“That’s usually the case for reformers and revolutionaries.” As Rhosali entered the staff room, Ysella added, “We should talk later … if you want to.”
“I do … but I’d like to think a bit more.”
“Do you two do anything but read and work?” asked Rhosali as she poured her café.
“We occasionally shop and go out,” replied Dekkard, “sometimes together.” That might have been overstating it, since they’d only been doing things together in the last month. The last few weeks, really.
But, thankfully, Ysella didn’t correct him or qualify his words.
“That doesn’t sound like much fun,” opined Rhosali.
“We’ll leave that to you,” replied Ysella cheerfully. “Someone should have fun.”
“Sometimes, I think I’m the only one. Ritter Obreduur’s never upset or excited. The Ritten isn’t either. Mistress Nellara is so serious, and Master Gustoff is always dour. I miss Master Axeli. He liked to have a good time.”
Which was why Obreduur sent him to the Military Institute. Dekkard kept that thought to himself, and concentrated on his croissants. After several bites, he finally said to Ysella, “You might read about what happened at the university.”
“I did … while you were returning the book. You thought the story would say more?”
Dekkard shook his head. “No. But that may cause more problems.”
“Most likely.”
Ysella’s pleasant tone told Dekkard that she might discuss it later, but not at breakfast. So he finished eating quickly, took his dishes into the kitchen, and then went to ready himself and the steamers.
The drive to the Council Office Building was uneventful, although the dark grayish-green clouds south of the city suggested the possibility of rain.
Dekkard was at his desk soon enough.
Ysella and Obreduur had already left the office for a meeting, and they didn’t return until nearly midmorning, when Obreduur stopped beside Dekkard’s desk. “I’m meeting Councilor Hasheem for lunch. The Security Committee held a short meeting this morning.”
Dekkard didn’t say anything, although he had an idea.
Obreduur smiled knowingly. “I’m sure it had to do with the difficulties at Imperial University. The Imperador isn’t terribly fond of unpleasantnesses at universities, especially there…”
Because his ancestor founded it, no doubt, and it’s considered one of the great universities in the world … and unpleasantnesses reflect badly on him and Guldor.
“You two can eat in the Council Hall and wait for me. It will be a short lunch.” Then the councilor went to talk to Karola about changes to his schedule.
Ysella said to Dekkard, “That will give us a chance to talk, maybe the only chance. It’s looking like a long day.”
Ysella returned to her desk, and Dekkard went back to work on petitions and letters.
Obreduur, Ysella, and Dekkard left the office at a third before noon. The central staircase to the first level contained less than a score of people, and when they stepped outside, the slightly cooler but much damper air told Dekkard that it was raining even as he saw and heard the comparatively light precipitation. They walked down the center of the tile-roofed promenade to the Council Hall and reached the councilors’ dining room at five minutes before the noon bell.
Once Obreduur was inside, Dekkard and Ysella walked along one side of the moderately crowded main corridor to the staff cafeteria, picked out their meals and paid for them, and then took a wall table for two.
Dekkard took several bites of what was supposed to be a fowl piccata, lemony enough, but somehow lacking piquancy, before he said, “I was thinking of going to the Council Library and trying to find out something about Joel Janhus.”
“You might find it easier if you went tomorrow,” said Ysella.
For a moment, Dekkard didn’t understand. Then he nodded. Wearing a gray suit with the standard staff pin, rather than duty security grays, would require fewer explanations.
“There’s a reference to him in the Annotated History of Teknold,” added Ysella. “And in other books, but I don’t recall the titles.”
“Do you want to tell me about him?”
“Not until you search a little.” She smiled.
“Making it hard on me, then.”
“No. Making so that you’ll remember.”
“You sound like some of the more demanding professors at the Institute.”
“Weren’t you there when the Imperador’s eldest son was there?” asked Ysella.
“Oh … Landyn D’Aureous. I saw him, but never met him. He was three years ahead of me. And he went to serve in the Fleet. What else would he do?” Dekkard shook his head. “You’re right, though. Maybe you should have been a professor.”
“Most universities frown on empaths as professors. Besides, that would have required an advanced degree…”
“… and most universities are reluctant to admit women to advanced studies.”
“I could have gotten in, but at best, I would have been a token professor. It would have been almost impossible to change things. Universities are worse than government in that.”
When the two finished eating, they walked back to wait across the main corridor from the dining room, back where they wouldn’t interfere with councilors or staffers heading to and from committee rooms or Council messengers in green and gold hurrying by.
Less than a third of a bell later, councilors began to emerge from the dining room. Dekkard picked out Saarh, with two others, one of whom might have been Navione and another he did not recognize.
Then came Obreduur and Hasheem, still talking, and a yard or so behind them, two other councilors, one graying and much older. Abruptly, the older man staggered, then fell, while his companion stopped as if he’d been struck, as did the empie in security grays who had moved toward the older councilor, a man whose face Dekkard recognized, but whose name escaped him at that moment.
“There!” snapped Ysella, pointing to a young man in the gold and green of a Council messenger who was turning away from the dining room entrance. “Dekkard!”
The “messenger” turned, but slowly, as if hampered, which he doubtless was, by some projection of Ysella’s. Those around the messenger scattered in all directions as Dekkard sprinted toward the renegade empie.
Dekkard had decided already on the truncheon, because it was safer with people in the corridors and because dead men couldn’t tell anyone who sent them. The messenger looked back at Dekkard, seemingly concentrating, then realized that Dekkard was an isolate and tried to run. Dekkard was already within a yard and closing. He immediately aimed the truncheon’s arc so that it struck the rear thigh nerves just above the messenger’s knee.
The messenger tumbled to the ground, but twisted and tried to pull something out of a pocket. Dekkard knocked that out of his hand with a second blow from the black truncheon. A spray of red particles flew across the corridor.
Atacaman fire pepper dust.
The messenger glared at Dekkard, and he realized that the empie wasn’t a young man at all, but a slightly older and muscular woman.
“Don’t.” Dekkard’s voice was hard.
The woman in the messenger’s uniform tried to use her arms to force herself to her feet.
Even as he struck her supporting arm and she collapsed to the floor, Dekkard wondered how she had managed that, given the jolts he’d applied to her nerves.
The faintest hint of the pepper mist burned his eyes, but not enough that he couldn’t keep the false messenger immobilized until the two Council Guard isolates appeared and immediately bound and hooded the false messenger.
The older one turned to Dekkard. “Thank you, sir. Without you, it would have been a lot worse.”
“Without me and Empath Ysella,” Dekkard replied. “She blocked some of the effects.”
“Convey our thanks to her as well, sir.”
“I will.”
Dekkard walked back toward where Obr
eduur and Ysella waited, but he saw that the fallen councilor was being placed on a wheeled cart. From what Dekkard could see, the councilor wasn’t breathing. His empie looked stunned, an expression that suggested that the attack had been fatal. At that moment, Dekkard remembered the councilor’s name—Aashtaan—
Kurtweil Aashtaan, the Commercer who was the chairman of the Commerce Committee.
Dekkard stopped short of Ysella and Obreduur.
The councilor looked at Dekkard, then Ysella. “Thank you.”
“I was already shielding you,” said Ysella. “The overlap partly shielded those close by. I’ve almost never felt a bolt of hatred as strong as hers.”
“Her?” asked Obreduur.
“A woman dressed as a young male messenger,” confirmed Dekkard. “I didn’t realize it until after I had her down.”
“That’s something else the Council Guards will have to look for.” Obreduur turned in the direction of the courtyard gardens and the Council Office Building. Dekkard and Ysella flanked him as he walked.
Once they were outside and away from others, Dekkard asked quietly, “The New Meritorists?”
“Most likely,” replied the councilor. “The Council Guards will find out for certain. The other question is how long before the Premier lets anyone know. He’d be much happier if the assassin turned out to be merely a deranged young woman.”
“Isn’t that rather improbable?” asked Dekkard. “Getting the uniform right and getting into the Council Hall … knowing where to go … and when?”
Obreduur merely offered a sardonic smile.
“A deranged empie,” said Ysella. “I’d rather that Gestirn print that she was an extremist assassin.”
“That would be better,” agreed Obreduur. “It’s not Ulrich’s way, though. Even if she is a New Meritorist, he’d never want to see that in print.”
“Because he doesn’t want the newssheets to mention an organized group of rebels?”
“Do you think that’s a good idea?” countered Obreduur. “Recognizing that such a group exists is the first step in getting people to question why others are willing to die to oppose the Council or even individual councilors. Organized opposition suggests widespread problems.”
“Problems for whom?” asked Ysella. “The Imperador, the Council, or the Commercer leadership of government?”
“That’s the danger,” said Obreduur. “Popular opinion could turn against any of those … or all three.”
“Unless someone mentions one of those three,” said Ysella.
“That’s a gamble,” said Obreduur.
“It is,” agreed Ysella evenly.
“It’s worth thinking about,” replied the councilor.
As soon as the three walked into the office, Karola exclaimed, “You’re all safe, thank the Three.”
“How did you know there was a problem?” asked Obreduur.
“Druanna—from the next office. She’d gone over to the staff cafeteria. She said a renegade empie attacked some councilors and even another empie.”
“The attack was on Councilor Aashtaan and his empath took part of the brunt,” said Obreduur. “Steffan and Ysella captured her. The Council Guards have her in custody.”
“You’re all right … all of you?”
“We are,” affirmed Obreduur.
“Who did it?” asked Macri, who had just appeared in the doorway to the side office.
“That remains to be determined. The attacker wore a Council messenger’s uniform.”
“It has to involve more than one person,” said Macri.
“Exactly, Ivann,” replied Obreduur. “At the moment, who else might be involved is unknown.” With a nod, he entered his office and shut the door.
“It has to be those demonstrators,” said Karola.
“It’s likely,” replied Macri, “but I wouldn’t say anything outside the office until it’s made public. If you guess before it is, and you’re right, Security might find it interesting.”
“They’ve got better things to do.” Even so, Karola shook her head.
Before that long, Dekkard was back working on responses. Then, around third bell, he put those aside and began to jot down notes for his meeting the next day with the Artisans Guild.
On the way to get the Gresynt so that he could pick up Obreduur and Ysella, Dekkard saw that there were far more Council Guards everywhere, and, even with the rain still coming down, they were stopping people, most likely those staffers whose pins weren’t visible or were missing, or even some who looked suspicious.
Then, once he had the Gresynt in front of the building, he had to wait almost a third before Obreduur and Ysella appeared.
As Dekkard pulled away from the Council Office Building, Obreduur said, “I’m sorry we were late, Steffan, but I had to send off messages at the last minute.”
“Has Premier Ulrich announced anything?”
“Only Councilor Aashtaan’s death and that the Council mourning banners will be flown for the next four days. Now … if you’ll excuse me…”
“Yes, sir.” Dekkard could tell, from Ysella’s body posture, that she was concentrating more on everything anywhere close to the Gresynt, although she relaxed slightly while they were on Imperial Boulevard. When he turned onto Altarama, she tensed slightly, but neither she nor Dekkard discerned anyone nearby.
As Dekkard slowed the Gresynt to a stop under the portico, Obreduur cleared his throat and said, “I’d like to thank you two again. You both handled the situation magnificently, and I appreciate it very much. So will my wife and children.”
“I’m just glad we could, sir,” replied Dekkard.
“As am I,” added Ysella.
Once he had the Gresynt in the garage, Dekkard wiped off the windscreens and checked the water and kerosene levels. The kerosene tank in the garage had just been refilled, he noted, and the water filters had been replaced.
After the initial flurry of questions from Rhosali, and a few from Hyelda, dinner in the staff room was about as usual, although Dekkard found he was hungrier than he realized, and took seconds on the cold roasted fowl.
As he stood to leave, Ysella looked to him.
“Outside?” he mouthed.
She nodded. The two of them walked to the portico, where the rain still tapped on the roof.
As they stood there, Ysella looked at Dekkard. “You’re good. You’re better than good.”
“So are you. You made it much easier.”
“How did you know about the Atacaman pepper?”
“I didn’t. I just knew that whatever she had in her hand wasn’t good, and I knocked it in the direction where there were fewer people. Well … as best I could.” He paused. “Do you think she’s the one who tried to take out Obreduur that night?”
“I hope so,” replied Ysella. “Because, if she’s not…” She shook her head.
Dekkard understood. “Do you think the guard empies can find out?”
“They’ll find out.” Ysella’s tone of voice was bleak. “Interrogation … that’s one thing I won’t do. It may be necessary, but it’s brutal. They’ll find out,” she repeated, “but she may not even have a mind left when the guard interrogators finish with her.”
Dekkard had heard rumors, but nothing put quite that starkly. After several moments, he said, “How soon before they try again?”
“That depends on whether they change their plan of attack and how many empaths they’re willing to lose.”
“You don’t see them fading away?”
“Do you?”
“No, but it’s more of a feeling than anything I could support logically.”
“Steffan … logical thought inspires people, but feelings move them. Why else do you think empaths can’t hold political offices, except as staffers?”
“Then … matters are going to get worse.”
“Of course.”
Dekkard didn’t have much more to say at that moment, and neither did Ysella.
28
DEKK
ARD had laid out his security-gray suit with a white shirt and a dark blue cravat the night before, simply because he was so much in the habit of wearing his security uniform that he wanted to make sure everything was ready on Duadi morning. He even had the staff pin in place on the jacket lapel, but he didn’t wear the jacket to breakfast, or the throwing knives, whose sheaths would be concealed under the jacket.
He took a moment before getting his café and sitting down to glance at the daily newssheet.
… early Unadi afternoon, a deranged female empath disguised as a Council messenger attacked a Councilor and his aide in the Imperial Council Hall. The emp attack created a fatal heart failure for the Councilor and stunned his aide … an isolate and an empath who are security aides to another Councilor immediately captured and restrained the attacker … motive for the attack is not known … attacker is incarcerated and being questioned … the circumstances suggest the attack could not have taken place without the assistance and support of others … attacker obtained an official uniform and penetrated Council security measures …
Dekkard nodded. The “support of others” was as far as Gestirn would go. Those words might have been prompted by Obreduur, if indirectly, but either the source or Gestirn felt that linking it to the New Meritorists was politically unwise. Dekkard couldn’t see who else could have been behind attacking a Commerce councilor.
But then, two months ago, you didn’t even know about the New Meritorists. And he’d almost forgotten about the original Meritorists.
He’d no sooner seated himself than Ysella arrived, glanced quickly at the newssheet, and sat down across from him.
She took several sips of café before speaking. “A deranged young woman empie.”
“Possibly assisted by others,” replied Dekkard dryly.
Ysella just nodded.
After breakfast, Dekkard returned to his room and donned his new gray jacket and the throwing knives. He’d checked the security handbook about what weapons he could carry when not wearing a gray security uniform, and discovered that so long as he wore either security grays or a gray suit of the same shade of gray and a Council staff pin, he could still carry his gladius and full-sized truncheon, but only in the Council buildings. Outside of them, he could still carry the full-sized truncheon, but not the gladius, and his knives, since knives—only blade length was prescribed to differentiate them from swords—were considered self-defense weapons.
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