PUTER (HOCK)
Meyor Puter Bones rubbed his temples and gazed out of the window of his city hall office as he waited for the morning briefing from his assistant, Joob. The skies above the distant Gardelas were striking with their emphatic blue hues and succulent clouds that drifted over the Trintan countryside. In the immediate vicinity, however, the city streets of Oblatref provided a harsh and disheartening contrast. Dirty mist clung to the lower levels of dilapidated buildings, while the harbour appeared squalid and the surrounding roads and avenues were covered in a layer of filth. Puter imagined the vermin – both rodent and human – scurrying around in the dirt, and he could almost smell the stink of the place through the glass windows and thick walls. The only structure that wasn’t seemingly covered in excrement was the pristine Prime Domol – a grand stone temple adjacent to the city hall and home to the region’s faith leaders, the Arch-Cognatus Committee. Puter sneered as he saw its windows sparkling and sunlight reflecting off the marble walls. As Meyor of Trintan’s capital city, he held the highest office in the region, but the Committee were the ones really in charge, and they controlled the populace through a combination of spiritual bullying and actual bullying. His cousin, the Rix, permitted them to run things as they saw fit so long as the people remained compliant, and production of the taxable bush leaf continued unabated. Guilting stupid Gardelan farmers into the belief that growing bush was their duty was something the Committee excelled at. Providing for one’s family was – after all – what the Sacred Father decreed in the hallowed texts. Puter had to tolerate the Committee’s presence and behaviours, no matter how much he hated them. They treated him like a minion despite his position and despite his family connections to the Regum Court. No one else in the city knew about his family history or that Puter was not in fact his birth name. His mother had named him after Rix Hock – a celebrated military leader in Pentan, who in Trintan was remembered as a tyrant. The name had become somewhat of a swearword and certainly wasn’t conducive to a successful career in politics. Puter wanted to carve out his own path – free from the interferences and expectations of his family, and ideally free from the cruddy Committee getting in his way. That was his primary objective and one day he would make it happen, and he would show them all – his cousin and the rest of them – what he was really capable of.
“I almost have it, Sir,” Joob said, interjecting between Puter’s thoughts. His lips were black with ink, and he had a determined look on his face as he tried to adjust his goose-quill pen. He wore a new jacket and had applied something to his hair to make it stick to one side; evidently, Joob meant business after returning from his scholarly sabbatical at the Prime Domol Collegiate of Trade and Craft. Puter was glad to have his assistant back, but in all honesty, many things were easier when Joob was away.
“For goodness’ sake, Joob. Do we need all this pomp? I just wanted a rundown of the morning updates from you.”
“In my lessons at the Prime Domol, they stressed the need for good organization and record-keeping. And that all starts with a well-maintained, functional quill.”
“Dear Family,” Puter said. “I only sent you there to spy on them.”
“I know, but the experience opened my eyes. It was a game-changer, in fact, and if we can apply my learnings from the studies to our practices here, we can take the processes and operating procedures to the next level.”
“A game-changer? Next level?” Puter shook his head. “The Committee are taking over schools and pushing harder to brainwash the idiot inhabitants of this region with their dogma and doctrines. That is what I wanted to know more about – not about games and levels.”
“But honestly, the lessons boosted my core competencies and really energized me.” Joob opened his workbook and laid it out on the table.
Puter stared at Joob. “Right. Just get on with it.”
Joob looked up and grinned. “I now officially open the morning briefing meeting of Lunday the eighth of Aprilis. Present is Meyor Puter Bones and Joob Hatter.”
“Finally,” Puter said through gritted teeth. “What have you got to share with me?”
“The first agenda point is Arch-Cognatus Turbert.”
Puter grimaced as he heard the name. Arch-Cognatus Turbert – otherwise known as Turbert the Pervert – was a member of the Cognati Committee and well known for his aberrant extracurricular activities.
“Oh, Sacred Father, what’s he done now?” Puter lifted his head as his neck and back stiffened.
“He was found by City Guards in the early hours drunk and disorderly in charge of a pig.”
“In charge of a pig? How might one be in charge of a pig?”
“Seems he was riding it, Sir.”
“Give me strength. Where was he?”
“Near the harbour.”
Puter rubbed his chin and sighed; the harbour was full of brothels and whorehouses, and Turbert was a known regular at the various venues – despite his oaths to the Sacred Family.
“The man is a disgrace,” Puter said. “A shambles of contradictions and shameless depravity. How dare he wear those robes and lead his faith in this city. This is a perfect example of why that group of old men are like poison for this region.”
“Perhaps we take that one offline, Sir?”
“Offline? Off what line, Joob?”
“Meaning, we hold off discussing it now, Sir. We can circle back after we cover the other topics.”
“You mean we return to it? Right, why not say that? But sure, let’s come back to that one. What’s next?”
Joob wrote something in his workbook, then locked his lips. “The second agenda item is the building work the stonemason is planning for the steps of the building. We now have a quote for the work.”
“Ah good, yes,” Puter said. “They’re in dire need of improvements. It’s only a matter of time before someone falls and breaks their neck on them. Who is the stonemason?”
“Er, not sure if you remember him. Bolgo?” Joob cocked his head to the side.
“Oh no, not that buffoon. Of course, I remember him. He’s the one that created the statue of Rix Lemo in the centre that looks like a monkey sat on a cake.”
“Well, the quality of the sculpting wasn’t entirely his fault. The sculptor had his own style…”
“You’re telling me. But he was in charge, and now we’re proposing we use him again?”
“How should I put it, Sir… the budget we must work with is modest, and he is cost-effective. Plenty of value add.”
“Alright, alright. If we must. How difficult can it be to fix some steps? Let’s move on – what else do we have to discuss?”
Joob looked down at the book, and then the expression on his face went from sober to ecstatic.
“Ah yes, agenda point three is something I’m most excited about, Sir. It’s about streamlining our work streams. Something I learned a lot about at the Prime Domol. There’s so much inefficiency in what we do: our teams are siloed, performance management isn’t tracked, and there’s a complete lack of engagement with the public. My studies have taught me so much of what we do is out of touch with the latest practices. If we action some of my ideas, it could lead to a paradigm shift in how things run around here.”
“Dear Family, what are you talking about, Joob? Did they teach you another language at this trade school?”
“Indeed, I may have learnt a few new terms and concepts as part of my education. But ultimately what I’m trying to do is challenge our conventions. Get us thinking outside the box.”
“Well, let’s take that off the line as well and move on to the next point – I need the priorities.”
“Maybe we can start with the low-hanging fruit?”
“If you’re hungry, I suggest you go down to the kitchen. I said next.”
Joob dropped his head. “Right, well, maybe we’ll park that one until we can run it up the flagpole.” Joob wrote something on the parchment and then looked down the list.
“I’ll run it up your flagpole if we don’t move on to the next item soon,” Puter said.
He sat back in his chair and glanced over at the Prime Domol. This is what they did, he thought. They infected minds and tapped into weakness to exert their control. Poor Joob was only there for a few weeks, and he’d returned speaking in tongues and wielding strange ideas. It was clear their methods were working and their influence increasing. Controlling what people learnt meant controlling how they thought. If he weren’t so annoyed by their ways, he would have been impressed by them. They were smart, Puter thought, but ultimately, he was smarter. He just needed the right opportunity and if he could remain patient, his time would come. He would show them, he would show them all.
