“Thank you for that astute observation, Svard,” said Ysella. “You’d better take that in to the councilor, just in case he doesn’t already know.”
Even if Obreduur knew, he’d still like to read the story, if only to see what the newssheet reported. When Roostof entered the inner office and closed the door, Dekkard looked to Ysella.
“From that story,” she replied, “Ulrich knows about Director Graffyn, but he doesn’t think Graffyn is going to show up. That’s why he was willing to say that the Council would be pleased to hear him. The last thing the Commercers want is Graffyn to lay out ties between a Commercer minister and Eastern Ironway.”
“So … Kraffeist insists he doesn’t know how it happened; the files are missing; and so is the only man who might know everything. That means the Council won’t ever hear the entire story.”
“Not if Ulrich can help it,” replied Ysella.
Dekkard shook his head, then forced himself back to the work at hand. A few minutes later, Roostof left Obreduur’s office—without the newssheet—heading for the side office.
Half a bell later, Obreduur opened his door. “Steffan, I need a few words with you.”
Dekkard immediately got up and entered the inner office, closing the door.
Obreduur stood beside the dark walnut desk. He handed Dekkard a thin folder. “I’d like you to meet with the Artisans Guild of Machtarn. The guild is considering filing a grievance against the Imperial Tariff Commission. They contend that the Commission is allowing cheaply produced works of art to be imported and tariffed as housewares, when the art is of a higher quality and is later sold at a far higher price than the import appraisal price.”
Dekkard tried not to wince.
“This could harm all artisans in Guldor. Even if it does not, undertariffing imports harms the government by unlawfully reducing tariff revenues. You’ll need to research this before you meet with them next week. Duadi the thirty-second, at the fourth bell of morning.”
“Might I ask what you expect of me in this?”
Obreduur smiled sardonically. “To be understanding and very polite. Polite in the way that says you care, not polite in the way old Ritter families are, where their words are soothing and meaningless. To promise to look into the matter diligently and to assure them that the matter concerns me as well, which is why I’ve assigned the specialist with an artisan background. I can’t personally look into everything. Ask Roostof to show you the section of the tariff laws dealing with that. You’ll have to visit one of the Council legalists who specializes in that as well. Obviously, you’ll wear one of your new security-gray suits when you meet with the Artisans Guild. You should get your specialist pin by tomorrow, Tridi at the latest.”
“Is there anything else, sir?”
“Not right now. Once you’ve read the folder, and do your research, write up what you think about it and give it to me. After that, we’ll talk.”
“Yes, sir.” Dekkard inclined his head, then turned and made his way out, heading directly for Roostof’s desk.
When Dekkard approached, the legalist grinned. “What do you need?”
“The basic tariff law dealing with importing works of art. Also the section dealing with importing housewares.”
“That sounds like an artisan petition.”
“A possible grievance against the Tariff Commission. The councilor wants me to meet with them next week.”
“Just don’t say anything about what he’ll do.” After that quick bit of advice, Roostof turned to the bookshelf against the wall beside his desk. “All I have here is the basic statute. For interpretations and case law, you’ll have to consult with the legalists over in the Council Hall.”
“The councilor told me that, too.”
After looking through several leather-bound volumes, Roostof slipped a marker into one and handed that volume to Dekkard. “We haven’t done anything with tariffs in years. Read that section, and you’ll know as much as I do. Best of fortune.”
“Thank you,” replied Dekkard wryly.
When he returned to his desk, Ysella looked up at him and the heavy leather-bound volume he carried, along with the folder.
“A problem with tariffs on works of art,” Dekkard said.
“Aren’t you the fortunate one,” she said, her words somehow dryly sympathetic.
Dekkard sat down, putting aside the letters he had yet to deal with, and began to read. In less than a sixth of a bell, he grasped the core of the problem. The Artisans Guild of Machtarn contended that paintings and sculptures were being imported as housewares and then, once they were inside Guldor, were being sold as “fine art” at a much lower price than comparable works produced by Guldoran artists. Still frowning, he studied the statutory law on tariffs applied to imported art.
In any one year, any individual may personally carry or import up to three works of art [as defined in Section 2.a.(1)], each of such works being valued at more than a hundred marks, without paying tariffs. Those individuals importing more than three works of art annually are classified as dealers in art and must register and pay an annual fee [Section 2.b.], as well as a ten percent tariff on each work of art …
The “housewares” tariff section was much simpler—a straight five percent tariff on any shipment with a value of more than twenty marks, or five percent on the total of all imports of housewares off-loaded from any ship or conveyance.
After rereading the law twice, and then going back through the folder, he definitely understood Roostof’s cautionary advice. Because he wanted to think the matter over, and at least sleep on it, he set aside the folder and the law book, and went back to drafting responses to letters.
18
AFTER dinner on Unadi evening, still in his security grays, Dekkard sat reading in the staff room, where the light was better. He didn’t want to think about tariffs any longer, and he’d given up concentrating on learning more about the individual councilors, and instead returned to reading various journals, beginning with an article in the Winterend issue of Political Economics. The title was daunting—“Climate and Iron Prices in the Black Centuries.” Still, he started to read.
… the extreme cold of the eleventh century affected both Argental and Guldor, but in different ways. Argental suffered significant crop losses, requiring increased imports of grain and rice, resulting in higher food prices and widespread hunger, if short of actual starvation. With the unrest of 1019, the Silver Party gained control of the Assembly, and to obtain adequate foreign exchange to subsidize bread prices, enacted the Susceptible Relocation Act, whereby susceptibles were shipped to Atacama as indentured servants …
That wasn’t exactly the high point in Argenti history, reflected Dekkard as he continued.
… loss of arable land due to drought in the east of Guldor raised the price of grain and led to the Argenti Coal Embargo of 1111, and the Winter War of 1112 …
… while the Silent Revolution in Guldor in 1170–71, the result of female empath pressures on the Council, resulted in electoral changes in Guldor, the anticipatory changes were more profound in Argental, where all working individuals or property holders were granted the franchise, as well as in Atacama, where even greater restrictions were placed on empaths. While these political changes were charged and highly debated, they created minimal economic impact on Guldor and Atacama …
… purpose of this treatise is an attempt to quantify the changes in the price of coal, and thus of iron, in response to the impact of higher grain prices arising from the cold and reduced precipitation …
At the sight of the equations and the tables that followed, Dekkard smiled wryly and skipped to the next article, an examination of political trends in Guldoran politics over the past twenty years.
A third of a bell later, he finished it. For all the scholarly rhetoric, what the writer seemed to be saying was that despite shifting trade patterns, increased use of steam-powered equipment, wide swings in the crop production, and increasing immigrations from bot
h Argental and particularly Atacama, the Commerce Party had retained total control of the Council of Sixty-Six.
Is that conclusion so strange that it needs a scholarly article?
As he leafed through the last pages, he came across a small sidebar article, entitled “The Great Magnetite Hoax.”
The unwieldy nature of steam power and dangers of lighting homes with coal-gas, kerosene lanterns, or candles have inspired inventors to seek better forms of power and light generation … Magnetite Rotation, first proposed in 1171 by Elrik Moers, noted scientist at Imperial University, was a theory proposing that the barely discernible field generated by magnetite could be amplified by rapidly turning a wheel lined with magnetite close to a stationary rod of magnetite and thus create some form of magnetic “flow” … Multiple and continuing experiments demonstrated that while the existing field was intensified slightly, no matter how fast the wheel turned, the field around the rod never exceeded double that of the ambient unintensified field. Over a period of a decade, a great number of extensive experiments and costly devices attempted to improve upon those results. None succeeded …
Dekkard frowned. Magnetic flow? How could something you could barely measure flow?
Thinking about that, he was startled when he heard the chime of the front door, although it wasn’t yet that late, just slightly after the first night bell by his watch.
Since all the other staffers had retired to their rooms, except for Rhosali, who had gone to visit a friend, Dekkard rose and headed for the front door. He’d just entered the main hallway when Obreduur appeared, still wearing his jacket and cravat.
“I’ll get it, Steffan. If you’d stay down here, I might need you later.”
“I’ll be in the staff room, sir.”
“I’d appreciate that.” Obreduur continued toward the front door.
Wondering just who might be visiting so comparatively late, especially since neither of the Obreduurs had mentioned visitors, Dekkard turned and retreated slowly, trying to overhear anything that might be said.
All he heard was “Please come in.”
Since he didn’t want to be caught eavesdropping, he closed the door from the back hall and retreated to the staff room, where he forced his concentration back to learning more about councilors.
Slightly less than a bell passed before Obreduur appeared in the doorway to the staff room. “Steffan … I know it’s not in your duties, but I would really appreciate your taking Sr. Muller and his assistant to wherever he directs you in Machtarn.”
“I’d be happy to do that, sir.” Especially since he was tired of poring over the book that was essentially a Council political reference manual … and he was curious about the visitors.
Dekkard closed the heavy book and set it on table.
“Take the Gresynt, and bring it up to the portico. I’ll see them off there. I’ll explain after you return.”
Dekkard could hear what he thought was concern behind Obreduur’s pleasant words, but he just nodded. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Excellent.” Obreduur turned in the direction of his study.
Dekkard walked swiftly to his room, where he set down the book and reclaimed his truncheon. Then he headed down to the garage, where he topped off both the kerosene and water, since he had no idea how far he might be traveling—greater Machtarn extended almost fifteen milles along the coast to the east alone. After opening the garage door, he checked the Gresynt’s reflectors and the gas reservoirs before lighting the headlamps and starting the steamer itself.
When he eased the Gresynt out of the garage and the short distance down the drive to the portico, he was moderately surprised that the gaslights that normally illuminated the area had been turned off and that the councilor was the one to open the rear door for the two who entered the steamer.
In the dim light, both Muller and his assistant appeared to be slender and dark-haired. Muller wore a dark summer suit, while his assistant wore what might have been security grays, and carried a short truncheon at his waist, the largest permitted for private security aides.
“Best of fortune” were the only words from Obreduur as he held the vehicle door.
“Thank you,” replied Muller, although that was a guess on Dekkard’s part because he couldn’t see which one had spoken.
Obreduur closed the door and stepped back into the darkness that cloaked the portico.
“Where would you like to go?” asked Dekkard politely once he started the Gresynt down the drive toward Altarama.
“My assistant will tell you once we reach Imperial Boulevard,” said Muller.
“Yes, sir.”
Dekkard thought he heard the other passenger say, in a lighter voice barely above a whisper, “… strong isolate.” That indicated he was also an empie. Dekkard knew that some empies were trained in weapons, but that was a rarity, given that the requirements of being an armed aide and an empath often created conflicts. But when it did occur the empie was usually male, which was another reason why such security types were rare, given the much smaller percentage of male empaths.
Neither Muller nor the empie spoke until the Gresynt neared the white brick gateposts just before Imperial Boulevard.
“Turn right on Imperial.”
Dekkard turned right.
“Stay in the right lane until you pass the next cross street. Then move to the left lane.”
Three blocks later, the empie said, “Turn left and follow the cross street for one block, then turn right. Go north one block and turn right again. When you reach Imperial turn south.”
Dekkard understood. If any steamer followed them through that pattern, it had to be on purpose. He didn’t see any headlamps that close, let alone following.
Once Dekkard had the steamer back on Imperial Boulevard, he watched as they went around the Circle of Commerce and then continued on Imperial Boulevard past the Avenue of the Guilds toward the harbor rotary.
Just short of the rotary, the empie said, “Turn right, and drive straight to the river.”
After two blocks the taller merchanting and commercial structures gave way to lower warehouses, all of which were dark. Four blocks later, Dekkard slowed the steamer as they neared the river piers. The street ended in a wide cul-de-sac serving three piers. The one at the far right had what looked to be a river freighter tied up, with a single lamp at the foot of the gangway. The other two piers appeared to be empty.
“Pull up at the pier to the left.”
Dekkard did so.
“If we do not come back in a few minutes, return to the house.”
“After a few minutes I will.”
In moments, the pair were out of the steamer and had vanished into the darkness of the unlit pier. Dekkard could see that no large or seagoing craft was tied up at the pier, but that didn’t mean that a smaller boat wasn’t moored out of sight … or that the pair might actually move to another pier after he left.
After squinting at his watch in the dimness, to make certain a good five minutes had passed, he eased the Gresynt away from the piers, not wanting to remain in the mostly dark industrial and shipping area any longer than necessary.
He couldn’t help breathing a bit more easily once he was back on Imperial Boulevard heading north.
The gates to the drive were still open when he drove up to the still-unlighted portico. So he stopped the steamer and closed the gates before driving under the portico and back to the garage.
He’d just closed the garage doors and made his way into the back hallway when Obreduur appeared.
“Thank you very much, Steffan. You delivered them to where they wished to go?”
“I took them where they directed me—a river pier off the street just north of the harbor rotary.”
“The older river piers. They had a small boat waiting … or one that would pick them up there. I’d appreciate it if you did not mention Sr. Muller’s appearance here to anyone for a time. Thank you again.”
“My pleasure, sir.
”
“Not really your pleasure, Steffan, but I do appreciate it. Good night.” Obreduur turned, heading back to either his study or his bedchamber.
Dekkard walked to the staff room, where he reclaimed the book and turned off the gaslight before starting up the staff staircase to his room. He couldn’t help wondering who “Muller” really was. He had a wild idea, but he couldn’t figure out how that idea fit.
And that bothered him more than just a little.
19
WHEN Dekkard woke on Duadi morning, he was still pondering the brief appearance of the mysterious Sr. Muller … and the fact that Obreduur had been so matter-of-fact about Muller and his empath going to a deserted river pier. But then Obreduur had been guildmeister of the stevedores and river workers.
But … if he knew and arranged that, why didn’t Muller want to give directions until we were away from Obreduur? Or had Obreduur left the decision for Muller to make after he departed the house?
Dekkard pushed the questions away for the moment, then shaved, washed, and dressed before heading down to breakfast. As Hyelda had warned him, there was no quince paste, only tomato jelly, adequate for Dekkard’s purposes, but definitely lacking the more robust taste and substance of the quince.
On the drive to the Council Office Building, Obreduur made no mention of the visitors of the previous evening, not that Dekkard expected otherwise. At that moment, and Dekkard couldn’t have said why, he realized why the Craft Party wouldn’t have wanted elections. They wouldn’t have changed anything. Even if the Craft Party had gained another seat or two and held the plurality of councilors, enough of the Landor councilors would have voted for a Commerce premier to keep the Commercers in control, and the Craft Party would have lost two experienced councilors for nothing.
Dekkard still wondered about the trade-off. Wouldn’t the Crafters have been better off with a few more seats in the Council?
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