‘Just in time,’ I remarked.
‘What a piece of good luck,’ said Whimbrel. ‘Thank heavens you turned up when you did. You’ve saved the day.’
‘Night,’ I said.
We spent the next few minutes eagerly following the slow descent of the moon. Whimbrel stood next to his clock, and at the required moment he altered the hands to midnight. Then he got to work producing a new set of tables. I assisted by tearing up the old ones.
‘By the way,’ he said, ‘remember that shrill piping noise we heard in the east?’
‘Oh, yes?’ I replied.
‘Well I’ve been hearing it again recently, and it seems to be much closer than before.’
‘It’s only the orchestra,’ I said. ‘Greylag is experimenting.’
‘Is that allowed?’ Whimbrel asked.
‘Certainly,’ I answered. ‘I’ve given him a free hand following his success with the overture. He’s very interested in the musical undertones of industrial progress.’
‘Good grief,’ said Whimbrel. ‘How on earth does he know about that?’
‘He just does,’ I said with a shrug. ‘Greylag is much more than a simple serf, you know. As a matter of fact I’m convinced he’s a genius.’
At these words, Whimbrel turned away from his tables and gave me a penetrating look. ‘Then don’t you think it’s time you did something for him?’
‘What sort of something?’ I said.
‘Well,’ said Whimbrel, ‘you could use your influence to help him gain freedom from bondage.’
For a few moments I stared at Whimbrel with surprise.
‘Yes, I suppose I could,’ I said. ‘I never thought of that.’
We continued labouring over Whimbrel’s tables for several hours more. He was keen to get them completed as soon as possible so that he could present them to the cabinet as a fait accompli. After that he intended to go to the royal printing works and get them published throughout the empire. It was almost light when at last we finished. Considering the season, dawn came much sooner than we expected. According to the clock it was only half past five, yet daylight was already starting to stream in through the windows. Nonetheless, we both agreed that the time must be correct. We were committed to the new tables: there was no going back now.
Whimbrel cooked breakfast and thanked me for my help; then I set off on a brisk morning walk. I needed to clear my head and the park was the perfect setting. My plan was to take a stroll around the boating lake. I hadn’t got very far, however, when I heard the familiar shrill piping. It was rather early in the day, I thought, for Greylag to be at work. Besides which, the sound was coming not from the cake but from another direction entirely. Soon I heard it again. Quickly I crossed the park to the gates at the far side. Then I walked through the outlying postal districts. After half an hour I arrived at the edge of the capital. There amongst the scrub and brush stood the railway engine. The track, it seemed, was complete. I approached cautiously and saw Gadwall overseeing the final operation. A pair of buffers was being placed in position by his gang of men.
When he saw me he was polite and we exchanged greetings.
‘Congratulations,’ I said. ‘It looks like a fine piece of workmanship.’
‘Thank you,’ he replied.
We watched as the last nuts and bolts were fastened. Then the engine gave a shrill whistle. The job was truly finished.
‘Is this the end of the line?’ I asked.
‘No,’ said Gadwall, ‘this is the beginning.’
Chapter 17
Later that morning an emergency meeting of the cabinet was convened. It was supposed to be a half-holiday: the occasion when the clocks were readjusted and ‘proper’ imperial time resumed. Indeed, Dotterel’s artisans had already begun the painstaking task of converting Whimbrel’s calculations into reality. All over the capital, clocks were being carefully altered. Meanwhile, Garganey’s postmen delivered the instructions further afield. When they returned, it was proposed, the half-holiday could commence.
At some point, however, word had reached Smew about the arrival of the railway. Accordingly, we were all summoned to the cabinet room.
‘Why weren’t we informed?’ Smew demanded. ‘Someone has built a railway right up to our doorstep yet nobody noticed.’
‘Well, my artisans have been far too busy with the clocks,’ said Dotterel. ‘They hardly had time for anything else.’
‘My postmen have been stumbling around in darkness,’ added Garganey. ‘We can’t blame them either.’
Smew turned to Whimbrel. ‘What about you?’ he said. ‘Didn’t you see anything through your telescope?’
‘Wait a minute,’ I interjected. ‘It’s not Whimbrel’s fault. He only gets one sixpence at a time.’
‘Besides which,’ said Whimbrel, ‘I’m supposed to be looking at the stars, not the approach of railways.’
‘Quarrelling isn’t going to get us anywhere,’ said Dotterel. ‘Shouldn’t we decide what we’re going to do?’
‘Agreed,’ said Wryneck.
‘One fact is for certain,’ said Smew. ‘We don’t need a railway.’
A murmur of assent passed around the table.
‘This empire was built on seafaring,’ he continued. ‘We have always travelled by ship and no other means of transport are required. A railway will only bring unwelcome influences.’
‘Such as?’ I asked.
‘The customs of the east,’ said Smew. ‘We don’t want them here.’
‘But doesn’t the railway represent progress?’ said Dotterel. ‘Resisting it would be like trying to stop the tide from turning.’
‘Progress doesn’t bring improvement,’ declared Smew. ‘It just makes people think they’re cleverer than they actually are.’
‘We can’t have that,’ said Wryneck.
‘Of course we can’t,’ said Smew.
‘What I want to know,’ said Garganey, ‘is how they had the audacity to build this railway without consulting us?’
‘I imagine,’ said Smew, ‘that it’s the product of a so-called friendly city: the kind I discussed in my recent talks. Here we see a typical example of the way they operate. They simply drive forward, meeting each obstruction as it comes. It seems that one such city is flourishing particularly well at the moment. History suggests it will be at the expense of others.’
‘Not us, though, surely?’ said Whimbrel.
‘As long as we’re vigilant, no,’ replied Smew, ‘but we need to consider our options carefully.’
‘Why don’t we send a delegation?’ I said. ‘Then we could speak with the railwaymen and find out their intentions.’
‘That would be an indication of weakness,’ said Wryneck. ‘Far better if we wait until they come to us.’
‘Agreed,’ said Smew. ‘We must carry on as normal and make it clear that their presence will have no effect on our way of life.’
During the course of the meeting the sky had been darkening steadily. A glance at the clock told me it was half past twelve. There was no sign of rain, yet the light continued to deteriorate. It then occurred to me that the descending murk had nothing to do with the weather: what I was witnessing was the onset of dusk. Nobody else appeared to notice, however, so I didn’t say anything.
There was a knock on the door and Shrike came in. He approached Smew and bowed. ‘The post has arrived, my liege.’
There was only one item: a letter in a brown envelope bearing an unusual postmark. Smew opened it.
‘Confounded cheek!’ he exclaimed. ‘They’ve sent an invoice for the construction of the railway.’
‘Well, we’re not paying it,’ uttered Brambling. ‘The imperial funds aren’t for white elephants.’
Smew was still peering at the invoice. ‘I’m afraid we may not have any choice,’ he said. ‘Apparently the order was signed by the emperor himself.’
We all gasped in disbelief.
‘Well he might at least have told us!’ snapped Dotterel.
> ‘Maybe he did,’ said Whimbrel. ‘Perhaps his letter was lost in the post.’
Everybody looked at Garganey, as though this was all somehow his fault.
‘Don’t blame me,’ he said. ‘The emperor’s landed us with this railway when we didn’t even ask for one.’
‘If you don’t ask you don’t get,’ said Sanderling.
During this discussion, Shrike had been waiting patiently in the corner of the room. Now, having observed the turmoil caused by the invoice, he quietly departed.
‘We shouldn’t argue in front of the serfs,’ I said. ‘It doesn’t look very good at all.’
‘Actually, Shrike is no longer a serf,’ said Smew. ‘I’ve had him raised to a commoner.’
Smew made this announcement in a very lofty tone of voice. He was sitting in the emperor’s chair, and as usual displayed all the confidence of a natural ruler.
‘May we take it that you intend to continue as regent?’ asked Garganey.
‘Correct,’ said Smew. He handed the invoice to Brambling. ‘Your department, I believe.’
Brambling examined the figures and his eyes widened.
‘Good grief,’ he said. ‘I’ll need to trawl the coffers.’
On Wryneck’s suggestion, Brambling was dispatched to the counting house to do some reckoning. Meanwhile, the rest of the cabinet agreed that we would play a waiting game.
‘If they want money they’re going to have to come and get it,’ concluded Smew.
Darkness had fallen by the time our deliberations were over. Nobody passed comment that it was still only three in the afternoon, and I therefore assumed everyone was quite satisfied with the ‘new’ hours. The temptation, of course, was to head directly for the Maypole where the lights would be glowing and the log fire roaring. Indeed, the place was thronging when I passed it by. The twelve-day feast was almost upon us and the people were clearly getting in the mood. Nevertheless, I had a more important matter on my mind. The pleasures of the Maypole would have to wait.
I wanted to look into this question of Greylag’s freedom, so I went to the library and perused the bookshelves. Smew’s revelation that Shrike had been raised to a commoner was encouraging, but actually I thought Greylag deserved better. Eventually I found what I was seeking: the correct term in Greylag’s case was ‘manumission’. According to the records, a serf granted manumission would become a freeman, a step above mere commoners in the feudal system. This, I decided, was what I should try and strive towards.
I drifted into the reading room and noticed that Smew had left his crown unattended on the desk by the bay window. I picked it up and glanced inside the rim. It came as no surprise to see the letters CoS stamped there.
‘Probably an import,’ said a voice behind me.
I turned to see Dotterel standing in the doorway.
‘A cheap one at that,’ I remarked.
‘I expect it came in from the east,’ he said. ‘Not directly, though. It most likely found its way here via the colonies.’
The crown felt tinny and insubstantial in my hands. Casually I tossed it over to Dotterel.
‘Rather careless of Smew to leave it lying around,’ he said. ‘I’ve a good mind to confiscate it.’
‘On what grounds?’ I asked.
‘On the grounds that I’m custodian of the imperial artefacts,’ he said. ‘In the last resort I’m responsible for the upkeep of this crown: that’s why it was in the royal workshop in the first place.’
He began buffing up the crown with his handkerchief.
‘We had to straighten all the prongs,’ he continued, ‘and apply a new coat of gold paint. In terms of time spent it would have been much cheaper to get a replacement.’
‘Couldn’t they make a new one,’ I suggested, ‘in the workshop?’
Dotterel shook his head. ‘We don’t make anything in this country,’ he said. ‘Not any more. We just carry out repairs.’
He put the gleaming crown back on the desk.
‘That’s better,’ he said.
‘Did you come here especially to give it a polish?’ I enquired.
‘Actually, no,’ said Dotterel. ‘I wanted to return this.’
He reached into his pocket and produced a textbook.
‘It’s the play we’ve been rehearsing,’ he explained. ‘I won’t need it now.’
He went to the bookshelves and put it back with the other copies.
‘You know Smew was wrong?’ he said. ‘The king was the only person who could see the ghost, not the other way round.’
‘Yes,’ I agreed, ‘and he wasn’t a king, he was a usurper.’
‘Smew’s judgement is far from perfect.’
‘What about the railway?’ I said. ‘Do you think he’s wrong about that too?’
‘Entirely wrong,’ replied Dotterel. ‘You can’t stop progress.’
He took a last look at the crown, then wished me good evening and departed. After that I spent quite some time moping around the library while I pondered the situation. Privately I hoped Dotterel’s assessment was incorrect, but I knew deep down that it wasn’t.
By the following day the railway had become public knowledge. As a matter of fact it was quickly turning into a tourist attraction. The first I knew of it was when I approached the park and saw streams of people heading eastward. I’d planned to call in on Greylag and tell him my intentions for achieving his freedom from bondage. In view of the roaming hordes, however, I decided to find out the cause of all the fuss. Besides which, on second thoughts it seemed a shame to raise Greylag’s hopes too early. Far better to surprise him with some good news later. With this in mind I bypassed the cake and joined the milling crowd.
It was soon obvious where we were all going. We took the same route to the edge of the capital as I had the day before. Ultimately we came to the railway, which now had a brand-new platform running alongside it. Once again the work had been completed at a remarkable speed. This was something I’d come to expect just lately. What I didn’t anticipate, however, was the total absence of a train. Gadwall and his men had left the place deserted. The only draw for sightseers was an empty platform, a pair of buffers, and a set of iron rails diminishing into the distance.
My attention was caught by a noticeboard at the far end of the platform. On closer inspection I found that it displayed a timetable for the forthcoming railway service. Then, to my irritation, I saw that all the arrivals and departures were listed in ‘local time’.
The effrontery of these people! Not only had they built a railway without due consultation, but now they were suggesting that the time in Greater Fallowfields was merely ‘local’. This implied that the time elsewhere was more important! Clearly, they hadn’t allowed for the recent adjustments we’d been making to our clocks, nor did they appear the slightest bit interested.
No less disquieting was the series of letters printed in the right-hand column of the timetable. These letters represented the scheduled destination for every train, and in each case they were identical: CoS.
As I stood gazing at the noticeboard I reflected that Gadwall and his companions were not entirely to blame for the advent of the railway. Our uncrowned emperor had played his part too. Presumably he’d signed the order as some sort of student prank while he was far away at university. No wonder he was reluctant to return home and face the music! Recently a number of other theories had been put forward to excuse his continued absence. Prevalent among these was the suggestion that he was probably studying hard for his exams. This struck me as spurious to say the least: it was a historical fact that the young emperors seldom returned with any kind of qualification.
Sanderling, of course, had a far simpler explanation. He remained convinced that it was all to do with the dancing girls who’d suddenly vanished from court. He mentioned them almost every time I saw him; or else the dancing girls from the Maypole; or the dancing girls he’d heard about from various marooned admirals with whom he was acquainted. Poor Sanderling! He lived in a wor
ld of self-delusion. He assumed there were dancing girls hidden around every corner, but he was yet to meet them.
I was still contemplating all this when I became aware of a swell of expectation passing through the crowd. Many people were now lining the railway on either side, and as I listened I heard a familiar shrill piping sound. It was only faint at first, but gradually it grew louder. I leaned over the edge of the platform and peered down the track. Sure enough, in the distance I saw a dark plume of smoke. Below it loomed the approaching train. The smoke was rising in puffs, and with each puff the engine panted as though labouring under a great weight. Evidently it was slowing down at the end of a long journey: I could hear the iron wheels grinding on the rails; and as the noise grew louder the onlookers began chattering more loudly too. A bell started clanging. The formidable engine was now bearing down upon the multitude, causing those standing nearest the track to step back a pace. Hence a wobbly line of people marked the progress of the train. The shrill whistle was repeated. Then the brakes squealed and the puffing ceased. The engine drew alongside the platform and halted. Attached behind it were half a dozen windowless carriages. There were ventilation slits above the sliding doors, and one by one these doors began to open. The first to emerge was Gadwall. He was followed by a number of his men in their plain olive drab uniforms. The assembled spectators had long since fallen silent; meanwhile the engine continued to hiss and groan. Gadwall looked down the platform and saw me in my dandy coat.
‘Aha,’ he said, ‘an imperial reception.’
The majority of those present were commoners. They’d taken little notice of me during the rush to see the new railway, and I’d been more or less swept along in their wake. I’d literally become one of the herd, despite my distinguished appearance. This was typical of the general public when they turned out for a popular event. They only saw what they wanted to see. They’d have been quite unaware if the emperor himself was standing in their midst, let alone an officer-of-state, such was their single-minded fervour.
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