The Ministry of SUITs

by Paul Gamble

  “One of the Ministry scientists tried. He invented a hat that was made of unusually strong metals alloys that could take any impact.”

  “And that saved him from falling birds?” Jack asked.

  “Well, yes, but unfortunately the hat was so heavy that the first time he strapped it on he broke his neck and killed himself.”

  Jack and Trudy both shuddered at this piece of ghoulish information.

  “That’s him over there,” said Grey, pointing.

  Jack turned and saw a skeleton with a hat the size of a caravan strapped onto the skull.

  “They didn’t even take him away?” asked Jack, feeling queasy.

  “No one could figure out how to undo the straps,” said Grey. “And the hat’s far too heavy to lift.”

  Jack looked up at the clouds and decided that he wanted to get out of the store as soon as possible. He couldn’t help feeling that this visit to the quartermaster wasn’t going to help them that much in their quest to save David.

  In the center of the room there was a wide counter, and behind that there were row upon row upon row of filing cabinets. They seemed to go on forever and stretched up into the clouds.

  Grey leaned against the counter in a nonchalant manner and sharply struck a small golden bell that sat on top of it.

  At the sound of the ding a tiny man popped up from behind the counter.

  “Hello, Quartermaster,” said Grey.

  “Hello, Grey,” said the tiny man. “I thought you’d retired.”

  “Not retired, but not out on as many active missions these days. Anyway, breaking in a few new recruits.” Grey waved his hand at Trudy and Jack. “Trudy … Jack, this is the quartermaster. Quartermaster, this is Jack and Trudy.”

  Jack and Trudy took turns leaning over the counter to shake the quartermaster’s hand.

  Looking over the counter, Jack saw that the quartermaster was standing on a ladder and couldn’t have been much more than two and a half feet tall. But despite his height, he really wasn’t tiny. Rather, he looked more squashed—like a tall man compressed into a short man.

  “So what are you looking for?” the quartermaster asked.

  Trudy thought. They needed something that would allow them to rescue the kidnapped children from the mine. “Some kind of grappling hook. One that pulls a rope ladder after it. And it should fire from a gas-propelled gun.”

  Jack was impressed by how clear Trudy was about the equipment they needed. The quartermaster didn’t bat an eyelid—he had dealt with much more outlandish requests during his time at the Ministry. He nodded his head, climbed down off his ladder, and walked into the ranks of filing cabinets.

  Jack turned to Grey; he had a question to ask. “Grey…”

  “You want to know why the Quartermaster looks like a tall man squashed?”

  “Yes.”

  “You know the way that in the Ministry things aren’t always what they first appear? In the case of the quartermaster he is exactly what he looks like.”

  “He’s really a tall man who’s been squashed?” said Jack.

  “Gradually squashed, yes. When I first came here he was just over three feet tall. The problem is that he keeps falling off the ladders that he uses to get to the top of the filing cabinets.”

  “But surely that would kill him?” said Trudy.

  “Yes, it should kill him, but it doesn’t. The quartermaster figured out a system to avoid dying from such long falls.”

  “What is it?” asked Trudy.72

  “When he’s falling he only falls part of the way at a time.”

  “I’m sorry?” said Jack, who really wasn’t in the slightest bit sorry.

  “It’s like this. Say, he falls off a ladder at a height of ten thousand feet…”

  Grey was interrupted by a sudden yell in the distance.

  “O-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h, R-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-tsssss.”

  The yell sounded as if it was far away but getting closer. Jack guessed, quite correctly, that this was the sound of the Quartermaster falling off a ladder somewhere.

  Grey stood still, as if he was waiting for something. Jack and Trudy decided that it was best to do the same. After a few minutes had passed they heard a slight thump. It sounded as if someone had dropped a large shopping bag onto a kitchen floor. Grey seemed reassured when he heard this and carried on with his explanation.

  “Now say the quartermaster falls from a height of ten thousand feet—most people would panic and fall all ten thousand feet in one go. But not the clever quartermaster.”

  “So what does he do, then?”

  “He falls the ten thousand feet by splitting it up into five thousand falls of two feet. Now, if a man falls ten thousand feet, he’ll die, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Now on the other hand, if he falls two feet, five thousand times, he won’t die, right?”

  “Okay, that makes sense … sort of … But why does he look all squashed?” asked Trudy.

  “Well, even a fall of two feet subjects your body to a bit of strain. Now, if you subject your body to that strain five thousand times, then it adds up. In the end all the forces, from all the falls, all add up, and you get ever so slightly shorter—squashed.”

  “So every time I fall I get shorter?” asked Jack.

  “Well, yes,” said Grey, “but only a really, really tiny amount. Have you ever noticed how short old people are? That’s because they also tend to fall over a lot.”

  “Babies tend to fall over a lot as well,” observed Trudy.

  “Well, exactly,” agreed Grey, “and look at how short they are.”

  “It’s not the strangest thing I’ve heard in the last few days,” mused Jack as the quartermaster came around the corner.

  He was carrying a couple of pink forms in one hand and was using the other hand to rub his bottom. Apparently even a fall of two feet hurt when you fell on your bottom.

  “Here are the forms, just fill them out as best you can and then I’ll get you the equipment.”

  Jack looked at the forms that the quartermaster had put down on the desk and then looked at Grey. Were these the legendary “infinitely long” forms? They were about the size of a notebook page and as far as Jack could tell there were only three or four spaces to fill in.

  “They don’t look that long,” said Jack.

  Grey said nothing and handed Jack his sleek black pen. It only took Jack two minutes to fill in the form requesting the grappling hook. He felt happy that the “infinitely long” form had turned out to be rather short. At the same time, part of him knew that nothing in the Ministry could be as simple as this.

  “Finished,” said Jack, handing the form back to the quartermaster. He was keen to get out of the store and back to thinking about how to rescue David.

  The quartermaster looked at the form and pointed at something written on the bottom of it in impossibly small writing. Jack had to put his face right up against the paper and squint before he could make out what it said.

  In the event of equipment being needed this year please complete supplementary form 125jT. If equipment will be needed next year please complete form 11C1. Thank you for your cooperation.

  Jack felt a sinking feeling. “I’ll need the equipment this year.”

  “That’ll be the 125jT, then,” said the quartermaster, handing Jack a second form.

  * * *

  Time passed. A lot of time passed. No matter how many forms Jack filled out, there was always just one more to fill in after that. Jack realized what Grey meant about the forms being infinitely long; this could go on forever. Eventually Jack noticed that he was filling out another form 125jT.

  “I’ve already filled out this form before. Do I have to fill it out again?”

  “Afraid so,” said the quartermaster. “There is some duplication, but it’s absolutely necessary for the system to work.”

  Jack realized, as he had filled out a second 125jT, that he was in a loop. He would eventually fill out anot
her, then some more forms, then another.… There was no way out. He was trapped. He started giggling in a slightly insane way. “Forms, forms, lovely forms.” He sang to himself under his breath as he scrunched them up in his hands.

  Trudy went over to Jack and gently took the pen and the forms out of his hands. Jack was shaking slightly, but felt relieved that he was no longer holding any of the forms. Trudy set the paperwork on the desk in front of the quartermaster.

  “We’ve changed our minds,” said Trudy. “That equipment isn’t so important after all.”

  “You’d be surprised how many people decide that in the end,” the quartermaster said, smiling.

  “How many?” asked Jack. He was still rocking backward and forward.

  The quartermaster thought. “How many people give up trying to get equipment? That’s a request for statistics. In order for me to give you the numbers you want I’ll need you to fill in a form AAAs2W.”

  “Never mind,” Trudy said quickly. “Grey, let’s get Jack out of here.”

  * * *

  MINISTRY OF S.U.I.T.S HANDBOOK

  STATISTICS

  ABILITY TO EXPLAIN THINGS

  Statisticians will tell you that statistics are very useful for helping to explain things to people.

  Of course this is not even vaguely true. Statistics tend to make things more confusing than they were in the first place. Anyone who has ever watched a children’s television show will know that what really helps explain things easily is a conversation between two or more sock puppets. This is why the Ministry of SUITs has only one full-time trained statistician and six full-time trained sock-puppeticians.

  * * *

  39

  RETURN TO SANITY

  Once out of the storeroom Jack seemed to regain his grasp on reality.

  He hugged Trudy. “Thanks for getting me out of there. I don’t think I’d have made it if I’d been on my own.”

  Trudy turned to Grey and poked him in the chest with her forefinger. “What was the point in taking us in there? What’s the point in having a quartermaster who never actually gives out any equipment?”

  Grey sucked his teeth before answering. “It’s like this: In every workplace there is a lot of time wasting. Here at the Ministry, rather than letting important people waste their time we actually employ people like the quartermaster to waste their time for them.”

  “And that works?” asked Trudy.

  “Surprisingly well. After a visit to the quartermaster most people are so relieved to be doing something worthwhile that they work twice as hard as they would have otherwise.”

  “Any other reason?”

  Grey looked around, checking that the corridor was empty. “What I told you is the official reason. The real reason is that Cthulhu…”

  “Cthulhu,” repeated Trudy, “the ancient and evil being with unimaginable power, the one that longs to watch the world burn and send all its people into madness and insanity.”

  “Yes, that Cthulhu,73 the one that works in the filing branch. He also designed the requisition system.”

  “It nearly drove Jack crazy.”

  “Mmmm. We rather think that was Cthulhu’s intention when he designed the system.”

  “Why doesn’t someone just fire Cthulhu?” shouted Trudy.

  “As I’ve said before, firstly, no one is brave enough to. Secondly, if Cthulhu can nearly send people insane with filing, imagine the havoc he could wreak if he was out in the world at large. Imagine what would happen if he got a job at a merchant bank, or an arms dealer, or something like that. To be honest, it’s much safer to have him here.”

  “Even when he nearly drives your coworkers mad?”

  Grey laughed nervously. “You’re exaggerating the risk. Only three or four staff go mad each year. And generally they recover after fourteen or fifteen months of rest and intensive therapy.… Of course, they’re never quite the same again.…” Grey drifted off.

  “Guys, I’m okay now,” said Jack. He seemed to have shaken off the horror of the infinitely long forms. “But we still haven’t solved our problem. How are we going to save David? How are we going to get the kidnapped children up that wall?”

  Grey shrugged. “Go to the store? Buy a rope ladder? Not everything has to be amazing, you know.”

  “Oh,” said Jack.

  “If you can get us a rope ladder, Jack and I will head to the headquarters of Chapeau Noir,” said Trudy. “Maybe we’ll be able to find some kind of a clue there as to why Mr. Teach has been digging under the school.”

  “Do we really need to do that? I don’t want to leave David down there for a moment longer than necessary.”

  “Jack, I know you’re worried about David, but this isn’t just about rescuing those kids. We’ve got to figure out what Mr. Teach is up to and stop him somehow. If we don’t stop him once and for all, what would prevent him from just kidnapping more kids?”

  “When did you start thinking things through instead of punching things?”

  “I always thought things through,” said Trudy, playfully punching Jack in the shoulder. “It’s just that before, you never thought to ask me what I was thinking.”

  “So how are we going to find out where the headquarters of Chapeau Noir is?” asked Jack.

  “Just look it up in the Yellow Pages,” said Grey. “You really should stop trying to make everything more complicated than it needs to be, Jack.”

  “Are you trying to tell me that evil villains list themselves in the Yellow Pages?”

  “Well, of course they do. They may be evil villains, but they still need to make sure they get all their evil mail delivered.”

  “I’ll get the address.” Trudy grinned. “Go home and make up some excuse for your parents why you’ll be out late tonight. I’ll pick you up in a Ministry car at seven thirty.”

  * * *

  MINISTRY OF S.U.I.T.S HANDBOOK

  EVIL VILLAINS

  HEADQUARTERS

  A good rule of thumb is that villains almost never live in underwater grottoes, hollowed-out volcanoes, or ancient castles surrounded by gardens filled with poisonous plants. If you are a villain and you have plans of world domination, you’ll draw attention to yourself if you live in that kind of flamboyant hideout. The kind of conversation that such a villainous lair will create is something along the lines of the following:

  Local Policeman 1: There have been a lot of murders around here lately. Do you think it might have anything to do with that scientist fellow who moved into the old abandoned missile silo?

  Local Policeman 2: Could be. He seems to have ordered a lot of equipment recently. One of his workers asked me if I knew where he could get weapons-grade uranium.

  Local Policeman 1: You know, I have a bit of a hunch. I think we should go up there and check the place out.

  This is the stage at which the policemen go up to the lair and get suspicious because the “coffeemaker” in the kitchen looks an awful lot like a death ray. And there are also rather a lot of dead bodies stacked up in the cellar.

  Policemen pick up on those kinds of clues.

  Generally, villains are a lot smarter than this. And that’s a pity, because if everyone who was out to destroy the world had a flamboyant lair, we would be able to catch them a lot sooner. For example, if only the big banks shunned skyscrapers and instead had their headquarters in orbiting satellites, bases at the South Pole, Gothic castles, and enormous floating antigravity platforms, we probably would have spotted what they were up to a lot sooner. Then we would have been able to stop them before the whole financial crisis thing happened.

  * * *

  40

  SHATTERED

  It was nearly six o’clock by the time Jack got back to his house. His parents were just sitting down to dinner. Jack took up his place at the table.

  “You’re late,” commented his father’s mustache.

  “Sorry, I was just helping … out with the … chess club.”

  “You’re a member of the ch
ess club as well now?” his mother said, surprised.

  “Yes, I am … apparently,” said Jack, who was almost as surprised as his mother was.

  “Wonderful game, chess,” said his father. “You know the legend is that it was invented many thousands of years ago as a way for tribes to solve their disputes without having to resort to warfare. Now, the interesting thing is…”74

  Normally Jack would have let out a theatrical groan when his father began one of his long, boring lectures about ancient history or legends. However, this time Jack nodded appreciatively and encouraged his father to talk about chess some more. Jack’s mother was suspicious at this out-of-character behavior. The reason for it, of course, was simple: The more Jack’s father talked, the less Jack would have to make up lies about the chess club and why he was late.

  For once it seemed to Jack that having a boring and verbose father might actually be an advantage. Jack nodded and occasionally chipped in with a “That’s very interesting; so why did that happen, then?” where it seemed most appropriate.

  Time passed.

  “… and so you see, that’s why the Russians became such masters at the game. Fairly obvious when you think about it.”

  Jack swallowed the last of his dinner.

  “That’s fascinating, Dad. Listen, I’m going over to Trudy’s house tonight. Is that okay?”

  “Trudy.” Jack’s dad smiled at the mention of a girl’s name. “Is that the girl you were talking to after choir practice?”

  Jack had forgotten that he had told his father that.

  “Umm, yes, that’s her.”

  “Are we going to get to meet this Trudy sometime?”

  Jack blushed and went a lovely shade of bright red.75 Jack started spluttering a few words, unsure as to why he was quite so embarrassed. To be fair to Jack, it would have been difficult to explain to his parents that Trudy was not, in fact, his girlfriend but rather was his partner in a secret government agency whose job it was to investigate and stop things that were too weird for the average person to imagine.

  Jack couldn’t figure out a way of achieving this without causing his parents to worry about him, and so he spluttered some more. In fact, he spluttered to such an extent that there seemed to be a realistic chance of his choking to death.76 Luckily, his mother saved him from this ignominious fate by cuffing his father around the head with a tea towel.