Isolate

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “In my humble opinion,” replied Dekkard dryly, “slightly better than the councilors’ dining room and not nearly so good as Don Miguel’s … or anything that your sister has cooked.”

  “I’d agree,” replied Ysella.

  “So would I,” added Ingrella, “but you’re being charitable to the councilors’ dining room.”

  “Ingrella isn’t fond of the councilors’ dining room,” added Obreduur, “although she will admit that the duck cassoulet is better than decent.”

  None of the four said more than pleasantries until after they arrived at the Hotel Cosmopolitano and had walked up to the Obreduurs’ suite, where Obreduur paused, then looked to Ingrella. “You’d best make sure Gustoff and Nellara are in their beds with the doors closed.”

  “Is this something I should hear?” asked Ingrella.

  “Yes,” replied Dekkard, knowing that Obreduur would tell his wife anyway.

  “We’ll just wait for you in the sitting room,” said Obreduur, unlocking and opening the suite door, then gesturing for his wife to enter first.

  Led by Obreduur, Dekkard and Ysella followed. Dekkard was last and closed the suite door quietly but firmly, then joined Ysella and Obreduur in the sitting room, lit dimly by a single wall lamp. Obreduur had taken one side of the settee, and Ysella a straight-backed chair. Dekkard took the other straight-backed chair.

  Within minutes, Ingrella returned and sat down beside her husband. “They’re sleeping … or feigning it, but their doors are closed.”

  “So what is it that we need to know?”

  “I don’t know if you noticed that a server collapsed during the reception,” said Dekkard. “He was likely to have been found to have died of a heart attack. He was aiming at you and attempting to use a paper blowpipe. I interrupted him. His eyes went wide, and he died. Thanks to Avraal, no one seemed to notice until later. Also, Oersynt Security had men in the room.”

  “I have doubts that they were there as part of security arrangements,” added Ysella, “but whether they were involved with the attempted assassination, there was no feasible way to tell.”

  “His eyes went wide, and he died?” Obreduur raised his eyebrows.

  “I used a truncheon on certain nerves,” replied Dekkard. “He must have inhaled. I’m assuming it was a frog-poison dart, but I didn’t see any point in lingering, since no one noticed.”

  Obreduur’s laugh was low and slightly bitter. “Someone will have noticed that he wasn’t effective, and that you two were present. But I presume you left no marks on him?”

  “If he’d lived, there might have been a slight bruise.”

  “With no overt marks, and a blowpipe lying around, and with quite a number of prominent individuals at the reception, the only result is that the next time, if there is a next time, they’ll try something more direct.”

  “It’s likely the same method someone used on Councilor Freust,” Ysella pointed out.

  “That’s why there will be no mention of the blowpipe and only that a server suffered a heart attack at the dinner,” said Ingrella. “The dead man will be a server even if he wasn’t one.”

  “Is there anything else?” asked Obreduur.

  “No, sir,” replied Dekkard.

  “Then we all need to get some sleep. There’s nothing more we can do, and tomorrow will be a very long day.”

  Dekkard and Ysella immediately stood. Dekkard inclined his head, and in moments, he and Ysella were out in the hallway. Behind them, Dekkard could hear the click as Obreduur locked the door.

  “What do you think?” Dekkard asked Ysella as he walked her to her door.

  “He was definitely aiming at Obreduur. A private operative, hired indirectly by Security or by Commerce interests. Impossible to trace.” She unlocked the door and stepped inside, but did not close it, instead turning to Dekkard. “Did I ever tell you that you’re very, very good?”

  He smiled. “Once, I believe.”

  “Good night, Steffan.” She closed the door.

  Dekkard turned and walked back to his own room.

  69

  AFTER breakfast on Duadi, and absolutely no mention of the legalists’ reception and dinner in The Oersynt Press, Ysella and Dekkard accompanied Obreduur on a long morning of visits, arranged by Herrardo, of modest shops owned and operated by crafters and artisans. After a brief midday meal, the afternoon was filled with more of the same. The dinner for Craft Party volunteers and supporters was a lower-key artisan and crafter version of the legalists’ dinner, except without anything resembling excitement, for which Dekkard was exceedingly grateful.

  Tridi morning, everyone rose early to catch the ironway, and Dekkard decided he didn’t know when he’d have a chance to personally present the edition of the Gaarlak Times to his parents. So he dashed off a brief note and sent it and the newssheet to his parents by messenger. Then he managed the luggage and transition back to the ironway station where they would catch the Veerlyn Express, which only made two stops, first at Malek, and then at Suvion. The express left precisely at the first morning bell. Since the trip to Malek would take just over two bells, the Obreduur entourage was seated in the parlor carriage, which contained more than a few Commerce types who clearly weren’t headed for Veerlyn, given that they were in suits and carried little or no luggage. Most of them weren’t that much older than Dekkard.

  As the express left the Oersynt station, one man rose and walked to where Dekkard and Ysella were seated. He was even taller than Dekkard, if more slender, wearing a light blue summer suit, and his golden-blond hair was slicked back. He smiled warmly and said, “It appears you two are headed to Malek.” But his eyes were clearly on Ysella as he went on. “Your suit is the same shade as mine, and so is your headscarf, what color there is.”

  “That’s all true,” replied Ysella politely. “Why are you going to Malek?”

  “Business. Why else would one go in Summerend? What about you?”

  “Business.”

  “You don’t look like the business type.” The smile widened. “For whom do you work? For yourself, perhaps?”

  “Oh, no, we work for the Sixty-Six. We … look into things.” Ysella smiled sweetly, adjusting her jacket so that the Council staff pin was clearly visible. “What sort of business are you in?”

  “Ah … industrial sales. Reciprocating pumps.” His smile faded. “I wish you well in Malek.”

  “I hope your sales calls are successful,” replied Ysella politely.

  “Thank you.” The salesman eased away and returned to his seat.

  Dekkard looked at Ysella. “You were exceedingly polite.”

  “There wasn’t any reason not to be. It would only have called attention to us. He’s feeling very embarrassed … and more than a little worried. I didn’t even use a touch of emping.”

  “Good,” said Dekkard, quietly, but firmly.

  “You were good, too,” she murmured. “You let me take care of it.”

  “I was very close to not … if he’d even reached out to touch you … I know you can take care of yourself in a situation like that … but…” He shook his head.

  “Steffan … your restraint … and your feelings … mean … I can’t tell you how much I appreciate both.”

  “The restraint was the hard part.”

  “Thank you.” Her eyes dropped for an instant.

  What Dekkard didn’t mention was the fact that he was also angry that the salesman had acted as though Dekkard hadn’t even been there. Had he thought Dekkard didn’t matter? Or had he thought at all? Or had he been so entranced by Ysella’s appearance that he’d seen nothing at all besides her? Dekkard smiled wryly … but he still would have liked to have taken the boor down a peg or two.

  Except that could have led to trouble. Had it been another setup? He shook his head. Not when Ysella had been able to sense the man. But what if an isolate did the same thing?

  “You’re very quiet, Steffan,” Ysella said quietly.

  “I was just thinkin
g.”

  “About what?”

  He debated avoiding a direct answer, then decided against it. “I care for you, and because I do, I realized that, if I weren’t careful, something like what just happened could be used against me … against you and Obreduur. And yet … not reacting…”

  “It could be … but you’re aware of that now. And you told me how you felt. I know what you could have done to him. He wouldn’t have had a chance.”

  That would have been even worse. “Sometimes … feelings…”

  She reached out and touched the back of his hand. Gently … and only for a moment. “I understand.” She smiled. “After we get to the house at Malek, we’ll have a few days off. We both need it.”

  When the express slowed and came to a stop at the ironway station in Malek, the salesman in blue was the first one waiting by the carriage door … and he was gone as soon as the door opened.

  Dekkard worked at getting two steamhacks to carry everyone and all the baggage, then sat with most of the luggage in the second steamhack, which followed the first to Jasmine Street. There, both pulled up in front of a two-story yellow brick house with a weathered gray slate roof, a structure somewhat smaller than the dwelling in East Quarter, but with far smaller grounds, since the space between houses amounted to only about four yards.

  Once all the luggage was out of the steamhacks and they departed, Obreduur announced to Dekkard and Ysella, “Findi will be a very busy day, but until then, we all have today and the next two days without any party or Council duties, but, in view of what has occurred, I’m afraid I will need you both whenever we leave the house. That won’t be often, and I’ll give you notice. Tonight is largely family, and you two are family. We will be going to Ingrella’s cousin Tybor’s house for refreshments and dinner … but that’s a very short drive.” Obreduur gestured to the house. “There are two rooms available. One is Axeli’s former bedroom, and the other is a smaller room over the garage.”

  “I’ll take the smaller one,” Dekkard said immediately. “That will also put Ysella closer to you and Ritten Obreduur. Her close presence is more valuable at night.”

  Obreduur nodded. “There’s a bathroom with a shower on the hall between the two rooms. You two will share that, and, starting tomorrow, we’ll have a day maid who can take care of the house and laundry. Also, Tybor’s wife stocked the kitchen. There’s bread and some sliced meats in the cooler if you feel hungry.”

  “Thank you,” replied both Dekkard and Ysella, not quite simultaneously. Sharing with one other person, rather than three others, was a definite improvement, and Dekkard’s comparatively sparse wardrobe definitely needed laundering and cleaning. Having something to eat later didn’t sound bad, either.

  “Now I’ll leave you and see what Ingrella has for me.” With a smile Obreduur walked toward the front door.

  While Gustoff and Nellara had already carried their luggage up to their rooms, Dekkard still had to deal with the remaining suitcases—and one trunk.

  “I can help,” said Ysella.

  “I’d appreciate that, but you just take the smaller and lighter cases.”

  “I can do that.”

  Sometime while Dekkard was organizing and hauling luggage to various rooms, he noticed a dark blue, but somewhat older Gresynt parked in the narrow drive, and, when he later reached the front hall, Obreduur handed him a set of keys.

  “Those are for the Gresynt out in front. We’ve leased it for the month.”

  “Is the garage empty?”

  “It is. It might be a little dusty, but don’t worry about that now.”

  All that meant was that, sooner or later, Dekkard would have to sweep it out, but he merely said, “Thank you,” and pocketed the keys.

  After he’d unpacked the best he could, Dekkard put on his dirtiest trousers and shirt and swept out the garage and gave it a rough cleaning. In the process, he found leaning in the corner of the garage a battered target, one that hadn’t been used recently, with a small wooden box that held practice knives, knives that had been sharpened, and which showed no sign of rust. He wondered which of his predecessors had used it, since he doubted that Obreduur had. But Axeli might have. And the practice knives were of very good quality.

  Next he checked over the rented Gresynt, a three-seater, before garaging it. Then, and only then, did he shower. Because the house was still warm, he saved the cleanest barong for the evening. Wearing a plain shirt, he found a shady corner of the rear covered porch and settled down in a wicker chair to read The Scarlet Daughter.

  Before long, Ysella appeared, carrying a lapdesk, borrowed from somewhere in the house. After moving another wicker chair into the shade beside Dekkard, she said, “Would you mind if I sat here? I promised Emrelda I’d write. I’ll be good quiet company.”

  “I’d like that.”

  “Good.”

  Neither said much for a good bell.

  Then Ysella folded the letter into an envelope and slipped away, leaving the letter and lapdesk on her chair. She returned in less than a third with a single platter, which she handed to Dekkard. “One is for you, one for me. I’ll be right back.”

  Dekkard looked at the two sandwiches, which looked to be ham and cheese on dark bread, each neatly cut into two triangles, and decided to wait for her, but it was only a moment or two before she returned with two beakers, one of which she handed to him.

  “It’s Riverfall, and it’s cold.”

  “Thank you. You didn’t have to…”

  “You can return the favor … sometime.” She set the lapdesk and letter on the tile floor of the porch, then seated herself.

  He extended the platter to her, and she took the nearest half sandwich. He let the platter rest on his legs and took a half sandwich himself. After a bite, he said, “This is good. I didn’t realize that I was hungry.”

  “I thought you might be.”

  “You were right. You usually are.” Dekkard paused. “The house doesn’t look like it’s been empty for months.” He took several bites of the sandwich, then a swallow of lager.

  “It hasn’t been. Ingrella’s great-aunt and her husband live here and take care of it except when the Obreduurs come. They stay with her daughter when the family’s here. The house is Ingrella’s. It was her mother’s. She was also a legalist, one of the first notable woman legalists.”

  Somehow that didn’t come as a surprise to Dekkard. He finished the first half of the sandwich and started on the second.

  “How is the novel?” asked Ysella.

  Dekkard had to swallow before answering. “It’s light, somewhat enjoyable … and not necessarily true to the political situation at the time, I suspect.”

  “Suspect?”

  “I haven’t read much history about the early years of the Imperium.”

  “All I’ve seen you read has been Obreduur’s scholarly journals.”

  “I won’t be reading those any time soon.” Dekkard looked down, realizing he’d finished off the sandwich, and took a healthy swallow of Riverfall.

  “There’s a whole shelf of history books in the study.”

  “I didn’t see those.” Dekkard hadn’t actually looked, not that he’d even thought about it.

  “Well, there was, when I came here three years ago, but nothing seems to have changed.”

  At that moment, Nellara marched out onto the porch and toward the north end away from Ysella and Dekkard. She stood there, her arms crossed, looking across the meshgrass to the low brick wall that marked the rear of the property.

  Dekkard and Ysella watched silently.

  Gustoff followed her out and said, “We could play triple-trey or twenty-square.”

  “We always do that,” Nellara replied sulkily.

  “Suit yourself,” said her brother cheerfully. “You said there was nothing to do. I offered something.”

  “I meant nothing new to do. Something besides reading a new book that’s old. That’s what everyone else is doing.”

  Dekkard
looked to Ysella and raised his eyebrows.

  She offered an amused smile in return.

  “So what would you like to do that’s new?” asked Gustoff.

  “I don’t know. There’s nothing new around here to do.”

  Dekkard grinned, then said, “Nellara … if I come up with something new that you’ve never done … will you stop complaining?”

  Nellara froze. “Sir … I didn’t see you.”

  Gustoff was trying not to grin … and failing.

  “When I was cleaning the garage, I found something interesting, and I’d wager it’s something neither of you has done. If you go to the Institute, though, Gustoff, you will at some time. You never will, Nellara.”

  Nellara said nothing.

  “You were the one complaining that there was nothing new to do.” Gustoff’s voice verged on taunting.

  “What do you have in mind?” murmured Ysella.

  “Knife-throwing lessons,” Dekkard murmured in return.

  “Can I come too?”

  “If you want. Certainly.”

  “All right,” said Nellara reluctantly. “What is it?”

  “Knife-throwing lessons,” replied Dekkard, standing as he spoke.

  “You really would?” asked Gustoff.

  “You’ll have to learn sooner or later, and it might just be a useful skill for you, Nellara.”

  Nellara frowned for a moment, then smiled abruptly. “I think I’d like that.”

  “Then meet me in the garage in a few minutes. I’ll need to move the steamer out and set up the target.”

  From the porch Dekkard had to go up to his room for the keys and then to the garage. He moved the dark blue Gresynt and was setting up the heavy wood target when Ysella, Nellara, and Gustoff arrived. He finished with that and then took the wooden box and opened it, showing the knives racked within. “Gustoff … do you know if these belong to Axeli?”

  “No, sir, I don’t.”

  “If they do, I trust he won’t mind our using them.” Dekkard took out one of the knives, and set the box down. “Always handle a knife carefully, especially throwing knives. You can see that it has no hilt or guard and that it’s double-edged, and that both blades are sharp near the tip. A throwing knife is a weapon. Technically, it’s a short- to mid-range standoff weapon. It’s designed to wound or kill someone before they get too close to you.”