The Fall of Chance

by McGowan, Terry

Lapser was joined in that background scene by the sudden appearance of Pearson. He looked out of breath, like he’d been running, which was hugely out of character for Pearson. He made as though to enter but Lasper blocked him off. They had a hot contest of muted words, and Lasper must have got the better because reluctantly, Pearson stayed where he was. He saw Unt watching. His body writhed in alarming fashion as he signalled some sort of warning.

  Too late, thought Unt.

  Sensing the commotion behind him, Kelly turned and gave Lasper a significant look. Lasper retreated further into the shadows, moving Pearson with him. Unt could no longer see the man but his presence remained.

  “Unt,” said Brooker, “Councillor Kelly needs a word with you.”

  “Yes, Unt,” Kelly took his queue, “Councillor Erk has sent Mr Pollock to me with a most serious matter. He has been contacted by a witness with a very grave accusation.”

  Unt just blinked. He couldn’t talk. He couldn’t breathe. A cold-hot lump was lodged in his throat.

  Polllock seemed to step forward without moving. He held his jaw like a weapon. Unt had only spoken briefly with the man. He was a good deal older than Pearson and his age seemed to make him angry. “Mr Unt, he said, “Are you acquainted with a Mr Bulton of Ward Street, formerly Edge Street?”

  Relief surged through Unt’s body. It was Bull who was in trouble. That selfish thought made him feel guilty, but he ahd to acknowledge it.

  “I am,” he said, the power of speech returning.

  “Would you describe your relationship as close?” Pollock followed up. The worry started to creep back through Unt’s feet.

  “Well, yes,” he admitted. Pollock scribbled something in a notebook.

  “And how long have you known each other?”

  “All our lives.” The concern had reached his shins. Pollock scribbled something further down. Unt wondered why they were asking this.

  “Did you attend school together?”

  “Of course.”

  “Including Work Experience?”

  There it was. Fear shot up through him like a fountain. Work Experience. They were asking about the rescue.

  “Yes,” Unt forced the word out. His throat was like a clenched valve.

  “So you were present at an incident on the sixteenth of the fourth involving a near-drowning?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you gave a witness testimony relating to that event?”

  “Yes.”

  “A testimony that stated Mr Bulton saved two of his classmates?”

  “Yes.”

  The two Councillors shared a significant look.

  “Do you-” Pollock began but Kelly stepped in quickly.

  “I think enough has been established to validate the concern,” he said to his colleagues. “I think it best if further matters are explored more formally.”

  Brooker looked relieved. Pollock looked disappointed. Unt got the impression that Kelly wanted things kept quiet. Whether that was for Unt’s benefit or theirs, it didn’t matter. Unt was just glad of the respite.

  “Unt,” said Kelly, “I must inform you that you have been accused of tampering with the selection process. A beadle is waiting in the foyer to escort you to the cells. You will remain there until a trial can be arranged.”

  The strength of Unt’s legs escaped him. If he’d been standing, he’d have fallen to the floor. He stared at Brooker, an appeal for salvation.

  “Try not to worry, Unt,” he muttered, “I’m sure we’ll get to the bottom of this.”

  Those weren’t exactly words of reassurance. If anything, they were so carefully guarded against reassurance that they were quite the opposite.

  Kelly and Pollock took a backward-step against the far wall, forming a sort of unwanted honour-guard.

  Unt turned back to Brooker. “Crystal-” he began but no more words would come.

  Brooker laid a fatherly hand on his shoulder. “Pearson will see to it,” he said.

  The comforting arm became a guiding one as he gently raised Unt to his feet. Unt was screaming inside himself to kick up a fuss, to make a protest. His mute acceptance of proceedings was like an admission of guilt but his body wouldn’t respond.

  As Brooker led him from his desk, he looked forlornly at the little paper box that sat atop it; the untouched lunch, abandoned in its flimsy shell.

  He passed Kelly and Pollock, went out through the door and was beset on either side by Pearson and Lasper. Pearson was weaving with the energy of a boxer, lusting to come in with fists flying. Lasper had Unt pinned beneath the point of his chin. The line of his mouth flickered in his reptilian way, the smile barely suppressed. Unt knew he had somehow orchestrated this.

  It was a long, lonely walk down to the foyer. Usually, there would be someone from the Order going up and down but today there was no-one. There was only Unt with Brooker beside him and Kelly and Pollock three places behind.

  That loneliness wasn’t so bad compared to what was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. The foyer of Fate Hall was open for business and members of the public were coming and going about their affairs. There was a mere handful of people and none seemed to show Unt any special interest but he suddenly felt exposed.

  There was no reason those people should see anything other than four men of the Councillors Order in their own building but his shame felt like a beacon. Everywhere, he imagined people making overt glances and wondering what this boy had been up to.

  Only one person looked straight at him and he was stood at the foot of the stairs. Unt recognised the shrewish man instantly as Old Tulk, the beadle. Tulk was supposedly the oldest man in the community and had been beadle as long as anyone could remember. Everyone knew Tulk and anyone seen in his company was known to be in trouble.

  Up to this point, Unt had imagined his guilt as transparent but when people saw him with Tulk, they’d know something was up. They might not know what, but curiosity drives gossip faster than facts.

  “Tulk,” said Brooker, collecting the beadle’s hand in a casual sort of way. “Good of you to come at short notice.” Pollock and Kelly shook hands too. Together, the four men and Unt made an open circle. It made things look nice and casual.

  Tulk, chewing on some unseen substance, studied Unt with old, experienced eyes. His face had untidy grey stubble, his uniform was worn and shabby and his chewing made a messy noise but his eyes were alive and intelligent. They were a concentrated blue, like they held the condensed wisdom of all his years’ service.

  “This here is Unt,” Brooker introduced him like they were at a party. “He’s going to be accompanying you.”

  The beadle extended his hand to Unt. Despite looking frail, the grip was strong and the skin was rough and hardened. “You’re not going to give me any trouble, are you son?” he asked, leaning in.

  “No sir,” said Unt, gulping.

  Tulk turned his next chew into a lop-sided smile. “There’s a good lad,” he said. “As long as you behave yourself I ne’ent keep more than a guiding hand on you.”

  “Excellent,” said Brooker. “Unt, you go with Tulk now and we’ll see you tomorrow.” He patted his back like he was going out for the evening. “Someone will be over to see you shortly and they’ll run you through what’s going to happen.”

  Kelly and Pollock stood rigid. Apparently, propriety would only let them take the charade so far. They wouldn’t be seen being friendly to Unt.

  “Right then, young man, let’s be off,” said Tulk and shepherded Unt away.

  As they walked toward the exit and daylight, Unt felt like a rabbit being dragged from the safety of its burrow. Inside, there’d been an illusion of safety with the security of solid walls and darkened recesses. Outside was open country, exposed and vulnerable.

  His first step out of the building made Unt think of the day of the Fall when Lasper had ambushed him. That day, his fear had been a response to sudden terror. This time, the anticipation of accusing eyes brought a more pervasive fear.

&n
bsp; Fortune Square was as busy as ever but Unt’s expectation of everyone stopping to stare was happily far from the mark. There were easily more than two hundred people cutting paths across the open space but barely a dozen even glanced toward the Hall. Of that dozen, maybe two looked back at Unt and if either clocked a man in the company of a beadle, it was a fleeting curiosity: just enough to graze the edge of consciousness. Tulk led Unt back down the side of Fate Hall, along the broad stretch of North Street.

  True to his word, Tulk kept no more than an arm on Unt but it was a restraint nonetheless. To Unt, it felt like a bright red sign saying “criminal here”. Still, despite being among thick civilian traffic, no-one seemed to notice. Even in his stunned state, Unt could only marvel at how invisible a man’s plight could be to people absorbed in their own lives.

  Unt didn’t know North Street well. The places down here were ones that had never concerned him and he had few friends from this quarter. He’d passed through it from time to time but it wasn’t part of his home turf. It had an almost alien feel to it and that feeling became more threatening as they moved further and further away from Fortune Square.

  Being in a foreign place should have made him more anonymous but the deeper they went, the further they got into Tulk’s territory and the beadle was a well-known face. Neighbours would say hello as they passed and then they would see Unt. They didn’t voice questions but Unt could see them thinking, filing it away. Later on, in their homes and workplaces, they’d ask around and find out who was that frightened young man they’d seen with the beadle.

  Few people would know Unt and, if asked to describe him, they’d struggle for remarkable features. Somewhere along the line though, a connection would be made and then Unt’s name would be out there.

  For now though, it was surreally quiet. The sun beat down gloriously, completely at odds with the little melodrama that engulfed Unt. It could almost have been a gentle summer stroll. Everyone Tulk spoke to seemed in high spirits. Unt felt like a little float of despair, bobbing around in a sea of good humour.

  * * * *

  Unt knew the cells well enough when he saw them. He’d never been inside but he’d passed often enough and noted how shabby they were. The building was little more than a glorified hut. The remains of a coat of black tar was chipped with a battered white edge. Its rotten timbers were as old as the town and its wear had been fixed with ad-hoc repairs. Those repairs were patches of random armour fixed to an exhausted shell.

  The community wasn’t without crime but there was rarely anything major. The cells were mostly used for holding drunks and brawlers and it was enough to do just that. Even with the more serious offenders, attempts at escape were rare. Because of that, the cells got by and that did nothing to raise the odds for funding of repairs.

  When Unt got close, he could see the results of years without maintenance. There were bars on the windows but the wood they were set in was so rotten a serious effort would rip them from the walls. Even someone like Unt, without much strength to boast of, could break out if they tried.

  Old Tulk, watching Unt, seemed to follow his thinking. “Aye, she’s not much to look at, that’s for sure,” he said and spat into the road. Whether that was to emphasise the point or just out of habit, Unt couldn’t tell.

  “But you needn’t think of making a run for it, if that’s your thinking,” Tulk warned. “First off, when there’s folk in the tank, this is where I sleep and I’ll raise merry hell before you’ve gone ten yards, no bother.

  “Second of all, you likely look at me and reckon I’m a broken old thing but I’m a mean son of a bitch and I’ll beat you bloody raw if it turns out you’re thinkin’ to give me trouble.

  “And last of all - and this is the real killer - if you do manage to run, there’s nowhere to go. Hell, the worst thing they could do to you is give you liberty out there. Might as well be a death sentence. You’ve never seen the world beyond these few valleys but I have and I’ll tell you, there’s nowhere got the civilization of this place.”

  Unt was a bit alarmed at Tulk’s ferocious way of speaking. “I’m not thinking of running,” he said.

  The beadle gave him a side-long glance as though weighing him up. “Aye, you’re a good boy, I think,” he said at last. “I can’t imagine what it is you’ve got yourself into but it’s no business of mine. I don’t judge folk, I only hold ‘em. Judging’s the business of some other fool. Anyway, let’s get inside.”

  With that, he waved Unt up. It was like he was inviting a guest into his home, not a prisoner to his pen. The step creaked alarmingly as their joint weight went down on it and Unt felt the timber bend. The door opened easily on loose hinges and Tulk shut it behind them with a flick of his heel.

  Inside was slightly better than the outside. The wood on the walls and floors was shiny with successive layers of varnish, the white-washed ceiling was bright and clean and so were the red-brick walls that split the cells. Even the paint on the bars was black and glossy and new.

  Each cell had a neatly-made cot with clean red blankets. A fourth cot lay behind the desk with its single chair. A polished mirror sat above a small wash basin with a little stove to the right of that. A few other knick-knacks placed carefully around the room were the only other objects. This was a much-loved place, the home-from-home Tulk implied when he’d said he slept here.

  “I’ll put you in Three,” said the beadle, indicating the cell on the left. “I mostly use One and Two for the drunks who shit and piss themselves or the scrappers who deserve to sleep in it. I keep Three for the people who I think deserve better and you’re one, if I’m not mistaken.”

  “Thank you,” said Unt, grateful for the small mercy.

  The beadle rooted in his pocket and came out with a great key. He opened the door and waved Unt in. It struck Unt that there was nothing forcing him to submit. Despite his bluster, Unt reckoned he could take the old man, or at least knock him down long enough to escape.

  But Tulk was right, there was nowhere to run and besides, he didn’t want to. He’d been dreading this day for so long it was a relief he’d no longer need to fear it. If nothing else, it had cleared his conscience.

  He stepped inside and Tulk locked the door behind him. Unt turned and looked at the beadle, wondering what to do with himself.

  “What now, eh?” laughed Tulk, reading his mind again. “My advice would be to try and relax. Easier said than done, I know, but right now there’s nothing else for it. The Council will send your Defender once they’ve determined one but until then, you might as well put your feet up.”

  “When will they send my Defender?” asked Unt.

  The beadle chuckled and rasped his teeth, “You tell me how long it takes the Council to act. I’d not expect anything this afternoon anyway, I should say.”

  “I have a wife,” said Unt, his thoughts leading to Crystal.

  “And doubtless a lovely thing she is too,” said Tulk, “Sure as Seven, in this town, someone’ll let her know and I dare say she’ll be here to see you soon after.”

  Unt doubted that. It was the opposite he feared.

  “Again,” Tulk went on, “The best advice I can give is to lie down and try not to dwell on it.”

  No, Crystal wouldn’t be rushing to see him. She’d be rushing to Rob. That was especially certain once she heard what Unt was charged with and worked out that it was him who had kept her from her lover.

  “If you like, I can give you a book to read,” Tulk interrupted his thoughts, “Most folks, though, decide to sleep it out.”

  Unt threw his dice on the bed. Five. “Thank you, but I’m fine,” he said.

  “Load of rubbish these lot write anyway,” said Tulk. “Will Ogle slay the dragon? Odds say he does, evens say he doesn’t. Whatever happened to just telling a story?”

  Unt blinked in confusion.

  “Course, you know no different, do you? Poor mite,” said Tulk, “Never mind. Maybe you’d like a drink instead?”

  Unt rolled a
nd got an eight. “No thank you,” he said.

  “Suit yourself,” said Tulk, “but it’s good stuff, this. If there’s one thing that’ll help you relax it’s a nice stiff drink.”

  With that, he sauntered toward his desk, took out a tin cup, a large flask and started to pour.

  “Actually,” said Unt, “I’ll have that drink, if I may.”

  The beadle smiled a gap-toothed smile. “Good choice.”

  10. A Plea

  Dusk was falling when Unt’s Defender finally arrived. It wasn’t quite the next morning like Tulk had joked but Unt was worried by the delay. If they’d had the foresight to summon a beadle, why hadn’t they arranged a Defender for him? He looked at the neighbouring empty cells: it wasn’t like they had a heavy case-load.

  Tulk was sleeping in his chair when the knock came. Unt was sat on the cot, thinking and had to shout to wake the old man. So much for waking up if he tried to smash his way out of the cell.

  “What? Yes, I’m coming, I’m coming,” said the beadle, stirring at the third time of asking.

  He opened the door to admit a small, nervous-looking man with a sickly-grey sheen to his skin and forehead. Unt looked at the extent that his brown hair had gone to grey and the square, styleless shape of his glasses and placed him somewhere in his forties.

  Appearances could be deceiving but Unt didn’t think this was one of those times. He watched the Defender cling a satchel of papers to his chest like they were a life-preserving part of him. He looked like a man with a fever, dragged from his sickbed because there was no other choice.

  “Ostin!” said Tulk. “As I live and breathe!” The welcome put a name to this unimpressive specimen. “It’s been a long time since you darkened my doorstep. Come on in, come on in.”

  “You know I try to darken your door as little as possible, Tulk,” Ostin heaved a wet laugh at his own joke.

  “True enough,” said Tulk. “Well, anyhow, let me introduce you to the young man who’s fallen into your charge.”

  “Ostin,” said Tulk, “this is your client, Mr Unt. Unt: your Defender of twenty-three years’ service, Mr Ostin.”