ONCE again, on Furdi morning, Dekkard and Avraal woke early, although Dekkard wasn’t that enthused about yet another day of seemingly unending votes.
“You were rather closemouthed about your upcoming lunch today,” Avraal said as she adjusted the blouse she’d just donned.
“You thought we should read last night.”
“You almost fell asleep.”
“I meant to tell you when we were alone, but it slipped my mind.”
Avraal smiled. “Other things didn’t.”
“You’re right. Lunch is with Erskine Mardosh. He’s the chair—”
“You don’t have to explain who he is, dear. How much are you going to tell him, and to what end?”
“I had no intention of mentioning the assassination attempts. I was thinking about mentioning the trio at lunch on Findi and, if he seems interested, Markell’s disappearance.”
“What makes you think he might be interested?”
“What I told you about the earlier lunch, when he said that the reason he got involved—”
“—in politics was because it was too dangerous for a guild official to look into Siincleer Shipbuilding,” continued Avraal. “He was cautious then. He may not have changed. Only talk about Markell in generalities. Not by name.”
“You’re right. He still might be willing to supply information we can use. That was one reason I wanted to meet him over lunch during voting, rather than going to his office.”
“I’m sure at least a few councilors will notice, including Bassaana and Vhiola Sandegarde.”
“Let’s just hope they get the wrong idea.” He started toward the bedroom door to head downstairs and ready Avraal’s café, then turned back to look at her again.
She smiled. “You look good—and very distinguished—in that suit.”
“I should. You essentially picked it out, and your taste is excellent, and I have enough sense to realize that.” Dekkard grinned, then left the bedroom.
Emrelda was still at the breakfast room table, and Gaaroll entered just after Dekkard poured two mugs of café and set them on the table.
“Another early morning?”
“Not by your schedule,” replied Dekkard amiably. “I’m so looking forward to sitting and waiting, voting, sitting and waiting, when almost all of the votes are already determined.”
“Then why does the Council have all those votes?” asked Gaaroll.
“Because Council rules require recorded votes on appropriations and any amendments, and because the party or parties on the losing side want their positions on the record so they can bring up votes that are advantageous in the next election.”
“Posturing.” Gaaroll snorted.
“Also known as telling people where you stand,” replied Dekkard.
“Most folks just want to be paid fair, eat well, and have a decent place to sleep.”
“Some also want work that’s meaningful,” added Emrelda, after which she stood. “I’ll have to work a little later, and I haven’t had time to shop.”
“Then why don’t we go to Elfredo’s tonight?” asked Dekkard, although the question was really rhetorical.
“I’m good with that,” replied Emrelda.
“Good with what?” asked Avraal as she entered the breakfast room and glanced toward her sister.
“Eating at Elfredo’s tonight,” said Emrelda, “since everyone will be working late.”
Avraal merely nodded, then sat down at the table and slowly took a sip of café.
Dekkard went to get the croissants and quince paste from the cooler.
Less than two-thirds of a bell later, Dekkard pulled on his new overcoat, and, thinking about his lunch with Mardosh, he remembered to retrieve the copy of the anonymous letter Emrelda had received, likely from a patroller in Siincleer, along with the article from the Siincleer Star and the letter from Jaime Minz. He slipped all three into his gray leather folder, then headed out to the garage.
Although the sky was clear, a cold wind blew out of the northwest. Dekkard was more than glad for his new overcoat and the new heavier dark gray wool suit he wore.
Neither Avraal nor Gaaroll sensed any significant emotions on the way to the Council Office Building, and that bothered Dekkard. He couldn’t believe that whoever had been after him had just given up.
Except Minz is out of town. Did he decide to make it personal? Couldn’t he get anyone to take it on after the sniper who “fell” out of the tree? Or is something else afoot?
When Dekkard neared the Council Office Building, he said, “I assume you’ll be taking the Gresynt.”
“That’s a good assumption. Votes until fifth bell?”
“That’s also a good assumption.”
Dekkard drove up to the west entrance, where he stopped and turned the steamer over to Avraal. Then he and Gaaroll walked inside and up to the office.
“No messages, sir,” said Margrit, “but there’s a letter on top that looks like an invitation.”
“Thank you.”
The envelope on top of the others was indeed an invitation, one that Dekkard read carefully.
The Advisory Committee of the Guilds of Guldor
requests the honor of your presence at its
annual Yearend Reception
Findi, 36 Fallend 1266
2nd–5th Bells
Because he was a Craft councilor, he and Avraal definitely couldn’t refuse the invitation. In a way he wondered why he hadn’t seen any others, but then, why would he? Corporacions hosted most of the receptions and parties, and, except for Jaime Minz, Dekkard didn’t know anyone in any corporacions.
After setting the invitation aside, he immediately set to work on reading and signing the replies to various letters and petitions, among which was his reply to Emilio Raathan. When he finished those, he began to read the letters that had just arrived. The first was yet another complaint about the excessive freight rates charged by Guldoran Ironway as a result of their formulae that incorporated both space and weight. The next letter protested the excessive message charges for heliograms, followed by one requesting higher taxes on imported cotton because cheap Sargassan cotton hurt the flax growers around Gaarlak.
Dekkard picked up the fourth letter warily, noting that it had a return address in Gaarlak and an Imperial postmark, but no name above the return address. He extracted the single sheet and began to read.
Councilor Dekkard—
As a recently selected member of the Council of Sixty-Six, you cannot but be aware that the three-party, hidden-vote system that decides the laws of Guldor is the remnant of an archaic approach to good government. Surely, the protests of the past year and the unbridled corruption of the previous Commercer government should give you pause, as well as the election of a Craft councilor from Gaarlak for the first time in more than three decades.
The people of Guldor demand change, fundamental change, a change that goes beyond a shift in which archaic party controls the Council. The present Council is running out of time if it wants a peaceful change to the Great Charter. The people will have change, and personal accountability by each and every councilor for all of their votes. This change can be peaceful—or otherwise.
The choice is up to you.
There was no signature.
Dekkard lowered the letter. While he agreed with the need for change, he still didn’t see how the “personal accountability” of revealing individual votes would make any basic change. At best it would lead to a struggle between popularity and marks, with no real accountability.
He finished going through the incoming mail, then wrote a careful acceptance to the Advisory Committee, which he took with the invitation to Margrit. “If you’d message this reply to the Advisory Committee.”
“I’ll take care of it, sir.”
“Thank you.” Because he wanted a word with Roostof, he carried the mail to the senior legalist, then asked, “Did you finish going over Luara’s draft?”
“I did, sir. There were a couple of little details. She’s reworking the backup material for you now. It shouldn’t be more than a day or so, unless you need it sooner.”
“I’d like it, but there’s no rush. It needs to be good to get Haarsfel even to look at it, and he likely won’t until after we finish the appropriations.”
After leaving Roostof, Dekkard departed for the Council floor with Gaaroll. He didn’t wear his overcoat, but the heavier gray wool suit was warm enough that he didn’t get more than mildly chilled crossing the courtyard to the Council Hall.
Almost precisely at fourth bell, Haarsfel brought the Council into session to finish votes on the last amendments to the Justiciary section of the appropriations proposal. Five amendments later, all proposed by the Commerce Party and all defeated, and the final vote on the Justiciary section as a whole, Obreduur recessed the Council for the midday break.
Dekkard stood, glancing around, then made his way toward Mardosh, who eased toward Dekkard. The two walked to the councilors’ dining room.
After the two were seated and had ordered, Mardosh asked, pleasantly, “What was it you wanted to talk about?”
“A rather strange set of occurrences that might seem merely coincidental, but which I hoped you might be able to shed some light on. As you know, the New Meritorists obtained a rather substantial amount of dunnite in some fashion, which they used to destroy some fifteen regional Security offices. There are exactly three sources from which they could have obtained that much dunnite—the Navy, Northwest Industrial Chemical, and Suvion Industries. Given the Navy’s paperwork and administrative structure, and the fact that the only place where dunnite is handled in large blocs is at the munitions plant—”
“You think it was stolen from one of the two corporacions? I’d agree they’re more likely.”
“What’s rather interesting is that at the Security Committee hearings, Manwaeren testified that the Navy reported a stolen steam lorry of dunnite, and he thought he was telling the truth. Further committee investigation revealed that the letter and report were perfect forgeries, which incensed the Navy. Also interesting is that former Premier Ulrich is now an associate vice-presidente of Suvion Industries, and his former Security Committee isolate and security aide is an assistant director of security for Northwest.”
“All that is rather curious, Steffan, but without more evidence—”
“I know that, but, if you’d bear with me, there’s a bit more.” Dekkard paused while the server delivered their cafés. Then he extracted the letter from Minz from his gray folder and handed it to the older councilor. “I received this immediately after I became councilor.”
Mardosh read the letter and frowned. “That’s rather odd. Why would he even mention dunnite?” He returned the letter to Dekkard, who replaced it in the folder.
“Because I’d once asked him where the New Meritorists might have gotten the dunnite, I suspect, but that was before the elections. There’s yet another odd aspect of all this.” Dekkard related his brief encounter with Schmidtz, and then went on, “Last Findi, Avraal and I went shopping. After we finished, we had an early dinner at Estado Don Miguel.”
“I’ve been there once or twice. It’s quite good, if expensive. I hope it was for something special.”
“Special for us. We’d been married just a month, but I happened to notice three men dining there. In fact, the three were Pohl Palafaux, Gerard Schmidtz, and Jareem Saarh, and Saarh was very upset to recognize us.”
“How could you…? Oh, of course, your wife.”
“He remained upset even after they finished and left. All of that ties into something else, the question of the degree of corruption in military procurement.” Dekkard summarized what Shuryn Teitryn had pulled together, with the exception of what had happened to Markell. “That brings me to the last instance. In this case, the senior project engineer vanished after discovering that the site supervisor used different specifications, ones that would have likely caused structural failure. The engineer summoned the head of his company. Before the presidente arrived, the engineer vanished. So did the supervisor.” Dekkard told most of the rest of the details, without names and only identifying Emrelda as a patroller related to the senior engineer. “Then, last month the patroller received these, or rather, the originals of these.”
Dekkard handed the older councilor the two sheets.
Mardosh read the letter and then the clipping, then handed them back. “The letter’s unsigned. It was typed, probably on a patrol station typewriter, duplicated on a patrol copier.”
“Those are my copies. The original was unsigned as well, but on patroller letterhead.”
“Obviously, Steffan, you’re not just telling a story. This requires a criminal investigation, and there’s not enough here even for hearings that might unearth more.”
“Three moderately senior patroller station chiefs, all investigating unscrupulous acts involving government contracts, were killed in one way or another. A senior engineer vanished, and the head of his engineering firm suffers a dubious heart attack on site. Councilor Palafaux is known to have strong ties to Siincleer Shipbuilding and Siincleer Engineering, while Councilor Schmidtz—”
“—is the senior Commercer on the Military Affairs Committee and was briefly chairman.”
Dekkard smiled pleasantly, then asked, “Was I wrong to bring all of this to your attention?”
Mardosh shook his head. “I appreciate your doing so quietly. Despite the highly suggestive evidence that you’ve presented, and with what you obviously know about the Siincleer corporacions, until there’s more hard evidence and a clear path to hearings, keeping this sort of information out of the newssheets is the only practical and safe course.”
“I’d thought as much,” replied Dekkard. “I also wondered what you could tell me about Siincleer Shipbuilding, such as who in particular to be wary of, or of other incidents that might bear on what we’ve already discussed.”
Mardosh frowned once more, then glanced past Dekkard. “I believe we’re about to be served.”
Once the server presented Dekkard with his bowl of white bean soup, accompanied by a large dinner roll, and Mardosh with his bowl of onion soup, and then departed, Dekkard said politely, “You were about to say?”
“The Premier has concerns about proceeding too quickly in dealing with abuses by certain corporacions. So do I. What you have discovered is not unknown, but investigating those abuses can be perilous.” Mardosh paused and took several spoonfuls of soup, which also held toasted bread chunks covered in melted white cheese.
Dekkard decided to sample his own soup, after which he said politely, “I understand that, but that presents a conundrum. We agree that such abuses need to be curbed. Yet, proceeding toward hearings or criminal Justiciary action is unwise without more evidence, but seeking more evidence is also unwise. Or do I misunderstand?”
“At present, that is the situation. I doubt that will remain so.”
“Because of what the trial of the former Security ministers may reveal? I’m skeptical that the trial will reveal much more than is currently in the newssheets. Director Mangele hanged himself, and the director of special projects is nowhere to be found, which suggests to me that he’s fled Guldor. Wyath and Manwaeren can lie about everything without changing the sentences they’re likely to receive.”
“Nothing remains the same, Steffan.” Mardosh went back to his onion soup.
“That’s true.” But sometimes the changes are so small that they might as well not occur, or they’re for the worse. “Do you think the presidente of Siincleer Shipbuilding will make some fatal mistake?”
“That’s unlikely. Juan del Larrano makes few mistakes. He’s very good at insulating himself from anything sordid. From what I understand, Pietro Venburg is the most senior official in the Siincleer corporacions who might know the details of anything improper.”
“I’ve not heard of him.” But then Dekkard had only belatedly realized that he’d heard of del Larrano. “Is Venburg the director of security?”
Mardosh smiled. “No. Corporacions operate by the rules. Or they’re supposed to. Pietro Venburg is the vice-presidente for legal affairs of the parent corporacion. He’s said to be an excellent legalist.”
“I take it you met with him when you were involved with the guild?”
Mardosh shook his head. “Sr. Venburg wouldn’t deign to meet with a guildmeister, let alone an assistant guildmeister. Back then, I only met with his assistant, Wilhelm Burnneto.”
“And since then?”
“I’ve met several times with Venburg, and I’ve passed polite words with del Larrano, at a banquet or two, and some other events. We never talk politics. It’s all very polite.”
“You make it sound as though there’s no point in talking substance with anyone from Siincleer. I assume that’s because there isn’t.”
Mardosh smiled sardonically. “That’s also a good assumption. Siincleer Shipbuilding will only do what it’s required to do by the law and by the Navy inspectors. They’re not about to change unless required by law. If the corporacion can cut corners, it will, but never on anything major for the military. Major flaws or unfair competition can get a business banned from even competing for contracts for ten years.” Mardosh’s smile returned, even more sardonic. “For some reason no one has ever been able to prove unfair competition.”
“That explains a great deal.” Especially why Markell had been so upset. Navy inspectors would have caught the lack of adherence to the basic specifications. If Halaard Engaard had been allowed to live and proved Siincleer had been sabotaging Engaard Engineering, that could have cost Siincleer ten years’ worth of highly lucrative contracts. “I take it that the problem is coming up with proof.”
“I’ve been looking for hard proof for years. There are always pieces, but never enough.” Mardosh’s expression turned somber. “Against the Siincleer corporacions, there aren’t any second chances. They’ll sacrifice anyone in the corporacion to make sure that another corporacion doesn’t even get a first chance.”
“The destruction of smaller corporacions and mysterious deaths that always work to the advantage of corporacions like Siincleer or Haasan Design don’t count as proof?” Dekkard thought he knew the answer, but he wanted to hear what Mardosh had to say.
“There has to be hard evidence tying someone to a deliberate and documented action or policy to the disadvantaging of the unfortunate competitor. So far, no one has managed to clear that hurdle.”
“So how do you plan to handle the matter? Or do you?”
“I’m not ready to reveal anything except to say that, if anyone wants to take on the problem, the remedy has to be legislative, because I don’t see anyone ever proving what most of the engineering and construction industry knows. The number of bodies you cite is far from all of them, and none of them even came close to succeeding. I’d also prefer that you keep what I’m saying to yourself for now.”
“I will. You do make a very convincing point.”
“I hope so, Steffan. You need to be patient in some matters. Not all of them, as you proved with Security reform. You need to know when to act and when not to. In the meantime, keep your information in a safe place. The time will come when it will be most useful.”
Dekkard nodded. “I appreciate your advice, and your cautions about even approaching anyone in the Siincleer hierarchy.”
“They’re generally safe to approach in a social setting, so long as you avoid politics.”
“That’s often true with most people.” Dekkard took his last spoonful of the white bean soup. While it had been a good choice for a cold day, he didn’t quite finish it.
“Is there anything else you wish to talk over before we return to the floor?”
“How is the onion soup?”
“It’s almost as good as the white bean soup, but lighter.” Mardosh smiled.
The remaining conversation was more cheerful.
Once Dekkard returned to the Council chamber, the afternoon proceeded much like every other afternoon that week. Haarsfel called up the next section of the appropriations, Workplace Administration. Small as the total amount of funding was, there were ten amendments, all by Commercers, and all attempted to cut back funding for various aspects of workplace safety, beginning with funding for inspectors’ salaries and travel. The last amendment eliminated funds for a study of unsafe practices in the timber industry.
Dekkard saw Pajiin shaking his head when Haarsfel announced the amendment designed to eliminate the study, but, in the end, it failed. Only an amendment to reduce funding for farm wagon safety inspections passed. Dekkard could see that, given the continuing replacement of horse-drawn wagons by steam lorries.
Obreduur recessed the Council at three minutes past fifth bell, right after the vote on the entire Workplace Administration section.
Even so, Dekkard found both Gaaroll and Avraal outside the councilors’ lobby.
“You’re earlier today,” said Avraal. “That will make Emrelda happy.”
“It makes me happy, too. How was your day?”
“Complicated. We can talk later.”
“The same here. But there is one thing before I forget. We have to make an appearance on Yearend at the Guilds’ Advisory Committee annual Yearend reception. It’s in the afternoon. We haven’t talked about Yearend.”
“Neither have Emrelda and I. That shouldn’t be a problem.”
The walk across the courtyard back to the Council Office Building didn’t seem so cold as it had on Tridi, but as they neared the doors to the Council Office Building, Gaaroll said, “Really strong feelings just inside the Council Hall.”
Avraal immediately hurried forward and opened the bronze door.
Dekkard quickly strode inside, followed by the other two, then turned to Gaaroll. “What sort of feelings? Black or red?”
“Some of each, but mostly red. They’re gone now.”
“Did someone die?”
“Didn’t feel that way, sir. Not strong enough for a serious injury, I think.”
“I don’t sense anything unusual nearby,” added Avraal.
Both Roostof and Margrit were in the anteroom when Dekkard, Avraal, and Gaaroll entered.
“How did it go, sir?” asked Roostof.
“The appropriations and I both survived for now.” Dekkard grinned wryly. “One other thing—I’ll need to talk to you and Shuryn in the morning before the votes start.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll make sure he knows as soon as he comes in.”
“Good. Close the office as soon as we leave.”
“We can do that, sir.”
“We’ll see you in the morning.” Dekkard retrieved his overcoat from his office and donned it, then made sure he had the gray leather folder with the letters in it before he left the office.
The walk to the covered parking was without event, but when they reached the Gresynt, Avraal waited until Gaaroll entered the steamer and closed the door before telling Dekkard, “Minz is still out of town. We can talk later.”
Dekkard remained cautious on the drive back to the house, and definitely on edge for the last few blocks, but neither empath sensed anything suggesting an attack. Since they were going out to eat, he left the Gresynt under the portico roof.
Emrelda, still in uniform, greeted them in the hall. “We should go now. It’ll get crowded later.”
Dekkard smiled and turned around.
Less than a sixth later, the four walked into the gray brick building that was Elfredo’s. Heavy curtains covered the windows, muting the outside light and leaving the tavern dim, given that half the wall lamps weren’t lit.
Dekkard had wondered if he’d be overdressed, but uniformed patrollers filled four or five tables, and several waved or gestured to Emrelda, who returned the gesture. As she led the way to one of the few vacant tables, Dekkard glanced at the blackboard with the specials listed. He didn’t see the chicken rosara there, but there was chicken Jeeroh, which he’d never heard of, and the crayfish and mushroom ravioli.
They’d barely seated themselves before Lizbet, the older server, appeared. “Good to see you again. You never mentioned that that handsome fellow married your sister was a councilor.” The server grinned.
“I thought it was better to be her husband than a councilor,” said Dekkard cheerfully.
“Aye, and you’d be right ’bout that.”
“Two Silverhills white, and two house pale lagers,” said Emrelda. “I’ll have the ravioli.”
“Chicken piccata,” said Avraal.
Gaaroll looked uncertain. After a long moment, Dekkard said, “What’s chicken Jeeroh?”
“Fowl’s stewed in peppered ale, not Atacaman peppers, but sweet peppers, then browned and served with a sweet cream sauce over noodles.”
“I’ll try it.”
Gaaroll chose the chicken piccata.
In moments after taking the orders, Lizbet returned with the two glasses of wine and the two beakers of ale.
“The Special Agents don’t come here, do they?”
“Elfredo doesn’t like them, and neither do most patrollers,” replied Emrelda. “Would you come if you were one of them?”
“Not often, but the food is good.”
“What they would get would be bland. Not bad, just bland.”
Dekkard could see that. “Have you seen many of them lately?”
“Special Agents? Hardly.”
“How do you think they’re taking the coming change?”
“Who knows? They never talk around us regular patrollers, and now that they won’t be special—just regular investigators without firearms—they’re almost never in the station. We haven’t seen one in the last week. That’s fine with all of us.” Emrelda paused. “When will they be gone?”
“If they adhere to the law, no later than the tenth of Winterfirst. It could be earlier, since the law reads no later than the tenth.” Dekkard had the feeling that even those who chose to resign would wait until the last possible moment, just to make matters difficult for the three ministries involved.
“You don’t think they’d disobey, do you?” asked Emrelda.
“Those bastards would, if they could,” muttered Gaaroll.
Dekkard smiled momentarily, then said, “They might all resign before they’re transferred. I worry about some of them keeping their weapons. I just have the feeling that it won’t be a smooth transition.”
“How could you possibly say that, dear,” asked Avraal sweetly.
“You’re right,” replied Dekkard, his voice as earnest as he could make it. “Those ever-so-loyal Special Agents would never engage in any illegal activity, such as breaking and entering, sabotaging gas pipes, or shooting councilors. How could I possibly believe that?”
“The way you said that,” replied Avraal, “if you weren’t an isolate you might actually have a future as a courtroom legalist. Didn’t Councilor Baar say something like that?”
“But he meant it as a compliment,” protested Dekkard, mock-plaintively.
All three women laughed.