“Also,” added Obreduur, “what do you think the story in Gestirn would say if you were charged with even a minor offense?”
Dekkard thought, but not for long. “It would report that one Steffan Dekkard, a security aide to Craft Party Councilor Obreduur, committed whatever offense…”
“And that would reflect badly on me and the party,” pointed out Obreduur. “People are more inclined to remember the unfavorable when a name is linked to it. And the newssheets can mention names associated with those charged with felonies, even if they are councilors.” He smiled sympathetically. “You two have had quite an evening. Steffan, you need to think matters over. If you would rather change your employment, I can put you in touch with several opportunities in Oersynt that will, frankly, pay a great deal more than the Council allows and remove you from any direct danger. If you choose to stay, you will slowly become a legalist in everything but name, and you will have a chance at an interesting and meaningful life … but it does involve some danger, and it will not ever make you wealthy. You don’t have to choose tonight, tomorrow, or even next month. But you will have to choose, sooner or later. I won’t force that choice, but events will.”
“Thank you, sir. I do need to do some thinking.”
“I understand.” Obreduur stood.
Ysella led the way out, and the two walked without speaking to the empty staff room, where she stopped and waited to see if Dekkard had anything to say.
“It all seems so unreal,” he said. “I expected to occasionally have to protect him. But this…” Dekkard shook his head.
“We’ll still have to protect him. That threat hasn’t gone away.” She paused. “Why do you think we’re with him far more than most other security types are with their councilors … except for the best of the Craft councilors?”
“I thought it was possibly because he’d made enemies as a guildmeister.”
“He made a few there, but they’d scarcely be out to get him now.”
“How long have you known?”
“A little over three years.”
“My predecessor? Did he really just decide to do security work in Uldwyrk?”
“He did. He’s doing quite well at it, I hear. That’s where his family is, and he married a woman he knew there. He was never that interested in politics.”
“But Obreduur has to have been doing this…”
“He can only hire those who are available to hire, Steffan.”
Dekkard shook his head again.
“Sleep on it. I’m not going anywhere tomorrow. If you want, we can talk some more. If you want…” Ysella offered a gentle smile.
Dekkard stood there as she turned and left the staff room. He looked down at his watch. Everything that had happened, including the talk with Obreduur, had taken less than two bells.
15
DEKKARD woke up from a restless night early on Findi. When he finally sat up on the edge of the bed, his initial thoughts were almost the same as those he’d had before he’d finally dropped off to sleep.
Why you? You’re just a security aide.
Except he knew he’d been doing more than most security aides.
And you like doing that.
Enough to have to worry about what could have happened the night before?
But it didn’t happen. And it hadn’t happened because both Obreduur and Ysella had been looking out for him.
For their own reasons.
Yet they were looking out for him and giving him opportunities that he would never get elsewhere.
And the other side isn’t exactly looking out for your welfare.
He took a deep breath, then rose and headed to shave and then take a lukewarm shower. After dressing in a plain white cotton shirt and black trousers, he headed down to the staff room.
Ysella was already there, alone, but she had only a mug of café in front of her, and she wore a simple pale green long-sleeved cotton dress.
“Good morning,” offered Dekkard warmly.
She studied him carefully without speaking.
“Yes … I had a lot to think over,” he admitted, as he poured his café and settled into the seat across the table from her.
“You must have. You didn’t even look for the croissants and the quince paste.” The trace of a smile vanished.
“You’ve also done some thinking,” he said, taking in the hint of dark circles under her eyes. “Either that, or that nausea stayed with you more than you let on.”
“It lasted longer than I’d anticipated.” Ysella took a sip of café. “I also worried about you.”
Dekkard replied quietly, “I appreciate that more than you can know. If it helps … I want to stay … and do more.”
“You … are you sure you’re doing it for the right reasons?” Her voice was almost even.
“I said I thought a lot about it. I did. It came down to one thing. They don’t care. I’m just a piece in a game of crowns played to amass more fortunes and power for people who have too much already. In a different way, that was the reason my parents left Argental. The smooth running of society always came well before art, artisans, or people. For all of his reserve, the way Obreduur respects everyone on his staff shows that he cares about us. The councilor is driven, and some people may get hurt. I might be one of them. But he’ll at least care to some extent.”
“And me?”
“You care more than you can afford to let on.” Especially as a Landor’s daughter. “I began to understand that last endday.” What Dekkard wasn’t about to say was that he didn’t know whether she cared because she was the type who needed to be fair and honest or because she just cared. For now … does it matter? He felt that it did, but he knew only time would determine that.
“Why last endday?”
“Your sister.” He shrugged. “Don’t ask me why. It’s just a feeling that I got seeing the two of you together.”
“You’re sounding like an empath, Steffan.”
“That’s never going to happen. Most of the time, I’m just like all the other normal people. I just have to think about what people might be feeling.”
“That may be, but you’re not just … normal.”
Not knowing how to respond to that, Dekkard finally reached for two croissants and placed them on the plate before him, followed by a healthy helping of quince paste.
“I wondered how long before you reached for that.”
“What are you doing today?”
“I was thinking of trying to persuade you to go shopping.”
“I’m not much of a shopper. I’d be even worse looking over your shoulder.”
“I guess I wasn’t clear. I’d be the one watching. You need to expand your wardrobe. If you’re going to speak for the councilor, you need at least one suit that’s neither flamboyant nor Landor-conservative. Another barong or two wouldn’t hurt, either. You look good in them.”
Dekkard was about to protest that he wasn’t exactly made of marks when Ysella spoke again. “A few more clothes won’t put that much of a dent in your banque balance.”
“You know that, too?” Dekkard finished sandwiching a slice of the quince paste into the first croissant and took a healthy mouthful.
She shook her head. “Hardly. I do know about how much you’re paid. You have no lodging expense, very little in the way of food costs, and I doubt you have to send funds to your parents.” The hint of a smile crossed her lips. “You are cautious about money, though. That’s good, but some investment in how you look pays off, more for men than women. Women are expected to look good. Here in Guldor, that is. Men are merely expected to look tasteful and … appropriate.”
“But both should be dressed appropriately,” replied Dekkard ironically. “For their station.”
“Your station is now higher,” declared Ysella. “Or it will be by tomorrow night.”
“Oh?”
“You’ll be promoted to an assistant economic specialist.”
“And what are you, besides the sen
ior security aide?”
“Assistant research specialist.”
“We can be both?”
“The councilor can arrange and pay his staff as he pleases, just so long as his total payroll remains less than the maximum allowed.”
Dekkard took swallow of café and then another bite of the croissant before speaking.
“So where do you suggest I start this shopping trip?”
“Excellencia would be a good beginning.”
“Can I afford an ending if we start there?”
“It’s not that expensive.”
Dekkard wondered if they were even close to agreeing on what was expensive, but he merely said, “After breakfast, you lead the way.”
“You’ll also need a security-gray suit for when you represent the councilor away from the Council and government buildings.”
Dekkard had considered that. Wearing gray wasn’t actually required of isolates when not employed in physical security positions, or in their free time, but it was customary in professional positions for isolates to wear business suits in security gray while engaged in a professional setting. Not doing so was believed deceptive, which Dekkard had always thought amusing, because it wasn’t considered “customary” for empaths in most non-security positions to wear gray, although many did wear simple gold lapel pins or brooches with a red starburst as a courtesy, and Dekkard had heard that the red starburst was almost a necessity at high-level business or government meetings.
After breakfast Dekkard quickly washed up and added his only other jacket—a light gray blazer—to his attire, and his knives, before heading back down to the portico, where Ysella waited, wearing an almost transparent cream jacket and headscarf over the green dress. A small green leather purse hung from a matching green shoulder strap.
“You hadn’t planned to see your sister this endday?”
“I don’t see her every endday, Steffan, only once or twice a month. Besides, she’s working today.” Ysella turned and began to walk down the drive.
Dekkard nodded as he walked beside her, although, until Ysella mentioned it, he hadn’t thought about the fact that a patroller would need to work enddays. “Does the patrol know…”
“That she comes from a Landor background? Of course, Security eventually knows everything. But that’s one reason why she got the job. You saw where they live. It’s very helpful to have a woman with a cultured background in the station. Some people with massive amounts of marks can be…”
“Excessively convinced of their own importance?”
“You phrased that so deftly, Steffan.”
“That means I was still too direct.”
Ysella laughed softly.
As the two stepped through the pedestrian gate, Dekkard glanced in both directions. He didn’t see anyone. “Is there anyone lurking about?”
“In full light, you can see farther than I can sense.”
The two set a pace faster than a stroll, but slower than Dekkard would have chosen on his exercise walks. Excellencia was five long blocks north of where Altarama joined Imperial Boulevard, which made for a good walk, but too short to take an omnibus, and certainly not worth hailing a steamhack on Imperial.
Excellencia’s shimmering silvered widows and glowing white marble dominated the corner of Imperial Boulevard and Camelia Avenue. Like most high-end retail establishments in Machtarn, it was open on Findi, but closed on Unadi. Ysella let Dekkard lead the way inside, and he headed for that section that featured business and more formal attire.
A salesman a good ten years older than Dekkard appeared, wearing a tailored suit of silvered blue and a dark blue cravat. “Might I help you, sir?”
Dekkard smiled easily. “To start out, I need a good-quality business suit in dark security gray.”
“Security gray, sir?”
“I’m an isolate taking on duties other than security.”
“Oh, yes, sir. This way, sir.”
At that moment, an older woman, well-dressed in the silvered blue livery of the store, eased toward the three, then moved away. Dekkard suspected she was a low-level empie who would have added her talents to support the salesman’s power of persuasion, before she recognized that he was an isolate.
Ysella, standing back from the salesman, offered an amused smile.
Two bells, three emporiums, and five blocks farther north on Imperial Boulevard later, Dekkard looked at Ysella. “Two gray suits, four barongs, five shirts, four cravats, a belt, and one pair of dress boots, all of which I’ll need to pick up after tailoring—except the belt, boots, and cravats. I think that’s enough, and it’s time to eat.”
“I’d agree, but only if you accompany me to one store first.”
Dekkard offered what he thought was a mournful expression. “Another store?”
“Four stores is nothing.”
Dekkard had the definite impression that for Ysella, and Emrelda, four stores were only a shopping appetizer. He managed a grin. “What store?”
“Esperanza. It’s only a block away. There are good restaurants in the block after that.”
“Then, after we eat, we should take a steamhack back to the house.”
“That’s fair.”
“Lead on.” Dekkard shifted the shopping bag into his left hand.
Esperanza wasn’t at all what Dekkard expected—a small shop, no more than five yards square, that carried only women’s headscarves. He watched as Ysella picked out nearly a half score of scarves in various colors that were heavier—or more concealing—than those she’d previously worn when not in security grays.
“Those are the same color as some you already have,” Dekkard said quietly. “Spares?”
She shook her head. “Mine are too transparent for speaking to certain groups. I’ve been meaning to do this for several weeks, but didn’t get around to it.” A smile followed. “But since we were only a block away…”
Dekkard nodded. Once she had paid for the scarves, folded them carefully, and then eased them into a thin cloth bag that she’d extracted from her purse, he asked, “Where would you suggest we eat?”
“You’ve never eaten anywhere near here?”
“Only at Greystone.”
“We can do better than that. We’ll try Estado Don Miguel. It’s just a little farther.”
A little farther turned out to be three long blocks. The restaurant was off the inside lobby of an imposing five-story marble structure that held the headquarters of Nordstar, the coal-gas and natural-gas utility for most of Guldor. Nothing outside the building indicated a restaurant inside, and the warm wooden paneling and airy feel, with well-spaced tables and linen cloths and napkins, suggested that lunch would be anything but inexpensive.
The maître d’hôtel glanced past Dekkard to Ysella.
“Just the two of us, Charls. The councilor won’t be here today. This is Sr. Dekkard. He’s the councilor’s assistant economic specialist … among other duties.”
“A pleasure to meet you, sir.” Charls inclined his head politely.
Dekkard responded in kind.
As they followed the graying maître, Ysella said, “Don’t worry. The meal is on the councilor. He told me to take you here and sent a message to Charls.”
“That’s kind of him … and you.” Dekkard was definitely getting the feeling that he’d be going more than a few places he hadn’t even suspected existed.
“Not so much kind as practical. For lunch here during the week, you need reservations days in advance. Also, it is a treat for both of us since we don’t usually have regular midday meals.”
A treat … or compensation of sorts for the night before? Either way, it was welcome. Dekkard smiled.
Once the two were seated, Dekkard glanced around. Out of the possible fifteen tables in the restaurant, six others were taken. None of the other patrons even looked in their direction.
Ysella picked up her menu, as did Dekkard. The entrées were more limited than he would have expected, the prices in a range that mat
ched the location and the tasteful décor. “Is there anything you’d recommend?”
“I’ve only been here three times. Everything I’ve had has been excellent.”
Dekkard finally chose the breast of duck à la apricot with lemongrass rice and seasonal greens. Ysella ordered a petit filet, rare, with potatoes au gratin, and the seasonal greens, as well as a carafe of Jaykarhan Malbec.
The wine came first, and Ysella lifted her wineglass and said, “To shopping, successful or otherwise.”
Dekkard raised his glass as well, then sipped the Malbec and said, “I’m no connoisseur, but I do like this.”
“It’s the house Malbec, and better than many of the more expensive wines.”
“Your family doesn’t have vineyards, do they?”
“No. The lands are too low, and the soils aren’t suitable. The best vineyards are in the north.”
“I still find it hard to believe…”
“That the daughter of a Landor is an empie security aide to a Craft councilor? Is that any less improbable than the son of noted artisans who graduated with high honors from the Military Institute is an isolate security aide to that same councilor?”
Dekkard laughed wryly. “I suppose not. Except that I don’t have the talent, especially the ultrafine physical hand control, required of a great artisan.”
“And I don’t have the patience to watch things grow, year after year, in the same way, while nothing changes.”
“Especially when you can sense what everyone feels?”
Ysella nodded.
“So what happens now?” asked Dekkard.
“We talk and enjoy lunch. After that, you hail us a steamhack, and we go back to the house. Then I give you a book to read, and I write letters to my sister and brother.”
“Required reading for my expanded duties?”
“Exactly.”
At that moment, their respective entrées arrived.
As he ate, and talked about food and other matters neither personal nor professional, Dekkard wondered what was in the book that Ysella would give him.
16
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