Isolate

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “Pleased to meet you both,” replied Torvald. “Now … let’s head up to the operations control center.”

  Dekkard glanced to Ysella, who offered the slightest of nods, as they brought up the rear, just behind Treyaal, the freight manager, who looked distinctly uncomfortable in his black suit.

  The narrow staircase to the top of the operations tower was already warm and would be stifling by midday. Dekkard blotted his forehead surreptitiously just before he stepped out of the staircase and into the single large room that was the top floor of the tower.

  In the center of the room was a model. As Dekkard eased forward, he could see that it was a miniature of all the rail lines in the area around Oersynt.

  Then Arkan Janes cleared his throat and said, “This model shows all the lines in fifty milles around Oersynt.” He nodded to the wiry older man beside the model, who moved a miniature freight train along the tiny track from Malek. “Korry gets regular heliograph reports and updates the positions, sometimes minute by minute.”

  “Very impressive,” said Obreduur, studying the model, and then moving forward, where he glanced out through the glass windows of the operations tower.

  “We’re certain that ironway freight users will be pleased with the improvements.”

  “I imagine the service is already better, but it must have cost a half million marks or more.”

  “The savings and increased earnings from higher freight loadings will pay for it in less than five years,” returned Torvald.

  “That profitable?” returned Obreduur. “You do have an eye for the bottom line.”

  “Without profits nothing can continue.”

  Obreduur smiled. “And, as I’ve told you before, without good workers, there are no profits.”

  “We agree on that, Councilor.” Torvald paused. “Do you have any questions?”

  “How long does it take you to get a heliograph signal from fifty milles out to the operations center here?”

  “If it’s not raining, about a sixth of a bell.”

  “That’s faster than Guldoran Heliograph.”

  “We’re sending simpler messages with short codes for frequently used complex terms.”

  “That makes sense.”

  After a silence, Ysella asked, “Don’t you worry about the river flooding the yard?”

  “That’s not a problem. The lowest point here is fifteen yards above the average high-water mark. The marshes on the other side of the river are much lower, and there’s only cropland south of Point of the Rivers on the Rio Azulete.”

  So the growers or landholders are the ones who get flooded. But Dekkard only nodded.

  Following the tour of the operations tower came one of the roundhouse, which happened to be not in use at that moment, and less than a sixth later, Obreduur, Dekkard, and Ysella were in the Gresynt headed back up the drive to the gate.

  Dekkard couldn’t help but wonder at the purpose of the invitation, unless people had been complaining about ironway service. “You didn’t mention freight rates, sir.”

  “There wouldn’t be much point, except to antagonize Torvald. He knows that I think their rates are too high, and what I think, so long as the Craft Party doesn’t control the Council, doesn’t matter.” He paused. “Now … we’re going to visit small shops in the millinery district. Steffan, you don’t have to say much. Just smile and be charming to the women.”

  For the next three bells that was what Dekkard did, as Obreduur, Ysella, and Dekkard walked a good three milles through the side streets and lanes of the lower west side of Oersynt, the center of headscarf- and hat-making in Guldor. Dekkard understood exactly why the councilor was doing it—because working women voted at far higher rates than working men and they were concentrated in an area comparatively easy to cover by foot.

  After a brief lunch at an establishment too modest to be termed even a bistro, the three undertook another three bells of walking and talking, and mostly smiling for Dekkard, after which Herrardo arrived and drove them back to the Cosmopolitano to rest and dress for the more formal reception and dinner for the prominent legalists of Oersynt, an appearance no doubt arranged by Ingrella.

  A black Gresynt limousine conveyed the Obreduurs, Ysella, and Dekkard to the Oersynt Lawn Club, a drive of nearly two-thirds of a bell out Fifth Boulevard, then northwest on a divided tree-lined avenue into low hills festooned with mansions and grounds that made the Obreduurs’ dwelling in East Quarter look like a small cottage in comparison. Growing up, Dekkard had heard all the explanations of why it wasn’t the Lawn Bowling Club, but still felt none of them made sense. What did make sense was that only well-off legalists could turn a simple game into the requirement for an expensive private club devoted to lawn bowling and lawn racquet courts … and three exclusive private restaurants—a men’s bistro-tavern, a women’s tearoom/bistro, and a larger formal restaurant—as well as a large private reception and dining area for special functions hosted by members.

  The entrance drive went through two modest gray stone gates, one of which bore a bronze plaque with the words LAWN CLUB, then wound around a small lake with a stone-columned circular building in the middle. Beyond the lake was a tall boxwood hedge, through an opening of which the drive passed, revealing a score of lawn racquet courts on one side and at least that many lawn bowling courts on the other side. On the top of a low rise whose slope was covered with a well-tended lawn not quite overwhelmed by various gardens tastefully punctuated with winding stone paths was a sprawling stone structure that covered several hectares.

  The limousine carried them to the third entrance. “The function entrance, sirs and ladies,” said the blue-liveried driver.

  “Thank you,” replied Obreduur, as Dekkard opened the rear door for him. The councilor wore a white dinner jacket with black trousers and shimmering white shirt and black cravat. Ingrella wore a deep purple, nearly formfitting long gown, with an almost transparent light purple half jacket, while Ysella wore the same blue dress and ensemble she’d worn to the justicer’s reception in Gaarlak, and Dekkard a gray suit with a black cravat.

  Dekkard and Ysella followed the Obreduurs along the fountain-lined stone walk that led to the entrance where a massive bronze door was opened by an attendant in livery of rich brown with yellow-gold piping.

  Once inside, Dekkard immediately heard music, strings and clavichord, being played as background and coming from the large chamber beyond an archway directly ahead.

  An older white-haired man appeared, smiling as he approached the Obreduurs. “Ingrella … Councilor, it’s so good to see you both.”

  “It’s good to see you, Jakob,” Ingrella replied, half turning and adding, “Avraal Ysella, of the Sudaen Ysellas, and Steffan Dekkard, both aides to the councilor.” She gestured slightly to the older man. “Jakob Dehahn, High Justicer Emeritus, and still an excellent legalist.”

  “I’m pleased to meet you both,” replied Dehahn in a sprightly but slightly raspy voice, “and you’re far too kind, Ingrella.”

  “I’m only giving you your due, Jakob.”

  “If she gives you your due,” said Obreduur wryly, “we both know you deserve it.”

  “Come on in … we have quite an assortment of fine lagers … Riverfall, Kuhrs, and even Karonin … and the same for the wines…”

  As the five entered the large chamber, set up with sideboards and servers and small tall tables without chairs on one side and a score or so of as-yet-unused tables for dining on the other side, Dekkard studied those already there. With men in white dinner jackets and women in near-formal gowns of every color and shade but similar to the one Ingrella wore, Dekkard, in his gray summer suit, felt very much the security aide, unlike Ysella in her fashionable blue.

  As Ingrella and Dehahn chatted and walked toward the nearest wine sideboard, Obreduur turned and said quietly, “You don’t have to stay too close, but I’d feel better if you weren’t too far away.”

  Dekkard raised his eyebrows as if to question.

&nbs
p; “A white dinner jacket doesn’t guarantee anything but marks. Some of those here didn’t get where they are by obeying all the laws.” Obreduur smiled and returned his attention to Ingrella and Dehahn.

  Dekkard moved closed to Ysella and murmured, “You’ll have to tell me who to watch.”

  “Just look out for anyone who’s more interested in people other than those immediately around them … or someone with a pipe or something like it. Sometimes, they’re altered so they can be used as short-range blowpipes with tiny frog-poison darts.”

  “Ivann said he thought that Freust was killed that way.”

  “It’s actually more likely at something like this where everyone is above suspicion.”

  “Theoretically above suspicion, you mean?”

  “It’s not theoretical. You’d have to catch anyone here with a bloody knife or a smoking pistol in their hands before anyone would admit to believing they’d do something so crass as murdering someone in person. Let’s circle around, but keep an eye on Obreduur. If anyone is likely to try something, it won’t be until this part of the room is more crowded. We might as well get something to drink. You can always spill it strategically.”

  Dekkard fingered his truncheon, more effective in a crowd, then walked to a sideboard, where he ordered Karonin, simply because he’d never had it and had often heard of it.

  He took the fluted beaker and eased back toward the sideboard where Ysella was getting a glass of a dark red wine. He continued to survey the gathering, noting that while those present ranged from what he thought were the mid-thirties to white-haired, he and Ysella were by far the youngest present—except for several young women presumably married to much older men.

  Just as he reached Ysella and lifted his beaker with a smile, a middle-aged man and his wife moved to join them.

  “You two must be Councilor Obreduur’s aides.”

  Brilliant conclusion. I’m the only one in gray, and Ysella is with me. “How could you tell?” asked Dekkard pleasantly, careful to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

  “Because you’re both younger than most here, and you keep studying the room. By the way, I’m Maxim Defaarest, and this is my wife Maerthe.”

  “Steffan Dekkard and Avraal Ysella,” Dekkard replied.

  “And you’re in security … or some form of it?” asked Ysella in a cheerfully guileless voice.

  “Of course. It takes one to recognize one. I handle the legal branch of Oersynt Security.”

  “Some of the staff in livery are yours?” asked Dekkard.

  “Now … this is purely a social occasion for us,” replied Defaarest.

  “Of course,” replied Ysella. “I shouldn’t have thought of it any other way.” She glanced at his wineglass. “I see you’re having Laanar red. It’s quite full-bodied. Personally, I like a red with body, but one not so overpowering, and with a hint of cherry, perhaps Gilthills dark.”

  Defaarest inclined his head and smiled warmly. “We won’t keep you. Enjoy the reception and dinner.”

  “A pleasure to meet you, Maerthe … Maxim,” Dekkard said warmly in return.

  With the slightest of nods, Defaarest turned, and he and his wife edged away.

  “I detest nouveau snobs,” murmured Ysella, “and thank you for asking that question about staff. From his reaction, he has people in place here.”

  “That could be very good … or very bad.”

  “Assume the latter.”

  “I already had,” replied Dekkard dryly, half turning and scanning the room again.

  One of the younger men, a decade older than Dekkard, approached and said to Ysella, “I couldn’t help overhearing your name, and I have to ask if you’re related to Nathanyal Ysella.”

  “I am. How do you know him?”

  “I don’t. My father does … or did. He inherited a small parcel of land adjoining Ritter Ysella’s lands, and sold it to him.”

  “Then you must be from the Yerkes family.”

  “Emile Yerkes. My father was Ephraim.”

  “I’m Avraal Ysella, Nathanyal’s daughter.”

  “How is … I mean…”

  “He’s still alive and contrary as ever. My brother Cliven handles matters pertaining to the lands.”

  Yerkes nodded. “We don’t have any holdings near there any longer. We never did have many. I assume you must be associated in some fashion with the councilor because I know almost everyone here … by either name or sight…” Yerkes paused. “But I could be mistaken.”

  “You’re not,” replied Ysella very warmly. “Steffan and I are two of his aides. You’re a legalist, then?”

  Yerkes laughed. “In a fashion. I’m a district justicer. I’ve always been impressed with the professional accomplishments of Ritten Obreduur, but I’ve never actually met her.”

  “Then let us introduce you,” said Ysella.

  In moments, the three neared Ingrella, who turned at their approach.

  “Ritten,” began Ysella, “District Justicer Yerkes is an admirer of yours, but he’s never met you. We thought it was time to remedy that.”

  “It’s quite an honor to meet you,” said Yerkes, inclining his head deeply.

  “You flatter me,” said Ingrella, “and I’m not too proud to say that I appreciate your words.”

  Dekkard and Ysella eased away.

  “He’s a little awkward,” she said quietly, “but very honest feeling, and his father was as well. Unlike that Defaarest toad, who fits so well with Security.”

  As Dekkard looked past the nearer sideboard, he saw a server collecting spent glasses and putting them on a tray held up by a portable stand. Something …

  “That server with the tray, this direction from the sideboard,” he said quietly.

  “He’s concentrating too hard on the glasses, as if he’s trying not to feel anything, but he’s worried.”

  “I need to get closer.” Dekkard walked swiftly, but not hurriedly, toward the server. As he neared the man, he saw him slide a long paper straw from his tunic and turn toward the sideboard where Obreduur stood talking to another man whom Dekkard didn’t recognize, not that he’d recognized anyone so far. Obreduur’s back was to Dekkard and the server, who was bending over the tray, seemingly arranging the glasses.

  Dekkard kept moving, but tried not to look in the direction of the server until the last moment when the man straightened and lifted the straw to his lips. By then Dekkard had his truncheon in hand and held low, and as the server looked toward Obreduur, just before he finished turning, Dekkard took two quick steps and thrust the truncheon just under the server’s slightly raised arm with all the force he could.

  The server convulsed in reaction to the impact on his nerves. Then his eyes went wide, and he grasped at his chest. His body began to convulse. Moments later, a tiny cascade of point-lights appeared in place of his face, then vanished, and he started to fall forward.

  He’s dead? That fast? Dekkard glanced around, but since no one was looking in his direction, he simply grasped the man one-handed and lowered him to the floor, then straightened, replaced the truncheon, and took two steps and several more, but still no one seemed to notice. So he just walked away and circled back to Ysella.

  “What did you do?” she murmured. “He’s dead.”

  “I put a truncheon in his side just as he was getting ready to blow something through a long paper straw. Should we say anything?”

  She shook her head. “Unless someone says anything about you, leave it a mystery. Just don’t look back. I projected a little distraction, and no one seems to have noticed.”

  “I wondered about that.”

  “We should find our table for dinner.” She took his hand and moved toward the tables, as many others were doing, although Dekkard hadn’t seen or heard any overt sign that dinner was being served.

  Dekkard was amazed at her calmness. “Just like that?”

  “He was an assassin. You dealt with him well enough that his handler will wonder whether it was an accident
or whether we stopped him … and how. Even if he’s working for Oersynt Security and Defaarest, no one will say anything.” As they neared the table area, she murmured, “There’s a little emotional kerfuffle around where that server went down. From one reaction, I get the feeling that he was another infiltrator who shouldn’t have been here.”

  “Interesting.” Dekkard kept looking for place cards, and finally found that he and Ysella were seated at a side table, but one next to the one where the Obreduurs were seated. He also noted that while couples were seated at the same table, they were not seated together, but without knowing social and economic status, Dekkard had no idea whether the seating had been done by precedence, or merely to facilitate conversation. At least, the Defaarests weren’t at the table, and he would be able to see Ysella in case she sensed something out of the ordinary.

  Dekkard found himself seated between one Malendya Haaland and Bernyce Pentico, both of whom kept asking him questions about how the Council “worked in practice” and what he did for the councilor. Both of whom seemed vaguely disappointed when he explained how a councilor’s office actually functioned. He did not bring up the matter of the empath assassin, and neither did they. Ysella was alert for the entire dinner, Dekkard could see, but never gave him any indication that any action on his part was necessary.

  The dinner itself consisted of four courses beginning with freshwater crayfish stuffed with chilies, followed by a mixed green salad, a main course of coriander and oregano brined pork loin slices with a cool cucumber cream sauce and corn and pepper suffused rice, and with caramelized flan for dessert.

  Even so, pleasant and superficial as the conversation was, Dekkard was more than grateful when the dinner was over, and he and Ysella joined the Obreduurs to leave the event.

  “We need to talk once we’re alone and back to the hotel,” Dekkard said quietly to Obreduur as they walked to the waiting black Gresynt limousine.

  “I’ll be interested to hear what you have to say,” replied Obreduur.

  Interested … or surprised … or even appalled.

  Once the four were in the limousine headed back to the Hotel Cosmopolitano, Ysella turned to Dekkard and asked, “What did you think of the food?”