“We’ll be ready,” promised Ysella.
“Thank you so much, Jareld,” said Dekkard as he opened the door and then held it for Ysella.
She had just stepped out of the Gresynt, and Dekkard had closed the rear door, when the front door opened and a tall sandy-haired woman in blue trousers and a white shirt stepped out onto the narrow covered front porch.
“That’s Naralta,” murmured Dekkard before calling out more loudly as he and Ysella walked toward the porch, “We’re here, just about when I said we’d be.”
“I’d be shocked if you weren’t,” returned Naralta, turning to Ysella and saying, “I’m Naralta, as if Steffan hasn’t already told you.”
“And I’m Avraal, as if he didn’t put that in the message he sent.”
“Please come in. Mother and Father are on the back porch, where it’s cooler.”
As they entered the small front hall, little more than three yards square, Dekkard glanced toward his mother’s studio, but the door was closed, and he smiled.
“You know better than that, Steffan,” said Naralta, amusedly. “She let me in only after I promised never to say anything or look long at an unfinished portrait.”
The front parlor, opposite the studio, was neat and immaculate, the age-darkened oak furniture recently polished. Dekkard did note that the settee and matching armchairs had been reupholstered in deep green velvet, but they’d needed it long before he’d left the house.
Naralta led the way down the narrow center hallway, past the staircase to the upper level, and then past the small dining room on one side and the modest kitchen on the other side, out through the open door to the covered rear porch overlooking the extensive vegetable garden that filled the area behind the house, bordered by a waist-high brick wall that Dekkard remembered helping his father build. The dark green wicker chairs with matching upholstered cushions looked the same, except that the wicker had to have been repainted because the chairs appeared almost new.
Dekkard’s mother immediately stood, a woman almost as tall as her daughter, her sandy hair shot with silver, while Dekkard’s father, his thick short hair almost totally silver, stepped forward.
“I’d like all of you to meet my security partner, Avraal Ysella. She’s saved my life a time or two.”
“And he’s saved mine at least twice,” replied Ysella.
“You’re an empath … aren’t you?” asked Naralta.
Ysella nodded. “I am.”
“Then … you know…”
“I do now. Steffan never told me you’re an isolate.”
“We’ve always thought that it was best they kept that to themselves,” explained Liliana. “Socially. Not professionally.”
Ysella smiled. “My family feels … much the same way.”
Raymon nodded, then looked to Naralta.
“Oh … what would you like to drink, Avraal?” asked Dekkard’s sister.
“If you have a white wine, I’d like that. If not, lager is fine.”
“We have Silverhills white or Northcoast.”
“I’d like to try the Northcoast. I’ve heard about it, but never tasted it.”
“I prefer it to the Silverhills,” admitted Naralta, looking next to her brother. “And you get chilled Riverfall … unless you’ve changed.”
“Not in that regard.”
In minutes, Naralta returned with beakers of lager for Dekkard and both parents, and wine for her and Ysella.
“What exactly do you two do on a trip like this?” asked Naralta.
Dekkard and Ysella looked at each other. He nodded to her.
“We’re there to make sure that nothing happens to the councilor. He’s effectively the one who’s led the resurgence of the Craft Party, and that’s created enemies.”
“More than a few, I’d wager,” said Raymon. “Has … anything happened … on this trip?”
“He was attacked the other night in Gaarlak. The attacker was an isolate with a pistol wearing the inn’s livery,” said Ysella. “Without Steffan’s response and quick thinking, it could have been fatal.”
“Without Avraal’s early warning, I couldn’t have acted fast enough,” Dekkard added. “That’s why there are two of us.”
“Have there been other attacks?” asked Naralta.
“I wrote about the empath who attacked and killed a councilor,” replied Dekkard.
Liliana shook her head. “You’d be much safer here in Oersynt.”
“You know I’d be a very poor artisan. I’m much better at this. Also, since I got promoted to an assistant economic specialist, it’s gotten more interesting. I’ve even had to deal with problems involving artisans…” Dekkard went on to explain about the fine-art tariff problem and about the Woodcrafters Guild’s problems with Guldoran Ironway. “… you can see that all you taught me has been helpful … if not quite in the way you thought.”
“That’s good to hear,” replied Raymon with an amused smile.
Naralta looked to Ysella. “How did you come to work for a councilor?”
“I wanted to use my abilities for more than a husband and children. My father was violently opposed to that. So … I left and went where I could get training…” Ysella gave a condensed version of what she’d told Dekkard. “… and after all that, I applied for the position with Councilor Obreduur. That was five years ago.” She smiled. “Steffan’s told me how artistic you all are, but was there a reason why you came to Oersynt?” She looked at Raymon.
“I only knew we had no future in Argental. Lila especially.” Raymon shrugged.
“Steffan said that it was hard leaving Argental.”
“That is in the past,” said Liliana. “It’s better left there.”
“Why Oersynt, then,” prompted Ysella.
Raymon shrugged again, then said, “We knew we had to live in a city large enough to support artisans. It also had to be a place where things were changing. Oersynt seemed best.”
“Changing?” asked Ysella.
“Cities that haven’t changed are set in their ways. People know which artisans they like. It’s hard for new artisans to find work. When we came here thirty years ago, Oersynt was changing and growing with the steam-powered mills. The old artisans couldn’t handle all the business. So no one minded too much if other artisans came.”
“You thought that out when you were young?” Ysella smiled warmly. “I’m a bit older than you were when you came here, and I never would have realized that.”
Raymon smiled sheepishly. “I didn’t either. Lila did. She was right.”
“She usually is,” added Naralta. “She was the one who insisted that Steffan compete for a position at the Military Institute.”
“Steffan has the spirit of an artist and the hands and mind of a warrior,” said Liliana. “Art cannot be conquered. It must be lived.”
“Speaking of living art,” said Dekkard, turning to Naralta, “you wrote about possibly setting up a separate studio…”
Naralta laughed. “I decided against it. Right after Mother suggested that two possible clients would be happier with me. She was right, and they were happier. Then, last week, I returned the favor.”
“How would you describe the difference in the way you two paint?” asked Ysella.
Mother and daughter exchanged glances. Then Liliana nodded to Naralta.
“In basic technique, there’s not that much difference. I’d say it’s almost a feeling. I’m a little brighter. She’s … deeper. Maybe I’ll be able to do that later…”
“You’re closer than you think, dear,” replied Liliana.
“Not yet.”
After several minutes’ more conversation about art, Dekkard said, “You wrote me about a demonstration by the New Meritorists. Has anything more like that happened?”
Liliana smiled. “You see? Ten minutes about art, and he wants to know about politics.”
“I know,” replied Dekkard, “I’m hopeless.”
“No, you’re not,” replied his mother. “
You’re interested in what you do, and that’s good.” Her smile vanished. “There have been no more demonstrations, but there have been flyers and broadsheets. Security takes them down, but they reappear. Always about the need for a change in government, the need to make councilors personally responsible.” She shook her head. “That is the first step toward worshipping people instead of the Almighty.”
While that was the first time Dekkard had ever heard his mother say anything like that, he couldn’t say he disagreed. “How do you think people feel about what they’re doing?”
Liliana shrugged. “I think it’s foolishness.”
“Foolishness, indeed,” added Raymon.
“Some of those younger don’t feel that way,” said Naralta. “They say that good jobs and decent wages are harder to get, and that the Commercers won’t ever change, and the Crafters aren’t strong enough to take power.”
“We’re gaining seats with every election,” Dekkard said mildly.
“They’d say that nothing’s changed, and it’s getting harder for working people,” countered Naralta.
“It’s also getting harder for small businesses who are competing against large Commerce corporacions,” added Dekkard, thinking of Markell and Halaard Engaard.
“I saw that earlier this year with one of the local plaster-supply places,” said Raymon. “It was forced out of business. The Imperador doesn’t seem to care, though.”
“Neither do most of the Commercer councilors,” replied Dekkard.
The various threads of conversation continued through light refreshments of assorted empanadas made by Naralta and shortbreads from Liliana until Dekkard checked his watch and realized how late it was. “We need to get ready to go. Herrardo will be here any moment.”
“It seems like you just got here,” said Naralta, almost plaintively.
“Will you be back in Oersynt any time soon?” asked Liliana.
“In about two weeks, for the Summerend Festival and some appearances,” said Ysella. “We don’t know the daily schedule yet.”
“You’ll let us know?” asked Raymon.
“I will,” promised Dekkard, rising from the comfortable wicker chair.
Everyone else stood. Dekkard offered his mother a full warm hug, and then his sister, but only shook hands with his father, knowing hugs made the family patriarch uncomfortable.
Naralta leaned close to Ysella and murmured something that Dekkard didn’t catch and wasn’t supposed to, but since Ysella smiled, it couldn’t be too bad. You hope. With sisters, Dekkard had observed, there were always surprises.
By the time they all made their way to the front porch, Herrardo was easing the Gresynt to a stop, and Dekkard and Ysella hurried down the walk to the steamer, where Dekkard opened the rear door, and they both settled into seats.
“Did you have a good time?” asked Herrardo.
“We did,” answered Ysella cheerfully.
Dekkard suspected she’d thoroughly enjoyed herself. “It was good to see everyone. It’s been a long time.”
“It won’t be that long before we pick up the Obreduurs. We’ll be full-on crowded on the way back.”
“One of us can sit up front,” said Dekkard.
“That might be better.”
“You,” Dekkard suggested to Ysella.
She grinned. “I won’t complain.”
Several minutes passed before Ysella said quietly to Dekkard, “Your mother’s very perceptive. That comment about you having the spirit of an artist but the hands and mind of a warrior … did she ever tell you that?”
“Only the first half. She said that I had the spirit of an artist, but not the skills to be good or happy at it.”
“That’s probably true, but I think what she said this evening was more accurate. You are an intelligent, sensitive, and perceptive man, but a warrior all the same. It’s a good thing you’ve worked for Obreduur, though.”
“Though?”
“I think he’s taught us both the limits and the use of power. With the wrong councilor, you could have turned out more like Jaime Minz.”
Dekkard shuddered at that thought. “What about you?”
“Like Frieda Livigne.”
That was even more frightening to Dekkard. “You couldn’t—”
“Trust me, Steffan. I was so angry when I started with Obreduur that I really could have. You can ask Emrelda.”
“When you say I can ask your sister, it means I don’t need to,” he replied, pausing before adding, with a smile, “unless you make it a habit.”
She just shook her head.
68
ON Unadi, Dekkard and Ysella once more met for breakfast in the hotel restaurant. The two aides were dressed slightly more casually, with Dekkard in a green barong, and Ysella in the cream linen suit.
“What did you think about the family?” Dekkard asked, holding his mug of café and waiting on Ysella’s reply … and his order of croissants with quince paste.
“I like them. Your mother’s very perceptive, and so is your sister. They worry about you.”
“I know … but you can see why I couldn’t stay in Oersynt.”
“I knew that before I met them. You’re meant for what you’re learning to do.”
“You mean more than security, I take it?” Dekkard paused as the waiter appeared with his croissants and maize flatbread with thin cheese slices for Ysella.
“You have little left to learn about security, except what time and experience can teach. You have a talent for seeing possibilities. You immediately recognized where the New Meritorists might strike again.”
Dekkard had his doubts. “That was a fortunate guess. I have a great deal to learn.”
“We all do, but it was more than a fortunate guess.”
“Can you tell me what Naralta whispered to you?” Dekkard grinned, winningly, he hoped.
“That’s between us … for now, anyway.”
“When it’s not…?”
“I’ll tell you.”
Dekkard shook his head, then halved one of the croissants and placed a quince slice in the middle before taking a healthy bite. He also realized that he’d never had a chance to give his parents the newssheet from Gaarlak. You should get another chance in the next month.
The two ate quickly, then left the restaurant and returned to the Obreduurs’ suite, from which they escorted the councilor down to the lobby. Obreduur wore a crisp off-white linen suit, most likely the same one he’d worn the previous day, except spot-cleaned and freshly pressed. When everyone was in the Gresynt, Herrardo turned east on Copper Avenue.
For a moment, Dekkard was confused, because he recalled that all of the Guldoran Ironway facilities were on the west side of Oersynt along the Rio Azulete, but then he remembered that the itinerary had listed the new switching yard and roundhouse. After little more than two blocks, Herrardo turned south on Fifth Boulevard, heading toward the Rio Mal. Then at the rounded edge of the bluff that sloped down to the river, where the boulevard had ended, there was a gate. At the top of each red brick gatepost was the emblem of Guldoran Ironway—the simplified image of a steam locomotive with the initials “GI” just below the locomotive’s headlamp.
Herrardo slowed to a stop at the gatehouse, rolling down the window and saying, “Councilor Obreduur for a meeting.”
“He’s expected. Go to the bottom of the drive and turn left. Then go to the operations building. That’s the building with the tower on the south side. Park in front of the building.”
As Herrardo eased the Gresynt through the gate and down the drive, Dekkard took in what lay below, through a haze that looked thicker than what always lay over Oersynt.
The ironway yard paralleled the river, if well above flood level. Farther to the northeast were three long loading tracks all linked to switches connected to the two main parallel tracks that stretched northeast to Malek and southwest to the junction with the lines to Machtarn and Kathaar. West of the loading lines was the roundhouse, and between the loading
lines and the main lines was the new operations building with two towers rising above the rest of the structure. One of the towers held a huge four-faced full-day clock, with all eighteen bells shown in thirds. Dekkard could make out the lamps placed to illuminate the clock face at night. The top level of the second tower was windowed on all sides, with signal semaphores above it and heliographs on the east and west ends.
While the bricks of all the buildings were barely smudged, and the windows shined and clean, Dekkard wondered how long that would last with the smoke from all the locomotives. By the time Herrardo had parked the Gresynt in front of the operations building three men stood waiting outside the doors, all of them wearing black suits and white shirts, if with various colored ties.
“The one in the center is Thorrsyn Torvald,” said Obreduur. “He’s the director of operations for the entire Guldoran Ironway system.”
Dekkard quickly got out of the Gresynt and opened the rear door for Obreduur.
“Councilor, welcome to our new operations and switching yard,” declared the handsome smiling man in the center. “We’re so glad you could come.”
“Thorrsyn … how could I not come?” replied Obreduur. “Especially when so many of my constituents will welcome the upgraded service these improvements will doubtless create.”
“We wanted you to see it in person. The new roundhouse and switching yard, and the state-of-the-art operations center, have already improved operations on the Rio Mal lines and the lines to Port Reale without adversely impacting traffic on the major through lines between Machtarn and Kathaar. The night heliographs even allow us to use fewer signalers…”
“They’re acetylene-powered, aren’t they?” asked Obreduur.
“They are, but they’re much more powerful than steamer headlamps.” Torvald gestured.
“Arken Janes, here, is the East Oersynt operations manager, and Sandaar Treyaal is the freight manager.”
“In turn,” said Obreduur, “my aides, Avraal Ysella, who deals with agricultural logistics and employment issues, and Steffan Dekkard, who deals with ironway and tariff matters.”
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