Dekkard knew that, but was surprised to hear Rhosali say it.
Before any of the three could say more, Hyelda appeared in the archway. “The councilor wants to leave a third earlier than usual.”
“Thank you,” replied Dekkard, adding to Avraal, “Time to eat and not talk.” Then he quickly started in on his croissants.
A sixth later, he was headed to the garage, and he had the Gresynt waiting when Obreduur and Avraal came out of the house.
Once in the steamer, even before Dekkard started down the drive, Obreduur said, “Avraal told me that you two saw part of the demonstration at the university.”
“We barely escaped from an omnibus that the demonstrators overturned,” said Dekkard, easing the Gresynt forward. “After that, patrollers and Special Tactical Forces took on the rioters. The Tacticals started shooting people. They didn’t look concerned about who they shot.”
“I can’t say I expected a riot at the university. Not so soon, at least.”
“Even after the Premier announced that he was restricting the enrollment of anyone who wasn’t a Commercer or the child of professionals? And after the administration expelled students involved in the earlier protests, but only students who weren’t Commercers? It wasn’t stated quite that way, but that’s how it turned out.”
“Why do you think it happened now, Steffan?”
“Because classes start in two weeks. I’d guess that some students found out that their enrollment had been canceled. I’d also wager that the New Meritorists stirred things up.”
Obreduur was silent for several moments, then said, “I’m going to need both of you ready most of the time for the next week or two.”
“That bad, sir?” asked Dekkard.
“It just might be. There were protests at all the universities … except the Military Institute.”
Even Dekkard hadn’t expected multiple university demonstrations, but he could see why there wouldn’t have been one at the Institute.
“Now … I need to write a few more messages.”
In short … please be quiet.
No one said a word for the remainder of the drive. Council Guards were clearly present outside the Council Office Building and the covered parking, seemingly checking everyone’s identity. Once he parked the Gresynt, had his passcard checked twice, and entered the building, Dekkard made a quick detour to post his letter to Naralta, then hurried upstairs.
The stack of letters and petitions on his desk was slightly larger than on any day the week before. As he settled in, he wondered, briefly, if even more people would write because of the university demonstrations. Then he shook his head. The number of letters about the Summerend demonstrations had been relatively few. Why would there be more letters about demonstrations by dissatisfied students? Yet more and more people were getting involved with the demonstrations. Are they not writing because they don’t think the Council will do anything?
For the moment, and so long as he was an aide to a minority councilor, Dekkard couldn’t do any more than he was doing. So he picked up the first letter and began to read. It was a complaint about the government setting waterway lock rates too high.
About a bell later, Obreduur stepped out of his personal office and motioned. “Steffan, if you’d join me.”
Dekkard immediately rose, relieved that the councilor sounded—and looked—calm, and entered the office, closing the door.
Obreduur stood beside the desk. “We just got a reply to our request that Treasury Minister Munchyn look into the practice of tariff agents assessing imported art at low rates.” He handed the single sheet to Dekkard. “Read it, and then we’ll talk.”
Dekkard took the letter and began to read. He concentrated on the words.
… based on the information provided and the possible impact on both the Imperial Treasury and on corporacions with large volumes of imported goods, the Treasury Minister has begun a thorough review on tariff assessment procedures. Given the technicalities involved and the potential scope of goods that might be involved, such a review may take several months …
The rest of the letter was politely perfunctory. It was signed by Johann Smythers, Assistant Minister for Taxation and Tariffs.
Dekkard shook his head and handed the letter back to Obreduur. “Munchyn isn’t about to do anything … or not any sooner than he has to.”
“What do you suggest we tell the Artisans Guild?”
“It doesn’t sound like it would hurt for them to file that grievance petition against the Imperial Tariff Commission.”
“The guild could also petition the Justiciary to require completion of the study by a date certain,” said Obreduur, “but the petition should suggest that, due to the financial repercussions to all involved and the loss of revenue to the Treasury, that date certain should not be later than the first of Fallend.”
“Would it hurt to recommend both?” asked Dekkard.
“It can’t hurt. It probably won’t help. Write a careful response to Raoul Carlione quoting Smythers’s letter, and recommending that the guild file both petitions so that the Ministry of the Treasury is well aware of the problem and the potential costs to the government. Once you’ve written it, give it to Ivann for review, and then type it up for my signature.”
“Yes, sir.” Dekkard paused, then said, “Would there be any downside to getting this to the newssheets?”
“If I signed a letter that quoted the assistant minister … the downside might not be too bad. I already intended to have Carlos make the suggestion to Raoul. Make sure that the quote is long enough and verbatim.” Obreduur handed the Treasury letter back to Dekkard. “I’ll be leaving for the councilors’ dining room for a meeting at a third after fifth bell. If you’d tell Avraal.”
Dekkard left the office, closed the door, and then stopped in front of Avraal’s desk. “He’s leaving for the councilors’ dining room at a third after fifth bell.”
She nodded, then gestured at the letter he held.
“A letter from one of Munchyn’s assistant ministers. They intend to study the art-tariff mess into oblivion, so that Transoceanic’s front organizations can continue to bleed independent artisans. I have to draft the response to the Artisans Guild.”
“You only have to draft it,” she pointed out.
“I know. He has to sign it and take the blame that he can’t do more.” And more pressure if the letter or quotes end up in the newssheets.
“Some staffers never quite feel that.”
“Some councilors don’t, either,” added Karola tartly. “Unlike ours.”
Dekkard couldn’t help but smile, if briefly, at Karola’s retort.
Dekkard finished the draft response to Carlione and carried in to Macri. “This is about the tariff problem with the Artisans Guild.”
“I thought Svard was working with you on that…”
“There’s no legal issue in the response. It’s the political slant, and he wanted you to review it.”
Macri nodded and took the draft.
“Any word about that supplemental disguised as a reallocation?” asked Dekkard.
Macri smiled sardonically. “I figured out what they did, but it’s perfectly legal.”
“But if the legislation states that Guldoran—”
“It doesn’t. It allocates the funding to the Minister of Transportation for purposes of funding urgent ironway repairs and maintenance. In effect, he can give the funding to whatever ironway he wants. Unless we can get proof…”
Dekkard could see that, but … “We could still say that the Commercers are avoiding Council scrutiny and that there’s no oversight, and that it’s a stratagem to avoid complying with the requirements of the Great Charter.”
Macri shook his head. “The bill reallocates unspent funds previously authorized. Oversight doesn’t apply. I did some quick research. They’ve been padding funding of ministries who don’t spend it all, even when they need it. They relinquish those funds back to the Treasury, and they go into
the reallocation account.”
“Which turns into a Commercer preference fund,” finished Dekkard.
“Exactly. But it’s complicated enough, with enough legal justification, that it would be politically difficult to get people enraged about it—unlike the Kraffeist Affair.”
Dekkard could see that. “You’ll explain that to Obreduur?”
“That’s what I was working on.”
“Then I’ll let you get on with it. Thank you.”
“Steffan … your instincts were right.”
As he walked back to his desk, Dekkard realized that he should have figured out that such a preferential subsidy couldn’t have been that easy to expose … or shut down.
Over the next two bells, he managed to draft replies to most of the routine correspondence, and, as he had suspected, there were only two letters about the New Meritorist Summerend demonstrations. Of course, it was too early to receive letters about the university demonstrations, but he still doubted there would be many.
Shortly after fifth bell, Obreduur stepped out of the inner office, and Dekkard and Avraal joined him. Dekkard checked his truncheon and gladius, although he’d never actually used it against an attacker, and he didn’t know a security isolate who had. Still … he could, if it happened to be necessary.
The three encountered only a few handfuls of people in the main corridor and staircase of the Council Office Building and only a single councilor crossing the garden square, too far away to recognize. There were a great many more Council Guards in the Council Hall corridor, but only a few others. And half of them seemed to be messengers.
Avraal murmured, “So far as I can sense, they’re all real messengers.”
When they reached the dining room, Obreduur said, “Go have a leisurely bite to eat. I’ll go straight to the floor from the dining room. The session on supplemental funding will last between two and three bells, and I want you both near when it ends. So don’t go back to the office. When the chimes sound the end of the session, please be waiting.”
“Yes, sir,” both answered.
Obreduur smiled. “You couldn’t possibly tell that you two work well together. I’ll see you immediately after the session.” Then he walked to the dining room entrance.
Dekkard didn’t watch Obreduur, but everyone else nearby. Only when the councilor was out of sight did he look at Avraal. “Ready to eat? You barely ate any breakfast at all.”
“You know I’m not a breakfast person.”
“And you know that I eat that impossible quince paste with two croissants for breakfast.” He grinned at her.
She shook her head, then said, “Food would be good.”
Because it was so early there was no one ahead of them. Avraal decided on a chicken spinach enchilada with black beans and a side salad. Dekkard went for the mixed empanada plate, but added a small Imperial salad, reflecting that the nomenclature was a clear oxymoron.
As they left the cafeteria line, someone called out, “Avraal, Steffan, come join us.”
Dekkard glanced at the hailer, only to discover that it was Laurenz Korriah, seated beside Shaundara Keppel.
“We’d love to.” Avraal moved to the table and sat down across from Korriah.
Dekkard took the remaining seat, then had a swallow of his Kuhrs, absently deciding that he preferred Riverfall.
“Do you know what this meeting is about?” asked Korriah.
Dekkard managed not to ask “What meeting?” and answered, “I haven’t the faintest idea. The councilor doesn’t talk much about meetings with other councilors before he meets with them. Most times, not afterwards, either. What do you think it’s about?”
“That beats me,” replied Korriah. “He did mention something about a petition before the High Justiciary.”
“You haven’t heard?” asked Dekkard. “It was in Gestirn this morning.” He took a bite of the salad.
“I don’t read it much. All the stories are half Commercer puff pieces, and everything’s presented out of context.”
“Do you remember Eduard Graffyn—”
“The missing logistics director for Eastern Ironway?” interrupted Keppel.
“The same one. He’s apparently reappeared and petitioned the High Court for remedies to certain leasing practices of the Ministry of Public Resources.”
Korriah gave a low whistle. “No wonder the Commercers offed Kraffeist. I knew it had to be them, not that anyone could pin it on them, but I couldn’t figure out why it happened now.”
“He sent a sealed deposition with the petition—”
“This was in Gestirn?” interjected Keppel.
“A paragraph in the story about Kraffeist this morning and a small article in small print the other day,” answered Dekkard, managing a bite of a pork empanada with verde sauce. He was definitely hungry.
“That figures.” Korriah snorted. “Ulrich is going to want to shut that down. I’ll wager your boss is getting together the Landors and Crafters on the Public Resources Committee … or some of them.”
“That could be,” said Avraal, “but some members of the Transportation Committee also weren’t happy about being shut out by Ulrich.”
Korriah smiled broadly. “This could be very interesting.”
“If something doesn’t happen to Director Graffyn,” said Keppel.
“It doesn’t matter,” said Korriah cheerfully. “If something happens to Graffyn, the Craft and Landor justicers on the High Court will make that deposition public. If it gets bad enough, after all the riots, the Imperador just might have to ask Ulrich to resign and call elections.”
“If the Imperador does that too quickly,” suggested Avraal, “he’ll be seen as allowing the Commercers to cover it all up.”
“But if he doesn’t do something…?” countered Keppel.
“He’ll be seen as weak and as the Commercers’ marionette,” said Korriah, “which he is.”
“What do you think he should do?” asked Dekkard.
“Me? I’m just a security aide. What do I know?”
“After you get through with the disclaimers,” replied Dekkard cheerfully, “I’d like to hear your thoughts.”
Korriah offered a booming laugh.
Dekkard waited, using the moments to finish eating another empanada.
Finally, Korriah said, “I’d dismiss Ulrich and ask the Landors and Crafters to form a coalition government.”
“A coalition when neither party has a plurality?” asked Ysella. “That’s never been done.”
“There’s a first time for anything,” replied Korriah. “Letting the New Meritorists get away with destroying fifteen regional Security offices was a first time, too. Not a good one. Security needs to get tough with the Meritorists, not students.”
Dekkard nodded slightly, then took another swallow of Kuhrs. He doubted that “getting tough” with anyone would do more than buy time and enrage more people … and that was hardly a trade-off that led to solving problems, although he suspected Korriah might feel that way.
For the next third or so, he let the older Security isolate do most of the talking, noting that no one added much to what had been said, although he knew Avraal certainly could have.
After he and Avraal left the cafeteria, he asked her, “What did you get from that?”
“The Landors wouldn’t do things that much differently from the Commercers, and they’d be more inept in doing it. Laurenz is more capable than half their councilors, but he’ll never be more than a security aide if he stays with the Landors.”
Because the waiting area was crowded, neither he nor Avraal said more than pleasantries while they waited for the Council session to end.
Surprisingly, within moments of the chimes signifying the end of the session, Obreduur was one of the first councilors to leave the Council floor, and he was alone.
“How did the meeting and the session go, sir?” asked Dekkard.
“The meeting went as expected, which was a relief, and the Council session on
supplemental funding was … interesting.”
Neither Dekkard nor Avraal said more as they walked toward the doors leading into the garden square.
Once no one was that close, Obreduur said, “The meeting was a discussion on the Kraffeist Affair. The session was a debate on the supplemental funding levels, especially on the amount allocated to Security. Most of the Landor councilors and all of the Craft councilors insisted on reducing that amount. While she didn’t speak on the total funding level, Councilor Bassaana asked if the proposed funding included marks to replace the tonnes of dunnite paid for by the Navy but diverted by the New Meritorists.”
“She said that?”
“She did, and Ulrich refused to answer the question. He just talked around it. Bassaana didn’t object. She just wanted that information out in the public, and Ulrich clearly didn’t. He didn’t contradict her, which was smart, because that would have made an even more interesting newssheet story.”
“Do you think the Imperador will do anything?”
“Not in the next day or so. He’ll wait to see if things calm down. Ulrich definitely wants that as well.” Obreduur glanced in Dekkard’s direction. “You don’t think they will, do you?”
“No, sir. I think the New Meritorists will try to keep people stirred up. What do you think?”
“I’m afraid you’re right. I also worry that too much unrest will play into the Commercers’ hands. Most people who aren’t hurting in one way or another just want things to go on as they used to. The question is how many people are really hurting, how many feel they’re hurting, and how many people who aren’t laborers and poor sympathize with them.”
More than you think and less than enough to force new elections. Dekkard didn’t say anything as they walked past the fountain, concentrating. As they neared the Council Office Building, he finally said, “Is there any way to make Security a concern? I mean, they keep shooting women in the back and students, but they can’t even keep their own buildings safe.”
“That’s a good point, Steffan.”
“Except that there’s no way you can get that message out that bluntly? But what if you asked during the debate how cost-effective it would be to retain Minister Wyath, given that, under his tenure, sixteen Security buildings were destroyed. What assurance does the Council have that the same thing won’t happen again after appropriating millions of marks for rebuilding?”
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