“You spend some of that time campaigning and meeting people who are less likely to vote for you. Is that…?” Dekkard left the question hanging because he’d been about to ask if spending time with those people was wise.
“No … some would say it’s not wise. But for me, it’s necessary. I still represent them, and they need to know that I take them seriously. That’s one of the reasons why Gaarlak and a few other districts are likely to go Craft in this election. The incumbent councilors, even those stepping down like Emilio Raathan, have taken their own natural base for granted and not bothered to cultivate a presence among those more likely to vote for other parties.”
Dekkard frowned. “Doesn’t that verge on the personality politics advocated by the New Meritorists?”
“There’s a difference. I’m letting them know who I am and asking for their vote. I’m not tying my name to particular votes or government programs or projects … only to what I’ve accomplished.” He smiled wryly. “At least, I try to keep my words along those lines.”
Dekkard was still thinking that over as Herrardo drove them to the public-health-care meeting.
Central Public Hospital was a long two-story, faded red brick building more than ten blocks south of the hotel and only a few blocks from the wholesale produce building and the ironway station, an area filled with four- and five-story tenement buildings, all of which doubtless only had cold running water, if that, and adjacent to the garment district.
Herrardo parked the Gresynt in one of the two vacant spaces with a sign that read FOR OFFICIAL BUSINESS. As he got out and shut the steamer door, he said, “This isn’t the best part of Oersynt,” which Dekkard already knew, “but around the hospital’s pretty safe, because there’s almost no one with any marks here, except the physicians, and those who work here don’t have that much. The gathering is in the meeting room, which is adjacent to the chapel.”
Once inside the hospital Dekkard could immediately smell, if faintly, the eucalyptus scent of disinfectants, along with a bitter odor that he could not identify.
Herrardo led the way to the center of the building, then turned right. That corridor ended at a set of double doors with heavy copper handles.
Before Herrardo could open the doors, someone did from the inside, and a woman in pale blue trousers and coat—the colors of a nurse or physician—spoke. “Good. You’re right on time. Please come in. I’m Dr. Pheryna Bornikova.” She turned and led the way into a chamber lit solely by a handful of wall lamps. More than a score of others, all in hospital coats and trousers, stood in the middle of an open space in front of wooden folding chairs that had been set in a rough arc.
Dr. Bornikova turned. “Do you have a prepared statement or speech, Councilor?”
Obreduur smiled wryly. “I could give one, but I’d really rather hear what all of you have to say about what the Council has done, or not done, for hospitals. I’m also open to suggestions, with the understanding that I’m only one of sixty-six. I do know that the funds you receive from the Council are inadequate.”
“Inadequate?” responded a man who didn’t look that much older than Dekkard. “That’s like saying a starving child is a bit hungry. We can barely come up with one meal a day for the charity patients, and most of that is paid for by the Trinitarian Relief Fund. We’re patching broken windows with paper tape.”
An older woman, a nurse, Dekkard thought, said, “We often have to do minor surgery with minimal anesthesia, or sometimes none at all because we’re always in danger of running out of chloroform.”
“We’re also short of carbolic acid for sterilizing instruments and scalpels…”
“There’s never enough soap to clean bed linens and everything else…”
Through it all, Obreduur mostly listened. Finally, when it was obvious that the hospital personnel had said all they could or wanted to say, he said, “Thank you. You’ve been very clear on what you need and why you need it.”
“Can you give us your word that you’ll get us the marks and supplies we need?” pressed a short man in blood-splattered blues.
“That depends on the results of the election. I’ve always pushed for more funding for public hospitals. I’ll continue to do so. If the Craft Party wins the election and can form a government, you’ll get more. Will it be enough? Not immediately. Far too many needs have been ignored by the current government for too many years. If the Commercers remain in control, I don’t see things changing.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Because I’m hopeful. Also because I hope you’ll persuade friends and family in other districts to vote Craft. And, most important … because, if we do win, I have to know what you need.”
Dr. Bornikova stepped forward. “The councilor has listened, and he’s been forthright. We can’t ask for more right now.” She smiled coolly. “If you win, we’ll definitely be asking for more.”
“That’s only fair,” Obreduur replied warmly. “Thank you. I do appreciate the opportunity to hear the problems you’ve had to face.”
Bornikova walked to the doors with them, then looked to Obreduur. “I will say that you’re the only one who had the courtesy to respond to our request. Thank you for that.”
“The way your people talked and questioned was as important as what they said. I just wish more councilors could have heard them. I’ll do my best to convey not only the needs, but the urgency of those needs.”
“We’ll be watching.”
“It won’t happen immediately,” Obreduur replied. “And it will be a struggle.”
“Isn’t everything? Good evening, Councilor.” Bornikova opened one door.
As the four walked down the antiseptic-scented hallway from the meeting room on their way out of the hospital, hearing occasional cries and moaning, Dekkard couldn’t help thinking about the anger and desperation he’d heard voiced by professionals seemingly always short of the resources they needed to help people.
By the time Dekkard returned to the Hotel Cosmopolitano, all he wanted to do was to collapse and get some sleep. From looking at Avraal, he suspected she felt the same.
94
BOTH Dekkard and Avraal could sleep later on Findi morning because there was no early-morning meeting. Obreduur had told them the night before that he had arranged to have breakfast sent up to his room and that he’d meet them at a third before fifth bell. Dekkard did sleep later, but only until a little after first bell. He took his time washing and dressing, then sat in his room wondering if Avraal was awake and if he dared knock on her door. He worried some about Obreduur, but when he heard a cart he looked out and watched, but the server never entered Obreduur’s room, because the councilor pulled the cart in himself and closed the door.
A third passed, and then there was a gentle rap at his door. He walked to the door, and opened it, ready for anything or anyone—but not for the hug that Avraal gave him.
“You didn’t even lurk around my door,” she said cheerfully.
“I’m not much of a lurker.” Or at least he hadn’t been after the dressing-down Naralta had given him when he’d been ten.
“Let’s have breakfast.”
“Breakfast? Not just café?”
“It’s late enough that I’m hungry.”
Wonder of wonders. “So am I.” Dekkard stepped out of his room and closed the door. As they headed down to the lobby, he said, “There’s something I’d like to know.”
“Oh?”
“When we were in Gaarlak, Obreduur wasn’t exactly pleased with Haasan Decaro. He was trying to get several others to consider running for councilor in the next election. He was pleased that Johan Lamarr decided to run. Then Lamarr dies in a fire that most likely was set up by Decaro, and Obreduur almost shrugs when the Gaarlak Craft Party settles on Decaro as the replacement candidate. Somehow … there’s something else going on.”
“I can tell you that Obreduur was very upset when he read that heliogram.”
“Then why didn’t he do something? Or is
it that the Craft Party needs to win that seat and Decaro is the only remaining candidate who can?”
“We don’t know that, but he believed what he was saying. He was also angry about it.”
“He also said that the Gaarlak Craft Party had to make the choice, but Ulrich appointed Aashtaan’s replacement…”
“That was after Aashtaan was elected, not before,” Avraal pointed out. “The district party chooses candidates. The national political leader has the final say on replacing an elected councilor who dies or resigns, but usually listens to the district party.”
When they entered the restaurant, Dekkard said, “Two, please.”
In moments, they were seated at a wall table. Dekkard ordered his croissants, along with fried ham slices. Avraal ordered a fruit plate and one croissant.
After taking several sips of his café, Dekkard asked, “What did you think about the hospital meeting? Were they as frustrated and angry as I thought they were?”
“Dr. Bornikova was cold and resigned, with some anger. The younger people were angrier.”
“That suggests that the older ones are used to doing without adequate resources and don’t think things will get better.”
“The hospitals have never been a high priority for the Commercers. Most Commercers go to private clinics. So do well-off crafters and tradespeople.”
Dekkard already knew that, but he hadn’t realized how comparatively few marks went to the public hospitals. “Do you think more people will want to talk to the councilor before the webball game?”
“We’ll just have to see. I’d guess there would be a few more with the election only a week away.” Avraal offered a mischievous smile. “I’m much more interested in dinner and seeing how your family interacts with the councilor.”
“I wonder about that, too.”
“You’re not worried?”
“They’ll be polite, but I don’t see them being excessively deferential. At least not my mother or Naralta.” Dekkard grinned. “Besides, you’re the one descended from royalty, and that didn’t affect her.”
“You didn’t tell her that, did you?” Avraal looked appalled, then made a disgusted face. “You didn’t even find that out until after I met them.” After a pause, she added, “You can look so earnest and straightforward, but…” She shook her head.
“Just like you can look so stylish and proper … and fall in love with throwing knives.”
They both laughed.
After breakfast, they returned to their respective rooms to finish getting ready for the day. Before long, both were waiting in the corridor. Obreduur joined them, and at a third before fifth bell, the three entered the dark blue Gresynt. Herrardo drove them to Syntaar Field, where Arturo Degarcion was already setting up the banner, and almost fifteen people were waiting for the councilor. Only a few even glanced at Dekkard. More than a few eyed Avraal.
Some of the questions that Dekkard overheard were familiar:
“… what are you going to do about those radical Meritorists?”
“… do about how the ironways overcharge crafters and growers?”
“What are you going to do for the working man?”
“You’re not going to increase taxes on small shops, are you? It’s hard enough for us to make ends meet without more taxes…”
And some of the questions weren’t so familiar.
“Are you one of those fellows in Machtarn who thinks politics is some sort of game, like webball or plaques?”
“Do you really think you can get my vote by showing up a few times a year?”
“Did you ever meet my great-aunt Winona? Thought you must have, the way she talked about you. Died last year … just wondered…”
“Can you tell me there’s any real difference between any of you fellows?”
When they left the field a little over a bell later, Dekkard realized he’d never even asked or thought about who the Oersynt team happened to be playing.
From Syntaar Field, Herrardo turned the Gresynt onto Third Boulevard toward the Oersynt Guildhall for the afternoon reception or get-together for members of all guilds in Oersynt. Admission was free, but limited to the first five hundred guild members who signed up.
Slightly less than a sixth later, Herrardo eased the Gresynt into the “official business” section of the parking area behind the three-story yellow brick building. As before, he led them toward the rear kitchen entrance, guarded by a single Security patroller, obviously picking up a few extra marks. There were several more in front, Dekkard suspected.
“Good day, Councilor,” offered the patroller.
“The same to you,” replied Obreduur.
“Did you get enough to eat?” asked Herrardo.
“That I did.” The patroller smiled as the four entered the building.
Unlike the previous function held there for Obreduur, this time there were no tables for seated dining, but tables with finger foods set at intervals throughout the hall and sideboards for along the walls, with servers at each to dispense lager, wine, or what looked to be a red punch.
As the four left the kitchen and stepped into the hall proper, a round-faced and balding older man stepped forward, accompanied by a woman.
It took a moment for Dekkard to recognize Leon Foerrster, the Craft Party chairman for the Oersynt district, and Ryanna Wreaslaan, the guild liaison.
“I’m glad to see you looking so healthy, Axel,” said Foerrster heartily.
“There haven’t been any more … difficulties, have there?” asked Wreaslaan.
“Not so far,” replied Obreduur. “A few people who’ve voiced dissatisfaction with the Council and politicians, but that’s to be expected.”
“These days, what else can you expect?” said Foerrster. “You’d think that they’d get the idea that the Commercers have been in control for decades, and that they’re the problem.”
“Only a small percentage of the people really understand politics. The rest only think they do … or don’t care.”
“We thought we’d let people in and let them get drinks and something to eat before you speak. There’s a small platform on the north wall.”
“It’s about time to open the doors. Are you ready for the onslaught?”
“The sooner the better.”
Foerrster raised a hand and several men and women moved to the double doors and pulled them open. While men and women surged into the hall, Obreduur moved back and stood in front of the small platform. Avraal and Dekkard flanked him, if roughly half a pace back.
For several minutes, no one seemed even to notice the councilor. Then a dark-haired man in a black barong walked quickly toward Obreduur. Dekkard looked to Avraal.
“He’s excited, but happy,” she said quietly.
“Councilor Obreduur, I just wanted to thank you.” The man stopped and smiled broadly, then added, “I’m Jalaan Kahn, craftmeister of the woodcrafters at Guldoran Ironway. I don’t know how you persuaded those mark-loving bastards to switch from yellow cedar to cherry, but we’re all grateful you did. Even the corporacion is pleased the way the paneling and trim are turning out on the newest carriages. Not that they’ll say much.”
“I’m glad it worked out. It took a little doing.”
“Whatever it took, we’re grateful. The crafters at Eastern Ironway aren’t so fortunate.”
“They’re still working with yellow cedar?”
“They are … poor bastards. Eastern squeezes marks even more than Guldoran.” Kahn offered an embarrassed smile. “I don’t really have much else to say—”
“I’m sure you do,” said Obreduur. “Are there other crafters in your family?”
Kahn smiled. “Just one. That’s my daughter. She started in the shop as an apprentice last year. She’s got the touch. A bit hard for her at first, but the older hands came round.” He looked to Avraal, then back to Obreduur. “She’s younger than your aide. Thank you again, sir.”
Kahn hurried off.
Another and older man in
a worn blue suit approached Obreduur shyly. “Sir, I just wanted to meet you.”
“I’m glad to meet you. Might I ask your name? And what your guild is?”
“Jacquet Deblanc. I’m a wheel lathe operator at the locomotive works.”
“That takes skill and then some,” replied Obreduur. “Much more skill than I ever had as a stevedore. You must have been at it for some time.”
“Almost twenty years, sir. It’s better now than when I started. It could be even better.”
“Is there anything I could do?”
“I don’t think so. I just wanted to meet you.”
The next person to address Obreduur was an older woman. “Good day, Councilor. Will your wife be here?”
“I’m afraid not. Legalists don’t get campaign breaks. Is there anything I could tell her?”
“Not really … well … except we’d like her to think about making the mills here in Oersynt pay women the same as men.”
“Which mills, might I ask?”
“All the Rio Mal mills, sir.”
“I’ll let her know that.”
For the next third Obreduur talked to another seven or eight people. Then a series of chimes rang out, and Leon Foerrster climbed up on the low platform, where he waited for the crowd to quiet down.
“Some of you are here for the food and drink, and some of you are here to meet Councilor Obreduur. For those of you lost in the back, he’s going to stand up here and say a few words. Just a few, he insisted, because he’s not here to give a speech, but to meet all of you.” Foerrster gestured.
Obreduur stepped onto the small platform and surveyed the room, drawing out the silence before saying, “I’m here for two reasons. First … to meet all of you. Second … to remind you to vote Craft Party in next week’s election. We have a chance to change government with this election. Don’t you all think it’s time for a change? That change is overdue? That more marks should go to those who actually make and transport the products of Guldor? That workplaces should be safer? And that Guldoran workers shouldn’t lose jobs because Guldoran corporacions build manufactories in Noldar and enslave susceptibles to make cheap goods to sell here?
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