The Fall of Chance (5 page)

Sandy gave a single loud clap. “Right, family. Everyone here? Yes? Then let’s get going.”

*              *              *              *

The procession up to the Square was a cleaned-up alternate version of the night before. The family walked in a single line abreast, Bulton between his parents and Unt on Sandy’s right. Unt held Jenna’s hand while the other two girls bickered noisily on the far left.

They were one of a score of such lines coming from this direction alone. Ahead of them, a friend of Unt’s – Telon - was with his family and Unt had seen two other groups behind them. Other similar groups would be making their way up all the thoroughfares connecting to the Square.

In amongst the families there were scattered other groups, all heading in the shared direction. The Fall was a big event for the whole community, not just those touched directly and so it was of interest to everyone. As Councillor Pello had said last night, it was a celebration of the whole community.

Friends and acquaintances called good wishes as they passed. Sandy took charge of answering these. Bulton was strangely quiet.

Fortune Square was a riot of colour. Bunting and banners were everywhere, like an explosion of joy. The eleven colours of the eleven Orders were scattered in and among each other as though clamouring for attention. Last night’s braziers now had their fierce, primal energy subdued and drowned underneath this bloom of optimism.

Beneath the gaudy display, the crowds were gathering. Those in the Fall were distinctive in their self-made outfits and were mostly gathered near the front. Unt and Bulton’s family struggled to find a spot where they could squeeze in together.

They stood facing Fate Hall and it wasn’t long before the little girls grew restless and started playing up. Sandy continued his proud-father role, greeting and receiving wishes from other nearby people who were also waiting.

Old people, moving alone or in pairs, seemed on a mission to fill in every space between the families and they called out good-luck messages to the waiting youngsters. At least a dozen people Unt had never met squeezed his shoulder, smiled and offered either best wishes or advice not to worry. Unt simply endured it. He had more to worry about than exchanging simple pleasantries with strangers. His friends about him seemed to be doing the same.

*              *              *              *

Time dragged. It seemed the waiting would never end. In keeping with the spirit and purpose of the occasion, the Fall would be declared at a random time anywhere after eleven. Unt wondered how long it had been: there was no clock in the Square and he wasn’t lucky enough to have a watch.

A deep, resonant, metallic sound filled the Square, stopping all chatter in its tracks. Without any person appearing from the Hall, the great doors opened inward. The shadowed interior began to suck in people like a vacuum. The whole human mass began to shuffle forward with Unt and Bulton’s family among them.

As they got near the doors, everyone fell into three distinct columns. The Fall participants were in the middle column and their path led straight to the main chambers. The two flanking columns were for families. They were headed for the viewing galleries on the sides of the main chamber and people could choose between the ground floor and the balconies on the level above. Late arrivals would take the rear benches behind the participants, together with the few spaces left over for casual onlookers.

All of this was achieved automatically without anyone giving orders or pointing the way. This was in spite of it being a new experience for almost all of them. The parents had been to their own Fall, of course, but the only ones who’d been here as parents themselves were those attending the Fall of their second or third child.

The protocols had, of course, been drilled in many times. For the kids, there had been lesson after lesson for months and all through childhood they were taught the ceremony. Still, it was one thing to know the theory and another to act it out. Unt quietly marvelled at people’s innate ability to fall into order.

Beyond the doorway, Bull’s family took their leave to go and sit on the left-hand balcony. Yvesse, tears in her eyes, kissed her son and then Unt. Sandy wrung Unt’s hand, gave his shoulder a final squeeze and said, “Good luck, son.”

Unt felt a tug at his fingers. Jenna was pulling at them. “Good luck, Unt,” she whispered in that very loud way children do. “I hope you get a nice wife.”

Unt patted her head as Sandy stopped, realised she’d been left behind and came back to retrieve her. “Come on, sweetheart, Unt’s got to go now,” he said as he led her away.

Bull was ahead of Unt now. He looked over his shoulder and the two shared a look that Unt could only guess at. He waited for Unt and they then stood behind others as the benches became occupied. They filled from the back and when their time came, Unt and Bulton got the second row from the front, near dead-centre of the line. A girl called Angel sat on Unt’s other side. He knew her by name but not much else and he gave her little attention.

Directly ahead stood the Council desk. Its heavy wooden panels faced off against the throng like a barricade, keeping the people from the men who would oversee today’s outcome. Those men would be waiting in the wings and would only emerge once the ceremony was ready to begin.

Unt’s own bench was well-varnished and worn smooth by a thousand backsides that had sat there before his. The fine material of his outfit glided across the polished surface and Unt struggled to hold still.

As he tried to get settled, his eyes set on the most prominent object in the room. A great panel, as broad as the Council desk, was hung behind the desk itself. Made of walnut, like his clock, its surface was covered in a list of numbers and beside each number were two pairs of hooks.

Each number represented one of the Fall’s participants and the hooks beside it were for hanging plaques. The left-hand side was for the first part of the draw and would be used to show each candidate’s post as it was decided. The right-hand side was for the second part of the draw, when spouses were assigned.

Unt’s own number was seventy-two and he automatically looked for it. There was no point, of course: there was nothing beside it yet. There was nothing beside any of the numbers. It was a map of the future but as yet, it was blank. The suspense would come later on as those places filled in and the field became narrower and narrower.

Getting himself positioned at last, Unt fixed his attention on the back of the bench before him. In front of each candidate were two off-white sheets of paper: the Order of Ceremonies and the Table of Vacant Posts. They were there for reference throughout the ceremon
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The Order of Ceremonies described how the Fall would proceed and the manner in which results would be decided. The Table of Vacant Posts listed all the jobs that were up for grabs today and gave the Order those posts belonged to.

Unt knew the procedure but he glanced over the Order of Ceremonies anyway. After everyone had declared their intent to participate, the candidates’ numbers would be drawn at random. The candidate would then roll their dice and the number they rolled would be the Order number they were assigned to. From there, they would roll again to decide their specific job in the Order.

It was simple enough in principle but then there were the modifiers. The youngsters’ educational records and the Work Experience over the past year had been used to create three modifiers. These modifiers were there to nudge the right person into the right job while keeping to the spirit of Chance. The idea was that it made no sense for a brilliant mind to be digging ditches or a man who couldn’t read spending his life as a clerk.

The first influence was the Aptitude Modifier. This was a straight-forward split between brains and brawn. A negative Aptitude Modifier meant you were more intelligent and a positive number mean you were a physical person. The Aptitude Modifier was added or deducted from the dice score to give an Order number more suited to the candidate. Those who had an aptitude for both or for neither would have a neutral score and their career could fall either way.

The second influence was the Talent Modifier. This identified if there was a particular Order a candidate was well-suited for. If, after the first modifier was applied, the candidate’s score was close enough to that Order, they would be placed there instead of whatever Order Number they had rolled.

The final modifier only applied once the candidate’s Order had been determined. This was the Vocational Map and it was personal to each candidate. It set out what results would get them which job and made it more likely that the candidate would get the post they were best-suited for within their Order.

Unt’s fingers drifted to his pocket and curled around a triple-folded square of paper. He couldn’t see it but he knew it was orange and that written on it were a raft of figures. Those were the record of his own modifiers. The officials would have a ledger recording everybody’s details but each candidate had a copy of their own figures too. They all knew their numbers by heart but that wouldn’t stop people checking them throughout the morning.

He suppressed the urge to take it out to look at and instead glanced over at the other sheet, the Table of Vacant Posts. There were a hundred and seventeen posts listed on it - one for every candidate - and they were all grouped into their Orders.

The positions available had been predetermined by the Council. Some would be existing posts that had to be filled after death or infirmity. For the others, the Councillors would have rolled against complex charts to judge what new posts were needed.

Unt looked down the list at the familiar Order headings. The Councillors were Order-Number Two; the Medics were Order-Number Three; the Educators were Four, the Managers were Five and the Clerks were Six. They were the more mentally-driven Orders.

Order Seven was the Functionaries. That was the catch-all Order for any post that didn’t fit in with the others. It was an unspoken truth that the Functionaries were looked downup on because its members were judged to have no specific skills.

Orders Eight and Nine were the Makers and the Labourers respectively. The Makers were skilled craftsmen in jobs such as carpentry or plumbing. The Labourers were the workforce for areas such as building and farming.

The Tenth Order, the Protectors, were the most militant group. They included the Rangers who patrolled the settlement’s borders, the Beadles who kept the peace and the Fire-fighters.

Order Eleven was the Hauliers. Their defining feature was their physical power and they were called on for the jobs that needed the most strength. Lumberjacks, Miners and Transporters were all in this Order.

The final Order was number Twelve, the Artisans. They were a law unto themselves. Some of its members had the physical ability of dancers while others had the creative intelligence of poets, but these abilities didn’t fit with the settlement’s idea of mental aptitude which was far more practical. Creative types were given a high Aptitude Modifier to push them toward this Order where their lack of usefulness wasn’t a problem.

Unt looked from Order Six down. All those Orders had members who were very able at what they did but the direction was provided by the Managers. That was the Order he was interested in. It included three Farm Manager posts and he would be keeping a keen eye on what happened with them.

Unt liked his chances. He had a negative aptitude that pulled him toward the lower-number Orders and a Talent Modifier that targeted him on the Managers.

The Vocational Map was very important to Unt: to get into the Managers was the first order of business but a placement as Farm Manager was the dream. Unt had shown the highest Talent for Farming Theory so, as long as he got into the right Order and got there before the positions were all filled, he should find himself slotting in nicely. For now, though, all he could do was wait.

*              *              *              *

The participants’ benches filled quickly but the viewing galleries took longer and they all had to wait for the shuffling movement to stop. At last, a gong sounded - the smaller, finer cousin of the one that had called them in. A door opened and a young man in ceremonial robes appeared. Behind him came a procession of three older men.

First was Councillor Kelly, current Leader of the Council. He was fifty-ish with a portly sort of face and red cheeks that looked like they’d been scratched in an accident with a rose bush. His small, watery eyes were hidden behind a pair of thick-rimmed glasses. His hair was short, wiry, curled and yellow - the type that never seemed to lose colour with age.

Kelly looked slightly out of breath but he was positively vigorous next to his two followers. They could only be the Clerks of the Fall, an offshoot of the Order of Clerks whose annual function was to perform this ceremony.

They were old men of the first generation; so old that they seemed to be made of dust. To describe them as death-warmed-up would be generous. They were like mummified corpses and their slow, ceremonial march had nothing to do with gravitas: it was all they could manage.