Isolate

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “Excellent. Also, you and Ysella will have lunch with me in the councilors’ dining room. That would be only fair after yesterday and today.”

  “Is that allowed? I’ve never heard…”

  “Each councilor has ten passes a year for guests. Even the Premier only gets ten.”

  “I appreciate that very much, sir … but you don’t have to. What about Ritten Obreduur?”

  “Councilors’ spouses are exempt, but not children.” Obreduur smiled. “When the first women councilors were elected, the men-only rule had to be changed. Then, apparently a number of wives were most upset that the only women who could eat with councilors were other female councilors. So the Council exempted wives and male spouses from the limitation, not that many take advantage of the privilege. In any event, I’d rather have the lunch with you two than any corporacion type.” Obreduur smiled sardonically as he added, “And any guildmeister I took would think I was just like the Commercers. We’ll leave at about a third before noon. I’ve already told Avraal.”

  Once back at his desk, Dekkard had to force his mind off everything that had happened. He finally took a deep breath and began to draft the first of the letters about the tariff issue.

  He finished both drafts and handed them to Margrit in less than a bell and was working on more routine correspondence when Obreduur stepped out of his office.

  “Shall we go? The Premier has called the Council into session at second bell. That should provide enough time for a good meal without hurrying.”

  The only remaining sign of Unadi’s events was the increased number of guards in the garden courtyard. The central corridor in the Council Hall was almost empty. When the three stepped inside the councilors’ dining room, Obreduur handed two gold-and-black-edged cards to the host, a thin man attired in black and gold livery, who inclined his head and said, “This way, Councilor.”

  The large dining area held about thirty tables, half of which were tables for two, all of which were set farther from each other than in a normal restaurant. Only about a third of the tables were taken. The walls were a creamy gold-streaked polished marble, while the floor was a dark green marble, and the table linens were a light ivory. For all the outward elegance of the space, Dekkard wondered if the food would be as good as what he’d had at Don Miguel.

  When they were seated at a table, Obreduur glanced around. “We’re a bit early. It will be full at a sixth past noon.” He did not pick up the menu as he continued. “Now … I’d recommend the duck cassoulet. It’s what the dining room is known for, and it’s also tasty and filling. If you’re not fond of duck, then the three-cheese chicken is good. The only thing terrible on the menu is the ground beef and cheese sandwich. It’s on the menu as the burgher’s delight. I shouldn’t say that since Councilor Volkaar loves it, but he prides himself on his taste.” Obreduur’s last few words were only slightly sardonic.

  Somehow the idea of the Commercers’ floor leader favoring a burgher’s delight made Dekkard smile, but he just said, “The cassoulet sounds good.”

  In the end, Obreduur ordered a cold tomato vegetable soup and a half order of the cassoulet and Ysella the chicken, while Dekkard settled on the cassoulet.

  “What do you think of the dining room?” asked Obreduur. “Honestly, now?” He turned to Ysella.

  “It’s clean, elegant, and somehow a little tired.”

  “Like a courtesan who’s not middle-aged, but no longer young?” the councilor said ironically.

  “More tired than that, but yes,” replied Ysella evenly.

  “And you, Steffan?”

  After a pause, Dekkard finally said, “Wearing fine jewelry that’s been borrowed, I suppose.”

  “It’s interesting that you both came up with illusions.” Obreduur paused as a white-gloved server arrived with a linen-covered tray of warm bread, then withdrew. “But then, politics is a combination of bitter reality and necessary illusion.”

  “Isn’t life, sometimes?” said Ysella.

  “Sometimes,” agreed Obreduur, “but not always. Unlike politics.” He looked past Ysella and said quietly. “Here comes Saandaar Vonauer. He’ll make some cutting remark.”

  The approaching councilor wore a black suit, with a pale gray shirt and a dark silver cravat. His hair was blond streaked with silver without single misplaced strand. A strong but not overlarge straight nose was flanked by intent but watery green eyes. He stopped and looked at Obreduur. “Your security aides, I presume, Axel? Rewarding them for capturing that murderous wench? Too bad they couldn’t have stopped her sooner.”

  “That’s one way of looking at it, Saandaar. Another way might be to ask Hansaal how neither his guards nor his messenger service could discover an imposter. Or why Craft security aides had to take care of the problem.” Obreduur offered the words pleasantly, following them with a cheerful smile.

  “I just might. I just might.” After the barest of nods, Vonauer continued toward a table where another councilor waited.

  “Will he actually ask Councilor Volkaar something like that?” Dekkard had thought the Landor councilor had sounded at least half serious.

  “He likely will. Since Vonauer is the Landor floor leader, Volkaar, in his capacity as Commerce floor leader, needs Landor votes, and Vonauer hates being subservient to the Commercers. So he’ll find some way to needle Volkaar. He might ask him if it wasn’t embarrassing that the aides of a Craft councilor had to catch the assassin. Something like that.”

  Dekkard nodded, realizing that Obreduur had planned for that possibility. And for a score of others.

  A few minutes later, their meals arrived, brought by another white-gloved server, followed by another who served their cafés.

  Before they could begin to eat, two other councilors approached the table. One was Hasheem, and the second one was Jorje Kastenada.

  Hasheem nodded to Obreduur, then looked to Ysella and Dekkard. “I just wanted to express my appreciation for your quick action yesterday. Arthal told me that the renegade empath was the strongest he’d ever experienced.”

  Since the appreciation was mainly for Ysella, Dekkard inclined his head to her.

  “Thank you, Councilor. We did the best we could,” replied Ysella.

  “You were better than that. I won’t intrude further, but I had to say a few words.” Hasheem smiled and nodded to Obreduur before he and Kastenada moved away.

  No one else approached the table directly, and Dekkard sampled the cassoulet. It was hearty, tasty, and filling. He wouldn’t have called it outstanding, but it was definitely better than the fare in the staff cafeteria.

  While several other councilors nodded or offered a few pleasantries to Obreduur, the rest of the meal was pleasant and relaxed, with no talk about the Council.

  29

  TRIDI came and went, and there were no attacks, no assassinations, no interesting problems or petitions. There was also no response from the Ministry of Health about the Sanitation Guild’s jobs proposal and no word that the controversy between the Woodcrafters Guild and Guldoran Ironway had been definitively resolved. There was absolutely no mention of the Kraffeist Affair anywhere, nor any mention about demonstrations or the New Meritorists. And there was nothing about Eduard Graffyn, otherwise known as Sr. Muller, not that Dekkard would have expected that.

  Dekkard still wondered about Obreduur’s connection with “Muller,” and exactly what the councilor had in mind. He had to be playing a longer game, but how would he be able to use Graffyn without running afoul of the law and Security? If Obreduur had received any word about the empie assassin, he’d said nothing.

  Although he was wearing security grays, Dekkard put on the staff pin in midafternoon and visited the Council Library, since he hadn’t been able to go there when he’d been wearing his suit. Following Ysella’s recommendation, he went through the Annotated History of Teknold and finally found an entry on Joel Janhus.

  … Senator of the last Teknold Parliament who opposed the Coup of the Marshals … executed
under martial law after publishing a broadsheet that refuted the Principles of New Reform … predicted the collapse of the Grand Democracy … Janhus’s name is considered a scatological obscenity in much of Teknold.

  Dekkard had shaken his head at that. Reviled for accurately predicting what would happen?

  When Dekkard entered the office on a very warm, if not summer-warm, Furdi morning, he doubted that he’d find out much about any of his concerns quickly. The stack of drafts that he handed to Margrit at second bell earned him a resigned sigh from the junior typist.

  “You would have to catch up in a single day.”

  “I’m not caught up. It will take another day or two … if the councilor doesn’t give me another special assignment.”

  “I do hope so. Then Anna and I might catch up.” But Margrit did smile.

  Dekkard just shook his head and walked back to his desk.

  Moments later, Karola said, “He needs to see you.”

  When Dekkard entered the inner office, Obreduur motioned to the chairs, and Dekkard seated himself, waiting.

  “A little while ago, I received a message from Guildmeister Carlione. He thanked me for the rapid response. He said that you asked good questions and showed concern and understanding. He also said you were more impressive than a number of councilors he’s met.”

  Why would he say that? “I just followed your advice as well as I could.”

  “He’s not easily impressed. The fact that he responded by messenger says a great deal.”

  “I did tell him that you acted quickly, but that didn’t mean that Imperial ministries would.”

  “I’m sure he’s well aware of that,” replied Obreduur dryly, “but I’m glad you pointed that out.” He paused. “I’d like you and Avraal to accompany me to meet with some guild members this evening, as specialists, not as security aides. They have some concerns, and they’re reluctant to come to the Council Office Building.”

  Dekkard frowned. “That doesn’t sound good.”

  “They’re good people. I’d like you and Avraal to meet them. It’s set for sixth bell at a bistro in the harbor district—Rabool’s. There will be light fare, since we’ll miss dinner. We’ll stop by the house so that you and Avraal can change.”

  “Do you know what they want to talk about?”

  Obreduur shook his head. “Only that they’re worried and feel that the Council should be concerned as well … or at least the Craft Party councilors.”

  After Dekkard returned to his desk, he just looked blankly at the half-written response in front of him. He’d never expected to be promoted to professional staff, and certainly not so quickly. While he’d known that people were likely to attack or shoot at the councilor, he’d never expected to be shot at and attacked personally because he worked for Obreduur. Nor had he expected something like the New Meritorist demonstrations and violence. Those things just didn’t happen in Guldor.

  Dekkard frowned. While the Council had downplayed the empie assassination of Councilor Aashtaan, it was clear that personal assassinations were largely unexpected, as was the use of firearms by the New Meritorists.

  Meaning that it’s not just politics as usual.

  He took a long slow deep breath, then picked up his pen and began to write. He finished more drafts by fourth bell, and the drive back to the house was uneventful and quiet.

  Once Dekkard let off the councilor and Ysella, he turned the Gresynt and then left it under the portico roof before going up to change into his lighter-weight security-gray suit.

  He was the first back at the portico. Only a few minutes later, Ysella arrived, wearing a lavender summer suit. Dekkard noticed that while her headscarf matched the suit, it wasn’t the near-transparent kind she’d worn with him, but somewhat heavier, possibly one of those she’d picked up at Esperanza.

  “I know,” she said, “it won’t be summer until Unadi, but it’s hot enough to be summer.”

  Dekkard hadn’t been about to say that, but he replied, “I doubt that anyone will fuss over your rushing summer by less than three days. They’d more likely wonder why you were wearing something heavier when it’s so hot.”

  Ysella shook her head. “Some habits are hard to put aside.”

  Obreduur arrived before either could say much more, wearing a light blue linen suit, rather than the darker blues he favored as a councilor.

  Dekkard opened the rear door.

  “Both of you, tell me if we’re being followed. It’s unlikely, but I’d like to know.”

  Once Ysella and Obreduur were settled in the steamer and Dekkard started down the drive, the older man said, “Take Imperial Boulevard toward the harbor. When we’re past the rotary, I’ll tell you where to go. You won’t have to worry about parking. Carlos said he’d have a man near the front door saving a place for the steamer.”

  That was fine with Dekkard. He had no desire to walk far through the harbor district even in early evening, or especially after dark.

  “Carlos Baartol and I go back a long ways,” Obreduur continued. “Besides his Craft associations, he has contacts with Landor councilors and more than a few staffers connected to all three parties.”

  Rabool’s turned out to be a block north of Harbor Way, the wide street that provided access to the main piers. The bistro was a yellow-brick-fronted, three-story structure with polished brass double doors lit by brass lamps. True to Carlos’s word, a brawny figure wearing a maroon vest over brown trousers waved them into a space next to the sidewalk and less than five yards from the doors.

  “Welcome to Rabool’s,” offered the greeter as he opened the rear door. “You’re Sr. Baartol’s party?”

  “We are.” Obreduur slipped a five-mark note into his hand.

  “They’re in the small side room, sir.”

  “Thank you.” Obreduur led the way into the bistro.

  A stocky man with slicked-back gray hair in a bright purple jacket immediately stepped forward. “Axel, it’s good to see you! Not that it’s been all that long.”

  “Longer than I’d like, Rabool. You’re looking prosperous.” Obreduur grinned warmly. “But you looked prosperous back when this wasn’t anywhere close to what you’ve made it.”

  “I had to live up to your expectations, you glorious bastard.”

  “I’m afraid I’ve lived down to yours. You’ve never had a great opinion of councilors.”

  “Most of ’em, I still don’t. That’s why it’s good to see you.” Rabool looked at Ysella, then Dekkard. His eyes remained on Dekkard.

  “The one you’re looking at is Steffan. Steffan Dekkard. He’s both security and an economic assistant.” Obreduur inclined his head. “And Avraal Ysella, special assistant and security.”

  “I heard talk…”

  “I’m even less popular with some folks than I used to be.”

  “Good for you.” Rabool looked to Dekkard again, then to Ysella. “Keep him safe.”

  “They’ve done very well,” said Obreduur. “If they hadn’t, I wouldn’t be here.”

  “Good.” Rabool gestured beyond the main dining area, where only a third of the tables were occupied, to an archway on the right. “Your folks are in there.”

  “We appreciate it.”

  “Little enough after everything. Just keep doing what you’re doing.” Then he looked to Dekkard. “You, too.”

  Dekkard nodded. “We will.”

  Obreduur headed toward the archway.

  Dekkard followed, but took in the others in the bistro, mostly hard-looking men at least fifteen years older than Dekkard himself, although there were also a few women of about the same age, but no younger women, which definitely suggested an established clientele.

  As soon as Obreduur was in the smaller side room, one with just four tables, two of which had been pulled together, a dark-haired man in a black shirt and trousers stepped forward from the three men and one woman who stood there and had been talking. “Axel … I saw that Rabool wanted a few words.”

  “He
deserves more than that, but…” Obreduur shrugged.

  “We know that. So does Rabool.”

  Obreduur half turned. “Carlos, I brought two people I thought you should meet. Avraal, here, is my special assistant. She’s also a rather strong empath, as one of your people probably noticed. Steffan is—”

  “… a totally blocked isolate,” interjected the dark-haired tall and angular woman who had moved up beside Baartol.

  “… and he’s also an economic specialist with an artisan background who has a few other skills,” continued Obreduur smoothly, as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “Avraal, Steffan, this is Carlos Baartol.” Nodding to the angular woman, he added, “And Isobel Irlende.”

  “I’m pleased to meet you,” said Ysella.

  “So am I,” added Dekkard.

  Baartol gestured to the joined tables. “Might as well sit. Told Rabool to bring a couple of pitchers of good lager when you got here. Be a couple of platters of assorted tapas, too.”

  As soon as everyone was seated, two servers appeared, one with two large pitchers of lager, and another with a tray of beakers from which he provided one to each of the seven at the combined table. Carlos and his party sat on one side, with Obreduur on the other flanked by Dekkard and Ysella.

  Dekkard stood and poured lager for Obreduur, Ysella, and himself, then reseated himself.

  Baartol lifted his beaker. “To a better future.”

  Obreduur lifted his in response. “For all you’ve done already.”

  Moments later, Baartol looked across the table at Dekkard. “Carlione said you spoke very well to his board. I heard you also scared off the freelance empie Transoceanic sent in.”

  “You’re sure it was Transoceanic?” asked Obreduur.

  The man to Baartol’s right said, “You know Saul Tharsus? He’s used that empie before … when he didn’t want Commercer fingerprints lying around. Usually in claims against Transoceanic or Azulete Transport. Most times, witnesses just left town. A couple times, they vanished. Couldn’t prove it, but we’re not the only ones who know that.”

  “I thought he lost the right to appear as a legalist before the Justiciary,” replied Obreduur.