“You’re more cynical than your looks would indicate.”
“Am I wrong?”
“I don’t know anything to the contrary.”
“That’s a cautious reply.”
“It’s the only honest answer I can give. Sometimes, you think I know more than I do.”
Dekkard smiled ruefully. “That’s because you usually know more than I do.”
“I did when you first came to work here. That’s changed a lot recently.” At the sound of Rhosali’s steps on the stairs, Ysella added, “We should talk about that later.”
Little more than a bell later, the two were walking west on Altarama two blocks east of the white brick posts that marked the western end of East Quarter. Dekkard had indeed changed into black trousers and a green barong, while Ysella wore a pale green linen dress with a matching translucent headscarf.
“Where should we go first?” he asked.
“Julieta. Sometimes they have good summerwear.”
“Do you think anyone will remember us?”
“If they do, they won’t say a word. We didn’t do a thing.” Ysella offered an innocent smile.
“You’re sure no one’s trailing us? I’d hate to have another incident there.”
“In daylight, you can see as far as I can sense.”
“Well … I don’t think the nanny pushing the pram is following us, at least not with a sinister aim…”
“That’s true, but she is a borderline empie. Many nannies are.”
“I hadn’t thought of it that way. Artisan families don’t generally have nannies.”
“Most Landor families don’t either. It’s usually mid- and upper-level Commercers.”
“Why do you think it’s that way?” Dekkard managed not to wince as he realized that she’d already answered the question earlier, and immediately added, “You’ve hinted that Landors tend to think of women more as subservient and limited to household responsibilities, but how are Commercers different?”
“They’ll grudgingly admit that a few women, usually those with inherited wealth and position, can be more than decorative additions to their husband’s portfolio, so to speak. Or even those who’ve forced themselves to be noticed by accomplishments that can’t be denied. But the role most high-level Commercer women are forced into is as accomplished adjuncts to burnish their husband’s accomplishments and ego, and for the wives to have the time and skills to do that, the Commercer women need nannies.”
“What does Emrelda think about that? She is living to some extent in a Commercer world.”
“She’s never been interested in having children. That might be because she had to help raise me and did most of Cliven’s care until he was old enough to go to school.”
“How does being a patrol dispatcher fit in to her life?”
“Very well. She has her own income, and she could become a local or even a district administrative officer. Security likes women in those positions. They deal with details better than most men without becoming obsessed with such.”
“That’s also a limitation,” Dekkard pointed out.
“She’s not an artisan, Steffan. Neither am I.”
While Ysella’s voice was almost gentle, Dekkard understood. “Because art is the only field where women are allowed to compete on their abilities alone? The men still get most of the big commissions and win most of the prizes.”
“But women artisans have more independence. In Guldor, anyway.”
Dekkard couldn’t dispute that. “Would you really have wanted to be an artisan?”
“No. I’m more interested in changing the system than fitting into it.”
“Which is why you’ve stayed with Obreduur.”
“Don’t you think we’re overdue for change?”
“So long as it’s for the better. The Great Charter was fine, but the Commercers have found ways around its intent, and without change to restore that intent we could end up in another time like the Black Centuries.”
“Steffan … you’re actually sounding like a radical.”
“I’m not that radical. The New Meritorists are idiots. Not even well-meaning idiots.”
As they passed the white brick posts, Ysella said, “I’d agree, but we need to think about shopping now.”
Dekkard nodded. With more people on the sidewalk flanking Imperial Boulevard, talking politics was less than wise. “Julieta first?”
“It’s the closest.”
Once the two reached Imperial Boulevard, they turned north. Only a few handfuls of people were walking or window-shopping, scattered along the block, but by late afternoon, the sidewalks would be far more crowded.
Ysella led the way into Julieta, and Dekkard studied the sales staff. No one stood out as familiar, but he realized that the last time they’d been there, everything had happened so quickly that he’d never looked at anyone for long.
“Might I help you?” asked an older saleswoman, her eyes on Ysella.
Dekkard smiled faintly. He might as well have not even been present as far as the saleswoman was concerned, and that was fine with him.
Three bells later, after stops at five women’s shops and Excellencia, for Dekkard, the two emerged from Esperanza, with Ysella carrying a single moderately large bag, and Dekkard empty-handed since he’d have to pick up his two light gray summer suits and shirts sometime after midday on Tridi.
“Lunch won’t be at Don Miguel,” said Ysella. “Not with us paying for it. Have you ever been to Octavia’s?”
“I’ve never even heard of it,” admitted Dekkard.
Ysella shook her head. “So many good places to eat, and you’ve never tried them.”
“I never found much pleasure in eating alone, no matter how good the fare, and you’re one of the few people I’ve enjoyed eating with.”
“One of the few?”
“I occasionally ate with Amelya Detauran. Then we had some artistic differences. She apologized after she found out about my family, but we haven’t been out since then.”
“She’s the security isolate for Kaliara Bassaana, isn’t she?”
“She is. She was the one who told me that Bassaana hadn’t been fond of Eastern Ironway for a long, long time.”
“I don’t think you mentioned that.”
“I told the councilor. I probably should have told you.”
“So long as he knows.”
“She also told me, and I told him, that Ulrich kept Bassaana out of the loop on not letting the Transportation Committee hold hearings on the Kraffeist Affair.”
“Hmmmm…”
From Ysella’s reaction, Dekkard had a very good idea he should have shared those incidents with her.
“You did tell the councilor … and those incidents weren’t critical…”
“But I should have told you as well. I’m sorry. I did tell you about Mathide Thanne, and everything else that could bear on security.”
She nodded, then shook her head, even as she smiled. “I suppose I can’t get too upset about your not sharing something from a girlfriend that you did tell the councilor.”
“She’s never been that kind of girlfriend,” Dekkard protested.
“I’m glad to hear that.” Ysella’s smile turned mischievous. “I wasn’t that upset, but you deserved a little baiting.”
Dekkard was the one to shake his head. “Remind me never to keep anything from you.”
“I just did.”
Dekkard laughed, then asked, “Just where is Octavia’s? Ten blocks north or fifteen south?”
“One block south and two blocks east. It’s just far enough off Imperial that casual shoppers don’t come across it, and it’s not someplace that appeals to those who want to emulate the lifestyles of the rich and famous. But it’s better than Greystone.”
“Are you ever going to let that go?”
“Someday … but not yet.”
Almost exactly three blocks later, they arrived at their destination.
Octavia’s Bistro was locat
ed on the street-level floor of an older building constructed of alternating courses of red and black bricks, with tall and narrow windows of grayed or silvered glass and framed by the black bricks, an architectural style that Dekkard had seen occasionally in Machtarn, and always in older buildings. The front door was black, and Dekkard opened it for Ysella. Inside, the walls were light silver-gray, the floors of a similar stone, but the twenty or so tables were of what looked to be wood bleached to a pale gold, as were the chairs. About two-thirds of the tables were taken.
A hostess in gray and black stepped forward. “The two of you?”
“Yes,” Ysella said immediately, “and a corner table if one’s free.”
“We can do that.” The hostess turned and led the way to what looked to be the sole empty corner table.
Dekkard saw that the corner tables were round, while all the others were either oblong or square.
As they sat down, both with their backs to the wall and looking out over the bistro, Dekkard observed, “It’s a little … quirky. The décor, I mean.”
“The food isn’t, and we’re not going to talk government or politics. Food, books, and music. After we order. I’m hungrier than I thought.”
A server appeared almost immediately.
Dekkard ordered the basil-cream shrimp pasta with a seasonal greens and a light chilled Kuhrs. Ysella decided on plain almond-cream pasta, also with the seasonal greens and lager.
After the server left to fetch their lagers, Ysella immediately asked, “Do you read anything besides newssheets and political and economic journals?”
“Sometimes. I just finished an actual novel—The Son of Gold. It’s a story about a purported bastard son of Laureous the Great.”
“How was it?”
“Moderately well-written, but improbable.”
“Why? Laureous was quite the womanizer. He had more than one love child.”
“Oh … that part I could believe. There was far too much overt violence. That’s what I found improbable. Violence in Guldor seems to be covert—except for a recent spate of demonstrations.”
“That’s why the book was popular. People don’t like sneaky hidden violence, especially by the hero. They also don’t like their fiction to be too close to reality. That makes them uncomfortable. That’s why historical romances and heroic sagas are so popular.”
Their lagers arrived, and in due course, so did their entrées.
Ysella made certain that the conversation remained on books, music, and food.
When they left Octavia’s more than a bell later, he realized that he’d enjoyed the lunch, and not just for the food. “We should do that more often.”
“I do occasionally have good ideas.”
“You do.”
“Another good idea is is walking back. There’s not much to carry, and the exercise won’t hurt us.”
“The heat might,” replied Dekkard.
“It’s not that hot.”
“You’re from Sudaen, remember? All my ancestors came from a place two thousand yards higher and a whole lot colder.”
“The walk will help you work off all that flan you consumed for dessert.”
Dekkard had to agree, but he just nodded … and smiled.
33
BY the end of the workday on Duadi, Dekkard had finally caught up on his drafting of the routine replies to both letters and petitions, but the councilor still had not received any response from the Ministry of Health and Education on the Sanitation job descriptions nor from the Treasury Ministry on the matter of art-object tariffs. Dekkard could understand the delay on the part of the Treasury Ministry, but not the length of time in dealing with the job description of a Sanitation shovelman. The Health minister, or the functionaries who served him, certainly had the authority to approve or deny the proposed changes.
Tridi morning began in the same fashion as most workday mornings—until Dekkard turned onto Council Avenue heading toward the Council Office Building. The first thing he noticed was a huge plume of blackish-gray smoke billowing from a square gray building several blocks to the east of the Palace grounds.
“The Ministry of Security’s burning!” Ysella turned in her seat to address Obreduur.
The councilor immediately looked up from his papers and leaned forward. “Sowshit!”
“You think it was the New Meritorists?” asked Dekkard. He doubted that it was an accident, not when Security was involved.
“They’d certainly have reason,” replied Obreduur. “I don’t know that they’d have the expertise and the access. Security headquarters is guarded night and day, and the building’s never empty. But may the Three curse whoever did it.” He shook his head.
“Who else could have done it?” asked Dekkard.
“Plenty of people have reason, and some of them might even have the expertise. Security isn’t exactly beloved by those outside the law. The problem is that even those who have a reason and expertise would have difficulty gaining access.”
“Except someone in Security,” suggested Ysella.
“If someone inside did it,” said Obreduur, “I wouldn’t wager on his life expectancy.” He paused. “All our speculation is just that until we know more.”
Dekkard understood that as well. If Security didn’t want something known, the newssheets would be limited in what they could or would be willing to print—as the news reports on the demonstrations by the New Meritorists had illustrated, especially by the fact that the name of the organization had never appeared in print. So far, anyway.
As he drove closer to the Council buildings, he also saw that additional Council Guards were posted at the office building entrance and at the entrance to the covered parking area. He also noticed that two armored steamers were drawn up on each side of the west entrance to the Council Office Building. “There haven’t been any threats to the Sixty-Six, have there?”
“If there have been, the Premier hasn’t seen fit to notify any of the Craft councilors,” replied Obreduur dryly.
Even with the extra guards and the two armored steamers that bore Security markings, Dekkard had no trouble dropping off the councilor and Ysella, or in parking the Gresynt and making his way to the office. Once he sat down at his desk, he turned to Ysella. “Is there any information about—”
“Right in front of you. I put the information sheet the Premier sent to all the councilors’ offices on your desk.” Ysella offered an amused smile. “Everyone else has read it. Return it to Karola after you’ve finished.”
“Thank you.” Dekkard smiled back at her, then lifted the single sheet, his eyes going to the text beneath the heading.
… last night, after working bells, an undetermined malfunction in the gas lighting system serving the Ministry of Security resulted in the buildup of gas in the lower levels of the building. When the gas reached the working luminaries in the corridors outside the records storage areas, the resulting explosion caused severe structural damage and scattered fires on the lower levels. These multiple fires were fed by gas escaping at high pressure. The resulting flames were too intense to immediately quell, and the Machtarn Fire Brigade turned its efforts to keeping the blaze from spreading to the neighboring buildings … extent of complete damage is unknown at this time …
Dekkard lowered the paper as he finished. So many groups could have set the fire. The New Meritorists came first to mind, but there were certainly others who would like to have destroyed all the records stored in the chambers beneath the ministry building, and some of them could certainly have done it, thinking to put the blame on the New Meritorists. Like Eastern Ironway. Or some corporacion or professional Dekkard had never heard of.
The one question that came to his mind immediately was why the fire brigade hadn’t turned off the main gas lines. He could see why no one could have gotten close to the building cutoff valves, but there shouldn’t have been any reason why main lines couldn’t have been shut off. Or didn’t anyone think of that until it was too late?
Dekkard couldn’t believe that, but decided it would be a while before he’d find out, if ever, and, in the meantime, he had responses and petitions to read and sort … and replies to draft.
34
THE first thing Dekkard did on Furdi morning after entering the staff room was to pick up the morning edition of Gestirn and read the story on the Ministry of Security building fire.
SECURITY MINISTRY FIRE SABOTAGE
The explosion and fire that largely destroyed the headquarters building of the Ministry of Security and killed fifteen people, all building guards and custodial staff, were caused by deliberate sabotage of the building’s gas lighting system, according to Security Minister Lukkyn Wyath.
Had the explosion occurred during working bells, the death toll could have exceeded a thousand … Minister Wyath would neither confirm nor deny those figures …
Sources from the fire brigade claimed that the reason why the fires went uncontrolled for several bells was because the control valves on the main gas pipe serving the buildings in that part of Machtarn could not be closed, either the result of poor maintenance or for some other reason …
Minister Wyath would also not address the extent to which the fire destroyed Ministry records, although it appears that very little stored or filed in the building survived the flames and explosion …
Dekkard just nodded when he read about the “malfunctioning” gas valves. An act of arson extremely well planned. That meant a group with expertise, resources, and contacts within the Security Ministry, although the contacts could have been low-level, since the arsonists only needed access to basement corridors and storage areas.
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