Isolate

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “That’s absurd.” Dekkard managed to keep his voice down. “Newssheet reporters can report on debates on the Council floor and on the vote totals. They certainly could at least report that the Ministry of Public Resources had granted illegal coal leases.”

  “You think so. I think so, but right now the Commercers don’t think so, and they control Security and the Ministry of Public Resources.”

  “Where did all of this come from?” asked Dekkard. “I mean, it’s in the Great Charter, but where did it really come from?”

  “Probably from the Fall of the Grand Democracy of Teknold.” Roostof’s voice was dry. “That’s the common explanation. It’s also the most convenient. And the prohibitions largely work in the original sense, as applied to councilors’ votes.” He offered a wry smile.

  Dekkard understood why, since any newsie attributing an individual vote to a given councilor or circulating such a record in any fashion faced a possible sentence of exile to somewhere in Medarck or Sargasso, if not worse. “That doesn’t explain why Laureous insisted, or why the Great Charter just states that personal and individual accountability for a vote is the first step to anarchy and civil disharmony.”

  “That’s all you’ll find anywhere. There’s no record of why that provision was included in the Charter. But it was likely inspired by what purportedly happened in Teknold. I can give you the short version. The long one would take more time than the councilor would appreciate, and it wouldn’t add much.”

  “Go on,” said Dekkard cheerfully.

  “Teknold was really the first world industrial power. Back then, the Teknolds had the first steam engines and distributed water power. There was a huge uproar when the army high command discovered that more than half the senators—they were the equivalent of our councilors—were taking enormous bribes from both the Illuminati Primate and from the wealthiest Landors. That led to the Coup of the Marshals, and in turn to the New Reform, which established new rules for electing senators. Any male citizen who owned property could vote. So could his wife or his widow.”

  “They were the first—”

  “Exactly, but what happened was that, since everyone could vote, people began to vote for those senators who promised the most to the people. But the senators who did that didn’t dare raise taxes or tariffs, because the workers wouldn’t vote for them, and Landors would find ways to remove any Senator who wanted to increase taxes on the wealthy. Before long, the roads needed repairs, and the canals fell into disrepair. But the party leaders could do nothing because the people kept electing those who promised the most without taxing them more. It took a century, but the Empire of the Light disintegrated into warring provinces. Look at the continent of Sudlynd now. What’s left of Teknold is a loose confederacy of squabbling lands, surrounding by even more fragmented countries governed by tyrants, dictators, or warlords.

  “Laureous the Great didn’t want that to happen. That’s why the Great Charter was drafted the way it was and why councilors are prohibited from publicly discussing how they voted as individuals. Only a political party can claim credit. Or be blamed,” added Roostof sardonically. “No one talks about it, but it just might be why there are only three political parties and why no party can hold an absolute majority of councilors.”

  “And by what legal theory does all that allow them to keep news stories from being printed?”

  “No legal theory, just nearly sixty years of unbroken Commercer control of government … and the Security Ministry.”

  Dekkard couldn’t argue against that. “Thank you.”

  “Just keep speculations about the way individual councilors vote to yourself, or at least not in public. That way, you won’t have the Ministry of Security asking questions about you.”

  Dekkard raised his eyebrows in inquiry.

  “Where do you think the custom that no one writes or talks publicly about how an individual councilor votes came from?”

  Dekkard had always been told that was something that just wasn’t done, and certainly his security training had emphasized that, including the fact that talking politically, especially in public, about a given councilor by name was considered impolite, if not subversive. It had just been one of those things good people didn’t do. Ever. Except behind firmly closed doors and windows.

  Roostof laughed softly. “It’s become such a custom that only real troublemakers are exiled. Most people who err don’t need a second warning. The only ones who do are newsies who think that people should know everything about anything, but the News Services Guild keeps most of them straight.”

  Dekkard could see all that, but he had to wonder why he’d had no idea about the basis for the custom. Because his parents had been immigrants? Or because no one else talked in public about how councilors might vote as individuals? Or because the newssheets couldn’t print anything along those lines?

  He was still mulling that over when he reached his desk and sat down. He didn’t even see Ysella approaching.

  “You did a good job on the Sanitation position descriptions,” she said, setting several sheets on Dekkard’s desk. “I’ve made some changes to what you wrote, mostly small additions and one clarification. If you’d read through them again and tell me what you think.”

  Since Ysella remained standing in front of his desk, Dekkard picked up the sheets and began to read. When he finished, he looked up. “What you did improved it. I don’t have any other suggestions.”

  “Then we should give it to the councilor. He said he wanted it before we left today.”

  Dekkard looked to Karola. “Would you ask if he’ll see us now about the Sanitation matter?”

  “Of course.” Karola rapped gently on the door, then entered the inner office, emerging almost immediately. “Go right in.”

  Dekkard rose, the papers in his hand, and followed Ysella into the inner office, closing the door. He offered the papers.

  Obreduur took them and motioned for the two to sit down. He said nothing as he began to read. When he finished he looked up and said pleasantly, “This will do the job quite effectively. Draft a letter to Guildmeister Hadenaur telling him that we’ve received the materials and are working on the matter. Have Ivann go over the language to make sure all the legalities are met. After he’s signed off on that, draft a letter to Minister Sanoffre enclosing the proposed changes to the job descriptions. I’d like all of that as soon as possible. Tell Ivann that as well.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “That’s all,” said Obreduur.

  As soon as the two were back in the outer office, Ysella looked at Dekkard. “Do you want to tell Ivann?”

  “I’d be happy to.” That way, Dekkard knew, Ysella wouldn’t have to weather the legalist’s emotional reaction to having a rush item dropped on him.

  But when Dekkard approached Macri, the older man smiled wryly. “Another immediate action?”

  “The councilor wants you to go over the wording in these two Sanitation job descriptions to make sure they’re in accord with the law and existing regulations. He said to tell you that he wants to send them to Health and Education Minister Sanoffre as soon as possible.” Dekkard handed the papers to Macri.

  The legalist took them. “I can do that. Sanoffre won’t be nearly that obliging, but it will keep Hadenaur from pressing the councilor.”

  “You’ve done work on behalf of the guildmeister before?”

  “Yes. Not recently, though. He’s easier than many.” Macri paused. “I couldn’t help but overhear some of what you asked Roostof. I’d emphasize that you don’t want to talk about the possible votes of individual councilors except within the office or with people you can trust absolutely.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I thought you should know. Most isolates remain strictly security types. They never even deal with petitions and legislation. Councilor Obreduur’s always been a bit different, but you and Ysella didn’t go through the Council’s professional or clerical training classes.”

  “Wh
at else don’t I know, then?”

  Macri smiled again. “You’ve already learned all the rest. It’s mostly common sense.”

  As Dekkard walked back to his desk and sat down, he couldn’t help frowning. At the same time, he realized that, if the newssheets never mentioned how a councilor might vote or might have voted, but only how the parties voted, most people wouldn’t ask. But some would, wouldn’t they?

  Except that Dekkard had never seen a newssheet article that mentioned how a councilor voted, now that he thought about it.

  Somehow, Macri finished his review, and Dekkard managed to have a letter to Minister Sanoffre typed and presented to Obreduur before the end of the day. Whether or not the councilor signed that version or had Margrit or Anna type a corrected version Dekkard didn’t know … only that he’d done the best he could in the time allowed.

  By the time Dekkard got back to the house that night and had eaten a quick dinner, he was more than ready for a walk, not just for the exercise, but also to have some time to think.

  Rather than head west on Altarama, Dekkard left the pedestrian gate heading east toward the East Quarter Trinitarian Chapel. As he walked past the neighboring mansion, a small steamer glided out of sight, heading north on the narrow cross street. In the dim light, Dekkard couldn’t tell the steamer’s make, but from its size and general shape, it had to be either a Realto or a Ferrum, although Dekkard would have been mildly surprised to see a Ferrum in the East Quarter area, given that Ferrums, durable as they were, offered the minimum in comfort and even less in prestige. Also, anyone who might be looking would notice how out of place a Ferrum was.

  Dekkard kept walking, and before long he saw the white headlamps of an oncoming and very slow-moving steamer, as if whoever was in the vehicle was unsure of his destination or looking for something in particular. Because Dekkard was curious, and wary, given that anyone traveling Altarama after dark should have known where they were going, he watched carefully as the steamer approached—a gray Realto—but the vehicle immediately sped up as it neared, veering even closer to the sidewalk and causing Dekkard to jump back, almost against the brick wall enclosing the grounds of the house to his left. Out of caution, and possibly training, he kept moving toward the nearest tree.

  With the sound of what he thought were shots, he scrambled behind the tree trunk, keeping as low as he could as two more shots rang out, seemingly aimed in his direction and sounding strangely loud in the quiet of the night.

  Then, far more quickly than it had arrived, the Realto accelerated down Altarama toward Imperial Boulevard, leaving Dekkard behind the tree. He slowly stood, trying to see if the shooter had indeed departed with the steamer. After a time, satisfied that he was once more alone on the street, Dekkard inspected the tree trunk, where he found a new gouge in the smooth bark, as if a bullet had grazed the tree, but Dekkard wasn’t about to search for it in the dark.

  Had the shots been directed at him personally or simply because those in the Realto had been up to something unsavory and had fired to keep him from observing more closely? Since firearms were prohibited to all except certain military units and security forces, and all but the deadliest of criminal types shied away from using them, the implications of such use in East Quarter were disturbing, to say the least.

  He headed back to the house, taking a deep breath. Obreduur would have to know.

  When Dekkard stepped inside, he could hear Ritten Obreduur playing the pianoforte in the music room. He walked on to find the councilor in his study.

  Obreduur looked up from the papers on his desk. “Can whatever it is wait?”

  “It would be best if it didn’t, sir.”

  “Then make it quick, if you would.” Obreduur did not motion for Dekkard to enter or to sit down.

  Dekkard took several steps into the study, a chamber that contained only one small bookcase besides the desk and several chairs, including a comfortable-looking leather reading chair positioned so that the gas lamp in the wall sconce would provide adequate illumination. “Simply put, sir, when I left on my evening walk…” Dekkard went on to describe what had happened, ending with, “I thought you should know.”

  “You’re all right, I take it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good.” The councilor frowned. “I didn’t hear any shots, but Ingrella’s been playing for nearly a bell, and part of that was the Silver and Black Overture. Did you see the shooter?”

  “There were two people in the front of the Realto, but I was looking into the headlamps, I couldn’t make out much more than that.”

  “Disturbing as this is, there’s little point in reporting it to the patrol. There’s no evidence, and no one was hurt, for which I’m very glad. I would appreciate it if you’d pass this on to Ysella, and no one else in the house.”

  “Do you think it could have been Security agents, sir?”

  Obreduur frowned. “I’d say it’s improbable. It could have been a case of mistaken identity on the part of private operatives.”

  “Private operatives?”

  “Former Security agents who operate outside the law. They do exist, but at the moment, I can’t see why they’d be after you.” Obreduur paused and smiled wryly. “Still … on future walks, you might be a bit more cautious.”

  “I’d thought that as well, sir. That’s all I had, but I thought you should know. Oh … and one thing more. Councilor Bassaana’s isolate passed on to me that Director Deron had mentioned the Guldoran Ironway to Councilor Bassaana … and that Bassaana wasn’t exactly fond of Eastern Ironway.”

  “I appreciate your informing me … about both. And … you and Ysella did a very good job on the Sanitation job descriptions. Now…”

  “Yes, sir.” Dekkard inclined his head, then turned, and headed back to the staff room.

  Ysella wasn’t there, and since, when he went up the rear staircase, her door was closed, he decided he’d tell her about the incident in the morning.

  He’d heard rumors of private operatives, but hearing about them … and encountering them … were two different matters. But, like Obreduur, he couldn’t imagine why anyone would shoot at him.

  10

  ON Tridi morning, rather than immediately going into the staff room to eat, Dekkard waited at the bottom of the staff staircase for Ysella.

  Even before she reached the last step, he said, “I need a word with you.”

  For a moment, Ysella frowned, then said, “What happened?”

  Rather than ask how she came to that immediate conclusion, Dekkard quickly recounted what had occurred the night before, including his meeting with Obreduur, adding, “I would have told you last night, but by the time I told Obreduur, I thought you might be sleeping—”

  “Or possibly in a state of less than full attire?”

  Dekkard caught a glimpse of a mischievous smile, but before he could think of an appropriate reply, Ysella added in a lower voice, “Or worse?”

  “I hadn’t thought that, but the next time I most likely will.” Dekkard didn’t try to keep the amused chagrin out of his voice.

  “Excellent. You’re actually loosening up, Steffan.”

  “Thank you. How long did it take you?” he asked warmly, but cheerfully.

  Ysella actually blushed and didn’t quite meet his eyes for a moment before replying, “Longer than it’s taken you.”

  Dekkard smiled, but only for a moment, before asking, “What do you make of last night?”

  “Obreduur’s likely right about the shooters being private operatives. Whoever sent the men in the Realto is playing for high stakes. I’d like to think that it might not involve Obreduur, but I’m afraid it must. Very few people know you take walks at night, yet it appears the shooter did.”

  “Could it be connected to the Kraffeist Affair … and the possibility that the Imperador might call new elections?”

  “It might be, but it’s still a huge gamble for whoever sent the shooter…” Ysella paused, then said, “Unless they weren’t rea
lly after you, but sending a message to Obreduur.”

  “What message?”

  “Some sort of warning … or for him not to press for new elections … although that’s really up to the Imperador. Besides, the Premier still hasn’t removed Minister Kraffeist. The Imperador could just admonish Premier Grieg and insist on the removal of Kraffeist … or he could ask him to resign without prejudice. That would allow another Commercer to succeed him.”

  “In any event,” said Dekkard, knowing that he needed to think over the matter more, “we’d better get breakfast.”

  “Which will only take you a few minutes to inhale, quince paste and all.”

  Dekkard shook his head, then motioned for her to lead the way into the staff room, where they joined Rhosali at the table.

  Dekkard hadn’t taken more than one bite of his first quince-paste-stuffed croissant when, even in the staff room, he heard the clang of the door chime and the thump of the heavy brass knocker on the front door.

  “Who could it be this early in the morning?” exclaimed Rhosali as she burst from her chair and hurried toward the front door to deal with the caller.

  “Calling this early is positively indecent,” declared Hyelda from the kitchen.

  When Rhosali did return, if not immediately, Hyelda, Ysella, and Dekkard all looked at her, but Hyelda spoke first. “Who was it this early?”

  “It was a government messenger with a missive for the councilor. Wouldn’t let me take it. I had to get Ritter Obreduur.”

  “A government messenger?” asked Hyelda. “You’re sure?”

  “Who else wears gray trimmed in crimson with that funny hat that points backward and forward?”

  “That’s not a Council messenger. That’s a Palace messenger.” Ysella glanced at Dekkard.

  “For the Palace to send a message this early … it has to be important,” added Dekkard. “Do you think the Imperador dissolved this Council and is calling for new elections?”