AS was often the case in early winter, the sleet that had fallen the night before melted by the time Dekkard and Avraal rose on Tridi morning, but the bedroom was definitely cold. Dekkard shaved and took a very quick shower. When he returned, Avraal had wrapped herself in a heavy robe.
“Last night, I didn’t want to say much about the tray and the note.”
“You didn’t have to say anything, dear. I saw your face. You understood as soon as you read the card and saw the tray.”
“Your brother’s wife…”
“Fleur does the best she can. She’d like us all to be closer, but not if it costs her Cliven.”
“The perfect Landor wife?”
“No. She’s better than that. I feel so much for her.” Avraal paused. “Cliven’s sweet in his own way, especially to Fleur. He just can’t imagine life in any other way.”
Dekkard nodded, although he couldn’t say he understood.
Avraal smiled. “I’d much rather be here with you. Go fix us some café. I won’t be long.”
Dekkard mostly dressed, except for his cravat and jacket, and hurried downstairs just in time to wish Emrelda a good day before she left. Knowing Avraal would be longer than she had said, he immediately picked up the morning issue of Gestirn.
One of the front-page stories was about the New Meritorist demand for a vote to change the Great Charter and how unrealistic it was, especially after the bombing of the Machtarn Guildhall on Firstday. The paper quoted Obreduur as saying that “the Council will not be dictated to by an extremist group given to bombings and public demonstrations.”
A smaller story noted that the High Justiciary had set the execution date of former Security Minister Lukkyn Wyath for Quindi, the eleventh of Winterfirst. Dekkard recalled Obreduur’s words when Wyath had resigned, even before his resignation had been requested.
Wyath had said that anyone who followed him wouldn’t have the option of doing much differently from what he’d done. Obreduur had pointed out that while Wyath couldn’t see anything but what he believed, at times everyone acted that way. Which was why it was vital to listen to those whom you trusted but didn’t think the same way, because the more power anyone had, the more easily they could shut out what they didn’t want to hear.
Is that why Obreduur listens to you, rather than because you’re often correct?
Dekkard got on with fixing cafés, including another mug for Gaaroll.
Because he and Avraal had overslept, they had to hurry through breakfast, although Dekkard wondered why he felt he had to be precisely on time, given that nothing was scheduled for Council or committee action.
Habit or misguided sense of duty? As he walked to the garage, he decided he had no idea which drove him. In just a few minutes, he had the Gresynt out of the garage, the door shut, and the steamer waiting under the portico for Avraal and Gaaroll. Once they seated themselves, before he eased the Gresynt from under the portico, he asked, “Any strong emotions anywhere?”
“I don’t sense any, sir,” replied Gaaroll.
Dekkard said nothing more until he approached Council Avenue from the east. “Your schedule today?”
“If you don’t need me, I thought I’d come to the office around fourth bell.”
“That’s fine. It should be a quiet day.”
After getting out of the Gresynt and turning it over to Avraal, Dekkard, accompanied by Gaaroll, entered the office anteroom just as the two bells chimed. After seeing the small pile of mail on his desk, he wondered why he’d been in such a hurry. He slipped the gray leather folder into the second drawer and sat down.
Or are you worried that you’ll miss something? He pushed the thought aside and began to go through the letters and petitions. The second letter came from Augustus Oliviero, a short handwritten note on an engraved card proclaiming him as the presidente of Guldoran Ironway.
Councilor Dekkard—
It was indeed a pleasure to meet you at the Yearend Ball of the Council. I look forward to getting to know you and your charming and accomplished wife over the years ahead.
My best wishes to you both for this coming year.
Augustus
He definitely didn’t waste any time. But then, that was likely why he was presidente of the largest ironway in Guldor.
Dekkard continued through the mail, noting that Haarden Hallaam hadn’t sent a note or card, not that Dekkard would have expected it.
Abruptly, Dekkard took out one of his own note cards and wrote a short message for Eyril Konnigsburg, asking if he’d be free for lunch today or tomorrow and apologizing for the short notice. Then he dispatched Gaaroll with it, telling her that, if the councilor happened to be there, to wait for a response.
He just finished reading a letter complaining about heliograph message charges when Margrit knocked on the door and then opened it. She said quietly, “There’s a young lady here. A Bettina Safaell?”
Dekkard immediately stood. “She’s Councilor Safaell’s daughter, and I’ll see her. She’s really here to see Svard and Luara, although they don’t know it yet. I just forgot.”
Margrit nodded.
Dekkard followed Margrit out into the anteroom, where he smiled at the red-haired young woman and said, “I’m glad you took us up on the invitation, Bettina.”
“I didn’t want to impose so soon, but my father said that I should visit today.”
“He was right.” He gestured toward the staff office. “Let me introduce you to my legalists.”
Dekkard led the way, stopping in the open space in the middle of the room.
Everyone looked up, including the two typists.
“Svard, Luara, this is Bettina Safaell. She’s in her last year at Imperial University in law, and I hoped you two would talk to her about your experiences. Bettina, Svard Roostof, there, is senior legalist, and this is Luara Colsbaan, who has a solid legalist experience away from the Council, but is relatively new here.” Dekkard paused, then turned to Bettina. “They can explain what they do and why far better than I can. I’ll leave you in their hands.”
“Thank you, Councilor Dekkard.”
“You’re welcome.” Dekkard turned and slipped back to his own office.
He’d read through most of the mail when Gaaroll returned and handed him an envelope.
“Councilor Konnigsburg was there, sir. He sent this back with me. He was very pleasant. He’s imposing.”
“He should be. He’s a retired admiral.” Dekkard smiled. “Thank you.” After Gaaroll left, Dekkard opened the envelope.
Steffan—
Thank you for the kind invitation.
I’d be happy to join you for lunch tomorrow. If just before noon at the dining room is acceptable, you don’t need to reply.
Eyril
Dekkard still drafted a short and polite confirmation and sent it off with Gaaroll.
Then he went back to the mail.
After he finished going through it, he carried it out to Roostof. “Thank you both for taking the time to talk to Councilor Safaell’s daughter. I hope it wasn’t too much of an imposition.”
Luara laughed. “Svard definitely enjoyed explaining to her.”
“She’s extremely bright,” Roostof said.
“And very attractive,” added Luara.
Roostof flushed.
Dekkard couldn’t help smiling. “I just wanted to thank you. I’m sorry I didn’t inform you both in advance. I’ve been a little distracted the past few days.”
“From what we saw, she’ll make an excellent legalist.” Luara grinned and added, “And I don’t think Svard minded the distraction in the slightest.”
“She’ll make an excellent legalist,” replied Roostof.
“I think we agree on that,” said Luara blandly.
Roostof flushed, then said almost stiffly, “We do.”
“Thank you both again.” Dekkard turned. He was still smiling when he went back to his office. That warmth faded as he tried to come up with questions for Johan Grieg, in case Obreduur asked the former premier to dinner. When Margrit bought in a stack of responses drafted by the legalists and Teitryn, he turned his attention to those. He finished with them slightly before Avraal arrived at a third before the fourth afternoon bell.
She smiled as she entered the office.
“You look happy,” said Dekkard. “How did your day go?”
“Well enough. I sat through two empath interviews. One of them might actually work out for Carlos. I wrote up my thoughts. He likes them on paper. Then we discussed what the New Meritorists might do next.”
“They’ll likely plant a bomb in the Council Office Building,” said Dekkard dryly.
“Not the Council Hall?” Avraal’s tone was a mixture of humor and sardonicism.
“They keep talking about reforming the Council, not destroying it. An explosion in the office building is more directed at councilors than the idea of the Council.”
“You know, you might send a quick message to Obreduur to that effect.”
“That’s a very good idea. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, dear.”
Dekkard immediately took out another note card and his fountain pen and began to write. When he finished, he put it in an envelope and took it out to Gaaroll for her to deliver to Obreduur. When he returned, he sat back down behind the desk and asked, “What else did you do?”
“More paperwork and delivering a message on my way here. How has your day been?”
“About as exciting as yours, but Bettina Safaell did take up the invitation. She must have spent well over a bell with Svard and Luara. I think Svard was smitten.”
“Wasn’t that one reason you tendered the invitation?” asked Avraal.
“It was. From what I could tell, they’re both sweet people. If it leads to something, good. If it doesn’t, Bettina has some contacts and learned a bit.”
“And Safaell will be appreciative.”
“I honestly didn’t think about that.”
“I know.” She smiled. “Are you ready to head home?”
Dekkard nodded, then stood, retrieved the gray leather folder, and went to get his overcoat.