Isolate

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “Steffan … it’s only twenty yards.”

  “It was much less than that, earlier tonight,” he said quietly.

  Abruptly, she nodded. “You’re right.”

  When they reached the door, she said, “There’s no one outside.”

  “Good.” Dekkard unlocked and opened the door, leaving it closed but not locked as he walked Ysella to her room.

  “There’s also no one inside.”

  “Leave the door open. I’ll wait until you light the lamp.”

  She nodded, then unlocked the door and entered.

  Dekkard waited until she had the lamp lit and returned to the door. “Good night. Lock the door, and I’ll leave.” He stepped back and waited for the lock to click into place before he walked back to his room.

  66

  QUINDI morning, both Dekkard and Ysella were up early and ate a quick breakfast in the inn restaurant. After that, Dekkard largely managed baggage, while Ysella kept her eyes and senses alert for any possible intrusion or attack, either at the Ritter’s Inn or at the ironway station in Gaarlak. Obreduur met briefly with Jens Seigryn, but the councilor said nothing to either Ysella or Dekkard about the short meeting. By a third before second bell, the Obreduur family and Ysella and Dekkard were in their compartments on the Kathaar Express, and at precisely second bell the express began to move away from the station as it began the six-bell trip to Oersynt.

  Once the express was moving northwest through the blue-flowered flax fields, Dekkard turned to Ysella. “Are you ready for a repeat of Gaarlak … without the excitement?”

  “I’d be fine with pleasant boring dinners, meetings, and rallies.”

  Dekkard winced. He hadn’t exactly forgotten the political rallies; he’d just tried not to dwell on them.

  “Remember,” said Ysella mischievously, “we’ll have to come back to Oersynt again in three weeks and do it all over.”

  “I so appreciate the reminder,” he replied, picking up The Scarlet Daughter. “Boring is acceptable, even twice, but now, I’m not going to think about it. I’m just going to read.”

  “How is it?”

  “The history is plausible. The politics and economics are anything but. The social infighting is believable enough that the author likely had some experience. It’s pleasantly enjoyable.”

  “Unlike those political and economic journals you usually read.”

  “It is Summerend,” he replied amiably.

  Ysella just shook her head, then leaned sideways against a pillow and closed her eyes.

  Less than half a bell later, when he read the same page three times and didn’t remember a word, Dekkard followed her example. He hadn’t realized how tired he was.

  Some five bells later, after two long naps and a decent but not outstanding meal in the dining carriage with Ysella, Dekkard watched as the express started over the massive bridge that crossed the Rio Mal into the Oersynt river district. Less than a half mille southwest and downstream, the Mal flowed into the Rio Azulete. Upstream of the junction, along the eastern shore of the Azulete and on the western edge of Oersynt, between the ironway right-of-way and the river, various mills stretched for milles.

  From the express carriage window, even in late midafternoon, Dekkard could easily make out the smoky pall that filled the river valley as far as he could see. The ground on which Oersynt was built gradually rose over some ten milles to the north and east into rolling hills, hills that held the summer residences of the city’s more affluent families. While Dekkard had often been in some of those residences when his father had done work there, his parents lived south of the more affluent areas, but in a modest section of Oersynt away from the mills and the crowded warrens that housed millworkers and those even less fortunate.

  He had no idea exactly how the late-afternoon meeting with the various district Craft Party officials might develop, since he had met none of them previously, or what he might learn there or at the dinner that would follow … but he was certain he’d learn.

  The next bell was simply tiring, because the Guldoran Ironway station in Oersynt was crowded, as were the narrow streets around it, and Dekkard had to keep track of all the luggage—until it was all stacked in the lobby of the Hotel Cosmopolitano. Then Dekkard watched carefully as hotel valets carried it all up to the Obreduurs’ second-floor suite.

  Once the luggage had been delivered to the proper rooms, Dekkard washed up and changed from the barong and trousers he’d worn into one of his gray summer suits in preparation for the meeting.

  When Obreduur left his suite, he was accompanied by Ingrella, but then, Dekkard reflected, that made even more sense because she’d been a power in her own right in Oersynt even before she’d met and married him. Even if you didn’t know it.

  Ysella and Dekkard escorted the Obreduurs down the long and high staircase from the second level to the lobby and then down a side corridor to a small meeting room.

  Outside the door stood a square-faced black-haired man close to Obreduur’s age, who immediately offered a broad smile and stepped forward. “It’s good to see you, Councilor.”

  “Axel, please.” Obreduur gestured. “You know Ingrella, but not my aides, Avraal Ysella and Steffan Dekkard. This is Jareld Herrardo. He’s the Advisory Committee’s liaison to the district Craft Party.”

  “I’m happy to meet you, and very happy you kept the councilor safe.” At Obreduur’s inquisitive expression, Herrardo added, “Jens Seigryn sent me a heliogram about the attempt on you last night.”

  Obreduur frowned.

  “I know,” replied Herrardo. “Security likely found out before I did, but Jens must have thought they’d find out before long anyway.”

  “Did he give any details?” asked Obreduur.

  “None. He just wrote that your security thwarted an attack on you.”

  “Good,” replied Obreduur. “It was more than an attack. He was disguised as an inn server and had a pistol.”

  Herrardo winced.

  “Did you tell anyone?”

  “No, but there was an article this afternoon in the Press.”

  “Is everyone here?” asked Ingrella.

  “Yes, Ritten. Chairman Foerrster, Vice-Chair Koerr, Treasurer Martaan, and Ryanna Wreaslaan. She’s the new guild liaison. Martaan’s a little weak, but he said he wouldn’t miss the meeting. He’s recovering from a bout of lung fever.”

  Dekkard noted that Ingrella nodded at the last name.

  “We might as well go on in,” said Obreduur cheerfully.

  Once again, the rectangular room held a large round table, and the four Craft Party officials stood at one side. All four turned as Obreduur led the way.

  “Good afternoon, everyone,” declared Obreduur firmly and cheerfully. “The sooner we start, the sooner we finish, and the sooner we all get to eat. Before we sit down, though … all of you know Ingrella, but you don’t know Avraal Ysella and Steffan Dekkard. They do double duty, both as security and as specialists in various areas. Steffan’s family are artisans in Oersynt, but he was a top Institute graduate several years ago, and Avraal deals with land and women’s guild issues.” Obreduur gestured to the table.

  The four Craft Party officials seated themselves on one side, facing Obreduur and Ingrella in the center of the other side, with Dekkard beside Ingrella, and Ysella beside the councilor. Herrardo took a chair and sat against the wall.

  “There was a report in the afternoon editions of the newssheets,” began the older man, Foerrster, Dekkard assumed, “about some … difficulty in Gaarlak.”

  “There was an attack by a single individual, dressed in the inn’s livery. He had a pistol concealed by a tray. Steffan and Avraal thwarted the attack, and the attacker died when he tried to escape and fell from the balcony onto the slate floor of the lobby. He hit headfirst. Security investigated, but he had no identification, and the pistol was from Atacama.”

  “Rather convenient,” commented the man Dekkard thought was Martaan, given his pallor and hoarse voice.
>
  “If the Imperador announces elections,” said Koerr, “we could see more of those.”

  “That’s always possible,” agreed Obreduur. “We have to be prepared. Just have your people look for strange servers.” He paused just briefly, then said, “The New Meritorists had a demonstration here a month or so ago. Have they done anything else?”

  Foerrster glanced to Ryanna Wreaslaan.

  “Last week there was a small fire in a Security station near the Guldoran Ironway western switching station. One Security patroller died, according to The Oersynt Press. One other individual died as well, but his body was too badly burned to be identified immediately. A single room in the basement level was damaged.”

  “What didn’t the newssheets report?” asked Ingrella.

  “That room was a filing room. Word is that several other Security agents were shot. Security didn’t capture anyone.”

  Dekkard managed not to frown. Why would the Meritorists even bother with a Security patrol station?

  “Did anyone on the district council say anything?” asked Obreduur.

  “Chairman Vandenburg offered a brief statement that said nothing,” replied Wreaslaan, “except that no vital services—gas, water, and sewage—had been affected.”

  “Are there any signs that the New Meritorists might do something else or stage another demonstration?” asked Obreduur.

  “There weren’t any signs the last two times,” replied Wreaslaan. “I doubt there will be any the next time.”

  “Is there anything else unusual that I should know?” Obreduur glanced from face to face.

  No one answered.

  Obreduur smiled. “Then let’s go over what you planned for us to do for the next three days…”

  For almost a bell, the meeting covered the dinner to come, the places and people the Obreduurs would visit on Findi, Unadi, and Duadi, the guild afternoon dinner on Findi, the tour of Guldoran Ironway’s new switching yard and roundhouse on Unadi morning, the legalists’ reception and refreshments on Unadi evening, and the dinner for Craft Party volunteers and supporters on Duadi evening.

  After the official meeting concluded, Leon Foerrster led the way to a private dining room for dinner. Dekkard ended up, once more, recounting how he’d come to work for the councilor, what his family did, and what working for a councilor involved. From what he could tell, Ysella went through a similar semi-interrogation.

  By the time he got to bed, he was asleep almost instantly.

  67

  DEKKARD and Ysella had breakfast together on Findi, both wearing less formal garb, as per Obreduur’s instructions, which for Dekkard turned out to be a blue barong and gray trousers. Ysella wore a blue linen suit, with a less transparent headscarf loosely around her neck. They met the Obreduurs outside their suite at a sixth before third bell. Obreduur wore the off-white linen suit without a cravat, while Ingrella again wore light blue.

  Ingrella immediately spoke. “Steffan … I assume you’d like to see your family.”

  “If it’s possible,” replied Dekkard cautiously. “I don’t like the idea of leaving the councilor unprotected.”

  “After the guild function this afternoon, we’ll be spending the rest of the afternoon and early evening at my cousin Clarissa’s home, from about fourth bell to around second bell. Gustoff and Nellara are there now. We know that doesn’t give you that much time, but her house is on Quadrangle Court, just off Fifth Boulevard. That should take less than a sixth by steamhack to your parents’ house. It’s on Perimeter Lane, isn’t it?”

  “It is.” It didn’t particularly surprise Dekkard that Ingrella knew, since Obreduur had doubtless investigated him thoroughly before hiring him.

  “Will you be needing me?” asked Ysella.

  “No. You’d both be free.”

  Dekkard looked to Ysella. “Would you like to meet the family … or whoever’s there?”

  “If it wouldn’t be a problem.”

  “You’re never a problem,” Dekkard replied instantly.

  Ysella laughed. “Wait until I tell Emrelda that.”

  Dekkard looked to Ingrella. “Do we have a moment so that I can send a messenger?”

  “Axel’s schedule this morning is flexible enough to deal with a few minutes.”

  Once the four were all down the staircase and in the hotel lobby, Dekkard immediately hurried to the message clerk at the hotel desk, where he filled out the message blank, gave the address, and paid the fee—a mark and a half, much higher than it would have been if he’d contacted a service directly, but that would have taken more time … and his knowledge of Oersynt messenger services was out-of-date.

  Then he hurried back to where the Obreduurs and Ysella waited, just inside the hotel door. He looked to Ysella, then grinned. “You’re committed.”

  Ysella smiled sweetly. “Of course I am. I do hope your sister will be there.”

  “I doubt that she’d miss the chance,” replied Dekkard wryly.

  At that moment, Jareld Herrardo arrived at the wheel of a Gresynt similar to the one Dekkard usually drove, except that the steamer was dark blue, not dark green. Dekkard led the way out of the hotel, opening the rear doors for the Obreduurs and Ysella. Dekkard had no idea where they’d be going, since the itinerary merely said, “Local visits.”

  Once everyone was inside, Obreduur asked, “Where are we headed first, Jareld?”

  “I thought we’d stop by Carla’s before she opens. She’s always been a strong supporter.”

  “And after that?”

  “We’re stopping at Syntaar Field. There’s a game between Oersynt and Aloor. Then we’ll go to the Guildhall for the reception.” Herrardo pulled away from the hotel and turned onto Copper Avenue heading west toward Central Square, then turned right on Second Street.

  “There’s someone following us,” said Ysella. “Three steamers back.”

  “Is it a dark blue Realto?” asked Herrardo.

  Dekkard turned and studied the steamers behind them. “It’s dark blue and looks like a Realto, but I can’t tell for sure.”

  “It’s likely a Security steamer, then. Here in Oersynt they like dark blue, and one followed me to the Cosmopolitano. It’s likely the same one.”

  “How many are in the Realto?” asked Obreduur.

  “Just one,” replied Ysella. “There’s no one else near focused on us.”

  That suggested to Dekkard that Security was more interested in surveillance than something more sinister. So far, at least.

  About a half mille later, Herrardo turned left on Ragona, before pulling up in front of a modest three-story brick building with the name “Carla’s Place” in brass cursive letters, outlined in red, above the door. Moments later, the blue Realto drove by and kept going.

  “He’ll be back later,” said Ysella.

  “Later is fine,” said Obreduur.

  Although the tavern was located only three blocks west of Geddes Square, Dekkard didn’t remember it, possibly because it was on the west side of the square, as well as more than three milles from where he’d grown up, and because no one in his family frequented taverns.

  Dekkard was out of the Gresynt first, checking the sidewalk, but only a handful of passersby were near the tavern, and the Obreduurs and Ysella quickly joined him.

  Obreduur led the way inside the tavern, where a stout red-haired woman immediately appeared and threw her arms around him. “Axel! I was afraid you wouldn’t come by.”

  “I’m here, Carla. You had to know I’d be here. Besides, if I’d thought of not coming, Herrardo would have insisted. But he didn’t have to.”

  Ingrella turned to the older graying man standing several steps back, who offered an amused smile. “How are you, Isaak?”

  “Good enough that I don’t need a legalist, Ritten.”

  “That’s good for both of us.”

  Isaak laughed, briefly.

  Dekkard glanced to Ysella, who just nodded, even as she concentrated.

  Over the next third
of a bell, Obreduur and Ingrella had a few words with each person in the tavern, including the dishwashers. Then, after a few last words with Carla and Isaak, Obreduur nodded to Dekkard and Ysella, who led the way out of the tavern and out into the faint acrid haze that clung to the city, a haze that Dekkard couldn’t say he’d missed in Machtarn.

  Even before Ysella could say anything, Dekkard spotted the blue Realto parked near the end of the block and asked her, “Is there still just one Security agent in the Realto?”

  “So far.”

  Once everyone was in the steamer, Herrardo waited for a break in the intermittent traffic, then kept the Gresynt on Ragona, heading west toward Syntaar Field. The blue Realto followed.

  “We should get there about two thirds before the game starts,” announced Herrardo. “That will give you time to talk to people. Arturo is already there with the banner.”

  “Arturo Degarcion?” asked Ingrella.

  “The same. He volunteered.”

  Ingrella smiled. “He always volunteers.”

  “Provided we invite him to whatever function follows,” replied Herrardo.

  To Dekkard, the objective of webball seemed to be to use a staff topped with a leather mesh basket to bash players on the opposing team … and occasionally to fling the purposely unbalanced hard leather ball into one of the net goals. Nonetheless, there were definitely tens of thousands of Guldorans who cheered either university or city teams at the games played almost invariably on Findi mornings from early Springfirst to Fallend.

  Syntaar Field consisted of a playing field and a stadium, such as it was, of two curved concrete and stone stands. Tiered benches seated about ten thousand on each side. The field proper was mostly covered in meshgrass, and the sharp edges of the tough grass blades resulted in slashes of unprotected skin for the unfortunate players who went down.

  The parking area south of the field was more than two-thirds full, but the parking monitors waved Herrardo through to a space holding a small RESERVED sign with Obreduur’s name on cardboard.

  “The same arrangement as last year?” asked Obreduur as Herrardo eased the Gresynt to a stop before the sign.