A Cruel Bird Came to the Nest and Looked In

by Mills, Magnus

  The musicians were giving their instruments a final inspection; I left them to it and took up my position at the front door. A full house was expected, word having spread about the interest expressed by the visitors. Punctual as ever, Grosbeak, Merganser and Gadwall arrived at ten to seven, wearing appropriate dress uniform. This comprised the usual olive drab, but with the addition of creamy-white ornamental braiding. The imperial officers-of-state all turned up in good time, attired in their finest dandy coats. They were followed by select members of the public, assorted postmen and artisans and then, finally, the troupe of strolling players. Gallinule led the latter inside with his usual flourish. I noticed once again that Mestolone was absent from their company. This was the second occasion to my knowledge that he’d steered clear of the newcomers, and I began to surmise that he wasn’t particularly keen on them. Still, there was no time to dwell further on the matter. It was a minute to seven so I made my way to my seat.

  I’d taken care to reserve a place where I could keep an eye on our three distinguished guests. I was especially interested to see how they would react to the performance; Whimbrel’s account of Gallinule’s play was still fresh in my mind. According to Whimbrel, two of these men in olive drab had watched the entire tragedy with apparent detachment. As Greylag stepped on to the podium, I pondered whether his wonderful music would get through to Grosbeak, Merganser and Gadwall.

  We were to begin with the fifth, sixth and seventh variations on the imperial anthem. I considered these to be the most stirring of Greylag’s treatments and had requested them specifically. With ninety-eight musicians at his disposal we could certainly expect some fireworks from Greylag.

  The response of the audience in general was most encouraging. The moment Greylag raised his baton a great hush descended. Then they sat mesmerised as the orchestra got into its stride. The standard, as ever, was first class. After a few minutes I looked sidelong at the three ‘scoffers’. Sure enough, they were all sitting expressionless with their arms folded. Perhaps, I concluded, the imperial anthem meant nothing to them. Admittedly, they joined in the applause when the three variations were finished, but all the same I hoped they would show a little more enthusiasm for Greylag’s overture, which was due to follow.

  Another member of the audience was Hobby the confectioner. He was sitting fairly near to Grosbeak, Merganser and Gadwall, and was clearly enjoying himself. He hurrahed loudly at the end of each piece of music, and when the overture began he could be heard tapping his foot. Unfortunately, he had the habit of coughing during quiet passages. Not only that, but he made no attempt to do it discreetly: instead he seemed to make a performance out of each cough, producing a handkerchief and disgorging himself with gusto. It was during one such bout of coughing that I noticed Grosbeak looking across at Hobby. Next moment he gave a signal and three men in olive drab uniforms emerged from the shadows. They approached Hobby and spoke to him in lowered voices before leading him outside. He didn’t come back; and subsequently there was no more coughing in the auditorium.

  The overture had now reached its famous crescendo. A cheer rose up when the lone horn appeared and played its mournful notes. Then the entire orchestra came crashing back and the music charged to its tremendous finale. The concert was undoubtedly a triumph: the audience responded tumultuously. Even Grosbeak, Merganser and Gadwall were seemingly engaged at last, nodding to one another as they added to the applause. I looked over to Smew: he was smiling with evident satisfaction.

  Greylag, in the meantime, had silently rejoined the orchestra as they packed away their instruments. I intended to rush over and congratulate him but no sooner had I got to my feet than I was engulfed by a crowd of well-wishers, all slapping me on the back for my supposed tour de force. Then Smew called me across to join his entourage. He went sweeping out into the night and I had no option but to follow; which meant that Greylag would have to wait until the following day.

  By then, however, events had begun to unfold rather swiftly. It was quite a while before I had the chance to speak to Greylag again.

  I was on my way to the cake next morning when I learned some disturbing news: Brambling had been so upset by the failure of the currency that he’d resigned his post as Chancellor. The first I knew of it was when I saw him standing outside the counting house with his bags packed. Apparently, he’d already seen Smew and had his resignation accepted.

  ‘Didn’t he try and persuade you to reconsider?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh yes,’ replied Brambling, ‘he offered the usual platitudes but I’m afraid it was too little too late. I’ve made up my mind to go and I’m not changing it again.’

  ‘What are you planning to do?’

  ‘I intend to return to the provinces and fade into obscurity.’

  Nevertheless, his duties were incomplete. He wasn’t going anywhere until he’d seen the ledger returned safely to its rightful home.

  ‘Those scrutineers won’t find any errors,’ he declared, ‘if that’s what they’re looking for.’

  I felt slightly sorry for Brambling. After all, it wasn’t his fault that the currency was worthless; indeed, the slide had begun years before he commenced his brief tenure. Everyone always assumed that Greater Fallowfields possessed vast reserves of gold and silver bullion, but now the assumption was shown to be untrue. All we had was a hoard of coins whose value depended on the good name of the empire. This, it transpired, was no longer enough: the empire was on the wane. We couldn’t even resort to buried treasure. Hidden somewhere was a crown of solid gold, but nobody knew where it was. Consequently we were unable to pay our debts, and Brambling blamed himself. I left him brooding and continued my journey towards the cake.

  When I arrived I was confronted by a huge number of parcels stacked outside the main door. There were roughly a hundred of them, all wrapped in brown paper, and I guessed they were the orchestra’s new coats. This was typical of the empire: necessary items could never be found until after they were needed. I decided that Dotterel must have had a change of heart; presumably he’d located the garments and ordered these parcels to be dispatched forthwith, but the postmen had then failed to deliver them in time for the concert.

  On examining the parcels closely, however, I discovered that they did not bear the imperial postmark. Instead, they were all stamped with the letters CoS.

  Quickly I opened one of them. Inside, neatly pressed and folded, was an olive drab uniform. I was still standing there holding it when Whimbrel appeared.

  ‘We’re wanted down at the counting house,’ he said, ‘urgently.’

  I rewrapped the parcel and put it back on its pile. Then we set off. As we walked, I informed Whimbrel about Brambling’s impending departure. He was unsurprised.

  ‘Dotterel and Garganey have tendered their resignations too,’ he said. ‘It seems they’ve had the idea of combining the workforce into some kind of trade organisation before it dwindles any further. They’ve both come to the conclusion that workers can’t be ruled from the top down; so they’ve decided to join their ranks and develop a democratic movement.’

  ‘Is that why we’re needed at the counting house?’ I enquired.

  ‘No,’ replied Whimbrel, ‘but the matter is equally serious. Grosbeak and his men have returned with the ledger.’

  There was a small gathering outside the counting house when we got there. Smew was present, of course, as well as Wryneck and Shrike. Representing the visitors were Grosbeak and Merganser, accompanied by a few of their henchmen; but we saw no sign of Brambling.

  ‘He’s gone,’ explained Wryneck. ‘He headed off as soon as the ledger was safely returned.’

  ‘Didn’t he say goodbye?’ I asked.

  ‘He did to me, yes,’ said Wryneck.

  ‘And me,’ added Shrike.

  ‘Well, he didn’t to me,’ I said.

  ‘Can we please get on?’ demanded Grosbeak.

  ‘Certainly,’ said Smew. ‘Let’s go inside.’

  One of Grosbeak’s assistants
had laid the ledger on the table, and now we assembled around it. Grosbeak settled down in Brambling’s former chair. Smew sat opposite. As de facto regent he was our natural spokesman.

  ‘We have studied your records,’ Grosbeak began, ‘and they are reasonably transparent.’

  ‘Good,’ said Smew.

  ‘You have a negative balance of half-a-crown.’

  ‘So I believe.’

  Grosbeak opened the ledger at a certain page.

  ‘Let’s get straight down to business,’ he continued. ‘We are prepared to defer the cash payment as long as three conditions are fulfilled.’

  ‘Just a moment,’ murmured Smew. He reached into his pocket and produced his notepad and pencil. Then he sat holding them at the ready. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘what are these conditions?’

  ‘Firstly, that the empire adopts Standard Railway Time.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Smew, ‘the march of progress.’

  ‘It’s quite elemental,’ Grosbeak commented. ‘You need to be integrated into the network and you might as well do it now as later.’

  ‘We’ve recently put a lot of effort into setting our clocks for winter,’ said Whimbrel.

  ‘That can’t be helped,’ said Grosbeak. ‘You’ll just have to reset them.’

  ‘Let’s hear the second condition,’ said Smew.

  ‘We wish to requisition your cake. It is a fine building with a large capacity: we propose to use it for future recruitment rallies.’

  ‘What about the orchestra?’ I objected. ‘They have nowhere else to go.’

  ‘I was coming to that,’ said Grosbeak. He referred briefly to the ledger. ‘I understand that the imperial orchestra consists entirely of serfs.’

  ‘Correct,’ said Smew.

  ‘These serfs being the property of the crown estates: actually the only portable property.’

  As Grosbeak uttered these words I sensed Whimbrel stirring beside me. I began to feel rather uneasy, and even Wryneck drew a deep breath.

  ‘Such is the nature of serfdom, yes,’ said Smew warily.

  ‘Then the third condition is that the orchestra be taken into our protection and removed to the City of Scoffers.’

  ‘That’s not fair,’ said Wryneck.

  ‘Fairness doesn’t enter into it,’ replied Grosbeak. ‘Those are our terms. Don’t forget, we’re the injured party, not you. We built the railway as per the contract. Now we desire recompense. It’s as simple as that.’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ said Smew, ‘we fully understand.’

  At that instant a shrill whistle was heard in the distance.

  Grosbeak looked at his watch.

  ‘Five o’clock,’ he announced. ‘The evening train is exactly on schedule.’

  Simultaneously, public clocks all around the capital began to strike eleven. Or some of them did anyway. Others played a short melody and then chimed the hour. As I listened it quickly became evident that a few of these clocks needed urgent attention. They’d only been adjusted about two weeks previously, yet half of them sounded as if they’d lost several minutes already! No sooner would one clock complete its cycle of chimes than another would start up nearby, then another after that, as though they were arguing about precisely what time it was. Of course, as far as Grosbeak was concerned they were all ‘wrong’. If his first condition was to be met, then someone would have to go around altering them again. Without Dotterel on hand to oversee the task, I wondered how this could possibly be achieved.

  Equally unsettling was Grosbeak’s second condition. It appeared that the ‘recruitment pavilions’ near the railway were no longer sufficient for his requirements. Instead, he wanted to take over the cake and hold mass rallies there. How the populace would view such a prospect was anybody’s guess: we simply didn’t do that kind of thing in the empire, and especially not in the capital.

  It was the third condition, however, that was most disturbing of all. Grosbeak intended to transplant the orchestra to the City of Scoffers, which meant, effectively, that I’d be out of a job. Oh, I was fully aware that my role as Principal Composer was merely nominal. Everyone knew who the real composer was. Nonetheless, as an officer-of-state I still felt that I had much to contribute. To be quite truthful I enjoyed being a member of the cabinet, not only for the privileges it conferred, but also because it put me at the very heart of imperial affairs. With the orchestra gone, my position would be far less tenable.

  While I was pondering all this, Smew had been busily in consultation with Wryneck. The two of them stood slightly apart from the rest of us with their heads together, talking quietly.

  Now Smew turned to Grosbeak. ‘We feel that you leave us little choice,’ he said. ‘The honour of the empire must be preserved and therefore we agree to your conditions.’

  ‘Excellent,’ Grosbeak replied. ‘We will begin operations tomorrow.’

  Whimbrel was in a sombre mood when I visited him at the observatory that evening. He said nothing when he let me in, and remained silent as we climbed the iron stairway. Then we sat at his table and drank the remaining drops of our fortified wine. I’d called in at the cake on my way over and broken the news to Greylag. He’d accepted it in his normal resigned manner, a fact which came as a relief to me. The last thing I needed was Greylag kicking up a fuss. Apparently, some of Grosbeak’s men had paid a visit during the afternoon and distributed the new outfits. Each musician now sat with an unopened brown-paper parcel at his feet. Rehearsals had been discontinued and all the instrument cases were packed in preparedness for their departure. They’d been told to be ready to leave by ten o’clock the following morning (local time).

  ‘A final concession to the empire,’ remarked Whimbrel. ‘Henceforward, we’ll all be living in Standard Railway Time.’

  We peered through the observatory window. In the moonlight we could see a large flag fluttering above the cake, emblazoned with a hammer and anvil. Similar flags had also been hoisted at various locations across the capital, the flags of the empire having first been lowered.

  ‘They’re very self-assured, aren’t they?’ I said. ‘Confident to the point of arrogance, actually.’

  ‘Maybe so,’ said Whimbrel, ‘but there’s something bothering them all the same.’

  ‘How do you mean?’ I asked.

  ‘I’ve lost count of the number of times they’ve come here demanding to look through the telescope. True, they always bring a pocketful of sixpences, or anvils as they prefer to call them: they never fail to pay their way. Yet they always turn the telescope to the west and spend hours gazing towards the sea. I’ve told them repeatedly that there’s nothing out there but they won’t listen. They just continue pouring coins into the slot.’

  ‘What do you think they’re watching for?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Whimbrel. ‘It’s almost as if they’re on guard against some hidden menace lurking just beyond the horizon.’

  ‘Well, at least the empire’s recouping some money,’ I said. ‘We need every penny we can get.’

  After that the conversation subsided into silence again. We each sat with our own thoughts as the sky darkened and the stars appeared over the occupied capital.

  By next morning I’d decided that I really ought to try and do something for the orchestra. Remembering my failed attempt to buy them all some sweets, I determined to tackle the confectioner once again. Maybe he would accept my ‘recruiting sixpence’ as payment, especially now that the coins were circulating throughout the realm. When I arrived at the sweetshop, however, I found the door locked and a sign hanging outside: CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE. I looked through the window at all the sweets in their jars, as inviting and unreachable as ever. Then I turned and headed for the railway station.

  Much had changed since my previous visit: apart from the main line there was now a siding with a loop in the track so that trains could be turned around without uncoupling; a prefabricated building labelled PROCESSING CENTRE had replaced the former encampment; and the station platform had been
provided with wooden benches.

  A train was waiting with all its carriage doors open. Sitting on a bench was Whimbrel, who I’d arranged to meet at ten o’clock so that we could say goodbye to the orchestra.

  ‘I hope they’re going to be all right,’ he said. ‘They’ve never travelled anywhere before, as far as I know.’

  His concern for the orchestra was quite touching. After all, they were my responsibility, not his. Even so, I didn’t really think there was much to worry about. Grosbeak and his companions may have driven a hard bargain, but I sensed that they meant no harm to the orchestra: according to the agreement the musicians were being taken into ‘protection’. This sounded innocuous enough to me, though Wryneck had raised a voice of protest when it was first proposed. Also, I vaguely recalled Mestolone mentioning something about ‘protection’ some weeks earlier.

  As a matter of fact, Whimbrel had some fresh tidings and they concerned Mestolone. Apparently, he had offered his services to help with the adjustment and maintenance of the public clocks. He’d approached Smew and explained that he wished to assist the empire in its hour of need; and whilst he had no desire to collaborate with the ‘scoffers’, he realised it was necessary at least to be seen co-operating.

  ‘Did Smew accept the offer?’ I asked.

  ‘Without hesitation,’ Whimbrel rejoined. ‘Actually he’s made Mestolone an honorary citizen of Greater Fallowfields.’

  ‘What about the other actors?’

  ‘It seems they’ve been keeping a low profile,’ said Whimbrel. ‘They’re ensconced in the Maypole and living on credit.’

  ‘Just for a change,’ I remarked.

  A nearby clock began striking ten, and a file of men came marching along the platform. It took me a moment to recognise them as members of the orchestra, because they were all now wearing their new olive drab uniforms. They carried with them their instrument cases but appeared to have few other possessions. Last to arrive was Greylag. When he saw me and Whimbrel he paused.

  ‘Morning, Greylag,’ I said. ‘All set?’