The Garments of Caean

Now he was expatiating on the advantages of supervised – in other words bureaucratic – resource allocation as apposed to the free decisions of market-oriented entrepreneurs. ‘It works like this,’ he said in a dry voice. ‘Whenever the government wants something done it can go about it in one of two ways. It can invite tenders, that is to say, it can buy whatever it is it wants on the open market. Or it can interfere with the course of business, dictating which firms will do what. That is the method I favour and which we are putting into effect with the E-Co-Net, and it is the best method, and I will tell you why. Take the first method. Governments invariably have more money than prudence. When a firm finds it has the government for a customer then that government gets swindled for all it’s worth. Now take the second case. Government officials who have the power to dictate to firms will be bribed. Those firms who do not want the work will bribe the officials not to allocate it their way. Firms who can complete the government’s requirements with ease will, for the sake of profit, again bribe the officials. A bribed official takes care to acquaint himself with the business of both ends. He is much more knowledgeable than the honest civil servant living off his salary. He makes a fortune, but the government gets the job done for less money. In a phrase, graft serves the Directorate better than incompetence. What do you say, Forbarth?’

Peder, already aware that corruption and self-seeking were so cynically accepted that they had become an established instrument of administration, was not surprised to hear this rationalization. He had already heard it from Severon’s lips, in a indirect way, when the Minister had insinuated how much good they could do one another once Peder was installed in the E-Co-Net. He laughed suavely. ‘A realistic appraisal, Minister.’ He launched into his own animated version of Severon’s words, arguing that only a man who knew how to do himself some good could do his nation good, and illustrating the argument with countless anecdotes. Severon nodded sagely, his lips curling in amusement. ‘True, Peder, true.’

‘Enjoying the ball, Forbarth, huh?’

Peder was startled to hear the rasping, commanding voice behind him. He turned. Baryonid Varl Vascha stood eyeing him with narrowed brows, as if weighing him up.

He smiled and put on all his charm. ‘An unqualified success, Minister!’

Vascha grunted and lumbered away.

Peder did not allow the Third Minister’s apparent grumpiness to spoil his own enjoyment of the evening. There was plenty here for him to take advantage of. He talked, he drank, he danced, he won the infatuation of Aselle Klister. He did not utter a word or make a move that was not, from the point of view of the social graces, flawless. He moved through the gathering with all the elegance and panache of a gorgeously plumed cock through a barnyard full of hens.

A press photographer moved in and took a shot of him with Aselle clinging to his arm. Directorate officials, including the Thirteenth Minister, and their wives framed the couple.

‘Oh, we’ll be on the newscast tomorrow!’ Aselle giggled.

‘If we’re lucky.’ The newscasts would publish few pictures that did not feature the Third Minister himself.

It was still several hours before dawn when a footman approached Peder and coughed deferentially.

‘The Minister would appreciate a word with you, sir.’

‘With me?’ Peder gazed at him imperiously. ‘Which Minister?’

‘Why, Third Minister Vascha, sir. Would you care to follow me?’

The footman’s face was professionally blank, but Peder was puzzled by his slight stiffness of demeanour, which seemed to betoken something wrong.

He frowned and glanced to where Aselle was talking with her father. Leaving the footman to wait, he stepped over to her.

‘I have been called away for a short while, my dear,’ he said solicitously when he had caught her attention. ‘The Third Minister requests my presence. I hope he will not keep me too long.’

He followed the footman down a broad, winding staircase. While they were leaving the ballroom one of the displays arranged for the evening burst into life. Canisters were opened to release clouds of coloured smoke which wafted through the hall, eventually taking on a semi-solid consistency and assuming the forms of fantastic dragons and imaginary beasts. The multi-hued phantoms went slithering and twisting through the ballroom, knocking over tables and chairs, grappling with the guests, and creating general pandemonium.

Then the sounds of the ball were left behind. Peder descended into the deeper reaches of the palace where a calm, almost stifling silence prevailed. They entered a wing displaying a more modest style of architecture, the colour scheme consisting of harmonious blues and pale greens. Peder guessed that this was Vascha’s own private wing.