Chapter 9 Hat

        Ansle poured himself a mug of tea from the urn in the senior common room. As always, the liquid defied analysis; it never remotely tasted of tea, but it was a recognisable tea-like brown, hotter than lukewarm, and free. The biscuits were nothing approaching palatable, and most looked even older than the furniture.
        A dozen or so members of staff sat around, discussing, arguing, and writing on the infernal colourboard. As expected, Chewt was already seated, reading a paper on somatic illusions or some other damnfool idea, sipping at her over-milky coffee.
        Ansle walked over to her and sat down opposite. She looked up. Anyone else, and she'd have looked straight back down again, but this was the chancellor, she was his deputy, and he was the one person in the Academy that she didn't outrank.
        "Good morning, Professor," he opened, in as friendly a manner as he could muster.
        "Good morning, Chancellor," she answered, crisply, but not with malice.
        Ansle waited a moment, just long enough to worry her. "Last month, Chewt, I appointed you as the Academy's representative on The King's commission to look at the power structure in the democracies."
        She nodded, slowly. "Two weeks of gathering data, one week assimilating it, another week to compile the report."
        "It's finished, then?" He knew they'd finished four days ago.
        "I suppose you want a copy?"
        Of course he wanted a copy, stupid woman! "Well it would be rather useful, yes."
        Wearily, she put down her cup and reached for her briefcase. From inside, she withdrew a neatly bound, newly-printed booklet. She passed it to Ansle. "I was going to bring you that this afternoon," she stated, in a matter-of-fact sort of way. "I knew you'd want to read it, security breach or not."
        Always annoyingly efficient, Chewt. Indeed, always simply annoying.
        "Many thanks, I'll have it back to you in a couple of hours." He stood up, gulped the rest of his tea so as to taste it as little as possible, and left for his office. Chewt watched his departure, then kicked off a shoe, pulled a leg up beneath herself, and returned to her paper.

* * *


        The commission's report made interesting reading. They had managed a more in-depth study than Ansle had supposed, succeeding in identifying key figures in the government, army, civil service and in industry. There were about a thousand names. Remove that thousand people, substitute your own, and the country was yours, complete and intact. Nice idea; he wondered what a list for the magic-using states would look like...
        By now, Justan would have read his own copy, and consulted the generals. If they were to eliminate all the individuals named on the list, they'd need magic. The magical support regiment was attached to the Academy, and Ansle was its (largely honorary) colonel-in-chief. The Academy also had the only legal research group for magically-based warfare, its Military Science Department. Through its Education Centre, the Academy recruited and trained spies, assassins, and other government agents.
        He'd doubtless be hearing from Justan shortly...
        A study of the democracies, however, meant The King already had well-developed plans for the Davians and the Voths. Ansle had personally arranged the gathering of intelligence concerning the Messenger's forces, and had drawn up a set of alternative scenarios for consideration. It was clear in all of them that if the Messenger could take control of Akrea's and Estavia's armies, then even with all the magic in the world Justan would be unable to stop him. That was why he was moving now, two years before his own war machinery would be fully ready, and why Ansle was prepared to back him. It was deeply worrying to Ansle, however, that he knew nothing of how The King intended to take Davia.
        The hour bell rang. He'd best return the report now; a pity he hadn't had time to copy it. He was smitten by a sudden idea for a 2D replication device: you could use the ubiquitous Chewt-Farmer to scale down the image, and again to re-enlarge sections later when you wanted to read them, as they were doing in the new colourboards. The whole thing would fit in a couple of sheets of bound glass, using the left one for storing the shrunken copy, and the right for input and display. He smiled to himself, both surprised and pleased. Yes, it might well work! Why had no- one thought of it before? They had large market research programmes to assess what it was people wanted, surely this sort of thing would have been indicated? He'd mention it when he spoke to Porett later that afternoon.

* * *


        Porett never seemed to be busy. Whenever Ansle called, there he was, right by his comsphere, always had time to answer, never in a meeting. Once, Ansle had deliberately tapped in when he knew Porett was due to be dining with an Estavian merchant, yet he'd still answered. What did he do all day, sit around waiting for his crystal ball to glow?
        It came as something of a jolt, then, when Porett's face did not appear as the green incandescence hazed out. It was Elidia, his secretary. Young face, all severe contrast: dark eyes, hair, lips, pale skin.
        "Elidia? Where's Porett?"
        Elidia smiled that sweet, patronising smile she reserved for all powerful people who weren't perhaps quite as well-informed as she. "Dr Porett is using his comsphere, Chancellor Ansle, he's transferred incoming calls to me."
        Ansle sighed. "Yet another irksome feature to which we'll all have to accustom ourselves when he finally puzzles out how to make another mark 3... Well have him call me back when he's finished, would you?"
        "Of course, Chancellor. Goodbye." She tapped out, the mindless, sing-song voice she affected still grating on Ansle's nerves. She reminded him of a younger version of Chewt, but with about fifty times the ambition. She, too, would probably never marry.

* * *


        When his comsphere radiated its emerald glimmer (well, that's how the blurb on the box had described it), he was standing at the blackboard. This copier idea really did have potential. That would be Porett now, he'd see whether Technologies were interested.
        It wasn't Porett, it was Chewt. A very worried Chewt.
        "Chancellor, it's missing - my copy of the report."
        "Missing? But I returned it you about an hour ago."
        "I know, but it's gone. I had it on my desk with some other things, and they've gone too."
        "I see. Have you remained in your office since I left?"
        "Yes. I've already checked for an illusion, but everything is clear; the report has definitely gone."
        "Very well, I accept that it's `gone'... I'll come over."

* * *


        Her office was, in its own way, almost as well-planned as his. Whereas he relied on old things of character to imbue the room with that certain mood he required, she preferred to make the whole place look like the lounge of a country hotel. Lots of well-padded chairs, even a sofa; low tables with high-brow magazines methodically arranged on them, respect- able books within easy reach, everything insufferably neat and tidy. The incongruous colourboard beside the window was always a vague source of amusement, though.
        When he arrived, she was wringing her hands, pacing the floor. She looked relieved; an unusual show of emotion. "So where was it you left the booklet?"
        "Over here, Chancellor." She indicated an empty place on her glass-topped desk.
        "How did you come to notice it was missing?"
        "I was reading a paper. I glanced up for some reason, and just realised that the report was gone. So was everything in the pile beneath it.
        "Was there a binder on it?"
        "No, I didn't get around to placing one. I was reading when you returned it, I thought I'd bind it later."
        "You did move it, though; I remember putting it down somewhere over here."
        She waved a hand. "Well it was in the wrong place, things to take home go over there."
        "What else were you taking home?"
        Chewt thought a moment. "Books," she said, "and some designs to mark..." She touched her forehead. "I had a Porett Technologies manual for my comsphere, some patches to upgrade it to a comsphere-2."
        "Rather than mess about re-establishing connections, yes... When did you acquire this manual?"
        "One of my old students dropped in this morning; he works for Porett, and left it behind for me. He unbound it, but that's all he did."
        "And it was on the bottom of the pile?"
        "Yes, I think so, I can't be sure but..."
        "Very well, Chewt, I think I know what's happened. Let me clear it with The King, don't worry about it any more."
        Chewt looked very appreciative. "That's especially good of you, Chancellor, I'm grateful." Of course, she still had to ask. "But how did it disappear, then?"
        "Have you heard of Porett's Trans/Disc project?" She frowned, puzzled, which didn't surprise Ansle any. "Well," he continued, "it's a way of moving objects from one place to another."
        She nodded. "You think Porett wanted to see the report and concealed such a Trans/Disc in the binder?"
        "It's worth considering," he answered. "Leave it with me."
        As he left, Ansle put on his `understanding uncle' face, trusting that his worries weren't apparent to Chewt. A couple of days ago as he'd passed her office, he'd heard her speculating about the Trans/Disc project with one of her students. They'd correctly guessed the problem it addressed, since it was a continuance of basic research begun by Ansle's predecessor, but they'd completely underestimated the granularity of Porett's solution. `Trans/Disc' meant "Transfer/Disconnect", the objects used were the size of rowing boats, and there were only two of them, 900 K gestures invested in each.
        She was certain to rediscover the lost document when she learned of her mistake...


Copyright © Richard A. Bartle (richard@mud.co.uk)
21st January 1999: isif9.htm