Isolate

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  Dekkard took a deep breath. We’ve kept putting off dealing fully with what we feel … but how much longer can we keep doing that?

  For the next two bells, Dekkard’s thoughts seemed to go in circles, and he was more than ready when Obreduur left the inner office and said, “I’m leaving. Everyone go home. You’ll have more than enough work ahead.”

  As soon as they left the office, Dekkard concentrated on just one thing—and that was Obreduur’s security. That wasn’t difficult, since the corridors and the garden courtyard were even more deserted than they had been earlier.

  On the ride back to the Obreduurs’ house in the Council limousine, once Obreduur settled into working on various papers, and wrote messages, Dekkard looked at Avraal. “Somehow, this is all so surreal. I really never thought…”

  “That he’d actually have a chance of becoming premier?”

  “I thought he would eventually … just not so soon.”

  “Sometimes, you have to take the chance when the opportunity presents itself … or you may not see it again.”

  That also applies to you. After a slight hesitation, Dekkard said, “That’s becoming obvious.” Painfully obvious. “We need to talk.”

  “We do,” she replied gently.

  Once the limousine delivered the three, Dekkard carried his case and Obreduur’s into the house, then took his own upstairs, dropping it on the bed, and immediately leaving his chamber, only to nearly collide with Avraal in the narrow hallway.

  He started to reach for her.

  “Not here,” she murmured, “and not yet. We need to talk, remember?”

  “Where?”

  “The garage. It’s even more private … for conversation.” She smiled almost mischievously. “Besides, you need to check the steamers. I’ll come with you.”

  Dekkard led the way to the garage, where he did check and fill both Gresynts with water and kerosene, as well as wipe down Ingrella’s steamer. Then he turned to Avraal.

  “You said we needed to talk,” she said. “I’m listening.”

  “Even before you made that comment about losing the opportunity, I was thinking about that. I love you, and I love working with you … and I really don’t want to lose either.”

  “Neither do I.” She moved closer, then touched his cheek gently, before putting her arms around him, and pressing her lips and entire body against him.

  Finally, after some time passed—Dekkard wasn’t sure he knew how much … and didn’t care—Avraal eased away from him, but still held his hands. “You needed to know that. You also need to know that I want exactly what you want. Do you feel that?”

  Dekkard had to swallow before he could answer. “I do.”

  “We need to be patient for just a few more days. We need to get Obreduur in place as premier, and without any allegations or rumors about improper behavior by his security aides. Then … we can decide what to do.”

  “Will you marry me? I’ve never really asked.”

  She kissed him again, gently, but longingly. “You’ve already asked in every way but words. Yes. I will, but we need to go about it in a way where we can do the best we can for both of us.”

  “I never thought otherwise. How long … do you think?”

  “A week at least, likely two. It might have to be longer.”

  Dekkard winced.

  “I know. I feel the same way.” Her words felt as though they had cut through his heart. “It’s taken a while … we can make it.”

  If she can make it … so can you. “Then we’d better get ready for dinner, before someone gets the wrong idea.”

  She laughed. “They already know what we have in mind, but I chose the garage because no one would dare to say that we’d be that improper here. They might think it…”

  “Do you want to try?” Dekkard offered the words teasingly.

  “Don’t tempt me.” Letting go of one hand, and grasping his other more firmly, she led him toward the side door out of the garage.

  99

  ON Duadi morning, Dekkard was the first one downstairs, although he knew it wouldn’t be long before Avraal joined him. He immediately picked up Hyelda’s copy of Gestirn to see what the newssheet had printed, if anything. The headline on the front-page story read: POSSIBLE PREMIER AWAITS COUNCIL. The story was largely accurate, but Dekkard had to wonder what might have appeared in The Machtarn Tribune. The other lead story confirmed the final allocation of Council seats by party: twenty-nine Craft, twenty Commerce, and seventeen Landor.

  He had barely seated himself when Avraal appeared, but he immediately stood and poured her café.

  “Thank you.” Avraal smiled warmly and sat down. “Was the newssheet story accurate?” She took a sip of café.

  “It was, and the other story said we only got twenty-nine seats.” Dekkard reseated himself.

  “Only?”

  “I could hope for more. It would make matters easier for Obreduur.”

  “A nine-seat margin should be sufficient, unless the Landors decide to capitulate totally.”

  “I can’t see Navione doing that, but some of the others…” Dekkard shrugged.

  “Vonauer won’t go to the Commercers. He can get a better deal from Obreduur. He should be able to hold most of the Landors.”

  Rhosali hurried into the staff room. “Is he really going to be premier?”

  “It’s possible, even likely,” said Dekkard, “but nothing’s certain until the Council votes on Quindi.” He took two croissants and two slices of quince paste.

  Avraal looked at the quince paste and shook her head.

  Dekkard just grinned. Then he asked, “Have you heard anything from Emrelda?”

  “Before we left, I said I’d send a message when we returned. I did, but she likely didn’t get it until late yesterday because she was working. So I imagine I’ll hear from her later today. I still worry about her.”

  “So do I.”

  Avraal looked at Dekkard quizzically.

  “She’s your sister. When bad things happen to her, it affects you. Besides, she’s a good person who didn’t deserve what happened.”

  “No … she didn’t … and neither did Markell.”

  “All we can do now is support her, and, in the new Council, try to put a stop to that sort of Commercer abuse.”

  “That won’t be enough.”

  Nothing would be enough, not for Markell. But Dekkard knew that Avraal knew that, and there was no point in saying it.

  Breakfast was uneventful, and before that long Dekkard was driving Avraal and Obreduur down Altarama toward Imperial Boulevard.

  Obreduur said almost nothing on the rest of the drive to the Council Office Building until Dekkard began to slow as he approached the building entry. “Just so you two know, I’ll be having a meeting in the dining room at noon, and I’m expecting Jerrohm Kaas this morning. He’s one of Carlos’s legalists.”

  For a moment, Dekkard frowned, then realized that Obreduur was still worried about possible attackers and wanted them to know about Kaas. “Anyone else today, sir?”

  “If there is, I’ll have Karola let you know.”

  After letting Obreduur and Avraal off at the entrance, and then parking the Gresynt, Dekkard made his way to the office, and was only stopped once to show his passcard—and then given an apology.

  “I’d rather have you be careful,” replied Dekkard, “than not and allow someone who shouldn’t be there into the building.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  The familiar stack of letters and petitions was awaiting him on his desk, and he had the feeling that those stacks would be growing—at least if Obreduur became premier. With a slightly ironic smile, he picked up the first one and began to read.

  Slightly after fourth bell, a Council Guard escorted a thin-faced blond man in a dark brown suit into the office and announced, “Sr. Jerrohm Kaas.”

  Dekkard immediately studied the legalist, knowing that he’d be seeing more of Kaas in the days ahead.

&nbs
p; Karola looked up and smiled. “Legalist Kaas is expected.” Then she stood and escorted Kaas into the inner office.

  The Council Guard sat down on the bench just inside the door, and Kaas spent more than a bell with Obreduur before emerging, looking at none of the councilor’s staffers as he left, again accompanied by the guard.

  When Obreduur emerged from the inner office at a third before noon, Dekkard had finished his draft replies to all the correspondence that had been left for him. From a glance at Avraal’s desk, she had as well.

  Neither Dekkard nor Avraal said anything as they escorted Obreduur until they were comparatively alone crossing the courtyard garden on the way to the Council Hall, when Dekkard said, “Might we ask about this meeting?”

  “It’s with Haarsfel and Saandaar Vonauer. One way or another, it won’t be terribly long. I appreciate it if you’re waiting in the corridor by first bell.”

  “We’ll be there,” said Avraal.

  After making certain that Obreduur was safely inside the councilors’ dining room, Avraal and Dekkard walked quickly to the staff cafeteria, less than a third full, with at least a few faces that looked totally unfamiliar, possibly staff members of councilors newly elected, although Dekkard certainly couldn’t have sworn to it.

  Almost out of habit, Dekkard had beef empanadas and rice, while Avraal had an Imperial salad. They’d been seated for only a few moments before Laurenz Korriah and Shaundara Keppel appeared.

  “Could we join you?” asked Keppel.

  “Of course,” replied Avraal.

  “Thank you.” Korriah’s eyes remained on Avraal. “You knew this was coming, didn’t you?”

  “He’s not premier yet,” replied Avraal. “He might be or he might not be. That depends on what the Landor councilors decide … and possibly even a few Commercers.”

  Korriah laughed. “You can demur all you want. It’s almost a foregone conclusion he’ll stay premier.”

  “Why do you think so?” asked Dekkard, emphasizing the “you” just slightly.

  “First, because too many Landor councilors are tired of getting screwed by Ulrich and Volkaar. Second, because some Commerce councilors likely are, too, even if they’ll never admit it, even privately. Third, because your boss always keeps his word.” Korriah laughed again. “Part of that’s because he doesn’t promise a lot, but he delivers what he promises. Fourth, it’s the only way the Imperador can keep things from getting much worse. And, even when your boss becomes premier, things will get worse before they get better.”

  Dekkard had to agree with Korriah’s points, especially the last one. But he grinned and asked Korriah, “So why are you here right now?”

  “So that I can tell you two in the future what my boss needs or would like and there won’t be any fingerprints. Seibryg’s a very traditional city, but we need stronger protection for workers, or we’re going to have a lot more trouble with the New Meritorists.”

  “Especially women,” added Keppel almost sharply, “but he can’t say so publicly.”

  “The Landors there wish there had never been a Silent Revolution?” asked Avraal.

  “Not quite, but almost,” replied Keppel. “The Commercers are even worse. They’re still angry about the Susceptible Protection Act.”

  “That was passed thirty years ago,” said Dekkard.

  “To the Commercers in Seibryg, that was yesterday,” said Keppel sardonically.

  Dekkard managed not to wince, instead saying, “We’ll do what we can. It would be helpful for everyone, you understand, if he’s not blindsided.”

  Korriah nodded. “That sort of shit doesn’t help anyone.” Then he grinned and looked at Avraal. “You’re carrying knives now, like Steffan. How’s that working?”

  “Well enough that she stopped another would-be assassin in Oersynt,” said Dekkard.

  “You couldn’t?” said Korriah, looking at Dekkard.

  “I’m not massively impressive like you, Laurenz. He was mentally unbalan- ced, without identification, carrying a long-barreled revolver, and a pocketful of cartridges and little more. He didn’t get off a single shot.”

  “It took both our knives,” added Avraal.

  Korriah looked at Keppel.

  “No, Laurenz,” she replied, deadpan. “You’re massively impressive.”

  Korriah burst into laughter, shaking his head at the same time. Finally, he just looked from Dekkard to Avraal and back to Dekkard. “And you two look like such nice people.”

  “We are,” replied Dekkard. “We just don’t like people trying to kill our boss. How was your veal?”

  “Three’s curse if I remember.” Korriah shook his head, then grinned once more. “I really did think you were a nice guy, Steffan.”

  “We’re all disillusioned, Laurenz,” said Keppel. “I once thought the same of you.” She couldn’t quite conceal her smile.

  “Sometimes, Shaundara, your tongue is sharper than their knives.”

  “Only sometimes?” she riposted.

  Dekkard looked down at his empty plate. He didn’t recall even eating. “Duty is about to call. We’ll need leave in a few minutes. Do you mind if I pass on the request you didn’t make because there shouldn’t be any fingerprints? In words only, of course.”

  “That was the point,” said Korriah, with another grin.

  This time Dekkard was the one to shake his head.

  Within another sixth, Dekkard and Avraal were walking along the main corridor.

  “That was interesting,” he observed. “Most likely, it won’t be the last.”

  “It may be one of the more enjoyable interactions of that sort,” replied Avraal.

  Dekkard suspected that was also likely.

  They only had to wait a few minutes for Obreduur to emerge from the dining room.

  “Back to the office, sir?”

  Obreduur nodded, his thoughts clearly elsewhere.

  Dekkard waited until they were crossing the garden courtyard before he quickly related the interaction with Korriah and Keppel.

  “Thank you. That’s useful … and good to know. I suspected something of the sort, but Kharl has always been pleasantly formal, and I imagine it will remain that way on the surface. Just remain open without committing to anything except conveying such indirect messages.”

  As soon as the three reached the office, Karola handed Obreduur a sealed heliograph message. “It’s urgent.”

  Obreduur took the envelope, opened it, and extracted the single sheet. His face stiffened slightly as he read. Then he said to Dekkard and Avraal, “We need to talk.”

  Dekkard followed Obreduur and Avraal into the inner office, closing the door.

  Obreduur walked to his desk, then turned and said slowly, “That heliogram was from Jens Seigryn.”

  “What happened?” asked Avraal.

  “Haasan Decaro died of heart failure this morning. Apparently, he was putting on a pair of brand-new boots.”

  Dekkard stiffened, then murmured, “Boots … Curse of the Three.”

  Obreduur nodded. “No one will ever be able to prove it … and fewer will want to.”

  That was confirmation enough for Dekkard about who Obreduur thought was immediately responsible. Indirectly responsible was another question, and Dekkard had a fair idea that it had to be one of two people, if not both. And that raises other questions.

  “Now what?” he asked quietly. “The local Craft Party has to come up with a replacement?”

  “Not exactly,” replied Obreduur. “Since Decaro was elected, the district Craft Party makes a recommendation to the political head of the party in the Council.”

  “Is that you or Haarsfel right now?” asked Avraal.

  “That all depends. Since Decaro was elected as a member of the incoming Council, his replacement can’t be approved or rejected until the new Council is sworn in. If the Council votes me in as premier, the approval or rejection is my choice. If we can’t form a government, and Commercers and Landors do, then Haarsfel is effecti
vely the head of the Craft Party in the Council, and the choice is his.”

  “Does that mean that until the seat is filled,” asked Dekkard, “the Craft Party has only twenty-eight votes instead of twenty-nine? Could that affect your ability to form a government?”

  “At this point, it’s one of several factors that could make matters difficult.”

  “When is the Gaarlak Craft Party committee meeting?” said Dekkard.

  “Tonight. If they can’t come up with a candidate tonight, they’ll meet again tomorrow afternoon. After all the fighting over the nominee the first time, it could take days, but most likely not weeks. Then, again, I could be surprised.”

  Dekkard had the feeling that the heliogram had indeed surprised Obreduur, but that Decaro’s death itself hadn’t. And that meant … What? That something hasn’t gone as planned?

  He decided to ask something he’d wondered for a long time. “Now that Decaro’s dead, can you tell us why he wanted to kill you?”

  “Because, when I was regional coordinator for the guilds, I discovered that he’d been taking marks from guild members, shaking them down on the quiet. He’d just replaced the previous guildmeister, who’d actually written cheques to his mistress and his own banque account. According to Ingrella, I couldn’t prove what Haasan was doing, not before the Justiciary. So I told him if it continued … I’d bring it up with the Advisory Committee, unless he cleaned up the guild. At that point, all the Council wanted was for the corruption to stop and everything to remain quiet.”

  “And?” asked Avraal quietly.

  “Haasan agreed … and, from what I could determine the shakedowns stopped. Then … a year later … if I’d picked up those boots, I’d have been shot. Again … no proof … and by then Haasan had actually cleaned up the guild, and the Council wasn’t about to remove him … and I ended up as councilor. We remained at a polite arm’s length from then on.” Obreduur shrugged. “Not exactly an ideal situation, but with me no longer working for the Advisory Committee, I wasn’t a threat to him.”

  “Then why did the Craft Party want you to go to Gaarlak?” asked Avraal.

  “To raise interest in the Craft Party, and, if I could, to persuade Haasan not to run. Quietly, of course.”