A Cruel Bird Came to the Nest and Looked In

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 world 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.

Now, however, they seemed completely overawed by the sight of the newcomers, and it required someone of my calibre to take the reins. Unfortunately, I was constrained by the cabinet’s recent injunction. We had agreed unanimously not to make any sort of approach to the railwaymen. My present visit was in a strictly personal capacity and therefore I needed to maintain a low profile.

A brief hiatus ensued, during which Gadwall looked at me and I looked at him. Then suddenly there was a nearby kerfuffle. I glanced around and saw Gallinule advancing through the throng in his finest crimson apparel. Without so much as a nod in my direction he spoke directly to Gadwall.

‘Gallinule at your service,’ he said. ‘May we introduce our company?’

In a veritable coup de théâtre he then proceeded to introduce Ortolan, Pukeka, Rosella, Mitteria, Chiurlo and Penduline. (Mestolone was nowhere to be seen.)

Gadwall regarded the entourage in solemn silence for several moments. They were attired in all manner of outlandish clothing, yet his face betrayed neither astonishment nor curiosity.

‘What is your business?’ he enquired.

‘The world, sir, is our business,’ replied Gallinule.

‘Then you may wish to attend one of our pavilions,’ said Gadwall. ‘As you can see, preparations are already under way.’

Indeed, the preparations Gadwall referred to were going on apace. Within minutes of arriving the men in olive drab had begun unloading the carriages. In a highly organised operation out came boxes, crates and large bundles of fabric. Very soon a site had been cleared and rows of bell tents erected. These appeared to be for purposes of accommodation, but beyond them some much larger tents were gradually being hoisted into position.

A good part of the crowd had started slowly to disperse, having evidently lost interest after the train’s glorious arrival. A substantial number remained, however, and they seemed almost mesmerised by the frenetic activity they were witnessing. Such industriousness was seldom seen in Greater Fallowfields, and for some it was plainly a fascinating spectacle. Gallinule and his colleagues had soon embarked on a guided tour of the new encampment. In the meantime I decided to take the opportunity to slip quietly away. Privately I suspected Gallinule was on the verge of becoming unstuck. It was obvious to me that he’d only come along to test the market for theatre tickets. Somehow, though, he’d managed to convince Gadwall that he was a man of local importance; and he was now being entertained accordingly. I had no doubt that his acting abilities would enable him to wriggle out of any impending situation, but I didn’t want to be involved.

I wandered along the platform, peering casually through each carriage doorway as I passed. Some interiors were stacked full of equipment; others were virtually empty. The final carriage, I noticed, was not included in all the hustle and bustle. The men in olive drab uniforms did not venture near, and nothing was being unloaded. Nonetheless, I sensed that there was somebody inside.

As I drew near a man appeared in the doorway and looked out. He, too, was dressed in olive drab, but his demeanour was somehow different from the others. There was a certain stillness about him as he observed the unflagging toil of his compatriots. When he saw me coming he directed his gaze at me. I perceived straight away that he was carrying out a visual assessment: it was almost as if he was deducing my worth from my physical appearance. In other words, he was weighing me up.

Then he beckoned me over and spoke. ‘Give me a hand here, will you?’

I glanced into the carriage and saw behind him a large wooden trunk with brass handles at each end. Evidently he had misjudged me: it was quite obvious he thought I was some kind of court functionary who would jump at his every command. Or perhaps he even took me for the station porter! Either way, I decided to play along with the whole game. After all, there was no harm in offering help to a newly arrived traveller.

‘Certainly,’ I said, reaching in and grasping one of the handles.

Together we slid the trunk towards the doorway. Then, with a grunt or two, we heaved it down on to the platform.

A few seconds went by as I stood waiting in silence. An acknowledgement of some sort was all that was required, yet the man did not thank me for my assistance. Instead, to my surprise, he put a silver sixpence in the palm of my hand.

‘There you are,’ he said.

Naturally, I was flabbergasted. It was one thing to be mistaken for a servant, but entirely another to be treated as one. For a moment I gazed speechless at the man, who had already moved away and was attending to other business inside the carriage. It was plain that he regarded the transaction as a matter of course, while from my point of view it was practically an affront. Indeed, such conduct was unheard of throughout the empire.

On the other hand, it occurred to me that this unexpected turn of events could resolve an embarrassing problem at a stroke. Whimbrel had failed persistently to return the stipendiary sixpence I’d lent him. Moreover, I had no inclination to ask for it back. Now all of a sudden there was a sixpence lying in the palm of my hand. Here was a chance to receive recompense indirectly. Besides, it would be awkward trying to return the offering. In the next instant the man closed the carriage door, leaving me standing alone on the station platform. Without further debate I slipped the coin into my pocket and headed homewards.

Dusk was falling, although it was barely past midday. In the distance the lights of the capital were gradually beginning to glow and there was a definite feeling of seasonal jollity in the air. I had to admit that I now felt fairly pleased with the outcome of my morning jaunt. Not only had I witnessed the arrival of the first scheduled train, but I’d also been fully reimbursed with my stipendiary sixpence. All at once I felt like an officer-of-state again. No longer was I dependent on Brambling’s begrudged generosity: I now had a sixpence of my own!

As I continued walking I began to conjecture what the others did with their stipends. I knew that Whimbrel dutifully fed his sixpence into the observatory telescope, and I assumed Sanderling was saving his for when he finally tracked down those elusive dancing girls. I had no idea, however, about the spending habits of the remaining officers. I then fell to pondering whether Smew still claimed his official payment as librarian-in-chief. I concluded that he probably did, and that most likely he’d taken the liberty of raising it to a shilling, or maybe even half-a-crown. Such, he might argue, were the prerogatives of regency.

Meanwhile, I had no doubt that Wryneck kept his money in a piggy bank.

With these idle thoughts in mind I reached the outskirts of the royal quarter. What luck to be given a new sixpence on the eve of the twelve-day feast! I paused beneath a lamp post and removed the coin from my pocket. This was the first time I’d examined it properly and I was startled to discover that it wasn’t a sixpence at all. Lying in the palm of my hand was a type of coin I’d never seen before. In size, weight and shape it was identical to an imperial sixpence. It even glimmered the same way in the lamplight. Nevertheless it was clearly something quite different. I held it nearer to the light and inspected it closely. The design was simple. On one side was a hammer and anvil; on the other were three words: CITY OF SCOFFERS.