“I wouldn’t not have asked you two. In the first place, it made Axel’s acceptance more likely, and in the second, I thought Georg and Katryna would appreciate having company closer to their own age. It’s not as though they get to see that many, since they’re responsible for all the lands most of the time, and since holdings around Gaarlak are spread out.”
The last words could have meant anything, but Dekkard suspected Raathan didn’t want to be outnumbered as well as wanted to introduce Georg to Obreduur … and possibly he also meant there weren’t many Landor holdings anywhere nearby.
“Nonetheless,” replied Obreduur, “it’s very kind of you, and we appreciate it.”
“I must say,” added Patriana, looking to Ysella, “Emilio never mentioned that you two were the ones who stopped that New Meritorist empath. How did you manage that?”
Raathan looked sideways at his wife.
“Emilio, don’t give me that look. You all may have to pretend that they don’t exist when you’re at the Council, but I don’t have to in my own house.” Patriana returned her eyes to Ysella.
Dekkard managed to smother a smile.
Ysella didn’t bother, then recounted what had happened.
“Does anyone know why an empath would work with people like that?” asked Katryna.
“She had a grudge against Councilor Aashtaan,” replied Obreduur smoothly, but quickly, “and the New Meritorists were quick to exploit it.”
Raathan raised his eyebrows. “Oh? You’re hiding something, Axel.”
“It’s not exactly a secret that Aashtaan had liaisons with young women not his wife,” replied Obreduur. “It’s also been rumored that at least one of them vanished.”
“You think that the empie was related?” asked Katryna.
Obreduur glanced to Ysella.
“The empath who attacked Councilor Aashtaan was focused on him,” Ysella replied. “She dressed as a Council messenger, and she could have been in the Council Hall for days.”
“But … Ulrich suggested…” said Raathan.
“She couldn’t have gotten as far as she did without help,” Obreduur pointed out. “That’s the real danger with the New Meritorists. If Ulrich and the Commercers keep abusing their power and position, and the Council doesn’t rein in those abuses, more people with grudges and grievances will turn to the New Meritorists.”
“I’ve said that all along,” murmured Patriana.
“Yes, you have, my dear,” said Raathan, “but until there are elections…”
“I do hope they come soon,” added Patriana. “Then you won’t have to deal with such people like Ulrich. He’s so … commercial.”
“Councilor Obreduur,” asked Georg, “do you think that the Imperador will call for elections any time soon?”
Obreduur laughed wryly. “I can’t claim to know what’s on the Imperador’s mind, but unless something unforeseen occurs, I would doubt it.”
“How likely is something like that to happen?” pressed Georg.
“I’m not about to try to foresee the unforeseen,” returned Obreduur. “Who could have foreseen the Kraffeist Affair?”
“Or Eastern Ironway being so incredibly greedy … or stupid,” added Raathan, turning to Dekkard and asking, “What do you think, Steffan?”
“I’d agree with Councilor Obreduur about the difficulty of foreseeing the unforeseen. I also think that sometimes we don’t see things coming because they’ve never happened before and because we never thought about it. I certainly never thought about demonstrators with firearms shooting at Council Guards, or burning down Security headquarters.”
“We can’t have that sort of chaos and disorder. Not if Guldor is going to remain prosperous,” asserted Georg. “Security has to do more to keep people in line.”
Dekkard decided to be more vocal than he might have been in such a gathering. “Keeping people in line will just make matters worse if other things don’t change. The Commerce Party leadership doesn’t seem to realize that happy people don’t participate in demonstrations, yet there are more demonstrations.”
“Why are people so unhappy?” asked Katryna. “We’re not at war. There haven’t been any famines. Life is better than ever.”
Raathan laughed. “You might be better at explaining that than I am, Axel.”
“It might be better if I did,” said Ingrella. “I see the people who are unhappy a bit more than he does now.” She turned to Katryna. “For us, life is better. The manufactories produce better cloth at lower prices, and that means clothing is more varied and less expensive. The same is true for other goods. We don’t always see that what makes life more comfortable for us makes it less so for others. Steam tractors and threshers mean that holders need fewer farmworkers than years ago or that they can manage more cropland with fewer workers. What happens to those workers? They go to the cities. If they’re fortunate, they work in the mills. If not, they struggle as messengers or day laborers or pieceworkers. Or they go hungry. For poor but attractive women, there are the brothels. None of this is unknown. What is new is that there are more poor and more without work than ever. At the same time, industry and steam power have created more very wealthy people than ever, and those without see this.”
“Then they should work harder,” declared Katryna.
“You can’t work harder if there isn’t a job for you … or if you haven’t been able to learn the skills for the available jobs,” pointed out Obreduur. “We are, however, not going to resolve these problems this afternoon, although the Council will face them, I fear, for years to come.” He lifted his glass of lager. “May we all enjoy the afternoon.”
“To the afternoon,” added Dekkard and Ysella.
Raathan offered an amused smile as he lifted his wineglass and sipped the hearty red, then said, “How did you ever end up making Malek your home, Axel?”
Obreduur smiled in return. “I didn’t, properly speaking. My work with the guilds brought me there, and I ended up having heated words with a young but distinguished legalist over the legal interpretation of work rules. We compromised on the legalities, but I surrendered totally and agreed to her terms otherwise before she would assent to my proposal of marriage. So our family in Malek is her family. It couldn’t be otherwise, because my mother died young, and my father was killed in a dock accident in Machtarn when I was in my early twenties.”
“Romantic, but sad,” said Patriana.
With that exchange, Dekkard knew the rest of the afternoon would be filled with pleasantries and, hopefully, with excellent light fare.
64
AS Dekkard had anticipated, the remainder of the afternoon at Plainfields was pleasant and uneventful. He definitely enjoyed the fare—especially the cool, thick, and spicy tomato soup with the fresh garlic croutons and the sugared lime shortbread squares that followed.
Once they were in the limousine headed back into Gaarlak proper, Ingrella turned to her husband. “Did that go as you’d hoped?”
“We’ll have to see. I worry a bit about Katryna.”
“Don’t,” replied Ingrella. “I saw Patriana’s reaction to her statement that the poor should work harder.”
“Is it just my impression,” asked Dekkard, “that Councilor Raathan is a bit disillusioned about being a councilor? His wife certainly appears that way.”
“Any councilor who isn’t at least slightly disillusioned is either a fool or an idiot,” replied Obreduur. “Raathan is neither.”
“Or a megalomaniac,” added Ingrella sardonically, “which Ulrich is.”
“There is that possibility,” Obreduur agreed cheerfully.
Just before the limousine pulled into the Ritter’s Inn, Obreduur said, “Both of you, dress grays, and please wear your Council staff pins tonight.” Then he addressed Dekkard. “And your Council truncheon.” After a pause, he said, “Tonight, I’m going to say just a few words. Then I’m going to ask you to say a few more about why Gaarlak needs a Craft councilor.”
“Me?” blurted Dekkard.
After Dekkard and Ysella escorted the Obreduurs to their suite, Ysella turned to Dekkard. “He’s worried. That may be why he wants you to speak. That way he can study everyone.”
“But … me? Did he say anything to you about this?”
She shook her head. “Just keep it short and heartfelt.”
Dekkard returned to his room, washed up, and changed into a gray suit, deciding on the black cravat that Ysella had given him, and carefully adjusting his Council staff pin. Then he paced around his room trying out possible variations on what he’d written. Finally, at a third before sixth bell he was out in the corridor.
A few minutes later, Ysella joined him, wearing a light summer suit of a gray identical to his.
“Just let me know if you sense anything antagonistic and who might be feeling that way … if you can.”
“If I can. As you know, it’s difficult when there are a lot of people close together.”
Dekkard smiled at the mild rebuke in the words “as you know,” then asked, “Did you get a chance to be close to Haasan Decaro the other morning?”
“He avoided me.”
“He avoided us both. No one else did, although I never talked to Arleena Desenns.”
“I did. She seemed pleasant enough … very concerned about how the punch-card looms were reducing the number of women weavers, though.”
“What sense did you get from Eliver?”
“Practical and cynical. He felt straightforward. He doesn’t care much for Decaro.” Ysella grinned as she added, “You didn’t ask me about Gretna Haarl.”
“Should I have asked?”
“No. I don’t think she tends to physical violence, but you can’t tell with isolates. I’d guess she wouldn’t hesitate a moment to scheme if she thought it to her benefit.”
Neither spoke for several minutes.
Then Ysella said, “Just keep it short and from your heart.”
“That’s hard. I have a wordy heart.”
She only shook her head.
Then the Obreduurs appeared. He wore a black suit with a red cravat—an unofficial symbol of a councilor—while she wore a deep blue gown with a white jacket. Obreduur just nodded, and Dekkard and Ysella led the way down the stairs to the main floor of the inn.
Jens Seigryn was waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs, wearing a dark blue suit, but not of security blue, with a bright blue cravat. “You all look very official.”
“I believe that’s the purpose,” said Obreduur in a warm but ironic tone.
“Everyone’s here but Haasan. He’ll make an appearance now that you’ve entered.”
“Haasan will be Haasan,” returned Obreduur mildly.
As they passed the door to the restaurant, Dekkard could hear a raspy voice accompanied by a mandolin.
“There’s folks who live both high and grand
And those who’ve lost their life and land.
If life is but illusion, so be it
It’s real enough the way I see it…”
If life is but illusion … it’s real enough the way I see it. Not for the first time, Dekkard wondered how much of life was illusion, but he forced his thoughts back to the dinner ahead.
When the five entered the banquet hall, Dekkard quickly scanned those inside, estimating that there were slightly over fifty people, roughly equal numbers of men and women, given that spouses had been invited, gathered in small groups generally close to the two sideboards where servers in maroon and black livery provided either wine, lager, or ale. He immediately picked out those who had been at the breakfast meeting, although Jon Eliver was the only one who looked in Dekkard’s direction. He smiled pleasantly. Gretna Haarl looked quickly at Dekkard and Ysella, but her gaze definitely didn’t linger on either.
Arleena Desenns was the first to approach the Obreduurs, inclining her head and saying, “It’s so thoughtful for you to arrange such a dinner.”
“We don’t get here often,” replied Obreduur. “It’s been a few years, and after the business meeting, we thought we should have a more enjoyable evening.”
The next to approach was an older man, and Seigryn murmured to Dekkard and Ysella, “Kharl Maatsuyt, Textile Millworkers.”
“Councilor.” Maatsuyt inclined his head, then continued, “I regret that I missed yesterday’s breakfast, but I had previously scheduled a meeting with the managing director of Gaarlak Mills.”
“I trust that your meeting was productive,” replied Obreduur.
“We’ll have to see.” Maatsuyt’s smile was pleasant. “It would help if we had a Craft councilor from Gaarlak.”
“I heard that Haasan was thinking about running in the next election.”
“That would be an improvement,” replied Maatsuyt.
“Is there any way I might help?”
“I do appreciate the offer. I won’t keep you any longer.” Maatsuyt’s second smile was warmer. “I see a few others wanting a word with you.”
A very fair-skinned man in a dark brown suit neared.
“Alastan Cleese, guildmeister of the Farmworkers,” murmured Seigryn.
After Cleese came Johan Lamarr, the Crafters guildmeister, with Decaro still not having appeared. Then came a short but burly man not quite bursting out of a dark blue suit.
“Yorik Haansel,” said Seigryn quietly.
Belatedly, Dekkard recognized the burly guildmeister of the Stonemasons, who had visited Obreduur in Machtarn.
“Yorik,” said Obreduur warmly, “it’s not often I get to see you twice in the same season.”
“Sometimes, it happens,” rumbled the stonemason.
The two chatted for almost five minutes by Dekkard’s watch, and he wondered just how long Obreduur would wait before the Machineworkers guildmeister deigned to appear, but, finally Decaro appeared, clad in a stylish dark green suit, his shimmering black hair combed back. He immediately made his way to Obreduur, where he offered the barest inclination of his head before saying warmly, “Councilor … and Ritten Obreduur, we meet again, twice in two days.”
“Sometimes it happens that way, Haasan,” replied Obreduur. “I understand you’re considering running for councilor. The Machineworkers will lose a very strong guildmeister.”
“But Gaarlak will gain more power in the Council.”
“If you win, that it will,” agreed Obreduur. “Now that you’re here, we should take care of the brief formalities so that everyone can enjoy themselves.” He nodded to Seigryn.
The guild coordinator must have signaled someone, because a set of chimes rang out.
After the various conversations died away, Seigryn spoke. “This is meant to be just an enjoyable evening. I’ve persuaded Guildmeister Decaro to offer the blessing, and after that Councilor Obreduur will say a few words.”
“A very few,” interjected Obreduur strongly but warmly, before nodding to Decaro.
Decaro stepped slightly away from Obreduur. He did not speak immediately but let the silence draw out before finally beginning. “Almighty and Trinity of Love, Power, and Mercy, we thank you for fruitful days and for the success and growth of the guilds of Gaarlak. We also acknowledge your support and guidance for those who lead us and pray that you will continue to bless and guide them in the future. Tonight, we thank you for this opportunity to share food and fellowship in this gathering of your faithful, in the name of the Three in One.”
“The Three in One,” came the murmured response.
Obreduur stepped forward. “Most of you know me as a councilor … and as a Crafter guildmeister and politician. But I’m not a crafter. I’m from the rivers. We all know that Gaarlak will have a new councilor when elections are next held, and that councilor should come from crafters. That’s why I’m going to
ask Steffan here, who comes from a very long line of crafters and artisans, to tell you why.”
The silence that followed was half respect for Obreduur and half stunned astonishment, Dekkard thought.
All he could do was his best. “It’s true. My family has been crafters and artisans for generations, and I appreciate that dedication and skill enormously, largely because those talents skipped me. The best I can do is work for the councilor to support crafters and artisans. Today, all the Commercer councilors do is work to increase the power of corporacions, but the strength, the real strength, of Guldor lies not in banques, not in Security patrollers, and not even in a massive and mighty Navy, but in the hands and skills of its people. People like every one of you, people who make the tools and goods that make life better. People who create unique woodwork, portraits, the very linens that we wear and appreciate. No one more than a Crafter councilor could appreciate and support that.” Dekkard paused. “And since the councilor told me to be brief … do everything you can to find and support the best Craft candidate possible … and, of course, enjoy the dinner.”
The applause was modest and polite. Dekkard was not quite shaking as he inadvertently stepped back.
“Good for a first time,” said Obreduur. “And very effective.”
Effective? Then Dekkard realized exactly what Obreduur had done. He’d avoided supporting Decaro without seeming to do so. “Won’t that make Decaro angry?” he asked quietly.
“Anything other than my full support would make him unhappy, but he can’t be publicly unhappy. You said to find and support the best Craft candidate possible. Besides, he couldn’t expect me to support him, and enough people know it that they’ll find what we did a polite way of dealing with a difficult situation. Still … he might not see it that way. So keep your eyes open … and go find your seats. Ysella will be at my table.”
“Good.”
“Enjoy yourself, Steffan … as much as you can.”
Dekkard found himself seated at table with Arleena Desenns at his right; Charlana Boetcher, an assistant guildmeister for the Crafters Guild, at his left; and Myram Plassar, the regional steward for the Working Women Guild, across from him, with Thor Boetcher and Hans Desenns flanking her.
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