A Cruel Bird Came to the Nest and Looked In

by Mills, Magnus

  Smew paused again, and it appeared as though the talk had come to a natural conclusion, ‘rise and fall’ being a suitably ringing phrase with which to close. I was surprised, then, when he continued speaking:

  ‘We did not allow these cities to become entirely isolated, however. The empire’s sole concession to the east was to send her sons to one or other of their great universities. We recognised that in their struggle for improvement they had cultivated some important seats of learning. Hence, each prospective emperor enrolled at a revered institution whilst still an uncrowned princeling. The theory was that he’d study and learn thoroughly the ways of the east; then after a certain period he would return home and, following much thought and introspection, reject them. It was a tried and tested thesis, effectively put to use by generations of emperors right up to this very day.’

  Now Wryneck closed his notepad and put away his pen, which told me for sure that the talk was over.

  ‘I never knew that,’ I said, ‘about the emperor going away to university.’

  Smew said nothing in reply, but instead stood silently gazing at me from behind his lectern. Again I wondered if there was some important point that Wryneck had grasped but I clearly hadn’t. Or perhaps Smew was allowing a few more moments for it to sink in. Either way, I rose from my seat feeling somewhat bemused.

  ‘Like some tea?’ said Smew.

  I’d decided in advance to say no if such an invitation was made, because I really ought to get back and attend to the needs of the orchestra.

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ I said. ‘That would be nice.’

  ‘Lemon curd and toasted soldiers?’

  ‘Even better.’

  Smew pulled the tasselled cord to alert Shrike. Meanwhile, Wryneck and I settled down in the comfortable chairs by the bay window. When Smew joined us he chose the chair nearest to his desk, on top of which lay Dotterel’s box containing the ceremonial crown.

  ‘Shouldn’t that be locked away somewhere safe?’ I enquired.

  ‘It’s safe enough here in the library,’ replied Smew. ‘Either Wryneck or myself are always present.’

  A few minutes later Shrike returned with a fully laden tray. As he handed us our portions of toast the clock struck five and the setting sun cast its warm rays through the window.

  ‘Just perfect for teatime,’ I remarked.

  ‘Yes,’ said Smew. ‘Marmalade for breakfast; lemon curd for tea.’

  Chapter 13

  Whimbrel could always be found at the observatory, studying his charts and tables and peering at the sky through his telescope. He seemed to do nothing else these days. The only place he ever went was down to the counting house for his replacement sixpence. Brambling had finally accepted that Whimbrel needed to use his telescope constantly, and now always kept an appropriate coin ready at hand.

  ‘It’s a pity you don’t get more than a few minutes,’ said Whimbrel, after yet another clunk had signalled the end of his time.

  ‘What are you looking at tonight?’ I asked.

  ‘The Pole Star,’ he replied. ‘Did you know that if you gaze at it long enough the whole sky appears to revolve around it?’

  The thought occurred to me that Whimbrel really ought to get out more, and I told him as much.

  ‘There’s nowhere to go, though, is there?’ he said.

  ‘Not usually, no,’ I conceded, ‘but tomorrow evening sees the first public showcase for my overture. Come along to the cake and have a listen.’

  Recently I had redoubled my efforts to spend more time with Greylag and the orchestra. I’d sat in on a run-through and together we’d decided that no further improvements could be made to the work. Smew’s play was still nowhere near completion, so I’d decided to take Wryneck’s advice and present the overture as a ‘stand-alone’ composition.

  ‘Very well done, Greylag,’ I said, after the final rehearsal. ‘Now we’ll put it to the test of a proper audience.’

  By a ‘proper audience’ I meant only the officers-of-state, of course, as it was pointless expecting the emperor to turn up. I spent the next morning going around to the various departments informing everybody about the forthcoming performance. Most people accepted the invitation willingly, but Dotterel demurred.

  ‘I just don’t have the time to spare,’ he said. ‘I’m striving perpetually to make sure all the clocks are correct.’

  ‘Don’t your artisans take care of that?’ I enquired.

  ‘They’re doing their best,’ said Dotterel, ‘but to tell the truth we’re only just managing to keep on top of it all.’

  True enough, Dotterel looked worn out. His eyes were leaden and he seemed to be on the verge of nodding off as he worked through his checklist of clocks.

  ‘Between you and me,’ he said, ‘this latest demand of the emperor is simply absurd. It’s one thing for him to miss a few cabinet meetings; it’s quite another to turn the whole empire upside down just so that he can enjoy the sunset from his palace window.’

  ‘Do you think that’s the reason then?’

  ‘I can’t see any other explanation,’ said Dotterel, ‘unless His Majesty is deliberately trying to exhaust all his subjects.’

  ‘That’s hardly likely.’

  ‘To be frank,’ continued Dotterel, ‘there’s far too much power concentrated in one pair of hands and it can only lead to disaster. It reminds me of that legend about a king who believes the tide will turn at his mere command. His courtiers are doubtful, so he orders them to set his throne upon the seashore. Then, when the tide fails to turn, his weakness is exposed.’

  ‘No,’ I said, ‘you’re wrong there.’

  ‘What do you mean wrong?’ snapped Dotterel. ‘It’s a well-known legend!’

  ‘I’m fully aware of that,’ I said, ‘but it’s the courtiers who think the king can turn the tide, not the other way round. He shows them he can’t to demonstrate the limits of his power.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Dotterel, ‘I see.’

  ‘You can look it up in the library.’

  ‘I’d like to,’ he said, ‘but I don’t have the time.’

  ‘Talking of the library,’ I said, ‘you know you left Smew in charge of the ceremonial crown?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, when you found it you mentioned it was being smartened up for the coronation.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Dotterel. ‘I hope Smew’s looking after it properly.’

  ‘It’s perfectly safe,’ I affirmed.

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Going back to this matter of the coronation, though. When’s it going to happen, exactly?’

  ‘As soon as the emperor’s ready, I suppose.’

  ‘So he’s never been crowned?’

  ‘Not as far as I know.’

  Dotterel gave me a tired look, and I realised that he was beginning to wilt under all my questioning.

  ‘My apologies, Dotterel,’ I said, ‘I’ll leave you in peace now. So you definitely won’t be attending tonight?’

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ he said. ‘Sorry.’

  My next port of call was the observatory. Whimbrel had already agreed to come to the performance, but I knew that he would need reminding again. The door was open so I made my way up the iron spiral, expecting to find him hard at work over his chart table. When I reached the top there was no sign of him, though, which meant he must be on the roof.

  ‘Is that you?’ he called down, when he heard me ascending the ladder.

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘What are you up to?’

  ‘I’m using the telescope.’

  ‘Isn’t that a waste of sixpence?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because it’s broad daylight!’ I said. ‘It’s ten o’clock in the morning!’

  ‘Come and see for yourself.’

  I emerged through the tiny door and discovered Whimbrel pointing the telescope not at the sky, but due east. A loud clunk, however, told me that his time had just expired.

  ‘Blast,’ he said.

&nb
sp; I looked to the east. Some miles away a plume of smoke was rising from amongst the trees; beyond it a straight, dark line cut through the terrain and extended all the way back to the horizon.

  ‘Good grief,’ I said. ‘It’s getting nearer.’

  ‘Have you got your sixpence on you?’ Whimbrel enquired.

  I didn’t really want to use up my stipend, but Whimbrel’s tone was most insistent so I handed it over. He dropped the coin in the slot and peered through the eyepiece.

  ‘Appears to be quite a lot of activity going on over there,’ he said. ‘I can see some tents and several piles of felled timber. Those foresters are certainly busy.’

  ‘I don’t think they are foresters,’ I said.

  ‘How do you mean?’ said Whimbrel.

  He continued to hog the telescope.

  ‘Let’s have a look and I’ll tell you.’

  Reluctantly, he moved out of the way and I took his place. I was a few seconds getting used to the telescope, but eventually I focused on the apparent source of the smoke. It was some kind of funnel. Then I heard a clunk.

  ‘Blast,’ I said.

  ‘What do you think it is?’ asked Whimbrel.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I replied, ‘but I’m sure it’s not foresters.’

  Having no further sixpences we resumed our vigil without the aid of the telescope; but we saw little apart from the lingering plume of smoke. We remained on the roof for another quarter of an hour. Then, from somewhere in the distance, there came a shrill piping sound. A minute passed and we heard it again, only fainter this time; and now the plume of smoke seemed to be moving away.

  ‘I’ve been watching for a week,’ said Whimbrel. ‘It always comes back after a while.’

  We descended the iron ladder.

  ‘Look, Whimbrel,’ I said, ‘I’d prefer if you didn’t mention this to any of the others until after tonight’s performance. I really don’t want any distractions.’

  ‘Oh, yes, tonight’s performance,’ said Whimbrel. ‘It’s a good job you reminded me.’

  That afternoon I dropped in at the cake to make sure everything was taken care of. I found Greylag and the rest of the orchestra brushing down their frock coats and polishing their boots.

  ‘How are you feeling, Greylag?’ I enquired.

  ‘My feelings are unimportant, sir,’ he replied. ‘It’s the music that counts.’

  ‘Of course,’ I said. ‘We have some important guests tonight so I hope for all our sakes that it goes well.’

  ‘I’m sure it will, sir. It contains all the elements you mentioned.’

  This was indeed the case. During the final run-through I had been overwhelmed by the depth of Greylag’s creation. The way he’d used music to conjure up the required sense of foreboding, dubiety and hazard was almost uncanny. It promised a very bright future.

  ‘Is there nothing I can do for you, Greylag?’ I asked. ‘Nothing at all?’

  ‘Well, sir,’ he said, ‘it would be very pleasant to go out in the fresh air for a change, instead of being cooped up in here all the time.’

  ‘Fresh air?’ I said. ‘Yes, I can arrange that, Greylag. Consider it done.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘Meanwhile I have some more guests to inform, so good luck and I’ll see you afterwards.’

  Having contacted Whimbrel, Brambling, Garganey and Sanderling, as well as allowing for Dotterel’s absence, there were only two names left on my list: Wryneck and Smew. I went over to the great library in the late afternoon with plenty of time to spare, as the performance wasn’t scheduled until seven thirty.

  Unusually, the library doors were closed when I arrived. They weren’t locked, however, so I went inside and began browsing around the shelves. This was certainly a well-stocked collection of books and I could see why Smew was so attached to his domain. Even so, I didn’t think he was quite the expert on literature that he obviously felt himself to be. His interpretation of the play contained some glaring errors, and I’d begun to wonder about the accuracy of his so-called history of the empire. Entertaining as it was, the facts had yet to be proved. When I reached the far end of the shelves I saw that the door to the reading room was also closed. I knocked and entered without waiting for a reply.

  Wryneck and Smew were clearly not expecting visitors. Indeed, they appeared mildly surprised to see me. They were sitting in their comfortable chairs by the large bay window. Between them was a tray of tea and toasted soldiers; also a pot of lemon curd. On Smew’s desk lay the ceremonial crown. It had been removed from its box and was gleaming in the late-afternoon sunshine.

  ‘Aha,’ I said, by way of greeting, ‘the unclaimed crown.’

  Neither Wryneck nor Smew replied.

  I closed the door behind me.

  ‘What I meant,’ I continued, ‘was that we’re still waiting for the coronation to take place.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Wryneck.

  Smew said nothing.

  ‘So the crown remains unused for the time being.’

  They gazed at me with blank expressions.

  ‘Until the emperor claims it,’ I ventured.

  I didn’t seem to be getting through to them.

  The clock struck five and the sun began to set. It was a picture of regal splendour: the entire room was instantly bathed in a sumptuous glow, just the same as the day before; and the day before that; and the day before that as well.

  Then the truth dawned.

  ‘There was no edict, was there?’ I said.

  ‘No,’ Smew answered.

  ‘It was all concocted for your personal enjoyment.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What about the emperor?’

  ‘He’s not here.’

  ‘Only this pretend crown?’

  ‘Correct.’

  Wryneck and Smew had begun to look very uncomfortable. I glanced around at the cups and saucers, the teapot, the plates and the toasted soldiers. I watched the last rays of sunset creep slowly across the room. Finally I passed judgement.

  ‘Rather selfish, wasn’t it?’

  Chapter 14

  According to Wryneck and Smew they had no choice in the matter. The young emperor had failed to come home from university at the end of term; neither had he written to declare his intentions. With no official word forthcoming, Wryneck and Smew decided they should try to carry on as though everything was normal. They quietly postponed the coronation and continued to hold weekly cabinet meetings. Meanwhile they held court in private.

  ‘Certain traditions needed to be maintained,’ said Smew. ‘What better symbol of changelessness than tea at five in a sunlit reading room?’

  He rose from his chair and put the crown back in its box.

  ‘How long has all this been going on?’ I asked.

  ‘Several months,’ replied Smew. ‘I only discovered the emperor was absent when he neglected to return his library books.’

  ‘You mean he’d borrowed them?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I thought you said it wasn’t a lending library.’

  ‘It’s different for the emperor,’ Smew pointed out. ‘He owns the books.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘I’m a mere custodian.’

  ‘If you’re a mere custodian,’ I said, ‘what entitled you to take charge of the affairs of state?’

  ‘Wryneck and I felt it was the best course of action,’ said Smew, ‘to ensure the continuity of the empire.’

  From that point of view I conceded they were probably right. All the same, the pair had taken a number of liberties which needed to be addressed.

  ‘What about the edicts?’ I enquired. ‘I assume they were forgeries.’

  ‘Yes they were,’ said Smew. ‘We realised we needed the full weight of authority behind us if we were to succeed.’

  ‘So why didn’t Garganey get an edict to help him deal with the postmen? That would have been of great use to him.’

  ‘We thought it was too obvious,’ Smew replied.

&
nbsp; ‘Well, neither he nor Dotterel are going to be very pleased when they find out about this,’ I said. ‘You’ve made both their lives extremely difficult.’

  ‘Are you going to tell them then?’

  ‘Not yet, no,’ I said. ‘It all has to be untangled very carefully; otherwise the populace could become restless.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear you have a grasp of the situation,’ remarked Wryneck.

  There was another motive as well, of course. I didn’t want anything to interfere with the evening’s concert performance. Time was slipping by, so I handed them their invitations and set off towards the cake. I planned to greet the guests as they arrived. I’d also decided that I should ask Gallinule and his companions along, not least because they promised to brighten up the audience. I called in at the Maypole and learnt that they were not at home.

  ‘They’re busy rehearsing their play,’ said the publican.

  As usual he was standing behind his counter polishing glasses.

  ‘Could you pass them a message?’ I enquired.

  ‘Certainly,’ he said. ‘Is it about the Greylag Overture?’

  ‘Oh,’ I said, somewhat surprised by the reference, ‘yes.’

  ‘Thought so.’

  ‘You know about that then, do you?’

  ‘Everybody knows about it,’ he said. ‘The word has spread and no doubt they’ll be clamouring at the door.’

  This was news to me. I’d always assumed that the kind of orchestral music heard at the cake was confined to court circles only. It now appeared I was misinformed. I glanced around the bar and for the first time realised it was deserted.