Whatever the machinations in the command structure, Dragoon business went on. Lights burned in several offices. Even with Jaime Wolf no longer in charge, somewhere Wolf's Dragoons were on duty, and they needed staff support. That meant that here, someone was listening. Maybe things weren't so bad after all. Maybe different was all right.
"Karmabrings us together again."
Spinning away from where he had stood, Dechan threw himself into the shadow of the wall and drew his sidearm. He couldn't see the speaker at first, but he could hear him panting as if he had been running. The man's dark uniform blended with the shadows, making it hard to see him though Dechan knew he was there. Soon the light blob that was his face became clear. Two smaller blobs, hands held out and open, were clear as well. There seemed to be no danger, however, and Dechan straightened from his crouch, holstering his weapon as he did.
"Michi?"
"I would wish you a good evening, but I doubt it will be one, Dechan- san."
"We don't speak for years and then you start with a riddle."
"I am sorry, Dechan -san. I would not have intruded on your life if it were not important. The plans are made. They will kill him soon."
"What are you talking about?"
"Jaime Wolf will not see the sunrise."
Dechan found it curious to realize that he believed Michi's statement without question. Jaime's death would certainly end any hope of seeing him restored. Dechan didn't know whose plot this might be, and he didn't care. He also didn't see how it involved him. "Why not tell him yourself?"
"I cannot." There was shouting on the far side of the building. Michi looked in that direction for a moment, listening. "There is no time for argument. There are others I must warn. As a Dragoon, the task to warn Wolf falls to you."
"I'm not a Dragoon anymore."
The shouting drew closer.
"You once said that being a Dragoon was like being a samurai," Michi said in a hushed voice. "A samurai serves until death. You have the opportunity to save your lord from dishonorable death."
"He abandoned me."
Michi took a step back into the shadows. Even to Dechan's dark-adapted eyes, none of the man was visible save for his face. "If you believe that, you can have your revenge. Do nothing and Wolf and his family will die."
Then the face was gone.
Dechan was alone, but not for long. A trio of Home Guard troopers came pelting along the avenue. One saw Dechan and covered him with a rifle while calling for him to stand still. Dechan didn't move.
"That's not him," a man wearing sergeant's stripes said as he knocked the first trooper's barrel up. "Our man's wearing black."
"He coulda changed," the trooper whined.
"Not enough time." The sergeant turned to Dechan and squinted at him. "Say, citizen, haven't I seen you around?"
"Name's Dechan Fraser."
"Don't sound familiar. You haven't seen anybody lurking about, have you?"
"I saw a jogger in a dark suit down by the lake. I thought it was early for PE, but you know how fanatical some people are."
"That's gotta be him," the first trooper shouted and started off at a run. The other two guardsmen followed. As he disappeared into the trees, the sergeant shouted back, "Be a good citizen and report to the guard station at the Hall. Tell them what you saw."
Dechan thought about ignoring the sergeant's order, but he realized that the sergeant had his name. If he checked up and Dechan hadn't reported, it could raise suspicions that he had been a party to the fugitive's escape. Reluctantly, Dechan walked to the guard station. The guard captain wore the stylized wolf's-head favored by partisans of the new order. Though he seemed not to have much use for Dechan's circumstantial evidence, he spent a long time establishing it. During that time, Dechan thought about what Michi had said. Every time he went over the possible outcomes, he liked them less. He wanted to be away from Wolf Hall, but running out before the captain dismissed him wouldn't help anyone.
While Dechan waited for dismissal, Hamilton Atwyl exited the elevator bank. On his way across the lobby, he happened to glance at the guard station. Seeing Dechan, his face opened into a smile.
"Dechan? What are you doing here?"
"I could ask you the same thing, Ham."
Dechan made his remark with a jocular tone, but it evoked a guarded look in Atwyl's eyes. "You're not under arrest, are you?"
With a shake of his head, Dechan said, "Just reporting a prowler."
"A prowler?" Atwyl frowned, then looked thoughtful. When he spoke, his voice was pitched so that anyone nearby would have no trouble hearing his words. "It's been a long time since we've talked. If you've got a few, I'll pop for the brew."
It was obviously an invitation, and one meant to be seen as nonpolitical. Under the circumstances, Dechan suspected that it was anything but. Still undecided about how to handle the burden Michi had placed on him, he realized that he knew too little of what was happening. Ham was an old friend, and high in the Dragoon command structure. At the very least, Dechan might get a better sense of the power balance. "A few. If I'm not home by dawn, Jenette'll wonder what happened."
"Wouldn't want to cause trouble between you two. You stuck together through a hell of a lot."
Atwyl laid his arm around Dechan's shoulders and started to lead him into the Hall. When the guard captain objected, Atwyl said, "That's all right, Captain. Mr. Fraser's a veteran. I'll vouch for him."
"You'll sign his pass?"
"Yes, I'll sign his pass." Atwyl scribbled his name on the datapad the officer thrust at him, then waited with obvious impatience while the captain processed a visitor's badge for Dechan. Wearing the plastic ID tag, Dechan allowed Atwyl to take him to the cafeteria. It was almost deserted and, once they had their beers, Atwyl selected a table well away from any of the other late-night customers.
Atwyl abandoned any pretense at joviality as soon as they were seated. "So where do you stand on the succession?"
"I'm out of the Dragoons, Ham. Remember?"
"Once a Dragoon, always a Dragoon."
"Somebody already fed me that line tonight, Ham."
"A prowler, maybe?"
"You know about that?"
"Don't know nothing, but I was hoping you'd tell me."
"There's a plot to kill Wolf."
Atwyl sat back in his seat, his beer bottle tilting in his slack hand and coming precariously close to spilling. "You're sure about this?"
"Fellow who mentioned it seemed to be very sure."
"You involved?"
"Would I be talking to you if I was?"
Atwyl laughed softly, bitterly. "I don't know anymore. There are too many two-faces for this old war-horse." He took a hit from his bottle. "When?"
"Before morning."
"That doesn't leave much time. Will you come with me to Carmody? Tell him what you know?"
"I don't know much."
"We'll need everything we can get. Will you help? For old times' sake?"
Heat burned under Dechan's skin. "I'll talk to Carmody. "
* * *
"I didn't think they'd go that far," Carmody said when they told him. Significantly, he believed Dechan's unsupported statement. "But it all falls into place. That's why they sent the Home Guard out on maneuvers. Wanted me to oversee the whole thing, too."