“Do you think it could get violent?”
“It doesn’t feel that way, but there are a lot of people out there.”
“Are there children?”
That question Dekkard understood. “Not many in the center of the square, just a few, mostly older, but there wouldn’t be. There are quite a few younger ones with their families on the outer sidewalks. We’ll follow you to the speaking platform, but stay below in back.”
“You’ll let me know if it changes?”
“Yes, sir,” said Ysella.
Obreduur nodded, then eased back to the district councilors.
“If there’s anything…” said Ingrella quietly, but firmly.
Dekkard nodded.
Ingrella joined her husband and the handful of district councilors.
Almost another third of a bell passed before Vandenburg turned to Obreduur and said, “It’s time to start making our way to the platform.”
Herrardo moved closer to Ingrella, and Dekkard led the way through the sparser crowd milling around on the pavement of Copper Avenue, while Ysella followed directly behind. When the four reached the area behind the speaking platform, they joined four trumpeters in dark blue livery, who stood flanking the wooden steps up to the platform.
The group waited until several minutes before fourth bell, as shown by the hands on the clock tower north of the square. Then the trumpeters started up the rear wooden steps to the platform. When they got there, two posted themselves at one end, and two at the other. Next Vandenburg and Obreduur climbed up, and Dekkard and Ysella moved to the base of the stairs.
Four chimes from the clock tower rang out in succession. After a moment of silence, the trumpeters began a fanfare.
When the lengthy fanfare ended, Obreduur stepped forward. The square quieted to scattered murmurings, but the councilor waited for perhaps a minute before beginning.
“Welcome to the Summerend Festival of Oersynt. As the councilor of the Sixty-Six for Oersynt, I’m supposed to say something either witty or humorous … and if I can’t do either … at least I should be brief. Since it’s hot and since you’re more interested in fun, food, drink, and prizes, I’ll choose brevity. Welcome to the festival!” With that, Obreduur stepped back to a short but enthusiastic round of applause.
District Councilor Vandenburg stepped forward and declared in a surprisingly booming voice, “Following Councilor Obreduur’s example of brevity, I hereby declare that the Summerend Festival of Oersynt has begun.”
Within instants of Vandenburg’s last word, the trumpeters played another loud and almost blaring fanfare. As they did, the attendants at the base of the poles pulled their cords, and hot air rushed up the tubes in the poles to the paper globes opened as well by the cord pulls, and papers and small prizes spewed across Central Square. While the crowd in the center of the square, or most of it, scrambled for prizes, paper vouchers and a scattering of one- and two-mark notes, Obreduur started down the wooden steps, followed by Vandenburg.
At the moment, a chant began, seemingly coming from everywhere around the square.
“PEOPLE, NOT PARTIES! PEOPLE, NOT PARTIES…”
Dekkard immediately glanced around. In the square, and along Copper Avenue, protestors unrolled banners and flourished signs, even as the chant continued.
Dekkard took quick inventory of the signs, his eyes going from one to another.
VOTE PEOPLE, NOT PARTY!
NO MORE FACELESS COUNCILS
PEOPLE! NOT PARTIES!
DOWN WITH FACELESSNESS!
There were others, too many to remember, but Dekkard saw that some were professionally printed and some hand-lettered, if almost elegantly. He immediately moved to Obreduur. “We need to get you out of here.”
“PEOPLE, NOT PARTIES! PEOPLE, NOT PARTIES…”
“To the hotel! There are Security patrollers there,” declared Vandenburg.
Dekkard had his doubts, but he looked to Ysella.
“There’s no anger or hate in that direction. But there’s anger growing in the middle of the square.”
“WE WANT PEOPLE, NOT PARTIES! WE WANT PEOPLE, NOT PARTIES…”
As the two pushed through the crowd, Dekkard used his truncheon to move people out of the way, while Vandenburg and Ysella hurried to keep up.
By the time the four reached the shade of the hotel awning, the hotel doormen and two Security patrollers had cleared the area, except for the other district councilors, Ingrella, and Herrardo. The chanting continued, not necessarily louder, but certainly not weaker. Dekkard holstered the truncheon.
“Do you think we should go to the steamer?” asked Herrardo.
“No,” declared Dekkard and Ysella almost simultaneously.
“Not now,” added Ingrella.
Dekkard studied the center of the square again, which held far fewer people. Most of those remaining were either chanting or parading with signs, if not both, possibly because the prize-grabbing types had gathered up what loot they could and then fled.
WHUUUMMP!!!
The sound was so loud and intense that Dekkard froze for an instant. During that instant the pavement beneath his feet vibrated. He looked toward the Avenue of Victory, expecting to see smoke and dust. He did, and then there was another rumble, and even more dust.
“That was the regional Security headquarters,” he said to a clearly startled Obreduur. “And I’d wager the same thing will be happening in cities across Guldor.”
Ingrella nodded, even as she looked from the square toward the hotel.
Herrardo’s mouth hung open.
“We should go inside.” Ingrella gestured toward the hotel doors, just as a doorman stepped out under the awning.
“How could this happen?” demanded Vandenburg. “How?”
“They have to have been planning it for months, if not years,” said Dekkard.
“To your left!” hissed Ysella.
Dekkard whirled, drawing a throwing knife as a man in a Security patroller uniform raised a pistol, clearly turning toward Obreduur and the district councilors. Dekkard threw the knife before the patroller could fire, and then moved toward the man while drawing the second knife. The first knife angled into the right side of the patroller’s chest, enough to cause the man to fumble the revolver to the ground. Then several shots rang out, and the patroller dropped to the pavement.
Dekkard immediately turned back toward Obreduur and Ysella, only to see that she’d pushed the councilor down, and that one of the attendants in hotel livery had shot Vandenburg and was turning toward Ysella.
Dekkard’s second knife went straight into the attendant’s neck.
As the man dropped his pistol and reached futilely for the blade, Dekkard took three quick steps and yanked Ysella to her feet, then Obreduur. “Inside!” By then he had the truncheon out again, despite the brief flash of lights as his eyes passed over the attacker, but there was no one standing between them and the door, which Ingrella held open. The four dashed into the lobby past two clearly bewildered doormen and back into the side hall by the restaurant.
“Are you all right?” Dekkard asked Ysella, even while he kept his eyes on the door, while holstering his truncheon and then reaching down to get the spare knife from his boot sheath.
“I’m fine.”
“You, sir?” Dekkard slipped the spare knife into the waist sheath.
“My knees will be sore for a while. That’s all.”
Dekkard’s eyes turned to Ingrella. “You were right. We should have moved into the hotel immediately.”
“She usually is,” added Obreduur, looking at Dekkard. “I still can’t believe that they attacked Arturo.” He looked to Ysella. “How is he?”
“He’s dead, sir. I’m sorry.”
“You did what you could,” said Ingrella. “Both of you.”
Obreduur looked to Dekkard. “You suggested that the New Meritorists tried to keep violence against people down.”
“They did. They’re unhappy with Security and the Cou
ncil. I’d wager that similar events happened in larger cities in Guldor today, and that the vast majority of deaths were either Security types, more likely agents than patrollers, and councilors and district councilors.” As Dekkard spoke, he watched the front doors, where several Security patrollers had appeared.
“That certainly follows,” said Ingrella.
Moments later, Herrardo hurried inside, looking one way and the other.
“Back here, Jareld,” called Obreduur.
The political coordinator hurried toward them. “Are you all right, Councilor?”
“Outside of a few bruises.”
“And you, Avraal? I thought that man was going to kill you.”
“I’m fine.”
Herrardo looked to Dekkard. “I don’t know how you managed that.”
“Good training and luck,” replied Dekkard. As well as fear and anger. “What’s going on out in the square?”
“The demonstrators have all run off. They left their signs and banners everywhere. The rest of the crowd scattered. There are Security steamers on Victory Avenue and in front of the hotel.”
“Did you see any other weapons besides the two pistols?” asked Dekkard.
Herrardo frowned, then said, “I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking about weapons. I just saw that patroller aiming at the councilor, and your knife stopping him, and another patroller shooting the first one. Then, the doorman shot District Councilor Vandenburg, and you stopped him with another knife. After that, there were more shots, and everyone started screaming and yelling and running away. The patrollers asked me a few questions and told me to come inside here and wait. You’re all supposed to wait also.”
“Right now, where would we go?” asked Obreduur dryly. “Were any other district councilors hurt?”
“No one else seemed to be.”
“It could be worse,” mused Obreduur.
“It could be much worse elsewhere, Axel,” said Ingrella. “We need to gather the children and get back to Machtarn as quickly as possible.”
“Why don’t you and Jareld take the steamer and drive to Malek, pick up the children and whatever all of us have left there, and drive back here. We’ll find a way to get on an express tomorrow back to Machtarn. I know it’s a three-bell drive each way, possibly longer, but the ironway would take more time, given the schedules.”
“We can do that.”
“Shouldn’t we go with you to the steamer?” asked Dekkard.
“I’ll go,” said Ysella. “You stay here with the councilor. Security will want to talk to you, and they won’t be pleased if you vanish.” She turned to Obreduur. “Is that acceptable?”
“It’s the best we can do under the circumstances,” replied Obreduur. “Go out the side door.”
In moments, Dekkard and Obreduur remained alone in the back of the hotel lobby.
“Did you think something like this would happen?” asked Obreduur.
“I thought the New Meritorists would do something. I also thought that they hadn’t recruited enough supporters for something like this.”
“What made you think that?”
“Little things. Like capping enrollment in the universities, requiring expulsions of students who demonstrated, the closure of the Guldoran Ironway textile mill, everything connected with the deaths of Halaard Engaard and Markell, an old man letting himself be emp-stunned and robbed because he didn’t have any other pleasures left, the cover-up involved with the Kraffeist Affair, even the attitude of Guldoran Ironway about using yellow cedar, cheating on art tariffs to weaken the Machtarn Artisans Guild … probably a few others I can’t recall.”
“Some of those aren’t that little, but I see your point,” replied Obreduur, his voice both sardonic and wry.
“Also the fact that the New Meritorists behind everything were able to avoid getting caught, and only lower-level volunteers were captured … and that so many were willing to risk falling into Security’s hands.”
Obreduur nodded. “What would you do in my position?”
Dekkard looked squarely at Obreduur. “Unless I’m very much mistaken, and I could be, I’d do what you would do, and that’s do everything possible to force new elections and discredit the Commercers in every way possible. Isn’t that why Ingrella wants you back in Machtarn as soon as possible? Hasn’t she been working with legalists to point out the decay and misuse of the legal structure by the Commercers so that the legalists, at the least, won’t violently oppose the possibility of a Crafter government?”
“You haven’t shared that with Avraal, I take it.”
“Some, but not all. I didn’t think about Ingrella and the legalists until recently. And for some of that I had no real evidence.”
Obreduur shook his head ruefully. “You’re incredibly good as a security aide, and yet … Why do you think I’ve been pushing you to do more?”
“Jens Seigryn said it was because you needed everyone to do more, including yourself. You also wanted me to see more … once you found out that we have similar views.”
“That’s true enough.” Obreduur looked toward the door. “We’ll have to talk more later.”
Dekkard looked across the hotel lobby.
A Security patroller walked through one of the hotel doors and asked one of the doormen standing there something. The doorman gestured in the direction of Obreduur, and the patroller walked toward the two. As the patroller neared, Dekkard could see that he was older and wore the insignia of a lieutenant. He also carried something wrapped in cloth.
“Councilor Obreduur?”
“Yes?”
“I understand you were attacked by two different men. One posed as a Security patroller, and the other as a hotel doorman. Is that correct?”
“It is, Lieutenant. My aide here wounded the false patroller and then stopped the false doorman.”
“That’s what everyone who was there said. I just wanted to make certain neither of you were injured, especially after District Councilor Vandenburg’s death.”
“I’m fine, thanks to my aides.”
“Did you know either of the attackers?”
“Lieutenant, I barely had a chance to look at either of them. I don’t think I’d ever seen either before. They weren’t friends or anyone I’d recognize immediately…”
For a good third of a bell, the lieutenant asked questions of both Dekkard and Obreduur, politely and patiently, including questions about where Herrardo and Ingrella had gone, although he didn’t press too hard on their absence, especially when Obreduur pointed out that Ysella was protecting his wife. The lieutnant’s tone suggested he had to ask questions to which he already knew the answers. Finally, he looked to Obreduur. “That’s what I thought, but I had to make sure.”
“Will you need anything else from either of us?” asked Obreduur.
“No, sir. You were clearly a target.” Then the lieutenant turned to Dekkard. “As far as Security is concerned, you wounded someone attacking the councilor. He was one of those frigging New Meritorists, and that allowed us to shoot him before he shot any of the councilors. No one knows who the false doorman was, and we’ll never know.” He handed the cloth-wrapped object to Dekkard. “It’s much simpler this way. Thank you.”
Dekkard took the object. The cloth was wrapped around his knives. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”
“My pleasure, sir. You kept things from being much worse.” Then the officer turned back to Obreduur. “There’s an unmarked patrol steamer outside the side door. The driver will take you both back to the Cosmopolitano.” He inclined his head politely. “If you’ll excuse me now, there’s still a great deal to handle on the square … and on Victory Avenue.”
“Thank you very much, Lieutenant,” said Obreduur. “I very much appreciate what you and your patrollers have done.”
“We do the best we can, sir. I appreciate your understanding.”
As the lieutenant walked back to the front door, Dekkard couldn’t help thinking about the slightest emphasis the officer h
ad placed on the words “patrol steamer.”
“Is it a trap, do you think?” asked Obreduur, almost casually.
“I don’t think so, not the way he said it was a patrol steamer … and with the slight resignation in the way he mentioned Victory Avenue.” Dekkard paused. “I could be wrong. You’ve spent more years reading people than I have.”
“If you’re wrong, then we both are. Let’s get out of here before anyone changes their mind. That’s definitely what the lieutenant wants.”
Dekkard unwrapped the knives. They were spotlessly clean without a hint of dampness, although there was a slight odor of kerosene on the cloth. Probably the only cleaner they could find quickly. He swiftly replaced one knife in the waist sheath and the second in the boot sheath, then unholstered the truncheon and led the way to the side door.
Just as promised, a blue Realto steamer waited at the curb. No one else was close by.
Dekkard took a hard look at the young uniformed patroller behind the wheel, before opening the rear door, then closing it behind Obreduur and opening the front door to sit beside the driver, who swallowed. Dekkard wondered what the lieutenant had told the patroller, but it might also have been that he still held the truncheon.
“The Hotel Cosmopolitano, sirs?”
“That’s right, Officer,” said Dekkard politely. “No excessive speed is necessary.”
“Yes, sir.”
The young patroller drove swiftly but carefully, avoiding Victory Avenue, and in roughly a sixth of a bell, stopped in front of the Hotel Cosmopolitano. “Sirs…”
“Thank you very much,” said Dekkard as he eased out of the steamer, still holding the truncheon and watching the patroller as he opened the rear door. Only after Obreduur was out did Dekkard close both doors.
Once the patrol steamer moved away from the hotel, Obreduur smiled at Dekkard. “You know you scared the shit out of him?”
“That was the general idea, but I was very polite.” Dekkard holstered the truncheon.
“You were. Let’s go to the restaurant and have a lager and something to eat.”
As they walked to into the hotel, another thought crossed Dekkard’s mind. He’d seen the flash of tiny lights when the doorman died, but nothing when the false patroller had. Or were you so concerned that you ignored it? Or was it because you weren’t the one who killed him?
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