Unt nodded, looking nervously from face to face of the Councillors. He couldn’t spare a glance at the other people, he was too busy trying to gauge what the men in power were thinking.
Kelly turned and received a package from one of the female Novices and he then presented this package to Unt. “Here are the robes of a journeyman,” he said. “But don’t worry, you can put them on later.”
Unt thanked him and Kelly said, “Now, I understand that you had your Work Experience here three months ago?” Unt nodded.
“Well, as you know, the Council has such a diverse role that you probably only scratched the surface of any single area. Now that you’re in the Order, we like to give our Novices a founding in all subjects so you’ll be joining our system of rotation. Everyone spends some time under each Councillor and each works in every area, ok?”
Unt nodded.
“Excellent,” said Kelly. “We’ll be starting you off with Councillor Brooker.” He indicated a swarthy man with short, dark hair, flecked with liberal strands of grey. Blue eyes twinkled beneath thick-rimmed glasses. “You no doubt recognise him as one of our illustrious founders.”
Smiling kindly, Brooker stepped forward and shook Unt’s hand in both his own. “A pleasure to meet you, Unt,” he said. “Pay no heed to that ‘founder’ nonsense - we started this town in the belief that everyone is equal and that is exactly what we mean.”
He looked like he might say more but Kelly was already moving things on. “You’ll be working closely with Pearson, here.” A gangly creature with pale skin and severely cropped red hair bent down out of the crowd. He bowed so deep he stooped like a crane. He extended a massive hand that Unt shook politely. His grip was surprisingly soft: considered, rather than weak, like there was a power there that he was reluctant to use.
“Don’t worry Unt, I’ll look after you,” Pearson grinned. His voice sounded like he was amused by it all. Unt couldn’t tell if he was being sincere or mocking.
“Like I say, everyone else, you’ll come to know in time,” said Kelly. “You’ll find things are pretty informal here. We’re all constantly in and out of everyone else’s chambers.”
‘Informal’ and Kelly seemed so alien from Unt’s past impression that he almost laughed.
“The rest of us will take our leave now. We don’t want to scare you too much.”
The group began to disperse, dividing into trios of white, orange and grey. Some of the closer ones shook Unt’s hand as they passed but they were all soon gone, slipping out through various doors or flights of stairs.
That left Unt with Brooker and Pearson. Brooker was very young-looking for an old man. He had to be touching seventy at a minimum but his skin was free of wrinkles and his hair still had most of its original colour. His frame looked powerful and he was at least as tall as Unt, though not as tall as Pearson. The Acolyte was a head taller than either of them and stood behind his master like a fair attraction ready to be put on show.
“And then there were three.” Brooker clapped his hands. “Shall we go up to our chambers? Actually, best put those robes on first: it’ll save you carrying them.”
Unt did as instructed. The robes were heavy and felt strange. They were coarse and he was glad he had a shirt on underneath.
Brooker gestured for Unt to fall in beside him, which he did. Pearson slipped in behind at a casual distance and the three of them took a flight of stairs up to the next floor. Brooker put his hands together inside his broad sleeves. He looked like a man at prayer and Unt unconsciously followed suit. As they climbed the stairs, Unt was distracted by his new robes as they brushed the soft pile of the carpet.
While they walked, Brooker started talking. “I don’t suppose you remember me?” he asked casually.
“Er, I know you from events and such,” Unt answered, perplexed.
“No, I mean from far back,” Brooker smiled sadly. “I was Community Liaison when your parents died. I saw you a fair bit after the accident.”
“I, er, don’t remember back then too well,” said Unt.
“Of course,” said Brooker. “For one so young, it must seem very long ago.”
Unt, who’d been thinking along those same lines, only nodded.
“For an old man like me,” Brooker continued, “it’s not very long ago at all. Those memories are clearer to me than most things that happen now.”
Unt said nothing. He never talked about his parents with anyone, not even Bull. It wasn’t like it was taboo or anything but people normally left it to him to bring it up when he wanted and that was something that rarely happened.
“You were such a remarkable little boy,” Brooker was saying, “frightened; angry; confused, of course. But you took it all in with such maturity. I was worried about leaving you in that house on your own but I could see the determination in your little face and felt you’d be all right. I wasn’t wrong, was I?”
He gave Unt a steady side-long glance. His kind eyes were embedded with a look of worry, as though seeking atonement. It was such a strange interview that Unt didn’t know how to answer the question. He didn’t even know what the answer was. With no words coming, he just shook his head.
Brooker nodded considerately, as though Unt had said something profound. “I’m sorry to say I neglected you,” he said with a sigh, “Not deliberately, but I didn’t keep as close an eye on you as I meant to. I was determined to keep a check on how you were doing but for all the will in the world, the distractions of life took over and I soon lost you. I am sorry, Unt.”
Faced with this frank and unreserved apology, the only thing that could enter Unt’s head was worry over how to respond. Such an honest, open, confession - unasked for- demanded a decent answer but he couldn’t think of anything to say.
They were walking along the gallery with the balcony over the hall on Unt’s right. “It’s all right,” he told the old man, stalling as he made a mental scramble. “Everyone around me helped a lot. I think my parents would be happy.”
Brooker patted his back. The gentle action was muted by the thickness of the cloth. “I’m certain they would have been,” said Brooker. “They’d have been very proud to see you here today.”
“I thought posts were based on chance, not merit,” said Unt and immediately regretted being so blunt.
“Chance is what we make of it,” said Brooker, addressing the challenge like a familiar battleground. “You must have shown considerable properties to find yourself here: properties like will-power and hard work. These are things your parents would be pleased to see in you, I’m sure.”
“I wanted to be a Farm Manager,” Unt confessed.
“And instead you’re with us?” Brooker raised an eyebrow, “That, my young friend, is the purpose of our system: to prevent the best-laid plans of men without getting in the way of common sense.
“Plans are the manifestation of desire and desire creates conflict, but pure randomness is chaos and that is equally dangerous. The Council is here to find a safe ground between the two.
“People are like tools: consider a shovel lying in a shed. It has certain characteristics that mean it could be picked up and used for a number of purposes. It could be used to dig a field, feed a furnace or shovel manure. It could even be pressed into duty hammering in a nail. It isn’t for the spade to decide what job it’s going to do, it’s the circumstance. That spade could perform many jobs but the one it gets used for depends on which potential user finds it first.”
Brooker sighed heavily. “Which,” he said, “is a long-winded way of saying that you would have been a good Farm Manager but you’ll also be a good Councillor. I suppose it also means I called you a spade. Ah, here we are.”
As they were talking, they’d left the gallery behind and made their way along half the length of the corridor beyond. They’d stopped before a solid-looking door. It was aged and well-varnished but was undecorated excepting the clean lines of its panelling. Unt had somehow expected a name plaque but he supposed such vanity was re
dundant here.
Brooker opened the door and waved Unt inside. He found himself in a light room with walls and ceiling both plastered a brilliant white. Light came in through a large, panel-glass window on the far wall. Four book cases were shared between the two side walls and two large desks were set between them. Those desks covered most of a deep-piled, dark green carpet. Beyond the far bookcase, on the right-hand side and almost concealed by it, Unt could see the sliver of a connecting door.
Brooker followed behind with Pearson after him. The Acolyte sat down behind one of the two desks and immediately resumed work at several piles of paper. It looked like the work had been put on hold just for Unt’s arrival.
“This is where you’ll be spending most of your time,” Brooker told him. “That will be your desk, opposite Uriah Heap, there.”
“I told you, I don’t get the reference,” said Pearson without looking up. The tone was insolent but apparently a normal part of their relationship because Brooker just smiled. “Anyway, as I was saying, this is where you’ll mostly be working.”
This time, Pearson set his pen down and did look up. “Don’t listen to him, Unt: it’s a filthy lie. Mostly you’ll be running up and down stairs, carrying messages, or, often as not, making drinks for Him.”
“What an excellent idea, Mr Pearson,” said Brooker. “Why don’t you go and fetch coffees for myself and Unt? You know how I take mine: what about you, Unt?”
“Uh, just milk,” said Unt, taken off guard.
“There you go, Mr Pearson,” said Brooker.
“Walked into that one, didn’t I?” grumbled Pearson as he got to his feet.
“You certainly did,” said Brooker. “Perhaps this will teach you to hold your odious tongue.”
Pearson just left, muttering about what his odious tongue could do to a pot of coffee.
“Delightful young man!” said Brooker as the door closed and seemed to mean it. “Now, let’s go into my office and I’ll take you over things in a little more detail.”
He led Unt through the connecting door into a similar office to the one they’d just left. It was half the size with half the furniture but the décor was the same. Unt had a fleeting glimpse of people out the window going about their daily lives.
Three chairs, upholstered in green leather, faced one another on the far side of the desk. Brooker signalled that Unt should take one of these and as he did, Brooker took the opposite one.
“So, tell me, Unt: how are you feeling? Pretty nervous, I imagine?”
Unt nodded.
“Please, just relax. I promise, I’m no monster.”
“No, sir,” said Unt, not relaxing one bit.
“I must say, I admire your honesty, Unt,” said Brooker, “I doubt there’s ever been a young person come into these offices and told me they’d rather be somewhere else!”
“I didn’t mean-” Unt began but Brooker waved him away, chuckling.
“What I’m saying is that it’s refreshing to have someone here who hasn’t been promised it from infancy. I don’t think there’s been a reluctant member of this Order since the founding days. Indeed, I’d say that I was probably the last.”
“You mean-”
“That I didn’t want to be a Councillor? Yes. But it was different then, there was only the seven of us. Back then, we all had to do everything. Then, when other people started to join, we needed people at the helm who could keep our principles and who else but the founders could do that?
“To be honest, for a long time, I wasn’t very good at it. I bet they didn’t teach you that in society class, did they?”
“No, sir.”
“No,” said Brooker. “It wouldn’t do to have people think of their founders as anything but faultless. If you’re going to live upon a set of principles, you want the people who set them to be demigods.”
He sighed wearily. “Do you know what I was when we founded this place? A joiner. I used to love working with my hands. Back then, I helped build the first of our houses. Now, I haven’t worked with my hands for years. That, Unt, is the price we pay to be law-makers.”
“Yes, sir.”
Brooker got up from his chair and went to the window, surveying the same scene that Unt had looked on a minute before. “I’m sorry to go on like this, Unt. I’m supposed to be outlining your duties for you and here I am spouting nonsense.”
“Not at all, sir.”
“It’s ironic that the reason I can speak with you like this is that you don’t want the job when it’s the people who do want it that really ought to be told.
“I look out this window and I feel responsible for these people but I also know I have power over them and people find power alluring. The people out there want what you have and will be jealous of you for having it. Some people will even hate you for it.”
He let those words hang, turned from the window and studied Unt. He seemed to be assessing something mentally, deciding whether he ought to speak. If he rolled dice, he did so in his head.
“Unt,” he said, “I don’t suppose Councillor Lasper’s reaction yesterday will have escaped you?” Unt nearly laughed. Obviously no-one from the Council had seen them outside the Hall yesterday.
Brooker nodded. “I needn’t tell you, then, that he was very upset that you got this post over his son. I’m sorry to say that, through no fault of your own, you’ve made an enemy of him and our Lasper is one heck of a man to carry a grudge.”
Unt didn’t want to think about this. Councillor Lasper was like a black cloud, even when he wasn’t there.
“Now, I don’t want you to be alarmed,” Brooker was saying, “Lasper is a prickly pear and a bitter old soul but I’ve known him a long time: no-one is more committed to the ideals of this community than him. He may hate you and he’ll go out of his way to make your life uncomfortable but he’ll stick by the rules. What I’m saying is, expect a stinging nettle, not a viper.”
Whatever Brooker was going to say next, he was cut off by a knock at the door. “Enter,” he said and Pearson appeared, carrying two mugs awkwardly. He moved with exaggerated care, as though his hands were so distant from his head that he didn’t expect them to obey him properly.
“Two coffees,” he spoke into the mugs, “One with milk,” he passed this to Unt, “and one Special.” He put this on the desk before Brooker.
“A Special,” said the Councillor. “And how much spit did you use this time?”
“Two gobs,” said Pearson.
“Well, I hope you stirred them properly.” Brooker took a sip.
“Of course, sir,” said Pearson, backing out the room.
“Hold on,” Brooker stopped him. “I’ve been talking to Unt here for far too long and realise I’ve told him absolutely nothing useful. Perhaps you would take him on your rounds and show him the ropes?”
“You mean put him in the hands of someone who knows how to do the job?”
“Uriah Heap, you read my mind like a telepath.”
“I still don’t know what you’re on about.”
Brooker shook his head. “So much lost,” he said. “Ah well, Unt, why don’t you go with Pearson here and he’ll give you the tour. You can take your coffee with you if you like.”
So Unt got up and followed Pearson as he began his tour of the building. His long strides ate up the corridor easily and Unt had to hurry to keep up. Hot coffee kept spilling over to sear his fingers and spatter on the carpet. It only stopped when so much liquid had been lost that it no longer sloshed over the sides.
As they walked, Unt got a closer look at his senior colleague and realised he was a lot older than he’d first taken him for. He guessed he must be well over thirty, an age that occupied the ill-defined middle ground between the boy Unt was and the elder-statesman he knew he must become.
“So, Unt,” said Pearson as they marched, “How you finding things so far?”
“It’s a lot to take in,” Unt answered.
“That ain’t the half of it. Tell me, how much
do you know about how the Council works?”
“Not much,” Unt admitted, “We went through it all on Work Experience but I never expected to be here so I wasn’t listening too hard.”
“Pretty girls in your group?”
Unt shrugged. “One or two.”
“Can’t say I blame you then, but I’m sorry to say there’s no such distractions here: twenty-one posts in the Order, only seven women and every one’s a boot.”
“How’d that happen?”
“I know. You’d think there’d be at least one you could bear to look at.”
“No, I mean you’d think the split would be nearer fifty-fifty.”
“Oh, that. Well, five of the old sods were here at the start so it’s nine guys to seven girls for the replacements. As for it being two men who’ve taken over from dead Councillors? That’s just a one-in-four chance, ain’t it?”
“Anyway,” he said, “The structure: Kelly’s already told you that Novices like yourself rotate between the Councillors. Somewhere down the line, you’ll get promoted to Acolyte and then you’ll be fixed to a certain Councillor permanently. It’s always done in order of seniority so you just get stuck with whoever comes up.
“The Councillors themselves move jobs from time to time and when you’re an Acolyte, you’ll go with them so you won’t always be tied with the same work. Eventually, enough old guys ahead of you will pop their clogs and you’ll get the bump to Councillor yourself. Just don’t hold your breath: I’ve been waiting a lot of bloody years and the stubborn bastards insist on clinging to life.”
“How long is it since you became an Acolyte?” asked Unt. He asked more as a means of keeping up his end of the conversation than from genuine interest but Pearson took it another way.
“Ready to move on already, are you?” he asked with a grin. “Fifteen years I’d spent as a Novice. Like I say, progress is slow.”
Fifteen years on the bottom rung, thought Unt. Anyone in any other order would move up several spaces in that time. With dead men’s shoes the only way upward, Pearson could be looking at another thirty to forty years before he became full Councillor. Did the people who wanted this posting realise that?
The Fall of Chance Page 10