A Cruel Bird Came to the Nest and Looked In

by Mills, Magnus

  ‘Where is everybody?’ I asked.

  ‘Queuing up, I imagine,’ replied the publican.

  I thanked him and hurried off towards the cake. It was nearly seven o’clock and, sure enough, there was a queue at the door that extended right around the circumference of the building. This queue consisted of postmen, artisans and other commoners. They filed through the door in an orderly manner and took their places in the hard seats at the rear of the auditorium. Next to arrive were the officers-of-state, all wearing their dandy coats, and I was pleased to see that even Dotterel had found time to attend. Naturally the strolling players turned up with only minutes to spare. Gallinule made an entrance dressed in all his crimson finery, and such a fuss ensued as he found his seat that anyone would have thought the audience had come to see him, rather than the imperial orchestra.

  I joined Whimbrel, Garganey and Sanderling in the soft seats near the front. Brambling, Dotterel, Wryneck and Smew chose the row behind us. Then I watched with pride as Greylag took to the podium. Although he wore the imperial livery, which showed that he was a serf, he had all the bearing of an established conductor. At precisely seven thirty he primed the waiting orchestra and the music began.

  Greylag’s overture lived up to all expectations. From the plaintive opening tones of the lone oboe, to the gigantic scrunched chords of the finale, it tirelessly swept the audience along in its wake. In some sections the music threatened to return the whole world to primordial chaos; in others it rose from modest simplicity to expressions of colossal stature. I eagerly awaited Greylag’s ‘deliberate mistake’ involving the discordant entry of the hunting horn. I was not disappointed: the effect on the unsuspecting audience was marked.

  Only Garganey seemed to misunderstand, much to my annoyance.

  ‘Damn that horn!’ I heard him say. ‘He’s come in too early.’

  I was quite pleased a moment later when Garganey was shushed from behind by Wryneck.

  At the end came the applause, and Greylag thoroughly deserved it. One or two of my colleagues turned and politely congratulated me on ‘my’ composition. Wryneck even leaned over and told me I had ‘reached the bounds of absolute music’.

  Nonetheless, there was no denying that this was Greylag’s evening. I allowed him to enjoy his brief period in the public gaze. Then, as the rapturous crowds departed, I went and joined him in the orchestra pit. The musicians were packing away their instruments.

  ‘You can have a rest tomorrow,’ I announced to all of them. ‘Rest for as long as you wish.’

  Then I spoke quietly to Greylag.

  ‘I’ve got a treat in store for you tomorrow, Greylag,’ I said. ‘How would you like to go on a hike?’

  ‘I’d like that very much, sir,’ came the reply.

  ‘All right,’ I said. ‘I’ll call for you in the morning.’

  Oddly enough, I didn’t sleep very well that night. I should have enjoyed the luxurious slumber of success, but I didn’t. Maybe it was the combined turmoil and excitement of the evening’s performance that kept me awake; or perhaps it was the prospect of public unrest when Wryneck and Smew were unmasked. Besides these larger considerations there was also that shrill piping sound which Whimbrel and I had heard coming from the east. I kept hearing it again in my mind as I drifted off to sleep, and it was almost as if it was trying somehow to obliterate all trace of Greylag’s music.

  I met him in the half-light of early morning. He emerged from the cake wearing his usual black and scarlet frock coat and brass buckled boots. Clearly these were the only clothes he had. My plans for the hike were simple. I intended to head in the general direction of the plume of smoke. It didn’t really matter if we failed to find its source, but we could at least try. In addition, there was plainly some sort of encampment out there, so that would be worth investigating too. At first when we set off Greylag kept walking a few paces behind me, as though he was my servant. Only after my repeated insistence that we travelled side by side did he at last comply.

  ‘We’re equals today, Greylag,’ I said.

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ he replied.

  The open air was very much a novelty for Greylag and he spent a lot of time ‘taking in the sights’. In truth, there wasn’t much to see. We wandered through the various postal districts before striking east into the hinterland beyond. Soon we were passing amongst brushwood and scrub, interspersed with marshes of reeds, rushes and sedge. There were fewer trees here than in the royal park; neither were there any footpaths to mark the way, though the proper wilderness still lay some miles ahead. Not that this seemed of any concern to Greylag. He was obviously delighting in every minute of his day out, so we just kept on going.

  It was a mild day for the time of year, but I could tell that the weather in general was deteriorating. As we continued walking I wondered how long Wryneck and Smew had expected to bask in their glorious teatime sunsets. After all, the clocks could hardly be put forward in perpetuity; otherwise, every morning would eventually be lost in delayed darkness. Moreover, the sun was becoming increasingly pale by the day: even now it barely rose high enough to show its face through the gloom of late autumn. Judging by the sky there was little prospect of a decent sunset this evening, and I felt slightly sorry for Wryneck and Smew. At five o’clock (adjusted time) they would realise the futility of their deeds.

  Meanwhile, the publication of counterfeit edicts had led them into very perilous territory. Even if they were acting for the good of the empire, which I didn’t doubt, there would now be a question mark hanging over each of them. I was especially surprised at Wryneck, who had appeared so anxious to curb even minor instances of ‘treason’. As for Smew, I’d long held the opinion that he was a vain and egotistical man. I wouldn’t have put it past him if he’d taken the ceremonial crown for himself, even if it was only a gold-painted replica. From what I could gather, nobody knew where the real crown was. Presumably it was locked safely away somewhere, and the only person who might know its whereabouts was the emperor himself; except that he wasn’t an emperor in the fully fledged sense because he’d never been crowned. He was a prince who for reasons of his own had failed to return from university. This in turn meant that Greater Fallowfields was not at present an empire. It wasn’t even a kingdom: it was only a principality.

  I was snapped out of my reverie by a shrill piping sound in the near distance.

  Greylag stopped in his tracks and listened.

  ‘G sharp,’ he announced.

  ‘Really?’ I said.

  More shrill piping followed.

  ‘Definitely G sharp,’ said Greylag. ‘What a marvellously powerful instrument that must be.’

  We resumed our hike. Ahead of us the scrub was starting to thicken into woodland. Further away lay great stands of forest, though I wasn’t sure whether we would get that far. I could feel rain approaching. We decided to call a halt while it was still dry. Greylag and I sat down and shared some ship’s biscuits that I’d obtained from Sanderling.

  ‘I don’t know for certain,’ I said, nodding towards the east, ‘but I think someone’s building a railway out there.’

  ‘Really, sir?’ said Greylag. ‘Is that allowed?’

  ‘Probably not,’ I said, ‘but if they’ve managed to come this far the question is beside the point.’

  Indeed, the matter of who was ‘allowed’ to do what in this region had never previously arisen. Apart from those few attempts at forestry, we had chosen to ignore the ‘near east’ in exactly the same way as we did the ‘far east’. The wilderness had always been regarded as a natural frontier which therefore required no further development. It had evidently never occurred to anyone that there might be pioneers coming through from the other side. As Smew had mentioned in his recent talks, the empire assumed unceasingly that ‘the rest of the world’ could never impinge on our sphere of influence. He also seemed to suggest that there were some unspoken doubts surrounding this belief. Maybe, after all, he knew his subject better than I’d given him c
redit for.

  The rain held off so we pressed forward. During the next hour we heard more shrill piping noises, as well as various clangs and hisses. Presently there also came the sound of men’s voices. We passed some felled trees and entered a clearing. Shrouded in steam and smoke stood a huge, dark engine with a blackened funnel. Behind it an iron railway receded into the distance. A wire fence ran parallel on either side of the tracks. At the edge of the clearing was a double row of bell tents; also, some kind of field kitchen.

  I had never seen men working as hard as those gathered around the engine. They barely glanced in our direction when we appeared out of the scrub, but just kept on labouring at their task. The sight of these men came as something of a revelation to me. We had a maxim in the empire:

  HE SHALL EARN BUT A PENNY A DAY

  BECAUSE HE CAN'T WORK ANY FASTER.

  Or, more correctly, nobody worked faster than they needed to: not the postmen, nor the artisans, the clerks, or the purveyors of goods. That was how it had been as far back as I could remember. Even in the great days of shipping it often took equally as long to unload a vessel as it had for it to cross the sea in the first place. Such was the abundance that there was simply no need to hurry.

  These men, by contrast, had clearly never heard the maxim. Or if they had they chose to pay it no attention. It was impossible to see what was driving them as they strove to lay their iron rails and move the engine, yard by yard, towards its destination. Every function was performed with the efficiency of clockwork. None of these men paused even for a moment’s rest.

  They were all attired in a plain olive drab uniform bearing a distinct insignia. This comprised the letters CoS.

  After observing them for a minute or two I noticed that one man was standing slightly apart from the rest, and was giving instructions rather than physically working. When he saw Greylag and me he nodded as though he’d been expecting us. He issued a further set of instructions to his men; then he walked over to where we stood.

  ‘I’ve been expecting a delegation,’ he said. ‘Is there any reason for the delay?’

  Something in his tone suggested it would be unwise for me to admit I had no idea what he was talking about.

  ‘Not as far as I know,’ I replied.

  ‘Well, I haven’t got time to wait any longer,’ he announced. ‘I need to go back with the engine.’

  He looked at his watch, then produced a whistle from his pocket and blew it twice. Immediately, the entire workforce downed tools and walked towards the engine. Within seconds another squad of men appeared from the direction of the tents. Having drawn closer I now saw that there was a windowless carriage attached to the rear of the engine. A sliding door was opened and the retiring men squeezed inside. Their replacements had already begun work when the engine repeated its shrill blast.

  ‘All right,’ said the man with the whistle, ‘we’ll no doubt meet again.’

  He turned and strode briskly towards the engine.

  ‘And you are?’ I enquired.

  ‘Gadwall,’ he said, over his shoulder. ‘Commissioner of Railways.’

  He climbed into the carriage and blew his whistle once more. Then we watched as the great engine gathered steam and departed backwards down the track.

  I was curious as to whether the remaining workers would ease their pace now that the overseer had departed. Or perhaps even cease work altogether, as would invariably be the practice in the empire. On the contrary these men continued without faltering, and again I wondered what unseen force could be propelling them. Meanwhile, the engine chugged and chuffed into the distance, the iron rails ringing forlornly beneath its wheels. Greylag seemed completely mesmerised by the sight and sound of these industrious men with their slavish engine. On his face was a faraway expression that I’d seen before. His eyes were glistening, just as they had been when I first outlined the requirements for the overture. Evidently he could detect music in the mechanical rumblings. The men themselves, of course, had no such ‘romantic’ notions. Their only interest was in laying the next set of rails. They laid them straight and level and then moved on, repeating the same process again and again. They took no notice of Greylag or me.

  We gazed after the engine as gradually it diminished into a tiny speck. Moments before it vanished it gave a last shrill peep. Then it was heard no more.

  Chapter 15

  ‘Which of you have done this?’ demanded Garganey.

  Certain changes had taken place during my brief absence. I’d only been away for one day yet in that time it appeared Garganey had seized power. He was standing at the far side of the room wearing the ceremonial crown. Everyone else was seated around the table, and I assumed I’d walked into an emergency meeting of the cabinet. It was only chance that had brought me here in the first place. I’d arrived home quite late in the evening and gone straight to bed. The following morning around ten o’clock I went to call on Whimbrel but found the observatory deserted. Guessing he must have gone to see Brambling about a replacement sixpence, I’d then proceeded to the counting house. Nobody was there either, so next I headed for the library. Maybe, I thought, Whimbrel or Brambling had some fact to look up in one of the books. It was Shrike who told me everyone was at the cabinet meeting. He’d been put temporarily in charge of the library and was plainly making the most of his new-found responsibility. I discovered him lounging in Smew’s comfortable chair by the large bay window. True enough, he jumped to his feet the instant he saw me. Nevertheless, it was obvious he’d been idling.

  The clock had finished striking ten when I left the library and headed for the cabinet room. Now I felt most annoyed. Why, I wanted to know, had I not been informed of the situation?

  I happened to arrive just as Whimbrel was going in. Normally I would have hailed him, but this morning I wasn’t in the mood. Surely he of all people could have told me what was happening. He was supposed to be a friend. Then again, he’d recently been testing this so-called friendship to the limit. For a start he’d never bothered to repay the sixpence I’d lent him. Oh, I know he wasn’t going to run away with it; he was only around the corner and, besides, he needed the sixpence more than I did. Yet it was the principle that mattered: at least he could have offered to repay it. Maybe that was why he spent more time with Brambling than with me. Another flaw had been revealed on the evening we visited the Maypole. On that occasion Whimbrel had invited Sanderling and me back to the observatory for a ‘bottle or two’ as he put it. Quite reasonably we’d both taken this to mean a bottle or two of fine wine, not dandelion-and-burdock as it turned out to be. I recalled that Sanderling had been particularly disappointed. Nor did I like the way Whimbrel and Brambling had conjectured that I was the emperor in disguise. They’d patently discussed me as if I was an exhibit in a display cabinet. Finally, of course, Whimbrel had a marked tendency to hog the telescope instead of sharing it with other people.

  I watched as he entered the cabinet room. Then, after waiting a moment, I followed him inside. I was still taking my seat when Garganey uttered his declamation.

  ‘Which of you have done this?’ he said again.

  ‘Done what?’ I asked.

  I noticed that both Wryneck and Smew were staring at me intently. They had the same look about them as when I’d arrived unexpectedly at teatime a few days before. Indeed, they seemed slightly taken aback. Then I realised that it would have probably suited the pair of them if I’d missed the cabinet meeting. After all, I was the only person who knew about their sleight of hand.

  Or was I?

  I glanced at my colleagues, one by one, and tried to decide who knew what. Then it occurred to me that Garganey must have seized power under this very pretext. He certainly looked enraged.

  ‘Which of you have done this?’ he repeated for the third time.

  ‘What, my good lord?’ said Wryneck.

  At last, I thought, Wryneck was beginning to face up to the questions. If only Smew would break his stony silence then the whole issue could m
ost likely be sorted out before lunch. What did he hope to gain by prolonging the deceit?

  ‘Thou canst not say I did it,’ declared Garganey.

  ‘Did what?’ I asked.

  Garganey sat down at the table, removed the crown and put his head in his hands.

  ‘It’s no good,’ he said. ‘I can’t do it any longer. I’ve tried my best and I’ve obviously failed.’

  ‘Well, shall I do it then?’ offered Smew.

  ‘If you like,’ said Garganey. ‘You’ve coveted the crown long enough. You may as well take it for yourself.’

  ‘The crown is no more than a hollow golden ring,’ rejoined Smew, ‘and kingship a mere feather in a man’s cap.’

  A murmur of assent passed around the table.

  ‘All the same,’ I said, ‘someone’s got to wear the crown, haven’t they?’

  ‘Naturally,’ said Wryneck.

  His voice was wary. Smew said nothing.

  ‘I mean to say,’ I continued, ‘you can’t have an empire without an emperor. It’s even more ridiculous than an empire without any ships.’

  ‘Or an empire without a proper telescope,’ added Whimbrel.

  ‘Precisely,’ I said.

  I was pleasantly surprised by Whimbrel’s sudden ride to my rescue. I’d swum into much deeper water than I intended and I almost regretted speaking out. Still, it was too late now. The unclaimed crown remained at the centre of the table. Neither Wryneck, nor Smew, nor Garganey seemed prepared to pursue the matter any further. Not for the moment at least. In the event it was Brambling who spoke next.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘did you say without an emperor?’

  ‘Yes,’ I affirmed, ‘I did.’

  Again I surveyed the faces around the table. All my colleagues were apparently engaged in thoughts of their own. Dotterel was studying his textbook closely; Whimbrel was gazing at the clock; Garganey, Wryneck and Smew were all looking at the ceremonial crown; Sanderling was staring vaguely at a portrait of a former emperor; and Brambling was peering at me. I was about to attempt some kind of explanation when Wryneck broke the silence.