The Peacock Cloak

dreadful voice.
    The Welfare Officer said something that no one but Accuser could hear.
    “He says he did his best ,” Accuser repeated, as if he was handling something dirty with tongs. “He says it’s not always easy to know what is going to happen in advance. He says he had a lot on. “
    Accuser looked out at the crowd, letting that contemptible drivel sink in. Then he roared out the rage that they all felt.
    “ What could he have had on that was more important than saving a little girl? What is more important than that? Holidays in Tartary, perhaps?”
    He held his hands out wide in a gesture of helplessness. Even Accuser, it seemed, with all his wisdom and experience, was still dumbfounded by the flimsiness of these people’s excuses. Even Accuser shared the bewilderment of ordinary decent folk.
    “Do we need to hear more?” he asked
    “No! No! No!” hollered the crowd, for it was anxious to get on.
    And it trusted Accuser, knew it could rely on everything he said. He was so good at exposing these wretched Welfare Officers, and laying bare their craven willingness to be led and misled by others. Why should anyone else even bother to try?

    As he walked away from the lynching with the rest of the crowd, Johnny felt a little… strange. Not that he didn’t felt cleansed, not that he didn’t feel uplifted. But yet all the same he did feel just a little bit uneasy.
    And actually people in general were rather quiet as they trailed out through the grey old streets. A few enthusiasts were chanting and shouting – “Well! Well! Well! Welfare! Well! Well! Well! Farewell!” – but on the whole most people were quiet.
    “It was for Jenny,” Johnny reminded himself. “It was for little Jenny Sue, and to make sure it never happens again.”
    And even as he thought this to himself he heard a woman nearby saying the very same thing to her friend.
    “We had to do it didn’t we? For Jenny Sue.”
    Everyone talked about that little girl as if they knew her.
    “It’s not like we want to do stuff like that,” the woman told her friend.
    “Of course not,” her friend agreed. “It’s the last thing we’d want to do if there was any choice in the matter.”
    Soon afterwards Johnny ran into some people he knew from the factory, Ralph, Angela, Mike and a few more, who were going to get a drink. Johnny had always been a bit of a loner, a bit on the edge of things, and people like that wouldn’t normally have thought of asking him to come along, but at a time like this you stuck together.
    “You coming for a jar Johnny, my old mate?” said Mike. “I think we deserve one after all that, don’t you?”
    They found a big bar in the city centre and began to drink quickly, their thirst not easily quenched. And while they drank, Screen gave out more news. There would definitely be more Names, it seemed. More would be announced next week.
    “Well,” grunted Ralph, who’d been near the front when the Price was paid. “I just hope they get it right when they name these Names.”
    Mike looked sharply up at him.
    “What do you mean?” he demanded.
    “Well, if they Named the wrong people, it would…”
    Ralph’s voice tailed off. Everyone looked at him, dismayed.
    “What exactly are you saying, Ralph?” asked Mike coldly.
    His voice had a warning edge and he looked round significantly at everyone there to confirm that he was speaking for all of them and that he counted on all of them for support.
    “You want to be careful, Ralph mate,” Mike said. “If I didn’t know you better I’d think you didn’t care about Jenny Sue.”
    “Yeah that’s right!” said Johnny, seeing a chance to establish himself. “You want to watch what you’re saying, Ralph. If we don’t go after the bastards that let her die, that poor little girl will have died for nothing.”
    Ralph looked a bit scared.
    “Of course I care about Jenny Sue,” he said indignantly. “I’d lay down my own life if it would bring her back.”
    “Oh that’s a lovely thing to say,” exclaimed Angela, who liked to make the peace.
    “And anyone who let her die,” Ralph went on, “deserves everything they get.”
    Mike was mollified. He reached out and warmly grasped his friend’s hand.
    “That’s better, Ralph my old mate. That’s the good old Ralph we know.”

    But here’s the funny bit of the story. When Johnny was staggering home with seven pints inside him, he ran into six big blokes with shaven heads, stripy tops and cudgels