The Empire of Glass - Andy Lane [18]
"I wouldn't be at all surprised," the Doctor said, nodding. "Not at all.
Three hundred or so years ago Marco Polo described Venice to me as being one of the most repressive states he'd ever known -
and he had travelled a bit - with one important difference."
Steven swallowed. "What's that?" he asked.
The Doctor sipped at his wine again, and sighed happily. "Most repressive states exist to ensure that the leader holds on to his power. In Venice, the entire power of the state is dedicated to ensuring that nobody has any power at all."
"Not even this Doge?" Steven asked.
"Especially not the Doge," the Doctor replied. "He's virtually powerless, forbidden to talk to foreigners alone and unable to write an uncensored letter to his wife, should he have one. The Venetians are so terrified of a dictator taking over the state that they go through the most ridiculous rigmarole to elect a Doge. Nine members of the Great Council select forty people, twelve of whom are then chosen at random to select twenty-five people. Nine of these twenty-five are again chosen at random to select forty-five people. Eleven of these forty-five are then chosen at random to select another forty-one, and these forty-one then elect the Doge.
And, as if that wasn't enough, they ensure that the man they elect is in his seventies so that he won't have time to amass too much power."
Steven turned away from the window, forgetting in his amazement the body hanging from the pillar. "What a ridiculously complicated system."
"Complicated it may be," the Doctor replied seriously, "but it makes absolutely, perfectly certain that there can be no favouritism, no influence and no vote-rigging."
Steven's gaze was dragged back to the swaying body. "So who has the real power, then?"
"It's spread out through the various members of the various Councils. No one person can ever make a decision. It has to be agreed by majority."
"But personalities will always win through over committees,"
Steven protested. "Individuals will always take control. I may not know much about history, but I know that."
"Of course," the Doctor said, walking over to join Steven by the window. "Let one man have power, and it goes to his head.
Government by an unelected, unaccountable group of shadowy figures is, when you look at it dispassionately, quite an elegant solution." He gazed out across St Mark's Square, the light from the flambeaux flickering across his angular, lined face. "A typically Venetian solution. Never let anybody become too popular with the people."
"And if they do?" Steven asked.
The Doctor turned to gaze at Steven. His eyes were a sharp, penetrating blue. They seemed much younger than the rest of his face. "There is a Venetian saying," he murmured, nodding his head towards the body hanging from the pillar. "The Council of Ten send you to the torture chamber; the Council of Three send you to the grave"
Steven swallowed. "I think," he said, "that I'm going to go out for a breath of fresh air."
The salon was the only room in the house save the kitchen that contained no books. It was plain, its walls furnished only with a tapestry showing a golden lion confronting a group of robed merchants. As Braxiatel entered, an ordinary man, of medium height and unremarkable appearance turned from the window that overlooked the canal.
"What news, Szaratak?" Braxiatel asked.
"The Doctor has arrived," Szaratak replied. "He landed on an island out in the lagoon with two companions. I followed them to the city. The last thing I saw was them making friends with the local guards."
"Good, I was beginning to worry that our people hadn't passed the invitation on to him." Braxiatel smiled slightly. You could always count on the Doctor to arrive in the right place, give or take a few miles, at the right time, give or take a few days. His approximateness was one of his few endearing qualities. "Have you made contact?"
"Of course I didn't make contact!" Szaratak snarled. "You said you would rather do it yourself. If you wanted me to make