Isolate

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  Following the social, everyone returned to the house for dinner.

  Unadi morning began in a similar fashion, except the breakfast meeting was with the leadership of the Malek Textile Millworkers Guild, and the next two bells were spent visiting crafters’ shops in the southwest part of Malek, and the afternoon was devoted to seeing a number of acquaintances of both Ingrella and the councilor who were active, or had been, in various guild, civic, or business activities.

  That pattern continued for the next two weeks, with variations on whom Obreduur or both Obreduurs met and under what circumstances, but by Furdi evening, the twenty-second of Summerend, Dekkard was definitely feeling overwhelmed by meeting people, and he very much enjoyed the break afforded by the knife-throwing lessons and practices every evening, especially since Nellara and Gustoff continued to improve and Ysella was now working on learning how to change her grip and release instantly, depending on the distance to the target, as well as throwing either overhand or sidearm.

  On Furdi evening, after putting away the target, cleaning the knives, and garaging the Gresynt, Dekkard and Ysella retreated to the two chairs on what had become their corner of the porch and where various bugs, including mosquitoes, weren’t quite so prevalent. Over the past weeks, Dekkard had also learned that such pests seemed to avoid Ysella, which was another advantage of being with her … not that there was anyone else with whom he preferred keeping company.

  “Nellara is very determined, at least with throwing knives,” he said.

  “She feels it’s a way to gain a power that’s uniquely hers in a very powerful family, and she’ll keep at it long after Gustoff. He just wants not to be disgraced at the Institute.”

  “If he keeps it up over the next year, he’ll be better than most new midshipmen.” Dekkard paused. “You’re thinking of something else, aren’t you?”

  “I worry about what might happen in Oersynt. Especially at the Summerend Festival,” she said quietly.

  “I’ve thought about that,” replied Dekkard. “Most cities in Guldor have some sort of large public event in the last week or two of Summerend. But the New Meritorists have been extremely careful in not harming anyone not in Security or government, and most of the public events are local, but they usually have councilors of the Sixty-Six or district councilors speaking, if briefly, or sometimes government ministers.”

  “You know what you’re suggesting.”

  “I do. It’s possible that there will be attacks on Security or government ministers or councilors at those events. The problem is that I can’t figure out how that will further their ends, and they’ve been consistent in avoiding anything that would turn working people against them. Yet I have the feeling that something is about to happen.”

  Ysella nodded. “So all we can do is to be aware of the possibility?”

  “And tell the Obreduurs,” Dekkard added, thinking that it might also be a good idea to carry a spare throwing knife in a boot sheath, just in case.

  Ysella nodded, then asked, “What did you think of The Scarlet Daughter? You never said.”

  “The book or the real Delehya?”

  “Both.”

  “The author was far kinder to Laureous the Great and his family than they deserved, but then, if they hadn’t gone to excesses, your ancestor wouldn’t have been able to make the changes to the Great Charter that have enabled Guldor to survive.” So far.

  “Don’t you think excesses often lead to change for the better?”

  “They usually lead to change. It’s not always for the better. In Teknold, it certainly wasn’t, and it won’t be here if either the Commercers or the New Meritorists have their way.”

  “Do you think Obreduur and the Craft Party can change things?”

  “If they can win thirty seats in the next election, if they can get at least four Landor or Commercer councilors to support them, and if they can push through changes to undo the worst of what the Commercers have already done and make a few positive changes. That’s four enormous ‘if’s. The odds are against us.”

  “I like the way you said that.”

  “Said what?”

  “Us.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek, then stood. “I don’t know about you, but I’m tired, and tomorrow and Findi are going to be long.”

  Stunned by the kiss, brief as it was, Dekkard remained seated for a moment before he stood. He didn’t quite know what to say, but finally said, “We’ll just have to find a way to manage. You’re good at that.”

  “We’re better together.”

  “I’m slow, but that’s something I’ve learned.” He smiled and followed her into the house.

  72

  QUINDI morning meant a very early breakfast for the councilor, Ingrella, Ysella, and Dekkard, especially since Dekkard woke early, still thinking about the Oersynt festival. He decided to borrow a knife from the set in the garage to add to the spare he’d already brought and that would go in his boot sheath. The second spare would go in his suitcase. After getting the knife, he finishing dressing in one of his summer gray suits, since Obreduur’s appearance at the festival opening was an official event.

  Once dressed, he headed down to breakfast, which, early as it was, meant that Gustoff and Nellara weren’t present. That allowed Dekkard and Ysella to voice their concerns about the next three days in Oersynt.

  When they finished, Obreduur said, “If you hadn’t brought it up, I would have. On Tridi I received a detailed letter from Carlos Baartol. The New Meritorists are planning something. Exactly what, he has been unable to determine. He also discovered something else disturbing.”

  Dekkard frowned.

  “Apparently, Security has been visiting all the book printers in Machtarn, and elsewhere. Especially small printers. What do you make of that?”

  Dekkard wasn’t totally surprised, but he was disturbed that Security hadn’t tried that earlier, because it likely meant his suggestion to Minz might have been the cause. “It sounds like they found a copy of the New Meritorist principles and are trying to track down who wrote it or who arranged for it to be printed … and possibly who has copies. They’re trying to use the book as a way to track down suspected New Meritorists.”

  “That agrees with what Carlos, Ingrella, and I think. If the New Meritorists do create demonstrations or other actions during the last two weeks of summer, Security will likely start arresting and detaining anyone with a connection to the book.”

  At Ysella’s concerned expression, Obreduur shook his head. “There’s nothing to worry about there. My copy came through Carlos. The question is, however, what should we do?” His eyes came to rest on Dekkard.

  “It might be an opportune time to make public all the material on Commercer misbehavior and illegal actions. You’d have to do it through the Council in open session. Even then, the newssheets might not print much of it.”

  “No … but we could, and once it was on the street, Security couldn’t hush it up, not completely, especially where there’s known factual evidence.” Obreduur shrugged. “Then again … nothing may occur. Or Security may preclude any acts or demonstrations so effectively that most people won’t even know they occurred.”

  “If … if the New Meritorists do something, sir,” replied Dekkard, “I doubt that Security can keep it hidden.”

  “Your instincts have been unusually accurate, Steffan, and Carlos is seldom wrong. But we will see.” Obreduur picked up his mug of café, as if making a toast, then drank, a gesture that there was nothing more to be said, and that it was time for everyone to finish eating.

  Within a few minutes, Auralya arrived to spend the next three days with Nellara and Gustoff, along with Tybor, who would drive the four to the station.

  With lightly packed cases, the four travelers arrived at the Malek ironway station at two thirds before the first bell. Less than a third passed before the Veerlyn-Oersynt Express pulled into the station. Once again, the four sat in the parlor car, but less than a handful of other travelers joined t
hem, since few would be heading to Oersynt on commercial matters just before endday, particularly the one that began the Oersynt Summerend Festival.

  Just after third bell, the four left the Oersynt station, once more driven by Herrardo to the Hotel Cosmopolitano, where they left their luggage. They continued to Central Square, or rather to a parking area more than two blocks from the square, since the streets leading to the square were blocked off and filled with booths selling almost anything, whether lager or lemon-orangeade, hand foods of all sorts, as evidenced from the odors of various grilled meats, and, of course, gold and black paper streamers and crowns.

  The five left the Gresynt and walked along the Avenue of Victory toward the square where Obreduur would speak, along with the head of the district council, as part of the official opening of the three-day festival. Dekkard had forgotten, or perhaps had not wanted to remember, what the square was like during the festival, with temporary booths scattered everywhere, especially on the side streets, because booths weren’t allowed on the square proper. While there were already scores of people in sight on just the avenue, Dekkard knew there would be far more by the time Obreduur spoke.

  There were only a few tent booths ahead. That wasn’t surprising. The Avenue of Victory wasn’t a shopping street. That was clear enough as they walked past the closed bronze doors of the Banque of Oersynt, followed by the Brokerage Mercantile, and Fischer & Caltarro, all of which employed well-paid security specialists. Dekkard shook his head.

  “What was that for?” asked Ysella.

  “I was thinking that I could have been a commercial security specialist.”

  “Not for long, you couldn’t.”

  Knowing she was correct, Dekkard laughed softly. “Besides, I wouldn’t have met you.”

  “Is that good?” she asked, with a hint of teasing in her voice.

  “Very good.” Dekkard couldn’t help but think of the unexpected kiss of the night before. At the same time, he worried. Security was one kind of partnership. Romance … or more … was another. And Council regulations forbid married security partners or physical attachments.

  “The best-smoked meat in Oersynt!” called a man from a tent booth just ahead. “On fresh-baked flatbread and sweet loaves!”

  Dekkard looked past the vendor to the building on the other side of the street, a structure without any name over the entrance. Somehow, it looked familiar, and he felt that he should know it. After a moment, he remembered. Of course. “Jareld … is that building there still the regional Security headquarters?”

  “Yes, sir. Unless they’ve moved since last week,” responded Herrardo cheerfully.

  “Thank you.” Dekkard turned to Ysella. “Can you sense if there are people inside?”

  “Not behind all that brick.”

  “I didn’t think so, but I wondered. There shouldn’t be anyone there. Today’s a holiday, and patrollers don’t operate out of regional headquarters.”

  “And if anyone is there … that might suggest what?” she replied.

  “I couldn’t say, except I’d worry.”

  “Get your smoked meats before they’re all gone,” called the vendor as the five walked past him toward the square, less than a block away.

  In the block just off Central Square, Dekkard saw two bistros. The one on the left bore the name Gordiano. On the right was Blackberry’s, which had been there for as long as Dekkard could remember, and all the outdoor tables under the narrow brown-and-gold-striped awning already appeared to be taken. Dekkard thought that he smelled fresh-baked blueberry pie, one of the bistro’s signature desserts, but that might have been wistful thinking.

  “We’re to meet District Councilor Vandenburg on the far side of the square,” said Herrardo. “Right in front of the Fairwind Hotel. That’s the closest shaded place to the platform where the two of you will speak.”

  “The same as last year?” asked Obreduur.

  “Just the same. I hope the band is better.”

  From the sounds that Dekkard could make out drifting from the square, the band sounded in tune, but the tempo seemed to drag. Or maybe that’s the way what they’re playing is written.

  As they walked past the railing separating the tables of Blueberry’s from passersby, Dekkard studied those seated there, but no one seemed much interested in the five, except one bearded man who said to the others at his table, “Stuffed suits … idiots in this heat … be blathering to announce some meaningless crap. Rather hear the band.”

  Dekkard had to admit it was already hot, and it was only midmorning, but after a bell or so, Obreduur was scheduled for a reception and cool refreshments with the district council in the Fairwind. After that, Herrardo would drive them to picnics and gatherings around Oersynt until dinner, when the Obreduurs would dine with the district commerce board members and their spouses … and Dekkard and Ysella would watch.

  “Do you feel anything?” he asked Ysella.

  “Nothing near, and there are too many people in the square.”

  When they reached the edge of Central Square, Herrardo turned to the right, following the arc of the pavement as Copper Avenue made its elongated oval around the half hectare of the central area, graced with the near-obligatory fountain and statue of Laureous the Great upon a charger that more resembled a draft horse.

  Dekkard suspected that most of the people thronging the square weren’t there for the ceremony or the speakers, but for the prizes and vouchers for free or reduced-price food or goods that would be released from the bags suspended from poles around the square. Growing up, he’d only come to the opening ceremony once, because his parents had thought that he and Naralta should know what it was … and possibly how hot and uncomfortable.

  The evening activities he’d enjoyed in the year or two before he left Oersynt had been far more pleasant and definitely cooler, especially in the last year when he’d gone with Aethena, even though he’d never heard from her once he entered the Institute, and his letters had gone unanswered.

  As they neared the Fairwind Hotel, Dekkard saw an area under the awning cordoned off with green velvet ropes attached to brass stands. Only a few men stood there, presumably from the district council, one of whom was doubtless Arturo Vandenburg.

  Herrardo looked back and said, “The roped-off area is where you can wait.”

  A stocky man in a dark blue suit with a brilliant blue cravat turned as Herrardo led the four into the reserved area and said, “Axel, welcome to the seasonal heat of the festival. You, as well, Ingrella.”

  Ingrella nodded her head politely.

  “Arturo,” said Obreduur in a hearty voice, “it’s good to see you’re in good health.”

  “I look better than I feel, Axel. Days like this, I’d almost rather be in Argental. It never gets this hot there.”

  “It never even gets warm,” added the shorter man to his left.

  “You didn’t have security aides last year,” said Vandenburg. “Is that because … someone … is going after councilors?”

  “You don’t have to worry, Arturo,” replied Obreduur. “They’re only going after those of us in the Sixty-Six.”

  “So far.”

  “Arturo, my aides, Steffan Dekkard and Avraal Ysella.”

  “Dekkard … any relation to the portraitist?”

  “My mother and sister are both portraitists.”

  “Your mother’s been gifted by the Three.”

  “She’s worked hard to perfect that gift, Councilor.”

  Vandenburg laughed. “You even talk like her. Tall like her, too. Same color hair. Give her my best.”

  “I’ll do that, Councilor,” Dekkard replied pleasantly.

  Vandenburg turned back to Obreduur. “You speak first. Then I declare the festival open. What are you going to say? The usual platitudes?”

  Obreduur shook his head and said genially, “I thought I’d try some new ones. I don’t intend to speak for very long. Most of those in the square are only waiting for the prizes.”

&nb
sp; The shorter man, also in a dark blue suit with a brilliant blue cravat, spoke. “There are quite a few more people in the square this year. The opening-day prizes must be better.”

  “Armando,” replied Vandenburg, “they’re not any different.” He turned to Obreduur. “I don’t believe you’ve met Armando Garcia. He’s the Landor replacement district councilor for Jorge Sammons.”

  “I’m pleased to meet you,” said Obreduur.

  Dekkard eased away from the hotel and toward the square, where he could get a better look. The fountain and statue of Laureous were in the middle of the oval, opposite the main entry to the Fairwind Hotel, while the temporary wooden speaking platform was some five yards from the east end of the oval. Dekkard began to study the crowd, his eyes going from one person to another. There had to be well over a thousand people in the square, although it could have held twice that, and there were more men than women, but not noticeably so, but there was something about the crowd that bothered him, and he couldn’t place it.

  Finally, he turned to Ysella.

  Before he could say a word, she said, “There are hints of something. People anticipating, but it doesn’t feel like anticipating prizes and it doesn’t feel like violence. That sort of anger or outrage isn’t there … or not enough for me to sense.”

  “Could you sense if there are some feeling that way?”

  “Not unless there were a lot or they’re close to me.”

  “We’d better…” Dekkard nodded toward Obreduur, and the two eased closer to the councilor.

  Obreduur half turned as they closed the distance, then took several steps away from the district councilors, followed by Ingrella.

  “What is it?” asked Obreduur.

  “There’s a different feel about the crowd,” said Ysella, “but it’s not anger … more like anticipation … but not the kind for prizes.”