Then he took them to Margrit and had her type up each for Macri’s review and Obreduur’s because there wasn’t much sense in drafting replies until he knew what wording was acceptable to the councilor. He’d just returned to his desk when Roostof also returned to the office from wherever he’d been, holding the midday edition of Gestirn.
“That broadsheet we saw yesterday? Well, the New Meritorists have flooded the city with copies, and Gestirn actually wrote about them.” Roostof shook his head. “They didn’t say what was in the newssheet, because that would amount to spreading the demonstrators’ propaganda—yes, that’s in the story—but they did say that the inflammatory broadsheets were widely distributed in every quarter of the city … and at least in some other large cities. They also quoted the Premier as saying that the demonstrators were scum trying to destroy the greatness of Guldor from within and that the government would take all steps necessary to exterminate them.”
“Exterminate them?” asked Karola.
“Those were his words. I don’t think Gestirn would dare print them if they weren’t.”
Dekkard winced. Ulrich must honestly think he can get away with a massacre … or that his words will stop the New Meritorists. While the Premier might cause a massacre and still hold on to his government, Dekkard had no doubt that words from Ulrich wouldn’t stop the demonstrations and broadsheets.
“Why would he say something like that?” asked Karola.
“Because he thinks that will have some effect,” said Ysella. “When it doesn’t, he can say that they were warned, and it was their own fault so many were killed.”
Dekkard could definitely see that.
“I need to give this to the councilor,” said Roostof.
Karola just nodded.
Roostof knocked, then entered the inner office. In only a few minutes, he came out without the newssheet. “He didn’t look surprised. Not happy, but not surprised.”
The rest of the day was routine, and Macri or Obreduur, or both, made small changes to the two drafts Dekkard had submitted, and Dekkard drafted personal openings to each of the letters dealing with the New Meritorists, and then turned them over to Margrit just before third bell. “Do what you can, and leave what you can’t for Unadi.”
“Why do so many people want others killed because they’re unhappy with government.”
Dekkard said gently, “They’re more than just unhappy. You don’t blow up fifteen Security buildings because you’re unhappy. I’d say that they’re furious because no one is listening. Or the Commercers aren’t.”
“Can the councilor do anything?”
“Not unless the Imperador calls for elections. Even if all that happened, the New Meritorists still won’t be satisfied.” And if Obreduur did become premier, the Commercers and most of the Landors would be furious with what would be necessary to fix all the problems. And if he didn’t deal with them … He managed not to shake his head.
“You’re worried, aren’t you?”
“Anyone who’s not worried doesn’t understand how bad things could get.”
“Everyone here is so quiet about it. I thought I was the only one.”
Dekkard smiled wryly. “You’re not. There’s just not much point in talking about it. We’re all working to find a way to head off the worst.” And most of the Commercers and Landors don’t seem to see it … or they see it and refuse to admit it.
“Thank you, sir.” Margrit offered a tentative smile.
“Start with the smaller group of letters. Those writers seem to understand the problem.”
“Yes, sir.”
Dekkard turned to Macri. “Are you having any success with that ironway supplemental?”
“There’s definitely something. It’s entitled Miscellaneous Reallocations of Surplus Funds. The floor draft isn’t finished, but I should have a copy first thing on Unadi.” Macri smiled. “I’ll be interested to see what’s in it.”
“So will I. Thank you.”
Macri shook his head. “You’re the one who found out about it. But I do want to know how they drafted it so that it’s gone unnoticed.”
“I wondered about that. You and Svard usually catch that sort of sleight of hand.”
“Not always, unfortunately.” Macri glanced at the papers on his desk.
Dekkard got the hint. “Later.” Then he turned and headed back to his desk, where he resumed drafting, starting on the handful of letters dealing with other matters. We’re facing a revolt … and you’re drafting letters? He almost laughed at the absurdity of it all.
Yet, when the workday ended, and Dekkard had finished his drafts, if at the last moment, and headed out to get the Gresynt, nothing in the corridors of the Council Office Building looked all that different. Nor did it outside, except for the presence of more Council Guards everywhere.
79
FOR all of Dekkard’s misgivings and concerns, the remainder of Quindi spooled out routinely, although there was a light late-summer rain that lasted from midafternoon until sometime past midnight, and the trip to the Trinitarian chapel for evening services was quiet. Because of services, the only ones who practiced with the knives, well after dinner, were Dekkard and Ysella. After that, Dekkard wrote a letter to Naralta, a letter that admitted to his sister that he was well aware of how incredible Avraal was and telling Naralta how he appreciated the advice of a slightly older woman.
When he went to bed, he slept soundly, but woke at his normal workday time. While he washed and shaved, he only put on a plain gray shirt and security-gray trousers that needed washing to go down to breakfast. He was the first down, except for Hyelda, and he immediately picked up the newssheet. There was nothing about the Council or the New Meritorists, but there was a large blank white space in the middle of the page, suggesting that something had been removed. Security likely told the newssheet that they’d better not mention being censored. So they didn’t print a single word about it.
Dekkard smiled wryly. That smile faded when a story on the back of the front page caught his attention. As he read, his jaw dropped.
Three of the six Justicers of the High Justiciary announced late on Quindi that they received a petition containing a sworn and sealed deposition dealing with specified legal “irregularities” involving coal leasing procedures as practiced by the Ministry of Public Resources and petitioning for certain legal remedies. A direct petition may be forwarded from a regional justicer and, if accepted by half of the High Justicers, must be heard by the full High Justiciary in open court. Such petitions take priority, and the petition title and petitioner must be published in at least four major newssheets.
“In the matter of leasing public resources and properly recording such, a petition to the High Justiciary of the Imperium of Guldor.” Petitioner is one Eduard Graffyn, an individual of legal standing in the matter of the petition. The initial hearing date is established as Duadi, 32 Summerend 1266, before the High Justiciary at the Fourth Bell of morning. So it be ordered.
Dekkard had a very good idea who the legalist behind the petition had to be and possibly even who the regional justicer might be.
“You’re looking a bit stunned,” said Ysella as she entered the staff room, wearing, surprisingly, a long cotton robe. Seeing his inquiring look, she added, “I thought it would be easier this way, but you had the same idea. You’ll have to tell me what you’re wearing so that I can pick the right ensemble.”
“I’m more than a little stunned. Nothing on the front page, but you’ll find the small story on the bottom of the second page … rather interesting.” He shook his head, then handed the newssheet to her.
As he looked at Avraal reading, just in a robe, he was aware of how striking she was. Why just a robe? She’s never come to breakfast in a robe before. He quickly looked down for a moment.
When Ysella finished reading the story and scanning the rest of Gestirn, she looked thoughtful, but not nearly so surprised as he had felt.
“That’s an incredibly clever legal m
aneuver. No matter what happens, they’ve reopened the Kraffeist Affair in a way that will be difficult to muzzle, because, if they do, it will be clear just how corrupt the Commercers are, and if they don’t try to damp it down, at the least they’ll come off as inept and sloppy.” She smiled. “What do you plan to wear today? Possibly the rich blue barong?”
Dekkard laughed softly. “I’d thought that or the green one.”
“I like the blue best on you.”
“Then I’ll wear that one.”
Ysella seated herself, took a sip of café, then said, “I don’t have any problems throwing your blades.”
“Then you can get a set like mine … but I’d like you to try others just in case there’s one that works even better for you.”
“Are yours that different from most others?”
“The design is a bit cleaner, and they’re heavier.” After a moment, he added, “Have you heard any more from Emrelda?”
“No … but there’s no reason I would. Why?”
“I was thinking about Markell. Except for a handful of people, it’s like he didn’t exist.”
Ysella frowned. “Except for Emrelda and Halaard Engaard … he didn’t.”
“What about his family? Did he have any besides his parents?”
Ysella shook her head.
“You once said that Emrelda and Markell had a wide range of acquaintances…”
“Acquaintances, not friends. She said that the engineering profession was almost as reserved as Landor families. She’s always said it’s easier to talk to patrollers.”
“So that, in some ways, that project was a perfect target for Siincleer Shipbuilding … or their engineering subsidiary.”
“It was.”
“I’m sorry.” Dekkard didn’t know what else to say.
“I think we’d better finish eating and go shopping.” She offered a brief smile.
By a third before third bell, in the morning air that was slightly damper than usual, but also a touch cooler, Dekkard and Ysella were walking down Altarama toward Imperial Boulevard, since it was virtually impossible to hail a steamhack in East Quarter. As she’d indicated, Ysella was in a matching blue outfit, but with trousers, a thin jacket, a small blue purse, and a nearly totally transparent blue headscarf.
Dekkard occasionally glanced back, just to make sure no one was shadowing them closely. They were early enough in the day that the sidewalks bordering the boulevard weren’t that crowded, and it only took a few minutes to hail a steamhack.
“Garlaand’s Blades,” said Dekkard. “Regency Way, a block south of the omnibus main terminal.”
“Yes, sir.”
“We can even take an omnibus to Emrelda’s,” Dekkard said to Ysella. “I’d forgotten that one line goes down Imperial to Camelia Avenue, and then east past Imperial University all the way to Erslaan … or we could still…”
“Let’s see what we have to carry.”
In less than a sixth the steamhack pulled up in front of a three story brick building set on Regency Way, a side street one block west of Imperial Boulevard, roughly midway between Altarama and the Imperial Palace. A small black and gray sign over the door read HARCEL GARLAAND: FINE BLADES.
“Two marks, sir.”
Dekkard gave the driver three, then opened the door and held it as Ysella got out. They walked toward the store. The modest display window held far more than knives, with axes, adzes, swords of various types, machetes, cane knives, and even a gladius in a gilded scabbard.
“That’s quite an array of blades,” observed Ysella.
“It is, but most of Garlaand’s trade is in knives.” Dekkard opened the shop door and gestured for her to enter, then followed her inside.
“We haven’t seen you in a while, Sr. Dekkard,” offered the wiry gray-haired man standing beside the glass-fronted case that held various knives.
“That’s because your knives hold up, Harcel. Even under trying conditions.”
“You’ve used them … in security matters?”
“A few times. There have been situations where they were useful.” Dekkard smiled politely. “But we’re here because my partner here has been working with knives for a time now, and is ready for her own.”
Garlaand offered a puzzled frown.
“Call it a broadening of skills. There are some empaths who handle weapons.”
That brought a smile to the shop owner’s face. “She’s good with yours?”
“She is, but I thought it might be best to see if anything else suited her better.”
“If you don’t mind … might I see your hand?” asked Garlaand.
Ysella extended her hand.
“Is the weight of Sr. Dekkard’s blades any problem?”
“No. I like the weight.”
“I think you might do a little better with a blade of the same weight that’s just a bit longer … but we’ll have to see.” Garlaand motioned to the archway behind the display case. “We’ll have you try several back in the practice area.”
More than a third of a bell passed before Ysella settled on the knives, six in all, identical, but three for practice, and two to carry, with a spare, as well as a sheath for two knives. She immediately adjusted the sheath under the jacket, then eased the knives in. The practice knives went in a leather carrying case, along with the spare and the sheath that Dekkard had promised Nellara.
As Ysella handed over the mark notes to pay for them, including some from Dekkard for Nellara’s sheath, Garlaand said, “You’ve been practicing how long? A couple of months?”
“More like a month,” admitted Ysella.
The shopkeeper smiled wryly and looked to Dekkard. “I wouldn’t get her riled up, sir.”
“Even before she started practicing, I knew that.”
“They’re mostly for backup,” said Ysella.
Or against other isolates or strong empaths. Dekkard didn’t say that.
Garlaand just nodded, then said, “Enjoy the rest of the day.”
“We intend to.” Dekkard smiled.
Once they were outside on the sidewalk, he asked, “Steamhack or omnibus?”
“The omnibus is almost as fast, and I told Emrelda not to expect us until after fourth bell.”
The two walked the block to the omnibus terminal, where they only had to wait a sixth to board the omnibus running the Erslaan route. They took a seat in the lower level near the rear, because that was usually less crowded, although that didn’t matter, because it was early enough that only about two handfuls of riders boarded before the driver turned onto Camelia Avenue.
As the omnibus was about halfway around the gentle curve following the first block from Imperial Boulevard, the driver started to slow, then came to a complete stop. Almost instantly, a crowd, mostly of students, surrounded the front of the omnibus and began to push at it.
“We need to get off. Now,” said Dekkard. “They’re going to try to overturn it to block the avenue.” Even with his first words, he was moving toward the rear emergency exit.
Ysella followed right behind him.
As soon as he opened the door, more students appeared.
His personal truncheon in hand, Dekkard dropped to the pavement and struck the nearest attacking man across the thigh, then turned toward a second, who froze for a moment, then backed away.
“To your left!” snapped Ysella.
Dekkard turned and barely managed to block a staff being half thrust and half swung, but then ducked under the staff and thrust his truncheon right under the center of the falling man’s rib cage before darting to one side and felling a second man carrying an ancient sword with a blow to the knee just before he looked like he was about to swing the bar-like blade at Ysella.
“This way! Run!”
From somewhere nearer to the university, Dekkard heard shots as the two sprinted in the general direction of Imperial Boulevard. In moments, Dekkard realized no one was following them. He stopped and looked back. In the middle of the curve, he saw a h
andful of signs.
ENROLLMENT BY MERIT!
MERIT! NOT BIRTH!
MERIT! NOT MARKS!
The crowd was still working on tipping the omnibus. Beyond them, Dekkard saw figures in security blue moving toward the crowd. Then, as the omnibus turned on its side, Dekkard could make out the bright red shoulder patches, framed in a golden triangle. Special Tactical Forces. Even as he recognized them, shots filled the morning, and the rioters began to fall.
“Steffan…”
“You’re right. Hurry, but don’t run. They’re likely to shoot at people running.”
The two walked swiftly to the north sidewalk. Dekkard kept looking back.
“No one’s following us,” Ysella said. “Not at the moment.”
As he holstered his personal truncheon, Dekkard heard the steam scream of Security steamers moving toward the university from the east and south.
Both of them were breathing hard when they reached Imperial Boulevard, where they slowed their walk, moving north on the east side until they could hail a steamhack.
“We need to go to the Hillside area, Florinda Way off Jacquez on the north side of Camelia,” said Ysella. “You’ll have to take the long way. There’s a demonstration at Imperial University.”
“That’s what the whistle screamers are for?”
“It is.”
“I’ll have to go halfway to the Palace to make sure we’re not close.”
“That’s fine,” said Dekkard.
Dekkard was still sweating when the steamhack pulled up on Florinda Way in front of Emrelda’s house, but he immediately reached for his wallet.
“I’ll take care of it,” said Ysella in a voice that brooked no argument.
Dekkard did hold the door for her when she got out of the steamer, then closed it. Neither spoke as they started up the walk. They hadn’t quite reached the front door when it opened, and Emrelda stepped out.
“You didn’t have to take a steamhack…” Emrelda stopped and surveyed her sister, who looked as composed as ever, at least in Dekkard’s eyes, and then at Dekkard, who doubted he looked that unruffled, and back to the leather knife case her sister carried. “What happened?”
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