Isolate

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “Brilliant deduction, Steffan.”

  “Offer me a better explanation.”

  “There’s some political advantage involved.”

  “That’s even more brilliant,” he said cheerfully, before finishing off his second croissant.

  Ysella offered him a mock glare in return.

  A sixth later, the two returned briefly to their rooms, where Dekkard tucked the morning edition of the Gaarlak Times into his suitcase, and then waited for a bit before leaving his room.

  Ysella joined him immediately outside the suite entrance.

  Obreduur left the suite alone, wearing an off-white linen summer suit without a cravat.

  “Ritten Obreduur?” asked Dekkard.

  “She’ll be spending time with Gustoff and Nellara. They’ll do some shopping. There are several nice emporiums nearby, as well as a bookstore. More books might help, since they’re not invited to the luncheon or tonight’s guild leadership dinner. Shall we go?”

  The touring Kharlan was waiting outside, with Jens Seigryn and the driver. Obreduur took the rear seat, and Ysella and Dekkard the middle one.

  Once the Kharlan pulled away from the Ritter’s Inn, Obreduur said, “I saw the newssheet story. It portrayed you two as quite the heroes. That wasn’t widely recognized in Machtarn for reasons we all know. That publicity here in Gaarlak can’t hurt. Did you find out anything else?”

  Dekkard nodded to Ysella, and when she finished, he added his bits, then waited.

  “Avraal … that’s very interesting about the legalist’s views. It might help a little if the Imperador calls elections sometime in the next year.” The councilor turned to Dekkard. “When we get back to Machtarn, you and Ivann need to track down that so-called supplemental. If it’s hidden that way, especially if it has favorable terms for Guldoran Ironway and not for Eastern or Southwestern, that might prove very valuable.”

  Once past the square and the Grand Trinitarian Chapel, the driver continued eastward until he reached River Avenue, where he turned left. The avenue took them past three successive mills, all three of which had signboards identifying them as Gaarlak Mills. Ahead, Dekkard saw a closed and dilapidated structure on the far side of the stone-channeled river.

  Less than a mille later, the driver pulled into a brick-paved parking area in front of a well-kept single-story red brick building some twenty-five yards long and perhaps ten wide.

  “Why don’t you both come with me?”

  The words weren’t really a question, and he and Ysella immediately got out of the big open Kharlan.

  Obreduur gestured toward the building. “Years ago, I spent time with Hrald when I came through Gaarlak. He was the local woodworkers’ steward. There weren’t enough woodworkers here for a guild, so they were part of the Woodcrafters Guild in Oersynt. He’s still with the guild, but he didn’t like the politics and stepped down. He follows what goes on very closely.”

  Ysella and Dekkard followed Obreduur to the small door to the left of the loading dock. A small sign was affixed on the outside brick wall.

  GAARLAK CABINETRY:

  HRALD IGLIS, OWNER

  Obreduur opened the door and looked to Ysella.

  “Four people. One in the room behind the foyer.”

  “That would be Hrald. We’ll see if I’m still welcome.” Obreduur stepped into the small front room, bisected by a wooden counter of what looked to be black walnut, and well-constructed with clean lines. The left end stopped a yard short of the wall. The chair-rail design was similar to old Imperial, but less ornate, and topped black-walnut wainscoting. The crown moldings were in the same style.

  Dekkard nodded.

  “What do you think?” asked Obreduur.

  “It’s very good.”

  “Hrald!” called the councilor. “Are you hiding somewhere?”

  Almost a minute passed before a stocky, but somehow angular, man with short-cut and thinning gray hair stepped into the front room. “Can’t mistake your voice anywhere, Axel. I saw the newssheet story this morning. Wondered if you’d be by.”

  “I’ve always stopped by when I’ve been in Gaarlak. You weren’t always here, but I stopped. Why wouldn’t I now?”

  “You never know,” said Iglis.

  Dekkard thought he caught a glimpse of a twinkle in the older man’s eye.

  “By the way”—Obreduur motioned in Avraal’s direction—“Avraal Ysella and Steffan Dekkard. My aides. Steffan comes from an artisan family, and he was admiring your work.”

  Sensing he needed to say something, Dekkard added, “I like the way you simplified the old Imperial design of the chair rail. You kept the feel of the Imperial without the … ornate…”

  “Frippery,” finished Iglis. “Where’d you learn that?”

  “My father’s a decorative-plaster artisan. He made me learn all the styles. Unfortunately, even he conceded that I didn’t have the touch, and that getting a formal education was the best I could hope for.”

  “Something to be said for that,” replied the cabinetmaker with a small smile.

  “You’d know,” said Obreduur. “You make the best cabinets and paneling in this part of the country, possibly in all Guldor. I’m sorry I never could buy any. I thought I’d have the chance. You know that the Advisory Committee was going to send me here—except … that business with Lewes.”

  Iglis nodded slowly. “It was bound to happen with Marjoy. She never cared about his being councilor. She sure didn’t take to what he did. Worked out for you, though.”

  “It wasn’t anything I’d considered. You know that. I’d even looked at that house on Parmeter Court. Some things don’t go the way we plan … or even the way the Advisory Committee plans.” Obreduur shook his head. “I heard that Haasan Decaro said he’ll run in the next elections … whenever they’re called.”

  “I heard. That…” Iglis glanced to Ysella.

  Ysella grinned. “Whatever you’d say, I’ve heard worse.”

  “No need to say it then.” Iglis turned his eyes back on Obreduur. “What does the Advisory Committee think?”

  “They don’t know yet.”

  “What does the Gaarlak Craft Party think?”

  “No one’s saying. Is there a better candidate? Besides Johan Lamarr? Jens says Lamarr’s inclined not to run, but won’t say other until elections are called.” Obreduur looked directly at Iglis.

  “I haven’t changed my mind. Besides, it’s still a Landor district.”

  “Raathan can’t run again, and he hasn’t kept in touch. A strong local Crafter…”

  “Axel … no.” After a brief hesitation, Iglis asked, “What’s Raathan saying?”

  “I have no idea. He’s asked us to his estate for midday refreshments. He may want to know who the Craft Party candidate could be.”

  “Will you tell him?”

  “What do you think?”

  Iglis offered a sarcastic laugh. “Don’t tell him anything. He never tells anyone anything. So why give him what he won’t give.” He looked at Dekkard. “Where are you from?”

  “Oersynt.”

  “Too bad. Good-looking young fellow like you with experience in Machtarn and an artisan background might do well here.”

  Obreduur laughed good-naturedly. “I’ve told Steffan there’s a future, but he needs a bit more experience. And Oersynt and Malek are both in my district. I’m not quite ready to step down.” He looked back at the cabinetmaker.

  Iglis shook his head. “I told you. I can’t even think of that, Axel.”

  “I thought that would be what you’d say, but I had to ask. How’s Kassy?”

  “Mean as ever, but I wouldn’t have it any other way…”

  Dekkard listened as the conversation turned to personal generalities.

  Perhaps a sixth later, Obreduur said, “Now I have to do some official inspecting. The Upper Locks. I’m on the Waterways Committee.”

  “Aren’t you the fortunate one.” Iglis paused, then said, “I’m sorry to disappoint you
… but that’s one thing Kassy just might kill me for doing. She hated it when I was just steward.”

  “I understand. Believe me, I do. I hope it won’t be too long before I’m back this way, but it doesn’t happen often.”

  “You’re welcome, whenever it is.”

  Moments later, the three were walking back to the Kharlan.

  As they took the seats, Jens Seigryn looked to Obreduur.

  The councilor shook his head.

  “Too bad, but it was worth a try.”

  Dekkard had the feeling that Seigryn wasn’t that upset.

  “Might as well get on to the Upper Locks then,” said Obreduur.

  The driver eased the touring steamer back onto the avenue, still heading northeast, paralleling the Lakaan River.

  A third of a bell later, they reached the Upper Locks, and the driver eased the Kharlan parallel to the lower lock.

  “They’re twin locks, one for southbound boats, one for northbound,” said Obreduur. “There’s another set of locks about a third of a mille farther north.”

  Dekkard studied the nearer lock, roughly fifty yards long, and holding two canal boats, tied together, end-to-end. He also saw a tug hauling two canal boats linked together. Another set of linked boats was about forty yards downstream, connected to the first set of boats by a hawser.

  Dekkard didn’t know much about the locks, except what he’d read. The Upper Gaarlak Locks had been far more important during the earlier years, when the most economical way of moving freight had been by river and canal, because they had added another hundred milles to the navigable length of the Lakaan River, and they were still used because the freight costs were much lower than those charged by Guldoran Ironway.

  Dekkard and Ysella followed Obreduur as he walked to the nearer lock, where he stopped and surveyed the lock gates.

  “The seals are still tight and there’s no sign of water coming under the gates,” said Obreduur.

  All in all, the councilor spent less than a bell inspecting all four locks as they operated before walking back to the Kharlan.

  Once they were headed back toward Gaarlak, Dekkard asked, “Will you need a written report on the locks?”

  Obreduur shook his head. “I’ll send a note to the Minister of Waterways saying that I observed the locks and that they appeared to be functioning, although the bottom seal on the upper eastern lock may need repair soon. I’ll also send a copy to the committee chairman.”

  “So that you’re on record as undertaking duties related to your duties in the Council?”

  “That … and also letting the Waterways minister know that I actually look at the waterways, and not just in my district.” Obreduur leaned back in his seat, giving the impression that he did not wish to be disturbed.

  Dekkard turned to Ysella, saying in a low voice, “Are you sure what I’m wearing is appropriate for midday refreshments at a Landor’s estate?”

  “It’s not only appropriate, but likely what Raathan will be wearing.”

  Slightly before midday the touring steamer returned to the Ritter’s Inn.

  “The limousine will be here in a few minutes,” Seigryn said. “You should leave the inn before a third past the bell. I’ll be back after fifth bell to give you anything else I’ve learned about those who will be at the dinner tonight.”

  “I appreciate that, Jens. I did my best with Hrald. He can’t be forced to do anything.”

  Seigryn laughed. “Everyone knows that. Still, your presence here will help, and we all appreciate your coming to Gaarlak.”

  “Except for Haasan.”

  “That was to be expected. I’ll see you this evening.”

  After Seigryn and the touring Kharlan left, Obreduur turned to Ysella and Dekkard. “I need to wash up a bit. We can talk on the way up … if you have any questions.”

  Since Dekkard had no questions, he just kept pace with the councilor.

  As they started up the wide stairs to the second level, Obreduur turned to Dekkard. “What do you think of Gaarlak?”

  “It seems pleasant enough. It does seem like it’s … possibly excessively … traditional.”

  Obreduur chuckled. “That’s one way of putting it, but you should have been here twenty years ago. The guilds were dispirited, and several of the mills were ready to close.”

  “What did you do to change that?”

  “You give me far too much credit, Steffan. I just listened to good suggestions, added a very few of my own, and the leadership of the guilds went to the mills with them. It eventually worked out. You need to listen to almost everyone, and then choose the best suggestions.”

  “Often everyone has a different idea of what’s best. How did you determine that?”

  “Corporacions and their managers think about immediate profits, and workers think about immediate pay. You have to look further. Getting paid more today is a fool’s game, if you don’t have a job next year. If higher profits today mean that you don’t improve and maintain your mill, you’ll have unhappy workers because more will get hurt, and your operating costs will increase each year. You can’t tell anyone that. You have to ask gentle but firm questions. Sometimes, you can’t save people from themselves. I made that case to Charls Hareem back then. He rejected it. He was the owner of the Phanx mill.”

  “The one that closed?”

  “It took eight years, but in the end, he lost everything. He could have sold it to Gaarlak Mills and come out ahead. Or he could have improved the mill. He did neither.” Obreduur stopped in front of the door to his suite. “I’ll see you both shortly.”

  Dekkard returned to his room, brushed off his trousers and boots, and washed up, wondering about the references to Lewes and Marjoy. When he left his room, a bit early, he found Ysella already out in the corridor. “I have a question—”

  “About Lewes? He was Obreduur’s predecessor as councilor. A year after he was elected, his wife shot him and then herself. The party picked Obreduur as his successor. He won the seat on his own in the next election.”

  “So Obreduur has only stood for election once.”

  Ysella nodded.

  Meaning that he won’t have to stand down for at least another two elections.

  Dekkard was still pondering that when the suite door opened. Obreduur had not changed, and Ingrella wore an ensemble very close to that of Ysella, except her summer suit was pale blue with a slightly darker blue blouse.

  The black Kharlan limousine was waiting outside. The driver asked, “The estate of Councilor Raathan?”

  “That’s correct,” replied Dekkard.

  The driver turned west coming out of the inn’s drive and continued west for several blocks before turning northwest on a boulevard without a name, at least one that Dekkard could discern. Before too long they reached the edge of Gaarlak, and the avenue turned into a narrower bitumen road that made a wide sweeping turn around a marsh before turning north.

  Another mille passed before the driver slowed the Kharlan and then turned left between two red brick posts that might once have held gates onto a bitumened lane, flanked by a chest-high and well-trimmed boxwood hedge. A half mille from the road, the lane began to rise gently through the blue-flowered fields to a low ridge on which sat a long two-story mansion surrounded by gardens set amid a well-groomed lawn.

  “Positively modest … for a holder,” said Ingrella dryly. “That suggests his lands are extensive.”

  Recalling that the book on councilors he’d been studying had only said that Raathan’s total assets were unknown, Dekkard asked the driver, “Do you know how extensive Councilor Raathan’s lands might be?”

  “I’ve heard that he’s one of the wealthiest in these parts, sir. That’s all I know.”

  Extensive enough that no one can really determine how well-off he is. “Thank you.”

  The drive did not lead to the center of the mansion, but to a covered portico at the south end, where the driver eased the Kharlan to a stop.

  Waiting by the door w
as a man wearing a silver-trimmed blue barong over white linen trousers. He stepped forward and opened the rear door of the limousine. “We’ve haven’t met, Ritter Obreduur, Ritten. I’m Georg Raathan. Father asked me to meet you and show you to the east veranda. He and Mother are fussing over some last-minute details.”

  “Thank you,” replied Obreduur. “My aides here are Avraal Ysella and Steffan Dekkard.”

  Georg, who looked to be about ten years older than Dekkard, inclined his head. “I’m pleased to meet you both.” After the briefest hesitation, he asked Ysella, “Your family wouldn’t be from Sudaen, would it?”

  “It would,” replied Ysella lightly, “but don’t hold me against them.”

  Georg smiled in return. “Just so long as you don’t hold me against my parents.”

  “Then we’re agreed,” replied Ysella.

  Georg opened the single door, heavy golden oak, and gestured for everyone to enter. Then he led them down the beige-tiled hallway, past a receiving parlor on the left, opposite an office of some sort. Beyond that were a library on the left and a closed door on the right. The next door on the right opened into a music room, containing a harpsichord, rather than the newer pianoforte.

  When Georg reached the center hallway he turned to the right, leading them past a salon on the south side and a formal dining room on the north, and out through an open door onto the east veranda. Emilio Raathan and his wife turned immediately, as did the younger red-headed woman to whom they had been talking.

  “Welcome to Plainfields,” said Raathan. “My great-grandfather named it that. He said the lands were plain fields, and nothing more, and he didn’t want anyone in the family to put on airs. Just take a seat. Georg and Katryna will take care of the beverages.”

  “What can I get you?” asked Georg cheerfully.

  “A cool pale lager,” replied Obreduur.

  “A full red wine, or as close to it as possible,” said Ingrella.

  In the end, drinks in hand, the eight sat in cream-painted wicker chairs upholstered in dusky rose around a low table with a shimmering black lacquer top.

  “It’s very kind of you to ask us,” offered Obreduur.

  “And us,” added Dekkard.