“Just a guess based on what I overheard.”
“What about another guess?” Emrelda bestowed a dazzling smile on her husband.
“They might be trying to use the sun to heat flash boilers.”
“Why would they do that?” asked Ysella, her tone genuinely curious.
“For ships. Using the sun that way you can desalinate ocean water. You could also generate steam to supplement the coal boilers. Ships might be able to travel farther on less coal. That would make the Navy less dependent on colliers and foreign sources of coal.”
“Speaking of coal,” said Dekkard as he looked to Emrelda, “did Security ever find the missing director of logistics for Eastern Ironway?”
Emrelda shook her head. “Not that I know of. There were rumors of someone who looked somewhat like him, but he vanished. That person was using the name Erich Muller…”
“Rumors?”
“Rumors,” replied Emrelda wryly. “I’m a patroller, not a special agent, and definitely not a Tactical. Patrollers are responsible for public safety. The agents aren’t in our station, and I’m just as glad. As for the Tactical Force … most of them…” She shook her head.
“I told Emrelda that was just a false lead,” said Markell. “The real Graffyn is either dead or left Guldor. He knows—or knew—too much to survive and remain here.”
“Why do you think that?” asked Dekkard.
“He wasn’t high enough in the corporacion to have put together the lease without others. One of the others had to be near the top. So Graffyn knows who it is and could implicate him and who in government was really behind it. The Council covered it up quickly. That suggests a political tie.”
Dekkard frowned. “Why in the world would Eastern risk so much for coal, even cheaper coal, if they weren’t desperate? And why would any senior Commercer councilor be a part of such a scheme?”
“I’m no finance wizard,” replied Markell, “but even I know Eastern’s finances are dicey. Their own coalfields are playing out. Guldoran just opened a huge mine near Nullaan.”
“That answers Steffan’s first question,” said Emrelda, “but what about the second?”
“I have no idea,” replied Markell. “I’d guess that it was done for a payoff of some sort. Possibly for a Commercer who’ll have to leave office at the next elections.” He shrugged. “Or maybe it was a setup to cause problems for the Commercers.” Markell looked to Ysella. “Avraal, you’d know more about that than I would.”
“The Landors wouldn’t gain anything from that,” Ysella replied. “The risk to the Crafters would be enormous if they were found to be behind it.”
“All of that sounds so … sordid,” said Emrelda. “But these days everything seems to be getting tawdry and sordid.”
“It’s always been tawdry and sordid,” replied Markell. “You just weren’t in a position where it was obvious. Now you are. Every day.”
Emrelda straightened. “It may be warm, but it’s too nice a day to talk about the sordid and tawdry.” She looked at Dekkard. “You’ve done some shopping lately, haven’t you?” She turned to her sister. “And you had something to do with it.”
“Absolutely not,” said Dekkard, managing to keep a straight face. “Being a poor and impoverished security isolate, far, far from my family, I decided to spend my massive hoard of marks on finery that is only required on the odd endday when my colleague takes pity on my hapless social state and lack of societal graces and invites me to engage in social masochism by insisting I accompany her to talk and dine with eminent architects and landed ladies—”
Emrelda began to laugh, and Markell even smiled.
“You do have a dark side,” said Ysella, her tone one of amusement. “See if I—”
“Don’t you dare!” said Emrelda, blotting the tears of laughter from her eyes and cheeks. “I’ll invite him to bring you. That was priceless.”
Dekkard caught a wink from Ysella, before she said, “I could tell a story or two.”
“Go ahead,” said Emrelda. “It would be more than worth it.”
“That sounds like something I’d like to hear.” Markell leaned forward.
“Well,” began Ysella, “it all began when Landor Mheraak brought his son to the old plantation house … the one that burned down three years ago…”
“You aren’t…?” said Emrelda. “Not that one?”
“Yes, I am,” continued Ysella. “His youngest son Dhutaar was three years older than Emrelda. This was when she was fifteen. I was ten, and Cliven wasn’t quite two. When she saw their steamer pull up—they had one of the first steamers—she turned to me and said, ‘I can’t stand him. He makes me ill. I’d do anything not to be matched to him.’ So I decided to help her out.” Ysella grinned.
Emrelda shook her head.
“Go on,” urged Markell.
“While the Landor was talking with Father, Emrelda was told to show Dhutaar around. I waited until they were near the stables before I woke Cliven and got him out of his trundle bed. Of course he was upset, but I wrapped him up and carried him right up to Emrelda. Then I said, ‘I didn’t know what to do. He wanted his mother.’ Then I turned to Dhutaar and said, ‘You won’t tell anyone, will you?’”
Markell’s eyes widened. “What did he do?”
“He fled,” said Ysella dryly. “I didn’t get anything to eat but porridge for a week, maybe longer. Then I had to apologize, and there were explanations and more explanations before everything was as straightened out as it could be.”
“It took years for the rumors to fade,” said Emrelda, “and they never did for some people. Not that I cared that much. They were all like Dhutaar. He never spoke to either of us again.”
“You did say you’d do anything,” said Ysella.
“That taught me to be very careful about what I asked of you.”
“I’ve gathered that about both of you,” said Markell. “I never heard that story.”
“It’s not one we’d ever tell around our parents—or Cliven,” said Emrelda. “He’s almost as conservative as Dhutaar. Now … I have a story about you…”
From that point on, the afternoon was more lighthearted, and Dekkard definitely enjoyed the conversation and the dinner—beginning with a slightly chilled cucumber soup, followed by cheese and pear ravioli, and ending with a light and fluffy glazed lemon cake.
After the midafternoon dinner, finished off with a white dessert wine, Emrelda drove Ysella and Dekkard back to East Quarter and the councilor’s house. When she stopped just outside the closed gates to the drive, she said, “Thank you both so much. I had a wonderful day, and I could tell Markell did as well. Even with the Dhutaar story.”
“Thank you,” said Dekkard. “I enjoyed every minute.”
“When will we see you two again?” asked Emrelda.
“That depends on the councilor and what the Council does before the Summerend recess,” replied Ysella. “I’ll let you know.”
Once Emrelda had driven off and Dekkard and Ysella walked slowly up the drive, he said, “Was Dhutaar really that bad?”
“Worse. His wife hanged herself. Of course, he died shortly after that.”
Despite the evening warmth, Dekkard shivered just a little. “Might I ask why you told that story?”
“You really don’t need to ask, do you?”
He smiled wryly. “No. I did enjoy the day. All of it.”
“So did I. You have some reading and thinking to do, I suspect.”
Dekkard just nodded. He did indeed.
26
ONCE inside the house, Dekkard didn’t go upstairs, but made his way into the main hallway, looking for Obreduur. Then he walked to the study door.
The councilor looked up from his desk. “Yes, Steffan?”
“Avraal and I had an interesting discussion, sir. She said that you had something that sets forth the principles of the New Meritorists.”
“Why are you interested in their principles, Steffan?”
Al
though Obreduur’s tone of voice was pleasant and even, Dekkard had the feeling that the councilor wasn’t just idly curious.
“Because we saw another demonstration outside the Imperial University this morning, and it looked as though it might get violent.”
“I understand it did. I received a message about it. Several patrollers were shot, as were several students.” Obreduur looked evenly at Dekkard.
Dekkard wondered who had sent the message on an endday, but didn’t ask. “I don’t understand why they’re doing it. I thought reading what they believe might tell me more.”
“It might. It might not. Beliefs aren’t rational. They’re based on feelings, not thoughts. Usually, the feelings drive the reasons, not the other way around.” Obreduur leaned back slightly and opened a drawer, taking out a small cloth-bound volume and placing it on the desk. “This volume stays in the house. When you’re not reading it, please put it in a drawer. When you’re finished with it, return it to me personally. At that time, we’ll talk about your impressions of what is in the book … and what is not.” He handed the small book to Dekkard.
“Thank you, sir.”
Obreduur smiled warmly. “I think you’ll find it interesting. I hope you do.”
Dekkard was still thinking about the councilor’s last words when he entered his chamber and lit the solitary gaslight in its brass wall fixture.
Then he took off his barong, hung it up, seated himself in the chair, and studied the outside of the book, covered in what seemed to be worn blue canvas, or something similar. There was no title on the front or on the spine. He opened the book. The first page was blank, but the second contained a title, nothing else: MANIFESTO OF THE NEW MERITORISTS.
Dekkard opened it to the first page and read:
Principles for a Just and Representative Government
All aspects of the operation and policies of government shall be open to the people, particularly the vote of each Councilor on every law or appropriation.
No upper or lower limits shall be placed on the number of Councilors representing any political party.
The number of political parties shall not be limited.
Any law passed by the majority of the Council cannot be overturned by the Imperador.
The right to a free press is affirmed, with the only limitation being that any factual inaccuracy or misrepresentation is open to legal challenge and damages or reparations.
All adults of sound mind are eligible to vote and to hold office, including isolates, empaths, and susceptibles, provided that none have previously committed and been convicted of a felonious offense.
The sole limitation on the number of terms a Councilor may serve shall be that of the electorate.
Just seven principles?
After several moments, he turned the page, headed by the first principle, and continued to read the seemingly endless examples purporting to illustrate how the operation of government was opaque, if not totally concealed, from the public. One in particular caught his eye.
… in that no legislation is presented to the people for their review before it is voted upon by the Council, the creation of such legislation allows no participation by the people and can be said to be opaque …
But all the new laws and provisions are reported in the newssheets and the entire text is available in every large library …
He kept reading.
… the arcane system of secret voting whereby only the total vote by political party for or against any measure means that no Councilor can be held to task by the people for his vote …
Even that wasn’t true, Dekkard knew, because a great many votes were strictly by party line votes. If every Crafter councilor voted for a measure, then the voters could certainly tell how a given councilor voted. And given how few defectors there were … except that the newssheets never printed the names of the councilors in those stories.
But the names of councilors are all public. So that meant a determined individual could certainly inform himself and his friends. They just couldn’t absolutely prove in all votes whether a given councilor voted a given way, nor could they print and disseminate such information publicly because it could not meet the test of absolute proof.
What the New Meritorists wanted, it seemed to him, was for the newssheets, or someone else, to compile and print dossiers on all votes for all councilors. That would make the newssheets and such compilers the ones who shaped public opinion, the ones who could single out individual councilors for praise or condemnation.
After two more pages, Dekkard was shaking his head. The processes for implementing laws and creating regulations weren’t opaque. They were laid out in the regulatory manual that was available in every library, public or private, in Guldor. So was the process for allowing public comments … and councilors often weighed in on regulations as a result of letters or petitions. Dekkard had certainly seen that.
How many people understood even the intricacies of workplace rules? Or whether yellow cedar or cherry was best for paneling … or the health of the crafters shaping it?
By the time he had read through the entire short book, Dekkard just sat there, thinking over what he had read.
How can anyone be that simpleminded?
Let any political party have as many councilors as possible? That would remove any check on the passions of the moment and the year. Not only that, but it would remove the mechanisms for forcing compromise and cooperation.
Unlimited numbers of political parties? What could that do but create parties based on single issues or populist passions and divert energy and effort from maintaining government, defense, roads, waterways, order, and the other basic functions of government?
And the removal of the Imperador’s veto? The New Meritorists would allow any law that passed by a single vote to remain law, even if it discommoded or disenfranchised forty-nine percent of the population. At present, forty-four of the Sixty-Six could override an Imperial veto, and Dekkard had seen only a single veto in two years. It wasn’t as though the Imperador vetoed legislation willy-nilly.
The right of the newssheets to print anything that couldn’t be refuted, except through the courts? And since only civil lawsuits could be used to check the power of the press under the New Meritorists’ “principles,” that meant that only those with resources could stop lies and misstatements.
Dekkard shuddered at that thought.
And empaths and susceptibles in office? The idea of an empath councilor, one who could project feelings and force or entice other councilors to follow? Or would that mean that every Council meeting would require empaths to monitor to point out undue influence? And allowing susceptibles to vote, when any empath could direct their votes?
And then, no term limits on councilors, so that the Commercers could use all their marks and influence to pack the Council? Would Guldor end up more of a plutocracy … until everyone else revolted?
If they even knew enough to revolt once those with all the marks controlled the newssheets, the Council … and everything else.
He sat there for a time, just thinking, but one of the thoughts that kept recurring was that, while the New Meritorists might be wrong about the solution, matters had to be worse than Dekkard had seen.
Why else would students and others risk being shot—even force patrollers and guards to shoot them?
Or hadn’t he looked deeply enough?
27
THE first thing Dekkard did on Unadi morning after dressing and heading downstairs was to find Obreduur, already in the family breakfast room with Ingrella. There, he handed the Meritorist book back.
“You read it all?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What do you think … now?”
“We have more of a problem than I thought, and they have an appealing solution that will only make things worse.”
“That’s also why you have to listen when you meet with the Artisans Guild … and let them know, quietly, that you listened and understood their pr
oblems … whatever they may be.”
“I have to ask, sir … why me … and not you? You’re far better at that, I’m certain.”
“I learned a long time ago, Steffan, that I can’t do everything. You, however, can learn to do what I do. In time, you might even be better … and then there will be two of us.”
“Three. I’m sure Avraal will do as well as I do. And what about Ivann and Svard?”
“They do other things better than I can so that I can do what I do best. Now … I need to eat, and so do you. We’ll talk more later.”
“Yes, sir.” Dekkard inclined his head.
“Steffan,” interjected Ingrella, “since you’re here, might I ask you to light off the other steamer just before you pull out?”
“I’d be happy to, Ritten.” With that, Dekkard made his way back to the staff room. There, he immediately picked up the newssheet. The story about the demonstrators was on the second page below the fold, and he scanned it quickly.
… a student political demonstration yesterday at Imperial University resulted in injuries to more than a half score students and several Security patrollers … at least one fatality … university authorities stated that the demonstration was against university rules … Students carried signs advocating voting and employment “reforms” … When asked to disperse by Security patrollers, students attacked the patrollers. One protestor was armed and fired upon patrollers … additional patrollers were required to disperse the protestors and to take into custody those who assaulted patrollers …
Dekkard replaced the newssheet on the side table.
“Where were you?” asked Ysella quietly as Dekkard sat down. “Before you stopped to read Gestirn.”
“Returning the book I borrowed last night.”
“You read it all?”
“It wasn’t that long.”
“And?”
“It’s either naïvely simplistic, or deliberately so.”
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