The steamers on the streets were generally older and in poorer condition than those in Machtarn, even than those in the Machtarn harbor district or in the poorer river districts. And, outside of Gaarlak proper, he also saw wagons still pulled by horses on dirt side roads.
The stops between sights began at a modest house west of the North Quarter, converted to offices holding several legalists. There, while Nellara and Gustoff waited with the driver, Dekkard and Ysella were introduced to a graying woman, one Namoor Desharra, who looked barely younger than Obreduur.
“Namoor is the Craft Party legalist for Gaarlak,” explained Seigryn. “She helps Craft Party members with legal problems that the guild legalists either can’t or won’t do.”
Dekkard glanced to Ritten Obreduur.
She smiled and said, “Yes, Steffan, Namoor and I go back a long time, and she’s one of the reasons why I was in Gaarlak earlier this year.”
“She’s been of great assistance,” added the graying Desharra. “Her legal reputation doesn’t hurt, either.”
Dekkard winced inside. He’d obviously missed something, except … How would you know? Obreduur never talks about her professional life. Because he regarded it as a conflict … or it just never came up? And if Obreduur never mentioned it … how could Dekkard comment or ask leading questions?
Deciding not to be that deferential, Dekkard asked, “In what legalist issues has Ritten Obreduur’s expertise proved most valuable?”
With an amused smile, Desharra replied, “In all of them, but, most recently, in the appeal against Gaarlak Mills’ practice of classifying women supervisors as ‘work coordinators’ and men with the same job as assistant foremen or foremen. That allowed mills to pay women less. Now, regardless of gender, men or women are classified as line supervisors or section supervisors, and paid equally as such. The High Justiciary just affirmed that in Summerfirst.”
And Gretna Haarl wasn’t satisfied with what Ingrella said … and has done? “That sounds like you established a precedent with Gaarlak Mills.”
“It’s going to take a while,” replied Ingrella. “We’ll have to file a petition for compliance corporacion by corporacion for a time. At some point, hopefully, the Council will pass a bill mandating it just to save corporacions the marks required to fight the petitions. If not, we’ll plod along. It’s a practice that’s still widespread. Even after seventy years, some people don’t like to recognize that some things have changed.”
Dekkard noticed Ysella’s almost imperceptible nod.
“I shouldn’t keep you,” said Desharra. “You have others to meet, but it’s always good to see Ingrella, and I enjoyed meeting you young people. Ingrella’s told me so much about you.”
Before anyone else could speak, Dekkard did. “Thank you for seeing us. I can’t tell you how much I appreciated your explanation of the Gaarlak Mills situation.”
“I thought you might,” returned Desharra. “Ingrella tends to be far too modest.”
“Modesty tends to work better,” replied Ingrella. “We’re interested in improving conditions for women, not in gaining notoriety or making marks.”
Work better? Because male Commercers don’t see legal action coming until it hits them?
Ysella just said, “Thank you,” but did so warmly.
Then Seigryn escorted them back out to the Kharlan, and the tour continued.
The second stop was at a small and neat, but clearly older, red brick house in the area between the grander houses and the rows of tiny, cot-like dwellings.
This time Obreduur spoke as the Kharlan came to a halt. “Julian Baurett is a stipended patroller who was the head of the local Patrollers Benevolent Society. He’s also a friend.”
Dekkard nodded, because the local Benevolent Societies were the closest thing to a guild for patrollers, given the specific prohibition on a guild for Imperial Security patrollers or agents.
“I’ll stay with the steamer, and tell your children some tall tales about you,” said Seigryn. “It’s likely to be a little cramped in there anyway.”
“We won’t be too long,” returned Obreduur, leading the way to the narrow front porch, where he rapped on the door, then called out, “Do you still brew that fermented swill you call sparkling wine?”
“Come on in, you worthless politician,” came the reply from within.
Obreduur opened the door and motioned the others to enter the small front sitting room, then followed and closed the door.
The white-haired man who rose from the armchair in the front parlor was straight and trim, although Dekkard could see that he once had been an even more imposing figure. “Axel, it’s good of you to come see an old has-been.”
“Julian … you’re anything but a has-been.” Obreduur half turned so that he could take in Ysella and Dekkard as well as the former patroller. “I can’t tell you how helpful Julian was when I happened to be saddled with coordinating guild actions in Oersynt, Malek, and here.”
“You give me too much credit, Axel. Way too much. Sit down, if you would.” Baurett gestured to the chairs and to the settee.
After noticing the wince as the older man lowered himself back into his chair, Dekkard took one of the straight-backed wooden chairs, leaving the worn cream and maroon settee and the remaining armchair for others.
“Not worth a Three’s curse these days,” grumbled Baurett. “Almighty knows I haven’t been worth that for years.”
“You were saying that when you were picking up drunken millmen one-handed,” replied Obreduur.
“Back then I was just talking. Now it’s true.” Baurett paused. “What can I tell you? Thoughtful as you’ve always been, Axel, you’re not here just to cheer me up.”
“Besides hearing what you know, I wanted you to meet Ingrella, because you never did, and my two aides, Avraal Ysella and Steffan Dekkard.”
Baurett looked at Ingrella and smiled. “I can see why he didn’t want me looking at you. Back then, he might not have been able to keep you.”
Ingrella smiled back. “He might not have been able to, but I would have been.”
Baurett laughed, lightly slapped his knee, then looked at Ysella. “Empath … and a lot tougher than you look.” He turned to Dekkard. “You look like a pretty boy. You’re anything but. Good thing you work for Axel.” After a moment, he cleared his throat, once, and then again. “You’ve got good instincts, Axel. Gaarlak could go up like linseed in a cotton bale.”
“Go on,” said Obreduur.
“Decaro’s pushing the mill owners too hard. Their margins aren’t what they used to be. So they’re squeezing the farmworkers to keep production costs down. Desenns has managed to keep things even, but that firewitch Haarl is turning too many of the guild women against Maatsuyt, and he’s not seeing it. Lamarr’s kept the Crafters Guild out of it … so far.”
Dekkard could see why Obreduur had wanted to see Baurett, even as he wondered how a stipended former patroller knew all that, but he wasn’t about to ask. Not immediately, anyway.
“And your boys are having to break up more fights?” asked Obreduur.
“Some of them are Decaro’s boys now. They like the way he talks tough about the mill owners. And you’re right. There are always fights now, usually on Quindi night. Thing is, there’s more household violence, especially among the foremen, except they’re called supervisors now. Name doesn’t change anything.”
“Why?” asked Obreduur patiently.
“That new gadget … cotton engine, they call it. Gets the seeds out of the cotton faster. Cotton from Surpunta and the southwest is getting a lot cheaper. Margins on linen are down. The old Phanx mill closed down last year…”
For all of Obreduur’s talk about it being a short visit, the four listened to Baurett for nearly a bell. When they finally stood to leave, Baurett said, “Hope that helps.” He smiled. “It’s good to feel useful again—even if you are a worthless politician, Axel.”
“It’s good to see you again, Julian, even if you can’
t make wine worth swill.”
As Obreduur headed to the door, Baurett gestured. “Keep him safe, pretty boy.”
“That’s why I’m here.” Dekkard didn’t know what else to say.
“And don’t let him believe Decaro. Now … get out there and keep him safe.”
Dekkard nodded, then moved toward the door. As the last one out, he also closed it quietly but firmly.
When Dekkard neared the Kharlan, Obreduur asked quietly, “What did he say to you?”
“To keep you safe and not to let you believe Decaro.”
“They’ve never seen eye-to-eye,” replied Obreduur, “but Julian’s right about that.”
After driving past the Grand Trinitarian Chapel, Seigryn had the Kharlan stop at a cobbler’s shop, emphasized by the boot affixed to the sign over the door that said COBBLER.
Obreduur looked to Ysella and said, “Who’s inside?”
“Just one person.”
“Then we’ll make this quick. Steffan, you come with me.”
Ysella glanced to Dekkard, and he understood. He immediately left the steamer and led the way into the shop, not that he could go very far because there was a counter set little more than a yard back from the door.
“Be with you in a moment!” The call came from the rear of the shop where a woman was doing something to a boot on a last.
More than a minute passed before the cobbler hurried up to the counter. She looked first at Dekkard, clearly puzzled, then at Obreduur. After a moment, her eyes widened.
“I never did pick up my work boots, Myshella,” said Obreduur quietly. “You know why.”
Color seemed to drain from the cobbler’s face.
Dekkard’s hand went to his truncheon.
Obreduur smiled warmly. “You didn’t have much choice.” Then he laid a twenty-mark note on the counter. “I don’t need the boots now, but I’ll still pay for them.”
“You don’t have to…” The woman’s words were low.
“No. I have to. I don’t like not paying debts … regardless.” Without taking his eyes off the cobbler, Obreduur added, “This is one of my aides, Steffan Dekkard. Steffan, this is Myshella Degriff, the best bootmaker in Gaarlak.”
“I’m pleased to meet you,” Dekkard replied. “If the councilor says you’re good, you’re very good.”
Degriff swallowed. “Thank you.”
“By the way, Myshella,” said Obreduur casually, “it was Haasan, wasn’t it?”
The bootmaker swallowed again.
Haasan? Haasan Decaro? Dekkard managed not to react.
“I thought so. He told me it was Reinguld.” Obreduur shook his head. “Poor Olof was never that crafty.” Then he stepped back.
“I’ll follow you, sir.” Dekkard was ready to move at the slightest provocation.
The cobbler’s eyes went to Dekkard as Obreduur said, “Thank you, Steffan,” and stepped from the shop.
Noticing that the twenty-mark note was still on the counter, Dekkard said, “It might be best if you took that and went back to that boot you were working on.” After a pause, he added, quietly, almost gently, “Just do it.”
The woman took the note and backed away from the counter, still looking at Dekkard as she retreated.
Keeping an eye on her, Dekkard said cheerfully, “Good day!” then left the shop, hurrying to catch up with Obreduur.
Obreduur stood beside the Kharlan, watching Dekkard. “What did you say to her?”
“I just told her to take her payment and suggested she get back to work.” Dekkard said quietly, “Haasan? Haasan Decaro? The guildmeister?” He wondered at the oddity that Haasan Design and Haasan Decaro, while certainly not connected, both seemed to have a shady side.
Obreduur just nodded, then said, “We’d better get on with the tour.” He returned to his seat in the third row, beside Ingrella, and Dekkard took his seat beside Ysella.
“You’ll tell me later,” she murmured, her words clearly not a question.
“I will.” Dekkard could definitely tell her what had happened, but he wondered if she could shed any more light on the matter and why Obreduur had wanted him to be the one guarding him, rather than Ysella—unless he knew that Myshella was an isolate. “Is the cobbler an isolate?” he asked as the Kharlan pulled away from the shop.
Ysella nodded.
That answered one of his questions.
From then on, the “sightseeing” was simply riding around Gaarlak, occasionally stopping so that Obreduur could pass a few words with an old acquaintance, or in some cases, fail to pass those words when the former acquaintance was elsewhere. Dekkard tried to remember the names and wished he’d brought a notepad and a pencil.
When they returned to the Ritter’s Inn, just before the fifth bell of the afternoon, Seigryn said, “Another Kharlan will be here at six to take you to the residence of Regional Justicer Chaelynt for the reception and dinner.”
The itinerary Dekkard had received had only mentioned “reception and dinner,” and he had wondered if the details had been late to be arranged or if Obreduur had kept them to himself. After the encounter with the cobbler, Dekkard definitely suspected the latter, but he said little until he and Ysella had escorted the Obreduur family into their suite.
“We need to talk,” he said. “My room or yours?”
“Yours.”
The two walked to Dekkard’s room, and he unlocked the door to the modest chamber with the one double bed, the small washroom with toilet and shower, a wardrobe, a writing table, and a single chair.
“Do you want the chair or the bed?”
“Neither, but I’ll sit on the bed.”
Dekkard moved the chair and sat so that he was facing her. “Why didn’t anyone tell me about how accomplished Ingrella Obreduur is?”
“You never asked,” replied Ysella. “You knew she was a legalist. You could have asked what kind … or the kind of cases she handled.”
“Being that blunt … it’s hard for me. I need a fact or two.”
“Sometimes…” Ysella shook her head. “What happened in the cobbler’s shop?”
Dekkard related the sequence of events, including Obreduur’s response to the question about Haasan Decaro.
“That had to be back when Obreduur was the regional coordinator for the guilds,” said Ysella. “I wonder why Decaro was after him … and why Obreduur said nothing.”
“It’s hard to prove an attempted murder when the attempt was never made and where there’s no evidence,” replied Dekkard. “Obreduur likely let on that he believed Decaro’s lie.” He paused. “There’s one other thing I found out. Jens Seigryn said that Decaro was pushing to be the next Craft candidate for councilor from Gaarlak. Do you know anything more?”
She shook her head.
“Baurett told me not to let Obreduur believe Decaro.”
“You didn’t mention that.”
“I was going to. He said that as I was leaving. I was the last one, remember?”
“So why would Baurett think Obreduur would believe Decaro?”
“The message wasn’t for the councilor,” suggested Dekkard. “It was for us, or for me, because you can sense duplicity.” After a moment, he added, “If the councilor knew that, years ago, Decaro set him up for something, why would he ask for Decaro to be included in the meeting … unless he didn’t want to let Decaro know that he knew. But then why would Obreduur do what he did with the cobbler?”
“Maybe it was a quiet and untraceable way to send a message to Decaro not to run.”
“No one could tell whether she’s telling the truth with that message because she’s an isolate.”
“And so are you, and Decaro knows that.”
Dekkard shook his head. “All that had to be planned out well in advance.”
“Doesn’t he always plan in advance?” Ysella stood. “Speaking of planning in advance, we need to freshen up for the reception and dinner.”
“All I have is gray suits.”
“They’ll be
fine. Just wear a solid black or dark gray cravat. One of the ones I gave you.”
Dekkard laughed softly. “Obreduur isn’t the only one who plans well in advance.”
“Don’t tell me you haven’t planned,” she replied with a smile. “Now I need to go change. Women shouldn’t wear suits to receptions, unless they’re supposed to be obvious as security.”
Dekkard walked to the door and opened it, then walked with her to her door, waiting until she was safely inside before returning to his own room. Once there, he took off his jacket and carefully brushed it, as well as his trousers, before washing up and changing his cravat to the dark gray silk one that Ysella had given him. He also switched truncheons, to the shorter one that fit under his jacket, and removed the staff pin from his jacket.
Just before it was time to escort the Obreduurs, Dekkard knocked on Ysella’s door. “Are you about ready?”
“Just a moment.”
It was more than a moment, but only several minutes before Ysella appeared, in a stylish dress of a shade darker than imperial blue but lighter than security blue, accentuated by a brilliant gray short jacket and a filmy gray headscarf.
For a long moment, Dekkard just looked.
Ysella finally said, “That was the loveliest nonverbal comment I’ve ever had.”
“I’m sorry. You just look stunning.”
Neither said much more as they waited and then escorted the older couple down to the main level of the Ritter’s Inn.
The black Kharlan limousine that picked up Obreduur and his wife, and Dekkard and Ysella, was polished and spotless, but definitely several years old. Once the Kharlan was moving, Dekkard turned and asked, “What do we need to know about Justicer Chaelynt and those he’s invited?”
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