Isolate

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “The new manager of the Mechs is fine with it, so long as we fold the banner when the game starts. If people want to talk longer, that’s all right, so long as the banner’s not up.”

  “Good.”

  Dekkard hurried out and opened both rear doors, then glanced toward the weathered stone and concrete of the west half of the stadium, which seemingly hadn’t changed from when he’d first seen it as a boy, when friends had taken the family to a game. Dekkard hadn’t cared for webball then, and his opinion hadn’t changed over the years.

  Herrardo hurried ahead of the other four to the booth by the gate, where he purchased five admission tickets—two marks each with seating on a first-come, first-seated basis.

  Just inside the gate, against the concrete wall that formed the back of the stadium, a lanky middle-aged man in the brown shirt and trousers of a machinist stood beside a banner attached at each end to sturdy poles more than two yards long. The oblong banner was simple enough, dark green block letters on a white background:

  MEET COUNCILOR AXEL OBREDUUR

  CRAFT PARTY COUNCILOR FROM OERSYNT & MALEK

  Several men stood waiting, talking with Arturo Degarcion, who said, “Everything’s set, Councilor.”

  Obreduur immediately moved forward to the group of waiting men, turning to face them.

  Dekkard and Ysella stood a step back on the councilor’s left, while Ingrella stood beside him on the right.

  A man in faded blue shirt and trousers and a worn brown leather belt and sandals immediately stepped up. Ysella gave the faintest nod, and Dekkard shifted his eyes to the beginning of a short line that was beginning to form.

  “I always wanted to meet you, Councilor. My brother’s a stevedore on the old river docks. When you were the guild coordinator, you got everyone back to work with a raise after that trouble with Malek Barges.”

  “I’m just glad I could help,” replied Obreduur. “What about you? What do you do?”

  “I’m with the Painters Guild, working right now for Central Homes…”

  After a minute or so the painter moved on, and an older white-haired man stepped up. “Don’t have much to say. Just wanted to meet you. Good to put a face with the name. Hope you can do more to keep those Commercer bastards in line.”

  “Most of them aren’t bastards,” replied Obreduur with a smile. “They’re just badly misguided. They think marks are more important than people.”

  Dekkard understood the feeling, even as he wondered just how many marks were “enough.” But then, he has to get them to feel what he’s about, and he doesn’t have time to explain about how high-paid corporacion legalists can change a seemingly simple law.

  More and more people began to stream through the admission gate, and while only a small percentage stopped to see or talk to the councilor, the line to meet him was growing.

  A boy stopped to one side and looked up at Dekkard and pointed to Obreduur. “Is he really important? Like the Imperador?”

  Dekkard was at a momentary loss for words, but finally managed to say, “What he does and how he does it is important, just like the Imperador. He’s one of the Sixty-Six who make the laws and rules.”

  “That means he’s important.”

  “For what he does and how he does it, not just for being a councilor.”

  “Guerdyn … stop bothering the man,” said a woman who looked to be younger than Dekkard, but who appeared to be the boy’s mother.

  “He’s not a bother,” replied Dekkard. “He asked a very good question.”

  “You work for the councilor?” asked the woman.

  “We do. Is there anything we can do for you?”

  She smiled. “You just did.” She looked to the boy. “Tell the man ‘thank you,’ Guerdyn.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “You’re more than welcome, Guerdyn.”

  As soon as the boy and his mother moved on, Dekkard shifted his attention to those in line.

  “That was a good answer,” murmured Ysella.

  “Thank you,” he returned quietly, wondering just how he’d managed it.

  A minute or two later, a stocky man in in white barong with green trim strode by, talking to another man attired in a similar fashion, except the second man’s barong was violet with silver trim. “Crafter politicians … never give a thought to who pays them.”

  Dekkard couldn’t help thinking that Commercers seldom wanted to pay what the job was worth and felt that they were doing crafters a favor with whatever they paid. He kept smiling pleasantly.

  Even more people were streaming past, and Dekkard had all he could do to study those who neared the councilor, and he couldn’t help but wonder at how all the emotions rushing past were affecting Ysella, although it was likely easier because they weren’t directed at her.

  Then, after a time, a bell pealed, and the number of people entering the stadium began to drop off, and those who did enter hurried quickly, presumably to find seats.

  Arturo reappeared from somewhere, and he and Herrardo began to roll up the banner, while Obreduur talked to those remaining. Almost a third of a bell passed, while the crowd in the seats behind them shouted—and occasionally groaned—at what happened on the field.

  When no one remained to talk to Obreduur, Dekkard asked Ysella, “How are you doing?”

  “A bit of a headache, but it will pass.”

  “Until we get to the reception,” he murmured wryly.

  Obreduur turned to Arturo. “Thank you for helping with the meeting.”

  “It was my pleasure, Councilor.”

  “And we’ll see you at the reception?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, but I’d better take care of the banner now.” With that Arturo hurried off, the poles over his shoulder.

  Herrardo led the way back to the admission gate.

  As they stepped out through the gate, a group of boys in clothes that were not rags but that had definitely seen better days approached, then stopped. One of the smaller boys said politely, “Sirs and lady, would you be finished with your tickets?”

  Herrardo grinned, then said, “You five,” pointing out the five shortest of the group. “One at a time.” Then he gave each a ticket and watched while that boy went through the gate. “That’s all we have.”

  The remaining three boys retreated glumly.

  “Imps,” declared Herrardo, “but I used to do the same. I was always the smallest. Almost never got a ticket.”

  Within a few minutes, everyone was back in the steamer. Dekkard was just happy to sit down in the Gresynt, hot as it was from being in the sun, but once the steamer was moving, the breeze from the slightly opened windows made the inside at least bearable as Herrardo turned south toward the Oersynt Guildhall.

  A sixth later, Herrardo eased the Gresynt into the “official business” section of the parking area behind the three-story yellow brick building that was the Oersynt Guildhall. “We’ll go in the back way to the kitchen,” he declared. “That way, you four can get something to drink before the reception starts.”

  “And Axel can thank all the volunteers in person,” said Ingrella before turning to him and adding, “but not until you drink some lager or water and get a bite to eat.”

  “If we don’t have to wait too long for the food,” replied Obreduur.

  Since the kitchen was at the rear of the main hall, the walk from the Gresynt was short, and Herrardo escorted the four to a small table set up in the corner of the kitchen. Almost immediately, one volunteer server brought four lagers to the table while two others brought plates for the Obreduurs, and for Dekkard and Ysella. Herrardo stood nearby, eating from a plate he held.

  Dekkard looked at Ingrella.

  “We need to eat now. We won’t get a chance later. He’ll talk to as many people as he can during the reception—that lasts a bell—and he’ll visit every table and talk while they’re eating.”

  “And you’ll be visiting as many as you can in a different order?” asked Dekkard. />
  “Naturally. With both of us separate, it makes a stronger impression.”

  Dekkard hadn’t thought of it that way, but it definitely made sense.

  “The dinner’s officially over at second bell,” added Ingrella, “but it will be close to another bell before we’re done. Axel doesn’t like to give the impression of hurrying off.”

  That also made sense. Dekkard looked down at the plate, which held what looked like fowl milanesia, with golden rice and raisins, along with thin slices of toasted parmesan bread, and green beans with mushroom and shallots. He only waited until Ysella and Ingrella lifted their forks before immediately trying the rice, which tasted better than it looked. The milanesia had more cheese than it needed, and the fact that the cheese almost burned his mouth led to a quick gulp of lager. His next bite was smaller … and with less cheese. “How many people will be at the reception and dinner?”

  “Usually, it’s around three hundred, not counting the volunteers,” Obreduur replied, “but there are more this year, especially from the Woodcrafters Guild, apparently.”

  “Might that just be because of a certain agreement?” asked Dekkard.

  Obreduur offered an amused smile. “Who can tell? I doubt it hurt, though.” He returned to eating, but only ate about half of what was on his plate before taking a last swallow of lager and standing, “I’m going to talk to some of the people here in the kitchen while you finish up.”

  Dekkard quickly finished his plate and stood, following behind Obreduur as he moved from person to person, exchanging warm comments or pleasantries.

  “… so glad that you’re here to help with the function…”

  “… very much enjoyed the chicken milanesia … Was that your recipe?”

  “… unique touch to the golden rice…”

  “… still working at Guldoran Ironway…”

  “… glad you’re here … give my best to Berthold…”

  By the time Obreduur returned to the table, and took a last swallow of lager, the others had finished eating and were standing, waiting. He offered a smile and said, “We’ll have a little time to talk to the volunteers in the hall before they open the doors.”

  As the councilor stepped away, Ingrella said quietly to Dekkard and Ysella, “You don’t have to stay too close until people start entering.”

  Dekkard nodded, then moved after Obreduur as he left the kitchen.

  The main hall was square, extending from one side of the building to the other, with dark wood paneling below the chair rail, and plaster walls above that had been painted a blue-tinted off-white. The numerous wide windows on the east and west sides were open, and the faintest hint of a breeze came from the east. All the tables were covered in white linen cloths, and set with ten places, four at each side and one at each end. There was no head table, and from what he could tell there were six rows, each row six tables deep, with three additional tables set closer to the kitchen and spaced between the two large double doors. Three sideboards were set up between the windows, with lager and wine at each and a server to dispense the beverages.

  Obreduur headed for the nearest sideboard on the west side, and Dekkard followed, glancing at the nearest table as he passed, noting that each setting had place card with a name.

  Ysella hurried up beside Dekkard. “This is well-organized.”

  “Isn’t everything?” he replied quietly. “He was the guild coordinator here for years, and he likes to train people to think and be organized.”

  Ysella laughed softly, as she and Dekkard stopped well short of where Obreduur talked with a bearded man in a white jacket with blue piping and a military collar, the same jacket as worn by the other attendants.

  “… and the lager?”

  “… Riverfall … it’s like Kuhrs … but with a little more bite … personally. I’d prefer it…”

  Dekkard kept from smiling, although he knew Obreduur well knew the difference between the two lagers.

  “… guild are you with? I have to confess I don’t recognize you.”

  The server smiled. “You wouldn’t, Councilor. This is my first reception. I was laid off from the Guldoran Ironway textile mill. I just got a job with Centralan Machine last month.”

  “… you ever run across a Hermann Mantero?”

  The server frowned, then smiled. “He was a line foreman, wasn’t he?”

  “He was … he’s now working as an assistant foreman in Machtarn…”

  Dekkard wasn’t surprised at all that Obreduur never mentioned or even hinted that he’d been instrumental in finding Rhosali’s uncle a new position.

  After a few more words, Obreduur moved on to the next sideboard.

  Somehow, in the third of a bell before the doors opened and people began to flood in, Obreduur managed to spend a few minutes with each of the sideboard attendants, somehow touching a chord with each, and yet leaving without seeming rushed or rude.

  Then, for the next three bells, he managed to do something similar with everyone else.

  By the time the Obreduurs, Ysella, Dekkard, and Herrardo all left the Guildhall at just after third bell, Dekkard was tired … and all he’d been doing had been watching, but neither he nor Ysella had seen or sensed a single hostile sign, not totally surprising, given that the dinner had been a guild function and that Obreduur was clearly liked and respected.

  But still … you never know … and sometimes when you think it’s the safest … Dekkard shook his head.

  Once everyone was in the Gresynt, Ingrella said, “Four fifty-seven Quadrangle Court, south on Quadrangle off Fifth Boulevard.”

  Herrardo turned and grinned. “I remember, Ritten.”

  “Legalists never assume anything,” added Obreduur dryly.

  “And aren’t you glad I don’t,” she replied sweetly.

  Obreduur winced, just slightly. “I am, indeed.”

  Dekkard managed not to grin. Then he took a deep breath and leaned back in his seat.

  “I hope that’s to recover,” said Ysella, “and not in anticipation of seeing your family.”

  “Actually,” said Dekkard, totally honestly, “I hadn’t even thought about that until you mentioned it. I don’t see how you can look so composed after being surrounded by so many people for so long.”

  “That’s because I’m not surrounded by a host of strangers right now, and it’s a relief.”

  “Good.” Dekkard closed his eyes.

  It only seemed like moments later when the Gresynt came to a stop. Dekkard couldn’t help yawning.

  “You did need that nap,” observed Ysella.

  Dekkard checked his watch. He’d slept a sixth and not even known it. Then he hurried to open the rear doors before looking up the short drive to the two-story brick dwelling that stood perhaps a yard higher than the street and looked to be perhaps two-thirds the size of the Obreduurs’ house … and slightly more worn.

  As he stood there, Ingrella eased out of the Gresynt and then walked to the front of the steamer, where she said to Herrardo, “You’re headed back to your house for a while, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, Ritten.”

  “Could you drop Steffan and Avraal off at his parents’ house on the way? It’s eight-nine-one Perimeter Lane, I think.”

  “Easily,” replied Herrardo. “That’s only about five blocks out of the way. If they’re coming back here, I could pick them up on the way back, too.”

  “That would be wonderful. Thank you so much.”

  Dekkard turned to Ingrella and said quietly, “Thank you.”

  She smiled. “You’re welcome, but that makes it easier on everyone.”

  She’d no more than finished her words than two girls hurried down the drive toward the Gresynt.

  “She’s here!” called out the shorter one, although both were older than children and younger than women.

  “Why don’t you three go,” said Ingrella. “We’ll introduce you to everyone when you come back.”

  Since Ingrella’s words weren’t reall
y a question, Dekkard and Ysella got back into the Gresynt, where he looked at her, questioningly.

  “There’s no one around showing anything but happiness or resignation,” Ysella replied.

  Dekkard had to be content with that.

  “Now…” began Ysella, “how about telling me more about your family?”

  “You know that they came from Cimaguile before I was born, and that I only have one sister.” Dekkard grinned. “What else do you need to know?”

  “Do you want me to have Herrardo stop and let me out?” Ysella smiled sweetly.

  “Well … if you put it that way … My mother and Naralta are almost as tall as I am. My father’s shorter, but broader—”

  “Stop. I don’t even know your parents’ names.”

  “Raymon and Liliana, but my mother’s always gone by Lila. Naralta’s always been Naralta, except for when I called her ‘Alta’ because she was so much taller than I was at the time. I never did that again.”

  “I think I just might like her.”

  “The house is modest … about half the size of Ingrella’s cousin’s place, and what was once a study off the front hall is Mother’s studio. She has a few portraits on display at WestArt so that people who don’t know her can get an idea of how she paints. There’s nothing in the house that reflects Argental, and neither of my parents like to talk about Argental. They will talk about their childhood, but only about a few family members. They were both single children, and their parents died not long before they decided to leave Cimaguile…” Dekkard continued to offer what he could.

  “We’re on Perimeter Lane,” said Herrardo from the front a sixth later.

  “It’s another three blocks, on the left side,” replied Dekkard. “Red brick, with white trim, just like most of the houses in the neighborhood.” He watched Ysella as she looked at the modest dwellings that they passed, all neatly kept with small front yards of meshgrass, rather than the greener leafgrass that comprised the larger front lawns of the houses in East Quarter or in the Hillside area where Emrelda lived.

  “The house just after the one with blue-gray trim,” said Dekkard.

  Herrardo made a U-turn in the lane empty of traffic at that moment and brought the steamer to a halt right in front of the house. “I’ll be back here for you two at a third before second bell.”