Vorrutyer's puppet, he thought bitterly. Oh yes, he's quite the expert in using other people's weaknesses against them, there's no-one to match him. What hell will that skill bring him to, I wonder? The poor fool...
Aral changed his bloodied shirt and returned to the living room. He sat down and picked up the bottle. For a moment he studied the label, then resolutely stood up, walked to the bathroom and poured the contents down the toilet.