Isolate

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  From the questions Obreduur asked, Dekkard could tell that he was familiar with fabrics as well, but one interaction surprised him.

  Obreduur looked at a bolt of deep blue cloth, nodded, and asked the vendor, “Hemp cloth?”

  “The very best. Much softer than cotton or linen. It lasts twice as long.”

  Dekkard frowned. He knew that hemp was used for rope and canvas … but fine cloth?

  “It requires steam processing,” Obreduur explained to Dekkard, “but the results are worth it. Not that I have many garments made of it.”

  “You should, honored Councilor.”

  “I should, but Craft councilors seldom have the funds for such fabrics. But thank you, and please consider voting for the Craft Party on Findi.”

  Along the way Dekkard also discovered that cotton naturally came in at least four colors, tan, red, green, and brown, none of which was a surprise to Avraal or Obreduur.

  The four left the fabric market at a third before fourth bell, and Herrardo drove south almost to the Rio Azulete, where, at about a sixth before fourth bell, he eased the Gresynt to a halt on the street outside the parking area and next to the omnibus stop for Ferrum Steamer Works. “I’ll be on the side street over there. It’s not a good idea to ask for votes from Ferrum workers with a Gresynt nearby. They’ll assume the worst.”

  Dekkard could see that, but had to admit that he wouldn’t have thought of that difficulty.

  Dekkard and Avraal took out the banner and the poles and set it up against the outside wall of the long roofed shelter for those waiting for omnibuses, of which two stood empty, waiting for the shift change, having presumably just delivered workers for the evening shift.

  Even before they had the banner completely in place, a man approached, grizzled and limping, although Dekkard doubted he was more than fifteen years older than Dekkard himself.

  “You really the councilor? You don’t look like a crafter.”

  Obreduur held up his left hand, turning it so that the other could see the two permanently bent and scarred fingers. “I got those as a river stevedore. I hope you don’t mind if I don’t take off my boot to show you the toes I don’t have.”

  “That all?”

  “That’s when I went back to school and decided I could help working people more by trying to get them better working conditions.”

  “You been successful?”

  “Sometimes … and sometimes not.”

  The grizzled man laughed and spat to the side. “Leastwise, you admit you sometimes fail.”

  “We all fail at times. What we do after that is what matters.”

  “Some of us don’t get that many chances.”

  “Some of my family didn’t, either.”

  The man nodded. “Best of luck.” He walked past the councilor toward the manufactory.

  Within moments of the steam whistle blowing at fourth bell, workers began to stream out of the works. The older men tended to walk toward the parking area, filled with Ferrums of various colors; the younger workers, mostly men, and some women, walked to the omnibus stop.

  Most of the first workers coming toward the waiting omnibuses barely looked at the councilor or his aides and rushed to board. All they wanted, clearly, was to leave the works as soon as possible. After the first omnibus filled and departed and as the second one began to fill, several workers stopped and looked at the banner and the councilor.

  “Are you really Councilor Obreduur?” asked an older woman, her voice dubious.

  “For better or worse.”

  “… told you so,” murmured the slightly younger woman beside her.

  “Why are you here?”

  “There’s an election on Findi. I’m here to ask you to vote, preferably for me, since I am the Craft Party candidate.”

  “You don’t need to ask. I’d never vote for either the landed pigs or the mark-stuffed-shirts.”

  “I appreciate that. And could I ask you to persuade your friends and family to vote as well?”

  “You look pretty well-off,” said the younger woman.

  “I started as a river stevedore, then went to school, got a little education, eventually became a guild steward, and then a guildmeister…”

  “You’re the one,” said the older woman, “the one the Commercers tried to kill.” She turned to the younger woman. “Remember? Two, three weeks back, at Summerend?”

  “And you’re really here?”

  “I am. This election is very important—”

  “We know. We’ll vote,” declared the older woman as she and her companion hurried toward the next arriving omnibus.

  After that, the conversations tended to be much shorter, but in the next two-thirds of a bell Obreduur talked to at least thirty more workers, and more than that listened while he spoke. Then, the sidewalks were bare.

  Once Obreduur entered the steamer, he said to Herrardo, “Time for our last meeting of the day.”

  Dekkard frowned. “Sir … this was the last one on the list.” In fact, the Ferrum works was the last event on the schedule before they left for Malek the first thing on Duadi morning.

  “It was indeed,” replied Obreduur. “But there’s one more. It was best that it not be listed. I don’t mind people finding out afterward, but not before the fact. We’re going to the meeting place of the Working Women Guild of Oersynt.”

  Even Herrardo looked surprised. “Sir…”

  “I promised Ritten Obreduur. She arranged it. You wouldn’t want me to break that promise, would you, Jareld?”

  Herrardo shook his head. “Not if you promised her. Where are we going?”

  “It’s just off Fifteenth Boulevard on the Rio Mal Road. It’s in the old Trinitarian chapel there. You might recall…”

  “Oh … the one where the Oersynt Civic Association protested to the district councilors that the transfer to the guild was an unseemly use of a formerly sacred space?”

  “I believe they claimed it would profane the space,” replied Obreduur dryly. “That’s it.”

  As Herrardo pulled away from the omnibus stop, Dekkard felt like shaking his head at the reaction of the Oersynt Civic Association, but did not. Women who work in brothels or the streets need all the help they can get. “Do they have a legalist?”

  “A very junior and inexperienced one, although she’s very bright, according to Ingrella. Why do you ask?”

  “I’ve been thinking that, if we win, and you form a government, we ought to try to pass a law that allows all women working the streets or in unlicensed sex establishments the right to be represented by the guild.”

  “How would you justify it?”

  “They’re far likelier to adhere to the guild’s guidelines and health practices, as well as to know their legal rights and responsibilities.”

  “Some wouldn’t want to pay guild dues.”

  “Then they don’t get guild services.” Dekkard paused, then added, “But if they call on a guild legalist, they have to agree to pay dues for the subsequent year.”

  “They still might not,” Obreduur pointed out, “even if they received legal representation.”

  “Does it matter, so long as the law has that requirement?” asked Dekkard dryly.

  Abruptly, Obreduur laughed. “I see your point.”

  Avraal looked sideways at Dekkard and smiled.

  The meeting hall of the Working Women Guild was indeed a worn yellow brick building that had the configuration of a Trinitarian chapel, but the property was neat, if largely bare of vegetation except for some ancient maples and meshgrass that covered most of the grounds. It was roughly twenty blocks, as the raven flew, southeast of the Hotel Cosmopolitano, and was surrounded largely by small shops and occasional tenements. The parking area was modest, but while it could have accommodated twenty steamers, there were only three others there when Herrardo came to a stop in a spot marked by a metal sign with the barely decipherable word VISITOR painted upon it.

  “You’re sure this is the place, sir?” aske
d Herrardo.

  “We may be a little early, but it is the place. Most of the women in the guild wouldn’t be able to afford steamers. We might as well go in.”

  Dekkard immediately got out and opened the rear door. Then all four walked to the doors of the former chapel.

  The woman who greeted them looked younger than Dekkard, at least to him, and wore a cream linen suit with her wavy brown hair drawn back. “We’re glad you could make it, Councilor. I’m Tarisha Vereen, the guild legalist.”

  “I’m pleased to meet you, Legalist Vereen,” replied Obreduur. “My wife has spoken highly of you.”

  “I can’t say enough of her, sir. I’m very glad that you’re here. We’re ready any time you are. Some others may join us.” She gestured toward the area that had once been a sanctuary.

  More than thirty women waited in the ancient pews, some sitting alone, others in groups of two or three. Avraal and Dekkard stood just below the low dais that was the only remaining hint of the sanctuary’s previous function, while Obreduur and Vereen stood in the middle of the dais.

  “Councilor Axel Obreduur is here to talk to us about the election … and to answer any questions you may have.” Vereen turned to Obreduur. “Councilor…”

  “Thank you.” Obreduur paused, then began. “I do wish that my wife, who has worked on legal issues affecting working women, particularly women like you, could have been here. That wasn’t possible. I’m here to urge all of you who can vote to do so in the forthcoming election. Next Findi, to be exact. I’d also like you to consider voting for the Craft Party, and to urge anyone you can influence to vote Craft. This isn’t just about me, although I would prefer to be reelected. It’s about what’s in your own best interest. Some of you may recall that just before the last election some five years ago, the Commercer councilor from Ondeliew tried to pass a law that would have classed women who worked in the brothels or massage parlors as part-time workers, which would have meant you would have lost the right to vote, as well as certain other legal protections. Fortunately, with the advice and help of my wife and the Guilds’ Advisory Committee, a strong enough effort defeated that Commercer councilor. The Commerce Party does not and never will favor your best interests. I won’t belabor the point, except to again ask you to vote … and vote Craft. Now … if you have any questions…”

  “What else, if anything, has the Craft Party done for us?” The extremely fair skin of the older woman who spoke suggested she’d come from a very much less than affluent background.

  “Without control of the government, what we can do with laws has been limited. Craft legalists, however, have been successful in litigation forcing corporacions and businesses to pay women the same wages as men when they do the same job and to require that their job titles be identical. These legalists have also been successful in assuring that working women retain their rights to vote and to hold property independently…” After several more examples, Obreduur finished by saying, “… while we have accomplished this, doing so through lawsuits requires a laborious effort. A Craft government offers the possibility of using the law to clearly require compliance…”

  “Offers the possibility?” The questioner’s tone was bitterly ironic.

  “That all depends on how many seats we pick up … and that is up to you and voters all across Guldor.”

  “What about the service tax on brothels and massage parlors? No other small business has an additional special tax levied on it.”

  “Part of that tax is to pay for health inspections,” replied Obreduur. “I doubt that a majority of any Council would repeal that tax, but I’d be willing to investigate the use of revenues from the tax to see if they’re being used as required…”

  The questions only lasted another third before the young legalist stepped forward. “Thank you, Councilor, for your straightforward and candid answers.”

  A scattering of applause followed her words.

  Most of the women left without a word.

  Two, however, did move toward Obreduur.

  The younger one simply said, “Thank you. I didn’t know about that councilor from Ondeliew.” Then, she turned and left before Obreduur could reply.

  The second was the woman who had asked the first question. “Are you really as good as you come across?”

  “I did my best. My wife would have been able to address the issues more personally. All I can say is that, in the areas that most affect you, I’m strongly guided by my wife’s recommendations, and she’s spent more than twenty years fighting to make things better for women.”

  “Fair enough.” With that, the older woman also turned and left.

  Once the meeting room was empty, Vereen said, “They won’t say much, but what you said, and how you said it, seemed to reach most of them. I certainly appreciated it.”

  “Thank you again,” said Obreduur.

  None of the four said much as they walked back to the dark blue Gresynt.

  Dekkard could see how the women at the meeting could be skeptical of almost any man. But, skeptical as they might be, neither the Landor Party nor the Commerce Party will ever do anything for them. Yet he still wondered if they saw it that way. Or are you just rationalizing?

  96

  OBREDUUR, Avraal, and Dekkard were at the Guldoran Ironway station in Oersynt well before the first morning bell on Duadi in order to catch the Veerlyn Express, which left precisely at the first morning bell. As they had before, the three sat in the parlor carriage, where Obreduur had two seats to himself, one of which held a case full of various papers, and Avraal and Dekkard had the seats facing him.

  The carriage was less than half full, and held a mixture of travelers, almost all men, but given that both Avraal and Dekkard were in security grays, no one directly approached them.

  While Avraal was sensing and feeling out those in the compartment, Dekkard did overhear one murmured comment:

  “… wonder who he is, with two security types … doesn’t look all that impressive…”

  Obreduur wasn’t theatre-idol handsome, but he was moderately good-looking, and he definitely projected warmth when he was talking or meeting with people, but Dekkard had to admit that, at the moment, the councilor looked more like a harried corporacion director than the Premier of Guldor.

  Dekkard turned to Avraal. “Do you sense anyone to worry about in the carriage?”

  “Not that I can tell. It’s also a little unlikely that anyone would try here … but you never know.” She looked down at the schedule for the day.

  “It doesn’t look that much different from what he’s been doing all along,” said Dekkard, “except there aren’t any fundraising dinners.”

  “There’s no point to them right now. Votes are what count.”

  “You don’t think he’s in any danger of losing, do you?”

  “He’s often said that a politician is always in danger of losing until the last vote is counted and he’s definitely won.”

  “Is that why Decaro will likely win in Gaarlak … because Councilor Raathan hasn’t put much effort in keeping in touch with people?”

  “That … and all that Obreduur—and you—did there during the Summerend recess.”

  “Me? I just gave a few short statements about the importance of the Craft Party.”

  “Exactly. That’s more than Raathan has done in years. What Obreduur did with you was to show that the Craft Party has both experience and talented young men, and that both care for working people. That’s something that neither Decaro nor Lamarr could do. Lamarr understood that. I doubt that Decaro does. He’ll end up as out of touch as Raathan was, except sooner, and we could lose that seat whenever there’s another election.”

  “Doesn’t anyone understand that? Surely Jens Seigryn does.”

  “I’m sure he does, but he’s only a coordinator and liaison. Gretna Haarl does, and that may make a difference when she becomes guildmeister.”

  “You think she will?”

  “Sooner or later. Most of the T
extile Millworkers are women, and she’s been active in pushing for their rights. Maatsuyt doesn’t have her energy.”

  “I thought you found her abrasive.”

  “She definitely can be that, but people forgive a lot when that abrasiveness helps them.”

  “I can see that.” Still, Dekkard wondered.

  “I hope you don’t mind, Steffan, but I think you should try to get a little nap. The next few days are going to be long … and this morning was early.”

  “What about you?”

  “We both don’t have to stay awake, and I can sense something sooner than you can.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  Following Avraal’s suggestion, Dekkard leaned back and closed his eyes. He wasn’t certain he slept, but he dozed, and was awakened by a gentle kiss on his cheek and the words, “We’re almost at Malek.”

  Dekkard shook his head, trying to become alert. Then he smiled and said, “I could get very used to being awakened like that.”

  “Then I’d better not do it very often. I wouldn’t want you to take it for granted.”

  “I don’t think I’ll ever take you for granted.”

  “Promises, promises.” But her words were said teasingly.

  “Thank you for letting me sleep. I was more tired than I thought.”

  “You can return the favor, sooner or later.”

  “I will.”

  As the express slowed to a crawl and then stopped, Dekkard immediately studied the station platform. It was almost empty, and the other travelers in the carriage were preoccupied with making their own preparations to disembark. Was that because almost no one, and certainly none of the newssheets, could conceive of a Craft premier? If Obreduur did become premier, would the comparative lack of attention change? Dekkard couldn’t help but wonder.

  By the time the three left the station proper, Ingrella’s cousin Tybor was waiting in the loading area with a dark blue Gresynt.

  Once he loaded the luggage, Dekkard asked Tybor, “Is that the same one as last time?”