‘Found something riveting?’ said a voice behind me.
It was Wryneck.
‘Not really,’ I said, quickly returning the book to its place amongst the others.
Wryneck must have somehow detached himself from Sanderling. Now he’d come prowling along the bookshelves from the other direction.
‘I would have thought you’d be in the music section,’ he said, ‘trying to keep a step ahead of your protégé.’
It took a moment to absorb the meaning of his remark.
‘You mean Greylag?’ I asked.
‘Of course,’ replied Wryneck. ‘He’s making extraordinary advances in the field of symphonic music. I’ve called in at the cake once or twice recently and the work he’s doing never fails to impress me. You must be very proud of him.’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I suppose I am.’
‘His latest project is progressing by leaps and bounds.’
‘I take it you’re referring to Greylag’s tonal experimentations.’
‘Correct.’ Wryneck was brimming with enthusiasm. ‘They should provide valuable groundwork for the next composition.’
It occurred to me that I should be telling Wryneck all this, rather than him telling me; which served as a reminder that once again I’d neglected Greylag and the rest of the orchestra. Plainly, Wryneck had visited the cake more than ‘once or twice’ in recent days, but in any case it was more than I had. Without a doubt he was fully aware that Greylag did all the composing, and not me, yet he was diplomatic enough to skirt around the matter. As usual I was unable to detect the precise drift of Wryneck’s observations. I had no idea whether he was encouraging me to take a deeper interest in Greylag’s work, or advising me not to interfere, or neither.
‘Well, thank you, Wryneck,’ was all I managed to say. ‘Your comments are always welcome.’
Wryneck nodded, and then continued perusing the bookshelves. Meanwhile, I returned to the main party, where I discovered that most of the wine had gone. There were a few glasses remaining, however, so I helped myself. Sanderling appeared to have finished explaining the art of sailing to the others. He was now standing alone with a full glass in his hand, and a very contented look on his face. Smew was still giving Brambling and Whimbrel the benefit of his wisdom; they both seemed as if they were wilting under the strain. Dotterel and Garganey were standing somewhat aloof and talking quietly. They broke off their conversation as I approached.
‘Ho ho,’ I said. ‘Not plotting Smew’s downfall, I hope?’
‘Hardly,’ said Dotterel. ‘A disunited cabinet is the last thing we need at a time like this.’
Something in his tone caused me to lower my voice.
‘How do you mean?’ I enquired.
‘Isn’t it obvious?’ said Garganey.
‘Not to me, no,’ I said.
‘Well,’ said Dotterel, ‘we’re not allowed to discuss it until after the twelve-day feast. You’ll just have to wait until then.’
At that moment Smew clapped his hands together and we all turned to face him. Wryneck reappeared from amongst the bookshelves.
‘Thank you all for coming,’ said Smew. ‘I think you’ll agree the afternoon has been a great success.’
There was a small ripple of applause.
‘I have a parting gift for each of you,’ he continued. ‘If you please, Shrike.’
I’d noticed Shrike hovering in the doorway. Now he came in bearing our gifts on a tray. We were to receive a bottle of wine apiece.
‘This is the fortified variety,’ explained Smew, ‘something to help you through the inclement weather.’
It turned out that nobody, not even Whimbrel, had thought to bring a gift for Smew, but he seemed unconcerned. He just stood there beaming. One by one we took our bottles of wine, thanked him, and made ready to leave. Sanderling was particularly fulsome in his gratitude. His eyes glistened at the thought of the twelve blissful days that lay ahead.
‘We can all visit each other’s departments,’ he suggested, ‘and share one another’s wine.’
Wryneck, however, had different ideas.
‘Strictly speaking, the admiralty should be closed for the duration of the feast,’ he announced, ‘and likewise the post office, the counting house and the ministry of works. The doors will be locked and the lights dimmed: hardly suitable for socialising.’
‘No,’ said Sanderling, ‘I suppose not.’
‘Therefore, I suggest you save your wine for remedial purposes.’
With these bleak words ringing in our ears we were ushered out into the rain, which was now bucketing down. Whimbrel waited until after the door had closed behind us.
‘Don’t worry, Sanderling,’ he said, ‘you can come up to the observatory and have a drink there.’
‘You mean now?’ said Sanderling.
He was clearly eager to take up the invitation.
‘Well, actually I meant another day,’ replied Whimbrel.
‘When, though?’ asked Sanderling.
‘Tomorrow, perhaps,’ offered Whimbrel.
‘Right,’ said Sanderling, ‘tomorrow it is. Goodnight.’
Next moment he’d gone dashing off through the rain without arranging a proper time. Whimbrel turned to me and shrugged. Meanwhile, Dotterel, Brambling and Garganey had wandered away in separate directions, all clutching their seasonal gifts.
‘I think I’ll call in on the orchestra,’ I said. ‘See what sort of feast they’ve been having.’
I thought Whimbrel looked at me slightly oddly when I said this, but he passed no remark so I wished him goodnight and went on my way.
‘Shall I pop round tomorrow?’ I asked at the last moment.
‘If you like,’ Whimbrel replied.
Then he was all alone in the darkness.
So it was that the twelve-day feast began to tick slowly by. I put into immediate effect my resolve to spend more time with the orchestra. I found them, of course, just as I had left them, hard at work on Greylag’s music. Obviously serfs were not granted holidays like the rest of us, so they just carried on practising as normal. Nor had they been idle during my absence. I soon discovered that Wryneck was quite correct in describing Greylag’s tremendous advances. To tell the truth I’d never heard anything like it: great crashing chords greeted me as I strode down the auditorium; woodwind, brass and strings clambered over one another as they vied for my attention; themes emerged, developed and faded away, only to be resurrected once more. I felt as if I had entered some immense factory where music was being invented for the first time. Occasionally, I picked up the conductor’s baton and offered my services, but most of the time Greylag remained at the helm. Whenever there was a break, which was rare, he explained what he was striving for musically; but most of it went straight over my head. From what I could gather, the nearer he got to his goal, the further it moved away. Even so, he was plainly gaining in confidence. For my part, all I could do was urge him to continue as best he could. Such was the extent of my involvement with the orchestra: they would play and I would listen.
In the world outside the feast rolled on. The Maypole, of course, served as a beacon in the surrounding winter darkness. It was always thronging with merrymakers, and more than once I was tempted to pay a return visit. My previous qualms, however, were yet to subside. Therefore, I decided to wait until after the festivities had quietened down. Instead, I spent the evenings with Whimbrel at the observatory. I was in good company. Sanderling had also become a regular fixture, and gradually the three of us worked our way through successive bottles of fortified wine. Whimbrel turned out to be a bounteous host and often provided a range of edible treats. For this reason I determined not to mention the sixpence he owed me.
My patience was tried to the limits, however, when he told us one evening how he’d spent the afternoon. Apparently he’d been to a matinée performance of Gallinule’s play.
‘Marvellous piece of work,’ he said. ‘Especially Gallinule himself as the main protagonist: w
hat an actor!’
‘Good show, was it?’ asked Sanderling.
‘Terrific,’ replied Whimbrel. ‘The tale of ambition poised before the fall.’
‘I thought it was sixpence a ticket,’ I ventured.
‘Correct,’ said Whimbrel.
‘Don’t you reserve your sixpence for the telescope?’
‘Normally, yes,’ he answered, ‘but it so happened I had a spare one.’
‘Really?’
‘Quite by chance actually,’ he continued. ‘I meant to tell you about it. Two men appeared at the door yesterday morning asking if they could have a look through the telescope. I pointed out that this was the royal observatory, not a public amenity, but they were very persistent. They said they had their own coins and were prepared to reward me for any inconvenience.’
‘Who were these men?’ I enquired.
‘No idea,’ said Whimbrel. ‘They had foreign accents and wore olive drab uniforms; they seemed harmless enough, though, so I took them up on to the roof.’
‘Let me guess,’ I said. ‘They wanted to look at the railway?’
‘At first, yes,’ said Whimbrel, ‘but then they turned to the west and spent ages peering in that direction. I told them there was nothing out there except the sea but they wouldn’t listen. They just kept plying the telescope with coins as if there was no tomorrow. The pair of them certainly seemed prosperous. They each had a pocketful of money and when they left they gave me a sixpence for my trouble.’
‘Did they say thank you?’
‘Funny you should ask that,’ said Whimbrel. ‘As a matter of fact they didn’t.’
‘And have you still got the coin they gave you?’
‘Indeed I have.’
He reached into his pocket and produced a silver sixpence; except, of course, that it wasn’t a sixpence at all.
‘Good grief,’ said Whimbrel, ‘I’ve been swindled.’
His face betrayed sheer astonishment as he inspected the coin properly for the first time. It was exactly the same as the one I’d been given, with a hammer and anvil on one side and CITY OF SCOFFERS on the other.
There was a long silence, and then Sanderling spoke.
‘I’ve got one of those too,’ he said, rather bashfully.
From his pocket he produced an identical coin.
‘How did you come by yours?’ I asked.
‘I met two men in olive drab uniforms,’ he said. ‘They asked directions to the observatory and then gave me this.’
I decided I had better confess about my own coin as well. I told the story of how I’d acquired it, and then the three of us sat glumly pondering our foolishness.
‘I’ve seen those men on a few occasions, around and about,’ said Sanderling, ‘and others like them.’
‘Where?’ I queried.
‘All over the place, actually. They usually go in pairs and seem to be scrutinising everything.’
‘You mean like tourists?’
‘Not really,’ said Sanderling, ‘more like they’re on patrol.’
‘Doesn’t anyone question their presence?’
Sanderling shrugged. ‘It’s a holiday, isn’t it? Nobody pays them any attention.’
‘They even came to see Gallinule’s play,’ said Whimbrel. ‘There were two of them sitting in the back row this afternoon. Oddly enough, they appeared quite unmoved by the tragedy. There were all these characters on stage being betrayed, coerced, shamed and abandoned, not to mention simply murdered, yet the pair of them just sat there expressionless with their arms folded.’
‘Maybe it wasn’t their cup of tea,’ suggested Sanderling.
‘Yes, maybe,’ agreed Whimbrel.
He picked up a wine bottle and replenished each of our glasses. The prevailing mood was sombre.
‘I’d like to have seen Gallinule’s play,’ I remarked.
‘Then why didn’t you?’ asked Whimbrel.
‘I didn’t have a sixpence,’ I replied. ‘Not a proper one.’
‘Well, I wish you’d told me,’ he said. ‘I could have lent you mine.’
Chapter 19
As the clock struck ten, Smew opened the register.
‘Let us begin,’ he said, taking up his pencil. ‘Chancellor of the Exchequer?’
‘Present,’ said Brambling.
‘Postmaster General?’
‘Present,’ said Garganey.
‘Astronomer Royal?’
‘Present,’ said Whimbrel.
‘Comptroller for the Admiralty?’
‘Present,’ said Sanderling.
‘Surveyor of the Imperial Works?’
‘Present,’ said Dotterel.
‘Pellitory-of-the-Wall?’
‘Present,’ said Wryneck.
‘Principal Composer to the Imperial Court?’
‘Present,’ I said.
‘Librarian-in-Chief ?’
‘Present,’ said Shrike.
‘Good,’ said Smew. ‘All present and correct.’
He closed the register and set it to one side.
Shrike’s swift advance through the hierarchy reminded me, once again, that I ought to begin pressing for Greylag’s freedom. With all the fine work he was doing he thoroughly deserved it. This, however, was neither the time nor the place for such matters. The twelve-day feast was over and, at Dotterel’s insistence, an emergency meeting of the cabinet had been convened.
‘Now, Dotterel,’ Smew began, ‘tell us what exactly is bothering you.’
‘I’m gravely concerned,’ said Dotterel, ‘that my artisans are being enticed away from the empire.’
‘In what sense?’ asked Smew.
‘The railwaymen are behind it,’ Dotterel continued. ‘They’ve established recruitment pavilions at the edge of the capital and they’ve spent the last two weeks trying to lure my men away with promises of jobs in the east. Hundreds of skilled workers have signed up already. They’re shipping them out by the trainload.’
‘I see,’ said Smew.
‘It’s not only the skilled workers,’ added Garganey. ‘My postmen are walking around with so-called “recruiting sixpences” jingling in their pockets. They’ve been accustomed to a penny a day and now they all think they’re going to be living like lords.’
‘Sixpence is a huge sum to a commoner,’ remarked Wryneck.
‘Indeed,’ said Garganey, ‘but actually the whole scheme’s a complete fraud. The coins they’ve been given look identical to imperial sixpences, but were actually struck in the City of Scoffers, wherever that may be.’
‘The City of Scoffers,’ repeated Smew. ‘The predominant society in the east.’
‘You’ve heard of it then?’
‘Of course,’ Smew replied. ‘It’s one of the friendly cities I alluded to during my series of talks. Clearly it has expanded beyond its boundaries; and like any growing city it requires more people to work, and yet more after that.’
‘So they’ve come here to recruit,’ said Brambling.
‘Correct,’ said Smew.
‘By fair means or foul,’ intoned Garganey.
‘Why foul?’ Brambling enquired. ‘Surely our people are signing up of their own volition: it’s their choice if they want to leave the empire.’
‘Not quite,’ said Garganey. ‘True enough, these recruitment pavilions are all above board. They’re only glorified tents, actually, but rumour has it that queues of eager applicants are forming every day; once they’ve signed up and received their payment it’s merely a question of waiting for the next available train.’
Garganey paused and glanced around the table.
‘Not everyone signs up, however. Some people are recruited by roving parties whose methods are altogether different. What they do is they slip unsuspecting persons a sixpence on some pretext, for example, in return for a small favour. Once the coin has been accepted it’s deemed a “consideration”. Thereafter the contract is binding. That’s how they snared most of my postmen.’
‘Well, in my
humble opinion,’ said Brambling, ‘anyone who accepts money from a stranger deserves all he gets. Besides which, these “recruiting sixpences” aren’t legal tender. They can’t spend them in the empire.’
‘I was coming to that,’ rejoined Garganey. ‘The new coins are so ubiquitous they’re beginning to circulate freely of their own accord. Even as we speak, they’re being honoured in the Maypole.’
‘But what about the edict,’ demanded Wryneck, ‘limiting sales of beers, wines and spirits?’
‘I’m afraid it’s fallen by the wayside,’ said Garganey.
As the discussion unfolded Whimbrel, Sanderling and I remained silent. None of us looked at each other directly, but we all must have been thinking the same thing: we’d been unwittingly recruited. Vaguely I wondered what I’d let myself in for: slaving down a mine, perhaps, or going round and round on a treadmill?
I was quite surprised, then, when Sanderling raised an entirely different subject.
‘This City of Scoffers,’ he said. ‘Do they have dancing girls?’
Before anyone could answer there was a knock on the outer door. Immediately Shrike rushed out to answer it. Then he came back.
‘It was the postman,’ he announced.
Smew was about to take the letter when Garganey intervened.
‘In my capacity as Postmaster General I’d like to examine the postmark, if nobody minds.’
Nobody did, and Garganey quickly reached his conclusion.
‘Local postage, same-day delivery,’ he declared, handing the letter to Smew.
A Cruel Bird Came to the Nest and Looked In Page 15