Dekkard actually got to take a sip of his cool but not chilled lager, after introductions were completed and before the questions began.
“Do you often speak for the councilor?” asked Guildmeister Desenns.
“I do speak for him occasionally,” replied Dekkard, “but not usually when he’s present. He felt that I could speak more to crafters and artisans.”
“Were you ever actually an artisan?” asked Plassar, a vaguely amused tone in her voice.
“I was an apprentice decorative plasterer for five years to my father. By then, he realized I had a great appreciation and understanding of the craft, but not the physical skills to be really good at it.”
“So you actually did get your hands dirty,” said Charlana Boetcher.
“Very dirty. I was very good at cleaning up … and prep work.”
“Isn’t that what you do now?” asked Thor Boetcher.
“Isn’t that a good part of anything?” Dekkard replied amiably.
“Sometimes, it’s most of everything,” suggested Plassar sardonically.
Charlana Boetcher couldn’t quite conceal a wince.
“I saw the article in the Times,” said Hans Desenns. “That seemed … a bit … overdramatic. Did it really happen that way?”
“Generally. The article didn’t mention that the attack also injured another councilor and another staffer. The staffer would have died without Avraal’s shielding him.”
“Do councilors really need two security aides?” pressed Hans Desenns.
“For the most part, only if they’re Craft councilors. I’ve been involved in four attacks this year. The attack on Councilor Aashtaan is the only one on a Commercer councilor.”
“Isn’t that because Councilor Obreduur is the political leader of the Craft Party and because he’s been very successful at increasing the number of Craft councilors?” asked Plassar.
“It just might have something to do with it,” replied Dekkard, following his words with another small swallow of lager. “He works extremely hard.”
At that moment, attendants appeared at the table and supplied each diner with the single entrée—veal milanesia with risotto and green beans amandine—as well as a salad of mixed greens.
As soon as everyone was served and the ladies on each side of him lifted their forks, Dekkard did so as well, hoping to get in some nourishment before the questions resumed.
He was pleasantly surprised to discover that the scattered questions that followed were more about Machtarn and the Council and about how he became an aide than the pointed ones that had preceded the arrival of dinner. Dessert was flan accompanied by petite alfajores.
As the dinner finally ended, and Dekkard stood, Myram Plassar moved around the table and said, “You handle yourself very well, may I call you, Steffan?”
“You may.”
“I presume you understand why the councilor asked you to speak.”
“I do, although it wasn’t until the arrival of Guildmeister Decaro that I realized why.”
“Do you think the councilor’s decision to have you speak was wise?”
“I’ve questioned his decisions in the past. So far, he’s turned out to have a much better record than I would have. In this case, I wouldn’t question him.”
“Might I ask what you think of Haasan Decaro?”
Dekkard smiled wryly. “Anything I might say would be based on hearsay because he’s avoided speaking to me, and only said pleasantries to the councilor, at least in my presence.”
Plassar offered another pleasantly amused smile. “You do speak well. In conversation and to a group. I hope we’ll see more of you.”
“Right now … that’s not exactly in my hands.”
“Keep it in mind, when it is.” After a parting smile, she turned and headed toward the door.
Dekkard glanced around, looking for Haasan Decaro, but decided that Decaro must have left already. As soon as he could without being obvious. So Dekkard moved toward Obreduur, flanked by Ysella and Ingrella, and talking to Guildmeister Maatsuyt. Jens Seigryn stood several paces behind the group. Even before he reached the group, all the other guild attendees departed, leaving the banquet room empty except for the servers, who began cleaning up, and those around Obreduur.
“… thank you again for coming, and for hosting this dinner.” Maatsuyt turned to Dekkard. “That was a very encouraging short speech … and well thought out. Who wrote it?”
“It wasn’t written out, Guildmeister. The councilor told me to speak from my heart. That’s what I did.”
“Then you have not only a good heart, but a very well organized one as well. Thank you all.” And with that Maatsuyt turned and strode briskly from the banquet chamber.
“We should have an aperitif in the suite,” said Obreduur. “Would you like to join us, Jens?”
“I think I’ll pass. It’s been a long day. I’ll see you all off in the morning.”
“Then try to get a good night’s sleep,” returned Obreduur.
The Obreduurs, Ysella, and Dekkard walked past the now-shuttered inn restaurant and up the maroon-carpeted wide stairs to the second level. As they turned down the side hallway toward the Knight’s Suite, a man in the maroon and black livery of the inn appeared, carrying a tray with covered dishes on it.
“He’s an isolate,” murmured Ysella.
Even before her words, Dekkard saw a shift in the way the apparent server carried the tray, and realizing he was too far away to use the truncheon, drew and threw the first knife. The attacker dodged just as he fired the pistol. That shot went wide, but the attacker tilted the tray, spilling the dishes, then grabbed the edge of the tray with one hand, using it as a shield against Dekkard’s remaining throwing knife.
Shifting his aim to avoid the shield-like tray, Dekkard threw the second knife into the man’s exposed thigh, immediately charging as the knife left his fingers and bringing up the truncheon.
The attacker winced but swung the tray and turned the pistol back in the direction of Obreduur—but not quite fast enough before Dekkard struck with the truncheon in the only place he could reach that would stop the false server—in his temple. The crunch of bone suggested he’d been more than successful.
Instantly, Dekkard saw the attacker’s face illuminated as if from within, then replaced as an image of thousands of tiny lights, yet somehow recognizable as a man’s visage, before Dekkard once more beheld the stunned yet frozen expression of the attacker, as the pistol dropped to the carpet.
“He’s dead,” snapped Ysella.
“Then he has to die another way. Leave the pistol and tray and dishes where they are.” After recovering both knives, Dekkard immediately lifted the body and heaved it over the balcony railing so that it fell and then hit the slate floor below with a dull thud. Then he hurried down the steps, Ysella right behind him.
The desk clerk was already in the lobby, moving toward toward the body.
“That man!” Dekkard pointed to the heap on the slate floor beside the staircase. “He tried to attack the councilor. He fired at him and then tried to flee, but he jumped over the railing before we could restrain him.”
“He tried to shoot … the councilor?”
“Didn’t you hear the shots? You can see the pistol and the dishes upstairs. We didn’t touch them.” Dekkard walked over to where the man lay, face against the slate. He reached out, but did not quite touch the body before straightening and saying, “He’s dead. I’d hoped we could find out who sent him.”
“You’d better summon Security patrollers,” said Ysella.
Obreduur and Ingrella returned to their rooms, while Dekkard and Ysella waited with the desk clerk, and the evening manager scurried around trying to find out how and where the dead man had come from.
As he waited Dekkard couldn’t help but wonder at the point-light-illuminated image he’d seen. Did you really see those lights? Is your mind playing tricks on you? Finally, he said quietly to Ysella, “Did you see anything odd about t
he attacker?”
“I didn’t see anything odd,” she replied. “It was strange that he attacked without saying anything at all. He didn’t even make any sounds when he was trying to shoot the councilor.”
Dekkard decided to save his questions about the point-lights for later.
Two Security patrollers arrived within a sixth of a bell. They immediately asked for Dekkard’s story. He told them.
Then they asked Ysella, “Is that what happened?”
“That’s what I saw.”
“You’re an empath, aren’t you? Why didn’t you sense something?”
“I did. I sensed that he was an isolate. That was why I warned Steffan.”
“You two stay here.”
For more than a third of a bell, the two investigated the upper corridor and talked to the night manager and the desk clerk. Then they returned.
“Most of what you say checks out. The dishes are all clean. So is the tray. There’s no trace of food. But there’s a knife wound in his thigh.”
“I told you. When he first approached, he was too far away to use my truncheon. So I threw a knife to distract him. That’s when he used the tray as a shield, but he still had the pistol. His leg was the only target. I’d hoped that would distract him. There’s nowhere on the front of the leg that would be fatal. But he dropped the gun, and when I rushed him with the truncheon he scrambled over the railing and dropped or fell.”
The two left Dekkard and Ysella and went up the stairs to talk to the Obreduurs.
More time passed before they returned with Obreduur.
The two patrollers looked at Dekkard, then Ysella, then Obreduur. Then they looked at each other.
Finally, the shorter one said to the taller one, “The dead man stole a tray, stole a uniform, stole the dishes, and shot at a councilor. Everyone agrees on that. There’s a set of clothes in the staff room with no identification and nothing on him. He sneaked in with everything going on with the banquet. No one in the inn knows who he is. The pistol is Atacaman. Whoever was behind it didn’t want any ties. The councilor’s aide tried not to use excessive force against a firearm.”
The taller patroller looked to Obreduur. “Will you be around, Ritter?”
“I’d planned to leave for Oersynt tomorrow morning.” Obreduur smiled wearily. “It’s not as though you can’t find me or Sr. Dekkard if you need more information.”
“True enough,” replied the taller man.
The other patroller said to his partner, “You know we’re not going to find anything else.”
The first one shook his head. “You’ve been through enough, Councilor. We’ll take care of the rest of this. Have a safe trip.”
“Thank you,” replied Obreduur. “I’m sorry that we couldn’t provide more information, but it was all quite a shock.”
The three slowly walked up the stairs and then to the sitting room of the suite, where Ingrella, Gustoff, and Nellara sat waiting.
“They say that there’s nothing else we can do,” said Obreduur.
“They won’t make us stay?” asked Nellara.
“Your mother was quietly very convincing when she talked to the patrollers,” said Obreduur. “They also don’t want to detain a councilor who’s been the target of an assassin. They’d prefer we be somewhere else before whoever was behind it attacks again.” He took a deep breath. “I think we all need that aperitif.”
65
AFTER sipping a Silverhills fine brandy, and following a brief discussion of who might have been behind the assassination attempt, and a consensus that it could have equally been Commercer private operatives, covert Security agents, someone hired by Haasan Decaro, or one of the aforementioned trying to remove Dekkard and/or Ysella, Dekkard and Ysella left the suite.
Outside in the corridor, Dekkard said, “We need to talk. At least, I do. My room or yours?”
“Yours is neater. Right now, anyway.”
As the two neared the door to his room, she said, “There’s no one inside … or nearby.”
“You really think they were after one of us?”
“It’s a real possibility.”
Dekkard unlocked and opened the door. After they entered and he closed and locked the door, he walked to the wall sconce and used the compression lighter. This time, Ysella settled herself into the single chair, and Dekkard sat on the edge of the bed.
“The attacker was an isolate,” he said. “That suggests it’s someone who knows about you, but not very well.”
“Decaro fits that profile, but only if Obreduur was the actual target. If you or I were the target, it makes no difference because the odds were that either of us or the attacker would be dead. If you hadn’t thought quickly tonight, you’d have been placed in a very difficult position, just because you’d be involved in a lot of questioning or even a trial over the question of whether you needed to actually kill the attacker. You’d be acquitted, but it would be messy and time-consuming … and Obreduur wouldn’t be as well protected.”
“The attempt in Julieta did come to mind,” he said. “Or rather your analysis of it. I also have to admit that there have been rather more than a few attempts at removing me, in one way or another. One might be coincidence, but three?”
“Five,” corrected Ysella. “The nighttime shots at you. The incident at Julieta. The empath attack at the Machtarn Guildhall. The two false Council Guards at the covered parking … and this one.”
“Four,” said Dekkard. “The Guildhall incident was aimed at Raynaad.”
“You’re right about that, but that confirms that someone is targeting both Obreduur and his staff. Or that one group is after Obreduur and another after staffers.”
“Why? Just because he’s been effective in increasing the number of Craft councilors?”
“Just?” Ysella’s voice oozed heavy sardonicism. “By the time the next elections are called, he might well have gained enough votes in borderline districts for the Craft Party to take the maximum number of Council seats, and he just might have enough backing among Landors and one or two Commercers to take control of the Council. Do you honestly think that Ulrich or his corporacion backers wouldn’t consider any possible measures to stop Obreduur, legal or not? Why do you think Ingrella is constantly in contact with Craft legalists all over Guldor? Her success in legalistic efforts to strengthen the guilds might also be why the latest efforts against Obreduur himself have been anything but legal.”
“Do you honestly think any Commerce councilor might vote for him as premier?” asked Dekkard, his voice skeptical.
“It’s a secret vote. There are a few who might do it to remove Ulrich. Then, later they might force a vote of no confidence and require a vote on a new leadership … or even new elections.”
That Dekkard could definitely see, but he had another question. Although he suspected he already knew the answer, he wanted to know what Ysella thought. “Why aren’t they targeting other Craft councilors and staff?”
“Steffan … are you deliberately being dense? How many other Craft staffers have been bought off, intimidated, or disappeared in just the past few months? Also, the last thing that the Commercers want is more competent Craft councilors. If a councilor dies in office, in any way, the party gets to pick his successor. Take a councilor like Waarfel, or especially Nortak. The last thing Ulrich would want would be to give Obreduur the chance to replace Nortak, with say, Svard, who comes from near there.”
Roostof as a councilor made sense, as did the Commercers not wanting anything like that. “So what do we do now?”
“We keep doing what we’ve been doing. And you’d better keep thinking about what you’re going to say, because I’d wager we’re both going to be speaking more. Especially you.”
“You know more than I do.”
“Not that much more. Not any longer. I’m amazed at how fast you learn and can use that knowledge. So is Obreduur.”
“He doesn’t say much about it.”
“That’s not his style. Hi
s form of praise is giving you more to do.”
Dekkard offered a mock groan that wasn’t totally feigned.
“Don’t groan. Neither of us does as much as either of the Obreduurs.”
While Dekkard had known that about the councilor for years, he hadn’t realized it also applied to his wife the legalist until the last few days. Late as it was, however, he did have one more question. “Did you see or sense anything strange about the attacker right after I hit him?”
“No, except I felt him die.” She paused. “You asked that before. Why?”
“What does it feel like … when you sense someone dying?”
Ysella frowned.
“Please…”
“There’s a sparkle of tiny invisible lights—that’s the only way I can describe it, at least that’s the way I feel it … and then there’s nothing … just nothing. Why?”
“Because…” He shook his head.
“Steffan,” she said gently.
“I think I saw something like that. For just an instant, his face was a pattern of tiny lights … and then they were gone.” He swallowed. “The same thing happened with the false Council Guard I had to kill. I thought … I just wondered…”
“… if you were losing your mind?”
Dekkard nodded.
“You don’t feel anything? You just see the lights?”
“And only for an instant.”
“That’s odd. I wonder if other isolates would see that.”
“I don’t know.” Dekkard wasn’t certain whether he should feel relieved … or even more worried … or if it was just a part of being an isolate that seldom came up. After all, it’s not as though isolates kill many people or are around when they die … or maybe it’s only when people die suddenly. But why had he seen it with the old man? Or had he been close to dying?
The two just sat there for a long moment.
Then, inadvertently, he found himself yawning.
“It’s way too late,” said Ysella, rising from the chair. “We need to get some sleep.”
“You’re right. I’ll walk you to your door.” Dekkard stood.
Isolate Page 50
