“I think I understand that.” Dekkard glanced ahead, in the direction of Imperial Boulevard, but there was no one else on the walk ahead. “In what other ways does being an empath affect how you view the world, do you think?”
“That’s an odd question. Why do you ask?”
“It’s something I’ve wondered about for years.”
She shook her head. “You would.”
“Don’t you?”
“I don’t dwell on it. The world is, Steffan. It just is. Everything affects it. Doesn’t the Council Hall or the Imperador’s Palace look different at dawn, noon, or dusk? They’re the same structures, but they look different in different light.”
“I was asking how your being an empie affects your views.”
“Views of what?” returned Ysella.
“I’m an isolate, and you’re an empath. Do you and I see the same thing the same way?”
“Our eyes are similar, and we’re both people. The odds are that the physical image we each see appears physically similar to each of us. Or do you mean how we perceive that image? You might as well ask if we perceive in the same way because you’re a man and I’m a woman, or because you’re taller and I’m shorter.” She snorted.
Dekkard frowned. “What I’m trying to get at is the idea that … as you say, reality, or the world, it just is. Everyone calls the color of our uniforms gray. But do I see and perceive the same color gray as you do? And if I don’t, what difference does it make … if any?”
“Well…” Ysella drew out the word. “My mother always insisted my father didn’t see the difference between differing shades of blue and green. My brother Cliven can’t see them, either. Except in pleasing a woman’s sense of style, though, does that make any real difference?”
“I’m not talking about colors. I have to act based on what I see and what I’ve learned. You can sense what people feel.”
Ysella’s laugh was harsh. “That makes it harder. I can sense fear or hate or affection. In most people. Sensing fear doesn’t tell me whether someone will attack or run … or just freeze.”
“Hmmm … I hadn’t thought of it quite that way.”
“Didn’t they mention that in your training?”
“Not quite like that. It was couched more like … ‘sensing or recognizing an emotion does not by itself provide adequate information for action.’ I understood that, but no one got into why. That might be because isolates are like most people in the fact that we don’t sense other people’s emotions. I can see why it’s important for empaths to know what you just said, but I didn’t think of it quite that way. Maybe because you’re the one who’s in charge.”
“You shouldn’t think of it that way. You’ll be in charge somewhere … at some point.”
“Not for a while.”
“No … but that gives you time to learn. Don’t waste it.”
Dekkard had to admit that she was right. He glanced ahead, at the white brick posts that marked the western boundary of East Quarter, amazed at how quickly the time and blocks had passed. Ahead, the walks bordering the boulevard would be more crowded, because it was a Quindi evening.
He had thought to cross the eastern lanes of the boulevard so they could enjoy the gardens in the center, but Ysella said, “Let’s turn north on the shop sidewalk. I know it’s more crowded, but humor me, if you would.”
“I’d be happy to, but why? You always have a reason,” replied Dekkard.
Ysella lowered her voice. “Because I’m fairly sure someone is following us. They were on the south side of Altarama, fairly far back. If they really are tailing us, they’ll have to get closer once we’re in a more crowded place.”
“You thought someone might be following me? Is that why—”
“Someone shot at you the other day. You’re my partner. Am I not allowed to worry about you?” Ysella took his arm briefly and guided him northward past the front of a store that featured stylish leather furniture.
“That doesn’t make any sense, even if the shots were a warning to Obreduur. A second warning or incident this soon wouldn’t change things.”
“They aren’t interested in you. They’re interested in the councilor’s security aide.”
“You’re making it sound like someone wants to remove me or replace me to get closer to Obreduur.”
“Can you think of a better way to find out what he’s doing?” asked Ysella.
“I haven’t the faintest idea what he might be doing, if anything, besides being a councilor. And who are ‘they’?”
“Most people don’t know what a councilor is doing, and we’ll talk about who they are later. He’s been preparing you, but he didn’t expect matters to heat up so quickly.”
Preparing me? For what? “Do I want to be prepared for … whatever?”
“Most likely not … but he needs you.”
“Or someone like me.”
“Steffan … like it or not … right now, there isn’t anyone else like you.”
The quiet certainty in Ysella’s voice stunned Dekkard. He had no idea how to respond, not that wouldn’t sound stupid or, alternatively, arrogant or indifferent.
“There are other talented isolates, but not ones who come from a solid Craft background, with near-brilliant academic capabilities and a certain amount of common sense.”
Dekkard smiled. “You’re right. I could occasionally use more common sense.”
“You also listen. By the way, the two who are trailing us are only about ten yards back. Neither is an isolate, and that’s good.”
“Can you tell if either is an empath?”
“The man is just muscle. The woman probably is. She’s shielding her feelings somewhat.”
“What do we do now?”
“We keep walking.”
As Dekkard and Ysella neared the end of the block and the next cross street—as well as Julieta, a high-end women’s boutique—he noticed that people were giving them more space than he usually received. Probably the work of an empath.
“We’re going to stop and window-shop at Julieta, for just a moment,” said Ysella cheerfully. “Then we’ll go inside. They’re open late on Quindi. There’s also a side door, but that might not be the best option.”
“Why not?”
“Because they’ll still be following us, and I’d rather you didn’t have to use your knives.” Ysella paused in front of the window, seemingly looking at the mannequin displaying an iridescent pink summer dress. “And, before you ask, I’ve watched you long enough to know when you carry them.”
After a long moment, Dekkard spoke, since he thought he should say something, if only for the benefit of those who were watching. “You like that dress?”
“I detest pink. I like the style, though. Let’s go inside.”
Dekkard moved with her, trying to keep it from being obvious that she was leading him, at the same time trying not to smile because most times the woman would be the one leading the way into a stylish women’s store. A few moments later, Ysella stopped, ostensibly to look at some evening handbags finished in black and silver metallic links.
Several minutes later, she murmured to Dekkard, “They’re coming in. Don’t do anything until I tell you.”
The man and woman who entered Julieta were moderately well-dressed, although the man, with a round face and blond hair, neither of which matched the muscular body below, wore white trousers and an unbuttoned blue linen jacket, suggesting to Dekkard the possibility of concealed weapons, while the woman was attired in shades of light gray with a translucent white headscarf, colors clearly secondary to those of her companion.
Abruptly, the woman staggered, lurching into one of the display cases featuring silk headscarves and standard scarves, any one of which likely cost more than Dekkard’s weekly pay.
“Look out!” snapped Ysella. “They’re thieves! Check under his jacket!”
Although Dekkard couldn’t feel it, he could see that Ysella’s words had been accompanied by some empforce projec
ting law and authority, because two guards appeared almost instantly, and as one moved toward the pair, the round-faced man started to draw a small weapon—a semi-automatic pistol, Dekkard thought. But before he could even level it, the round-faced man convulsed, and both guards immobilized him.
“We can go,” murmured Ysella, leading Dekkard to the side door on the cross street. No one even looked their way.
To Dekkard’s eyes, Ysella looked pale and almost shaky. Once outside, she covered her mouth and kept walking east on the cross street, if bent slightly forward.
He kept looking back, but no one followed them, and in moments, they were past another set of white-painted brick gateposts announcing the entrance to East Quarter.
Finally, Ysella straightened up.
“Are you all right?”
“I am now.”
“Good. You used some sort of empblast on those two.” He glanced back, but still saw no one following them.
“Nausea … it’s effective, but it’s hard on me afterward.”
“Won’t someone figure that out?”
Ysella smiled wanly. “They won’t care. The muscle-boy was carrying a pistol, and he panicked and tried to use it. He’ll be on the prison farms in less than a week. The empie will play innocent, and there’s no proof that she was even involved with him. She’ll claim, if it even comes up, that he pushed her into the scarf case.”
“So she can try something else next time?”
“She knows that we know. They’ll try something else.”
“Who’s ‘we’? Or ‘they’?”
“If the muscle-boy couldn’t kill you without witnesses,” Ysella said, ignoring Dekkard’s questions, “the empie was going to set you up with a confrontation around witnesses. It wouldn’t have mattered whether you got killed or badly injured or if you killed him. In any of those instances, Obreduur would have needed to replace you.”
“But you were there. You could have pointed out what happened.”
“What I might have said wouldn’t matter. We’re partners. The fact that we were out together while not in uniform—and that I’m a woman—would have made a justicer discount what I said.”
“What if I’d gone out alone?”
“The empie would have set it up so that someone would think you hit them, and the assassin would have attacked you because you’d have been marked as the aggressor. That way, you either end up dead, disgraced, or in gaol.”
“You’re assuming no one would listen to me.”
“The Justiciary Minister is a Commercer who’s not exactly fond of the councilor, or of isolates, and you’re an isolate whose emotions cannot be sensed, unlike normal people. The justicer you would have appeared before would have shared those feelings. Witnesses would have seen see you as the one in the wrong.”
Dekkard felt as though he’d stepped into a maelstrom, a swirling torrent far worse than the seemingly mild political currents that had been part of his daily routine for the past two years. But maybe you just didn’t sense the depths.
“How did you know this would happen tonight?” he finally said.
“I didn’t. Not for certain, but after the other night, there was a chance they would make another move. You couldn’t take a walk the last two nights. I was watching, and when I sensed two people waiting in a steamer up Altarama…” Ysella shrugged. “I was right.”
“None of this makes sense.” Or not much. “You never said who ‘we’ are. Or who ‘they’ are.”
“We need to get back and meet with the councilor. He was worried.”
Obreduur worried? That wasn’t a word that came to mind when Dekkard thought about the councilor. “He knew you were coming with me?”
“Of course. After the incident the other night, he decided the shooting was deliberate and that they might try again. But that’s our fault, not yours. He didn’t think things wouldn’t get this bad so soon.” Ysella began to walk faster.
Less than a third of a bell later, the two entered the house through the west portico door. Dekkard hadn’t asked any more questions, not because he didn’t have more than a few, but because he suspected that Ysella would defer answering. Instead, he tried to think beyond the obvious, but he wasn’t getting anywhere because he couldn’t figure out why the others, presumably Commercers or their allies—or someone he didn’t even know about—wanted to remove him. Or as Ysella had put it, remove Obreduur’s security aide. But why? He didn’t know any secrets. He wasn’t from a wealthy or influential family.
Ysella led the way to Obreduur’s study and closed the door.
The councilor looked up from the papers on the desk and asked Ysella, “How did it go?”
“Moderately well. You were right about it being a setup. We lured them closer and into Julieta. Their empie wasn’t that good, and I staggered her. The man wasn’t an isolate. The store guards took him down when he panicked and tried to shoot. In the uproar, no one really noticed us except the woman with the shooter. She’ll declare she was an innocent bystander. She might get off.”
“She will,” said Obreduur. “That’s to be expected.” He turned to Dekkard. “You once told me that you believed in our government the way it has been. Do you still think that way?”
Dekkard considered the question carefully before replying. “I still believe in the way it was set up under the Great Charter. I’m not so sure that’s exactly the way it works anymore.”
“Not so sure?” asked Obreduur dryly.
“I’m sure it’s not working the way it was set up, but I don’t know how bad things really are.”
“Worse than you know, but not nearly so bad as they’re going to get if the Commercers aren’t stopped. Some of us are trying to keep government the way it was designed. Do you think that’s a worthy goal?”
“As long as trying to save Guldor doesn’t destroy it. Or us.”
“That’s part of the problem,” replied Obreduur almost sourly.
“You and Avraal keep talking about ‘we.’ Just who are you talking about?”
“Most of the Craft Party councilors, their supporters, and a few others who think the same way. We’re opposed to the effort of the Commercers to turn Guldor into a total plutocracy. Wealth is necessary and has its place, but we don’t want Guldor to go the way of Atacama or to the other extreme—like Argental. Or the Grand Democracy of Teknold, as Roostof and Macri told you. Too many of the Landors are still living in the time of Laureous the Great.”
Dekkard had a more personal question. “What do you expect of me?”
“For the immediate future, much the same as you’ve been doing, except with a wider scope of duties. You’ll still need to handle your security duties, just as Avraal does. You also need some coaching from Avraal … and from me … on presenting yourself to those audiences and personages with whom you haven’t had much contact, because you’ll be standing in for me as a representative of the Craft Party.”
“Why me?”
“Because I can’t be everywhere, and too many Crafters don’t represent the party as well as they could. Too few young men from craft or artisan backgrounds with ability and intelligence understand or are interested in politics, and we need every one of you with those abilities. Also, as an isolate, you can only be convinced by yourself.”
“Isolates are just as susceptible to a logical proposition as anyone.”
Obreduur shook his head. “That’s a rationalization. You choose whether to be convinced or not. You may choose for irrational reasons, or for love, or loyalty, or even stupidity, but the choice is yours.”
Dekkard had never heard “choice” argued that way, but it made sense. He couldn’t help smiling sardonically. Then he looked pointedly at Ysella.
“There’s no future for women in the Landor Party,” she replied. “If most Landors had their way, there’d be no future for women at all.”
“What about the Commerce Party?” asked Dekkard.
“They’re already destroying the land,” she said bleakl
y.
“Can either of you tell me why the Commercers want to kill me?”
“First, because you and Avraal are good at protecting me, and some of the Commercers want to strike at me because, for the first time in centuries, the Craft Party has become a political force and potential threat to Commercer control of the Council. Second, because you and a few others could be a real danger to them. They’re thinking five or ten or even twenty years out.”
“How would killing me help?”
“Oh … that’s just one way of removing you. They often buy off bright staff members who serve Landor or Craft councilors. How much did SSA offer you last year?”
“Their letter suggested I could make almost double what I was making here after five years at SSA, depending on my willingness to work.”
“Legalists working for corporacions or legal consortiums can make triple what a councilor can pay,” said Obreduur.
“Then how do the Commerce councilors keep good staffers?” asked Dekkard.
“They rotate staff in and out of higher-paying private jobs … and those high-priced legal consortiums work pro bono for Commerce councilors. The Craft Party can’t match those salaries. We also don’t have allies with those kinds of jobs to offer. So we have to be better at winning elections and developing talent. We’re getting there. Two elections ago, there were only sixteen Craft councilors, and the Commerce Party had held thirty seats for the previous three elections. Despite their tens, if not hundreds of thousands, of marks employed indirectly in influencing elections, we’ve gained seats in each election, and they’ve lost seats. They’ve also lost support from a number of the Landor councilors who’ve discovered that recent changes in law have had adverse effects on Landors.”
“They’d kill me because I might be a problem someday?”
“No. They’d prefer to buy you off, or disgrace you, or get you in trouble,” said Ysella. “But since they couldn’t buy you off, they tried something else. Actual killings are rare. I wouldn’t be surprised if one possibility tonight was to set it up so you ended up with the pistol. A firearms charge would disqualify you from serving the Council or ever being a councilor in the future.”
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