He didn’t rush as he showered, shaved, and dressed in a more traditional fashion with a cream-colored barong over dark green trousers. He still wore black boots, since he’d never liked sandals. Then he made his way down to the staff room, where Hyelda had laid out the basics in the center of the table—café in a pot on an alcohol warmer, pitchers of orange and guava juice, a plate of croissants, and, for Dekkard, a small plate with quince paste.
Ysella was already there. She looked up from her mug of café. “The cream and green look good on you. So does the barong. Maybe that’s because I usually see you in grays or trousers and jackets.”
In return, Dekkard actually looked closely at her, taking in her bobbed black hair, gray eyes, and wiry figure. She was wearing a slightly daring mid-calf-length maroon skirt and matching blouse, with a pale lighter maroon jacket so filmy that it was almost translucent. “You look very stylish. What are you doing today?” asked Dekkard.
“Since it doesn’t look like rain, I’m going to visit my sister and her husband. I don’t suppose you’d want to come?” Ysella’s question was almost rhetorical, not surprisingly, given that she’d invited Dekkard a good half score times over the past year.
“In fact … I think I’d like that … if you don’t mind?”
Her mouth half opened in surprise. Then she smiled. “I knew you’d come … sometime.”
He poured himself a mug of café before sitting down across the table from her. “They live somewhere east of here, you said?” He took two of the croissants from the platter, and two slices of quince paste, then poured himself a glass of the guava juice, which he didn’t like as much as the orange juice, but which he knew was better for him.
“A mille and a half beyond the end of the Erslaan route, but it’s a pleasant walk. They’ll drive us back, but since I never know when I’m leaving…”
“And the omnibus can be a bit … variable on endday?”
“Exactly.”
Dekkard sliced the first croissant almost in half, slipped the quince paste in between the halves, and took a bite.
Ysella shook her head. “You and that quince paste.”
“What time were you planning on leaving?”
“Whenever is comfortable for you.”
“I take it that they’re not late sleepers?”
“They’re not in the habit. He’s an architect and engineer, and she’s a Security patroller, mostly as a dispatch aide, though. For now, anyway.”
For now? And working as Security patroller, even doing mostly clerical work, when her husband is a professional? Dekkard decided not to ask. “I’ll be ready after breakfast. You just let me know.”
“We’ll leave as soon as you’re ready.” Ysella took a last sip of her café and rose. “I’ll meet you under the portico.”
As she left the staff room, Dekkard half wondered why he’d agreed so quickly. Are you losing your chill? He shook his head. That just didn’t happen. Besides, he’d worked with Ysella long enough to know she wouldn’t have tried emping him even if he weren’t an isolate.
He soon finished the second croissant and the guava juice, as well as the café. After carrying his plate and mug into the kitchen, he walked back to his room, where he picked up a few essentials, including his knives and wallet, then washed his hands and face, before heading down to the portico. As he stepped outside, he glanced up, and, as Ysella had said, the pale green sky was crystal clear, for the first time in days.
Ysella was waiting, wearing a pale maroon headscarf of the same almost translucent fabric as her jacket. She also wore gloves, which had once been expected in public of any stylish woman of taste, but was a fading custom. “You didn’t take long. But then, you never do.” Without another word, she turned and headed down the drive toward the pedestrian gate.
Dekkard caught up with her in three steps, although she was moving at a brisk pace, which Dekkard appreciated, given his impatience with dawdling. “The omnibus stop a block north on Imperial Boulevard?”
“Unless you know a closer one.”
“That’s one of the three that I know,” Dekkard admitted, since he avoided the omnibus whenever possible.
“There are only four within a mille, and the fourth is only that close if you cut through the memorial columbarium behind the East Quarter chapel.”
“How did you find that out?”
“Rhosali told me. It’s the nearest stop on the southeast shore route.”
“Have you taken it? To the shore, I mean?”
“Once. That was enough.”
“I can see that. I wouldn’t think that you’re someone who cares much for sun and sand.”
Ysella frowned.
“Or am I wrong? That was just a guess on my part.”
A smile followed her frown. “No, you’re not. Why did you think that?”
“You’re always neat and well dressed. You’re so put-together that you make duty grays look like formalwear. Somehow … to me, anyway … the way you dress doesn’t seem like someone who’d want to wear a soggy bathing costume that covers you from shoulder to calf where you’d swelter out of the water and itch from the salt if you went bathing.”
Ysella laughed, a soft but full sound. “I wish I could say it as well as you did. And you feel the same, I take it?”
Dekkard nodded. “If I’m going to swim, I prefer clear running water that’s not frigid.”
“Swim? Not bathe? That comes from your parents, doesn’t it?”
For a moment, Dekkard didn’t understand. Then he nodded and said, “The only open water in Argental is in frigid lakes or even colder streams or rivers. You don’t bathe there. You swim to keep from freezing. At least, that’s what my father said. I was born here.”
“You’ve never gone back there … or wanted to?”
“Hardly. Here an isolate doesn’t have to be a military drudge. Here I can do government security, private security, even commercial security … or I could be an artisan or crafter.”
“Commercial security?” Ysella’s voice contained a hint of amusement.
“Chills are immune to certain types of persuasion, and I understand there’s a great deal of temptation in certain parts of the financial world.”
“Immune only to certain types?”
Dekkard could hear the continued amusement behind her words, and he replied with a smile before saying dryly, “Piles of marks and beautiful women have been known, very, very occasionally, to tempt even the most upright of chills.”
“You’re scarcely that,” she replied.
“Exactly. Why do you think I decided against commercial security?” That wasn’t the only reason, but he didn’t want to mention the other one. That was the fact that an isolate could seldom ever get above midlevel administration simply because empaths couldn’t sense whether they told the truth, and the corporacion and government higher-level officials liked that reassurance.
“Why did you opt for a place with a councilor?”
“Because I was told that I couldn’t possibly qualify.” And stiff-necked sons of Argenti parentage hate to be told that they can’t do something.
“Who told you that? The councilor said you had the highest scores of all the available applicants.”
Dekkard wasn’t surprised Obreduur had shared that with Ysella, given that she had to work with whichever isolate the councilor chose. “The assistant director of training at the Institute.”
“Why do you think he said that?”
“Most likely to motivate me.”
“That’s because you’d never make a traditional military officer.”
“I understood that by the time I graduated.”
Ysella nodded. “You were approached by one of the security service firms last year, weren’t you?”
“How did you know that?”
“You got a letter at the office from SSA. Karola told me. They like to recruit from councilors’ staffs. They pay quite a bit more than the Council does. Did you talk to them?”
/> “I sent a polite note back saying that I enjoyed my position.”
“Did they pursue it?”
“Indirectly. Frieda Livigne—from Councilor Maendaan’s committee staff—”
“I know her. How did you meet her?”
“She introduced herself. I have no idea why.”
Ysella shook her head. “I do. Go ahead.”
“She said that SSA paid well and promoted quickly, and that, if I ever changed my mind, to let her know.”
“I take it you haven’t.”
Dekkard shook his head. “I’m already doing and learning more than most isolate security aides. Councilor Obreduur is different from most, from what I’ve seen and heard.”
“Very different from most Commerce councilors. There are some other Craft councilors who allow their security detail to do more, and possibly a Landor or two.”
“In any case, I never heard more.”
“In another year or two, they’ll try again. After three or four years, most isolates working for councilors realize they’ll never go any further or make much more. For some, that’s all they want, but quite a few look at the higher income, especially if they have a family to support.”
“Is that true of empaths as well?”
“Not quite as much, but mostly.”
Dekkard was still thinking about that when the two reached the omnibus stop. There, a half score of other passengers were already standing and waiting. Several of the women with thin faces and without headscarves looked at the two and eased away.
Dekkard hoped that the small crowd, especially on a Findi, meant that the others had been there for a time, and that he and Ysella wouldn’t have to wait long. With others nearby, he didn’t feel like saying much of import, and he’d never cared much for the meaningless small talk that so often passed for conversation.
In the end, they waited more than a sixth before the double-decker omnibus came to a halt, with faint wisps of gray smoke suggesting a burner not as well-adjusted as it might be. No one stepped off, and those in front of Dekkard and Ysella hurried on.
“I’ll take care of the fare,” declared Ysella as she led the way, dropping two half-mark coins into the box, coins that clinked slightly as they dropped. She choose a rear seat on the lower level with no one close by, seated herself, and said, “You must bring good fortune. I usually have to wait much longer.”
Dekkard shook his head. “I can’t say I’ve ever been accused of that before.”
“Don’t be quite so dour, Steffan. At the least you’ll get a very good meal. Emrelda would have it no other way.”
“I certainly didn’t mean to sound dour … as you put it.” He managed an apologetic smile.
“I shouldn’t have said it that way. You’re sometimes excessively serious, but not dour. What were you going to do today? Or are you coming with me because you have nothing better to do?”
Dekkard grinned. “You didn’t ask me until we were on the omnibus.”
“Of course.”
“I read last night and wrote a letter to my parents. I usually do that on Findi. Most Findis, anyway. I’d thought about shopping, but…” He shrugged. “I have everything I need, and I don’t see the point of buying something I don’t.”
“So accompanying me is just slightly better than not going shopping or reading?”
Dekkard almost missed the hint of a smile. “Much better. Why spend a sunny day reading? There aren’t enough bright spring days as it is, and I realized…” He shrugged again, not wanting to finish the sentence.
“You realized…?”
“I really wanted to come with you,” he admitted. “I can’t say why. I just did.”
“Spontaneity doesn’t come easily to you, does it?”
“You couldn’t tell, could you?” he replied ruefully.
“It’s not exactly a predominant characteristic of isolates.”
Dekkard managed not to frown, but there was something about the way Ysella spoke … something … that he couldn’t quite place. Absently, he noted that the omnibus had turned off Imperial Boulevard and was heading east on Camelia Avenue, and before long would pass on the south side of Imperial University, not only the largest university in Guldor, but certainly the most prestigious, although the Military Institute was also well-regarded, if for slightly different reasons. He still wondered about what the Public Resources minister had said, suggesting that there were too many young people going to the universities. Why did that matter so much? It wasn’t as though Guldor was exactly impoverished.
“You read all the political and economic journals. Don’t you find them a little … ponderous?”
“I skip the mathematics and the econometric models. I concentrate on the background, the assumptions, and the conclusions. I also read the critiques of previous journal articles.”
“You know,” mused Ysella, “I’ve found out more about you, as a person, in the last bell than I have in two years. Do you want to tell me why?”
“Why do you think?” he countered warily.
“The way you described me earlier says a great deal about you. So does your question. You’re very cautious. You don’t let people in easily. After two years, you’ve finally decided that you can trust me … at least a little.”
“You’ve invited me … but never pressed,” returned Dekkard. “I’d say that suggests you’re cautious as well, and very polite.”
Ysella laughed. “If only my parents could hear that.”
“I’d be happy to tell them.”
“You’d have to travel to Sudaen, then.”
“That’s where you’re from?”
She nodded.
“But your sister lives here.”
“We both left, by different means. She left first. Our brother stayed.” Before Dekkard could say more, she asked, “Do you have any siblings?”
“One sister. She’s an artisan, like my parents.”
“You’ve never said anything about them.”
“My father is a plaster artisan.”
“Does he specialize, as in chapel work, commercial buildings, or ornate private dwellings?”
“His work is most in demand for private dwellings.” Even as Dekkard replied, he had the feeling he was missing, or overlooking, something.
“Then he must be very good. What about your mother?”
“She’s a portraitist, oils or pastels.”
“And in demand?”
“Mainly by professional families,” said Dekkard.
“That’s good, and not surprising. The portraits are more often of daughters?”
“Of course. What about you? Why did you leave Sudaen?”
“That’s a very long story. The short version is that Sudaen was too small for an empath who wanted to use her talent. So I begged for a training spot at the Empath Academy in Siincleer. The second year I applied they accepted me. After training, I worked a year as a parole screener at the prison there before I applied to the Council.”
“That was what … five years ago?”
“Not quite. Obreduur wasn’t pleased with the empath he had … he’s close to being an empie himself.”
“And he detected subtle persuasion?”
“I have no knowledge about that.”
“That’s a denial only for legalistic purposes,” Dekkard said with a smile, “which I’ll accept in the same terms. You’ve told me nothing.”
“What are your most favorite foods?” asked Ysella. “Besides croissants and quince paste?”
“Crayfish bisque, cinnamon pumpkin fritters, Argenti shepherd pie, Plaatz onion soup, with a double layer of good locali cheese … probably a few others.”
“If you like quince paste, you have to like sweets…”
“Aflajores and flan … or a good cherry pie.”
The two talked food for the next half bell, until Ysella said, “Our stop is coming up.”
Dekkard glanced around. While he’d noticed people leaving at various stops, until that mome
nt he hadn’t realized that they were almost the only passengers remaining on the lower level, except for an elderly couple seated near the front.
Then the omnibus slowed, and the door attendant called out, “Erslaan, last stop.” Then he stepped forward and opened the door.
The elderly couple left first, then Ysella and Dekkard.
“Good day, sir, lady.”
“Thank you,” replied Dekkard, stepping out onto the white marble sidewalk and quickly studying the area, which looked like a miniature of the best commercial sections of Imperial Boulevard, except that the shops and other buildings were only two stories. Definitely a stylish area. “How far to your sister’s?”
“A little more than a mille, but it will feel longer. That’s why I told you a mille and a half.” She pointed to the cross street some ten yards ahead. “North on Jacquez.”
As the omnibus pulled away, giving Dekkard a clear view, he realized that Jacquez led uphill, and while the grade was mild, he had the feeling it continued all the way to their destination.
There was far less traffic in Erslaan, and consequently no traffic patroller, and in moments the two crossed the avenue and were walking up the sidewalk on the west side of Jacquez. A slight breeze blew in from the ocean, but didn’t offer that much cooling.
“You didn’t mention hill climbing,” he said.
“I wouldn’t have thought someone with an Argenti background would have even considered this slope a hill.”
“I wasn’t complaining … just observing,” he offered in a tone of mock protest.
Ysella just shook her head.
After some six long blocks of passing more than modest well-kept one-story dwellings, all with tile roofs, they reached a set of gray gateposts on each side of Jacquez, each post bearing a brass plaque with the name HILLSIDE.
“Your sister definitely lives in a fashionable area.”
“Markell would have it no other way.”
That didn’t totally surprise Dekkard, although he couldn’t have said why. “Is he with some big building corporacion?”
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