The Fall of Chance Page 6

  Kelly now resumed the opening address. “Today is the fifty-seventh Fall of Chance. That is fifty-seven years our community has stood firm in a chaotic world. This chaos is a chaos of man’s making. It is man’s interference, his will, his selfish nature and narrow agendas that bring anarchy to the world.

  “We, as a people, have chosen to reject the governing hand that our own desire would use to imprison us. We have cast our fate to Chance. It is natural for all things to find a serene equilibrium and it is the interference of will that prevents such order. For there is order in chaos and in embracing Chance, we are in fact embracing order.

  “There were twenty-three of us there that day, fifty-seven years ago, at the first Fall of Chance. Then, as now, it was not easy to put aside what we hoped for and to accept the hand that was dealt us. It is no easy thing to surrender to Chance but by accepting our fate, our energies become focused and the community can prosper.

  “The merit of our philosophy can be seen in the many lost souls who have come to us over the years. These people have been wandering their own path but found no value in it. They have decided to join us and have chosen to surrender to Fate.”

  Kelly was no great orator and everyone was familiar with the traditional words but they could all feel the import of the occasion. In spite of themselves, all the young folk were listening carefully.

  “Now, it is your turn to choose.” Kelly spoke directly to the candidates. “I must be absolutely clear that participation must not be imposed upon you. You have been raised in the traditions of this community and have been preparing for this occasion all your young lives, but even at this late stage, if you wish, you can withdraw.

  “This is your last opportunity to exercise free will in all but trivial matters. It is not something that should be given up lightly, but know this: a person who does not bind himself to Chance cannot become part of this community.

  “It is a sad fact that the discord of such a presence would shatter our delicate harmony. Anyone who is unable to take the vow must, regrettably, be asked to leave, never to return.”

  And there, thought Unt, was the rub. They might give people the choice to follow society’s rules or live a self-governed life alone, but it was really no choice at all. This was a group of kids with no life experience and no idea what lay out in the world beyond the boundaries of the settlement.

  There could only really be one choice but, cynical as he felt, there wasn’t a shred of doubt in his own selection. The guiding hand of Fate went much deeper than an idea: it was a moral certainty.

  Kelly left a pause just long enough to give the choice credence and then carried on. “At this point, I will ask three questions. The first will be put to the families here-gathered. Its purpose is to confirm that the person they are here to sponsor is here of their own volition.

  “The second question shall be put to the participants themselves. They too will be asked to confirm that they take part by their own choice. They will then face the final question. They will be asked to declare that they wish to take part in and adhere to the results of the Fall.”

  He shuffled on the spot, building up to it. “Sponsors,” he called out, “do you attest to the truth that the person who you pledge for is here of their own free will and participates without force, threat or manipulation?”

  As he listened to the words, Unt read them off the Order of Ceremonies. Even if he hadn’t been able to see them, weekly drills had imprinted them onto his memory. Now they played like familiar music in the background, listened to and not listened to at the same time.

  “We do so attest it,” the sponsors droned in chorus. Somewhere among those voices, one voice spoke for Unt. It had only been at the start of this week that he’d realised that he had no sponsor. The sponsor was normally a parent but Unt had none. He’d had to ask Yvesse and when he did, she cried and then got approval from the Council. It hadn’t occurred to him until that moment that he was stealing her away from Bull.

  There were no words of disagreement or, if there were, they were so drowned out by the chorus that they didn’t matter. Satisfied, Kelly continued. “Participants, I now ask you: do you hereby attest that you are here of your own free will and participate without force, threat or manipulation?”

  Unt found the words automatically. “I do so attest it.” The same answer was repeated all around him. It felt almost like he wasn’t saying it himself.

  Kelly held his glasses by thumb and forefinger around one lens and pulled them down to peer over. “Very good,” he said, “And so we come to the last and most important question: Do you, the participant, confirm your intention to be part of this ceremony, to abide with its results and to hereafter accept the law and spirit of the community?”

  Kelly didn’t ask for a sign but all the same, they each knew there was a particular one they had to make. This was the most important question and they needed to show their agreement so there could be no doubt. A hundred and seventeen right-hands thumped across chests and with fists on heart, they announced, “I do confirm it.”

  Kelly resumed. “Let it be recorded that all participants have signalled their consent to these proceedings.”

  Croker, head bowed, scratched away with his pen, coughed as though clearing the dust from his tongue and in a voice to match his name rasped, “It is so recorded.”

  “We will now proceed to the draw,” said Kelly.

  All eyes went to the pot that sat in front of Morley. It was an ominous sphere of blackened glass. There was something baleful about it, as though it swelled with the resentment of all the bad luck that had ever come out of it. For the first time, Unt felt real concern.

  “Balls will be drawn at random by Mr Morley,” Kelly explained. “He will then read the number of the ball. Mr Croker will announce and record the corresponding participant.

  He turned his head to face the clerks. “Mr Morley, would you draw the first number please?”

  The words were like a necromantic spell, waking the dead. Morley looked like he would have jerked in surprise, were he capable of such quick movement. A claw-like hand extended toward the pot, robes hanging heavily from his arm. It descended into the concealed black centre and emerged clutching a small reddish-brown ball. The ball was polished to a high shine with gold numbering. Uncertain fingers worked the ball until the number was facing his shrivelled eye. He brought it close to within a few inches, wheezed a cough and announced, “Number sixty-three”.

  The words were like a slow-motion trigger to Morley’s counterpart, Croker. He gave the same almost-jerk as his colleague and began running his finger down the list. Unt could see him carefully scanning over all the preceding numbers: tens, twenties, thirties. This wasn’t showmanship, it was just a desecrated old mind at work. If this was going to be the standard every time, they were in for a long wait.

  At last, the finger fell upon entry sixty-three and its corresponding name. “Stryker!” Croker declared.

  The kids all looked to a long-haired boy who Unt knew casually. He was sat a dozen places to Unt’s right. It took a moment for those in the crowd who didn’t know him to catch on but very quickly, all eyes were on Stryker. He sat there, pale and wide-eyed with his mouth gaping fish-wise.

  “Mr Stryker,” said Kelly, “Rise, cast your dice and announce the score to the assembly.”

  Stryker staggered to his feet and with a trembling hand, did as instructed. The noise of the cubes falling on wood was small but loud in the dead-still chamber where six hundred people watched expectantly. The dice rebounded from a lip at the top of the bench, continued to roll briefly and then quickly settled.

  The twelve people between Unt and Stryker were leaning to peer past one-another in order to read the result. Unt couldn’t see the tops of the dice but he could see the sides. From this angle, Stryker’s red die showed a two and a six; the white one showed a three and a two. A lifetime of rolling dice meant Unt didn’t need to see the tops to know that Stryker had rolled a three and a six. />
  “Nine!” squeaked Stryker just as Unt got the same score.

  “Let it be recorded that Mr Stryker rolled a nine,” Kelly spoke to Morley who stooped his head further and began etching in his claw-like hand.

  Kelly looked through his own list, much quicker than Croker and arrived at Stryker’s figures. “Mr Stryker,” he said, “You have a neutral Aptitude Modifier and a Talent Modifier of one in favour of the Craftsmen. Your Aptitude-Modified score of nine is within your Talent Range. You are hereby entered into the Order of Craftsmen.”

  He’d rolled a nine and the Order of Craftsmen was number eight but as he was within one place of that number, his Talent Modifier of one had pulled him into the Craftsmen.

  The look on Stryker’s face might have been relief or could equally have been disappointment. He was too fraught with worry to tell but just because someone had shown a Talent for a particular Order, that wasn’t always where they wanted to be.

  Kelly consulted another page, just as people around the Hall were doing with their own papers. They were checking for what posts were available among the Makers.

  “There are five openings within the Order of Makers,” he read out, “One glazier, one furniture-maker, a cooper, a plumber and a wheelwright. Your Vocational Map will give posts as follows: one to five: glazier; six to seven: furniture-maker; eight to nine: cooper; ten, plumber; and eleven to twelve: wheelwright. Please roll.”

  Stryker rolled again. This time, Unt couldn’t see past the crowd at all but he soon heard the boy say, “Five”.

  Kelly looked at his chart and confirmed. “Mr Stryker, I confirm you to the post of glazier.”

  Stryker slumped forward on his bench, head in hands. Unt guessed it was a good result from the way his neighbours thumped his back enthusiastically. And so it had begun: one post was down, a hundred and sixteen more remained.

  * * * *

  The results rolled on in after that as Morley and Croker slowly came to life. A girl called Letty joined the Educators and a boy called Shep joined the Clerks. Two more joined the Labourers in quick succession and then a girl known for singing joined the Artisans.

  Unt listened to each one as far as the Order was determined but once it was clear they weren’t a threat to his post he lost interest. His heart was in his mouth as two of the next three fell within the Managers but one became a surveyor and another became a stores overseer.

  It was a relief but it was a mix of good and bad news. The good news was that if Unt got into the right Order, some of the posts he didn’t want were gone. The bad news was that if anyone else got into the Order before him, there was a better chance they’d get his post.

  The first thing to get his attention outside his own interests was when Bull became the tenth person to be drawn. As Kelly called Bull’s name and Unt looked over, he realised with surprise that his friend looked gripped with terror. Beads of sweat studded the short hairs around his temples, he gripped the bench as though to hold himself in place and Kelly had to ask him twice before he heard the instruction to roll.

  Despite his usual blasé manner, Unt knew how much Bull wanted a place among the Medics. It was strange how someone so brash had such a tender, nurturing side.

  Unfortunately for Bull, his great blocky form didn’t do him any favours. He wasn’t dumb but he wasn’t the smartest either and the Medics were one of the more mentally-driven groups. Bull was going in with an Aptitude Modifier of plus-two which would pull him in the opposite direction to where he wanted to go. If it wasn’t for the fact that their secret had upped his Talent Modifier, Bull would have had next to no chance.

  He rolled. Unt watched the dice, as familiar as his own. Bull’s dice were larger than normal and were unusual in being black and red. The pips of the dice were fuming eyes: red eyes on the black die and gold eyes on the red. Bull liked to think they looked fierce but right now they looked more frightening to him than anyone else.

  The scattering dice trickle-tapped on the dark, heavy wood and settled quickly. Two pairs of eyes looked back up at Unt. Double two: a score of four. He checked Bull who seemed transfixed. A worm-wriggle of a crease played across his brow as he checked and rechecked what that score meant to him.

  “Well?” asked Kelly peevishly.

  “Er, four,” Bull replied. His mind seemed detached from whatever automatic response had allowed him to speak.

  Bull might be struggling to comprehend the score but as Kelly looked to his sheet, Unt’s chest knotted as he worked it out and realisation dawned. Elation and worry wrestled violently under his ribs as Kelly put voice to the realisation.

  “Let it be recorded that Mr Bulton has rolled a four.” Kelly looked sternly at Bull who stared back wide-eyed. “Mr Bulton, you have an Aptitude Modifier of plus-two and a Talent Modifier of three in favour of the Medics. Your Aptitude-Modified score of six is within your Talent Range. You are hereby entered into the order of Medics.”

  So there it was. Bull had scraped into the Order he wanted by a point: one of the two he’d been awarded after the incident at the river. That false credit had got him the position he wanted and now they were guilty of fraud. It had been a kind thing to do and this was the best of outcomes but somehow, it didn’t feel good.

  It didn’t feel bad either, though. The guilt and the gladness didn’t cancel each other out. Unt felt happy and kind, guilty and fearful, and all those emotions filled him to the brim. His feelings were like two vines wrapped around each other, each struggling for ascendancy, pushing off one another and pulling them down in the same motion.

  “Well done, mate,” he grinned and gave Bull a dig in the shoulder.

  The Order of Medics had no specific posts. The Order waited until its recruits had been in-post a while and their strengths and weaknesses had been identified. What Bull’s strengths might be, Unt could only guess, but for now, it meant that Bull had nothing further to decide.

  As Unt’s attention went back to his own problems, Bull seemed to come back to his usual self. By the time the Fall had rolled on past the next person, his mood was buoyant.

  Unt tried to brood over his future but Bull hung around the edge of his perception, a persistent, elastic energy that bounced around like a rubber ball. It irked Unt a bit and that irritation only increased as the next dozen posts fell to people he didn’t care about in posts that didn’t concern him. It was only when Crystal was called that his attention spiked.

  Everything went very much to plan for her. Both her parents were doctors, she was smart and she had a whopping Talent Modifier of five in favour of the Medical Order. It worked out that only a double-six could bring about any other result. She rolled an eight and went exactly where expected.

  If Unt got the post he hoped for and anticipated, Crystal was unlikely to be his wife. Bull, on the other hand, shared the same Order and was in with a decent shot. An elbow to the ribs brought attention to that fact, as though he could have missed it.

  Dour old Olissa came shortly after and wound up as a plumber. Unt had no idea how that came about but it seemed somehow fitting. Colun, annoying idiot that he was, came along next and fell into the same Order of Makers. He would be a furniture maker, like his father. Perhaps Colun and Olissa would end up as a couple: it might suit them and it would be a dodged bullet for everyone else.

  It somehow seemed logical that Mélie would come after her friend but the system was designed to avoid logic. She didn’t come out in any of the draws that followed.

  Neither did Unt. The day had started with twelve posts up for grabs in the Managers Order: two Farm Managers and ten others. Two had fallen early on but there was a long gap before the next one fell. After that, they came up and were assigned at fairly regular intervals. Each time, Unt felt fear, then hope when the person got one of the other posts instead. But the field was constantly narrowing and he knew his danger was increasing.

  He imagined a room lit by twelve lamps. When all the lamps had been lit, the room had been full of abundant radiance b
ut as each post went, so did one of the lamps and the room in his head grew dimmer. The loss was imperceptible at first, but as the number of lamps fell, each loss became more significant. The darkness threatened ever-faster.

  On the sixth time that the Managers Order was selected, the first Farm Manager post went. A mousey nothing of a girl named Kel fell into it after her Aptitude Modifier pulled her down from the Clerks. Unt was irritated by the bounce of her curly hair and her steel-rimmed glasses as she nodded her head in excitement.

  It was a big dent to his hopes but he still had a good chance at that point. There were sixty-three places filled at that point: more than halfway through and so long as Unt came up soon, he figured he’d be ok.

  But time ticked over, the numbers kept getting drawn and the posts kept filling. Three other Manager posts had been taken by the time the eighty-fourth candidate was finished. Three posts remained for the Order and one of those was Unt’s.

  Mélie came and went and Unt barely noticed, except to register relief that she wasn’t a Manager. She did well for herself, taking the last Educator post. She was the eighty-ninth candidate and that left twenty-eight left to be drawn.

  At ninety-seven, the world fell in. A wet-mouthed, woolly-headed sap by the name of Kroos took the last Farm Manager job. Unt’s heart and head dropped. He’d met the edge of despair. His future had been dashed and Kroos, hands on cheeks, was actually moaning that he hadn’t got another post.

  And Kroos should have got that job too. He had rolled bang on the money for the Medic post he was after but all the jobs in that Order had gone and one of those jobs had gone to Bull. It was painful to watch someone be handed his dream and then toss it to the floor but far worse was the realisation that he’d done this to himself.