A Cruel Bird Came to the Nest and Looked In Read online

  Without another word I left the cake and walked back towards the palace gates. All was quiet. Darkness had fallen on the capital, and almost every building I passed was bathed in shadows.

  There was one exception, however. Eventually I turned a corner and came upon the Maypole. As always, coloured lights were shining brightly behind the frosted windows. A welcoming lantern swung from the lintel. The door was closed, but beyond it I could hear laughter, snatches of songs, and the tinkling of glasses. Wood smoke was drifting from the chimney, and I imagined there to be a huge log fire blazing in the hearth. For a few minutes I stood listening to the sounds of merrymaking. I thought about going in, but then I decided it could wait until another evening.

  Chapter 3

  ‘Absent,’ said Smew.

  Once again he had taken it upon himself to mark the register; and once again there was no sign of the emperor. I couldn’t see whether Smew had inserted a cross or a tick, because today he was holding the register tilted slightly towards him. Only Wryneck, who sat immediately to his right, had an unobstructed view.

  ‘We’ll wait for a quarter of an hour,’ Smew announced.

  So again we sat around the table in silence as fifteen minutes went by. As usual, we all had our notepads in front of us. There was also a small stack of textbooks positioned between Wryneck and Smew. They all looked identical, but from where I was sitting I was unable to see the title. Eventually, the clock chimed the quarter hour.

  ‘Well, now,’ said Smew, finally closing the register. ‘Is there any other business?’

  Nobody spoke.

  ‘I’m surprised,’ Smew remarked. ‘Doesn’t the Postmaster General have anything to report, for example?’

  ‘Actually, I do have some findings to relate,’ said Garganey, ‘but I can hardly proceed without the emperor’s consent.’

  ‘His Majesty’s absence is merely temporary,’ said Wryneck. ‘Besides which, you could always present a provisional report to cabinet.’

  ‘Seconded,’ said Smew.

  ‘Carried,’ said Wryneck.

  The clock ticked. Garganey stared frostily across the table at Wryneck. To my left, Whimbrel shuffled his feet uneasily.

  ‘All right,’ said Garganey at length. ‘I can’t see any harm in a “provisional report” as you so neatly put it.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Smew. ‘I’m sure it will be appreciated by all of us.’

  A murmur of agreement went around the table. Garganey glanced briefly at his notes. Then he began.

  ‘Now, as you know, we have for many years been suffering delays in the postal service. Letters posted just around the corner can take three or four days to arrive, whilst those sent to the provinces tend to turn up several weeks later, even when they bear the imperial seal. Hitherto, such delays have been viewed as intrinsic to the postal system, the general assumption being that they are largely unavoidable.’ Garganey paused momentarily before continuing. ‘My recent studies, however, have shown that this is not quite the case. There is, in fact, a simple explanation: namely, the postmen’s custom of stopping halfway through the morning and coming back for breakfast.’

  Smew sat bolt upright in his chair. ‘Is this true?’ he demanded.

  ‘I’m afraid so,’ said Garganey. ‘Breakfast is regarded as sacrosanct amongst the postmen. Even if they’re miles away, they always come back.’

  ‘What do they do after breakfast?’ asked Brambling.

  ‘They resume their deliveries,’ replied Garganey. ‘Oh, there’s no doubt they pursue the task earnestly. They set off with fully laden sacks and a cheery greeting for everyone they meet. The trouble is they only work until noon, which means that some of the mail doesn’t reach its destination.’

  ‘What happens to it?’

  ‘Any remaining letters go back in the pillar boxes to be collected the following day.’

  ‘In other words the post is delayed,’ said Smew.

  ‘Precisely,’ said Garganey, folding away his notes and looking around the table. ‘The solution, gentlemen, is obvious.’

  ‘Well, you can’t stop them having breakfast,’ said Brambling. ‘It’s the most important meal of the day.’

  ‘Of course not,’ conceded Garganey. ‘I wouldn’t dream of it. Furthermore, important changes cannot be enacted without the express approval of His Majesty. In his temporary absence, therefore, I would like to suggest a trial period during which the postmen have their breakfast before they leave in the morning.’

  ‘What time would that be?’ enquired Brambling. ‘Roughly.’

  ‘About five o’clock,’ said Garganey.

  ‘Is that seven days a week?’

  ‘Six.’

  As the discussion continued, I quietly wondered whether Garganey would be able to face a hearty breakfast at that time in the morning. Surely, the whole point of the postmen going out early was so that they could get some work behind them while building up a decent appetite. It struck me that Garganey’s proposition was bound to cause more problems than it solved. As far as I was concerned, interfering with a man’s breakfast went beyond the pale. I didn’t say anything, however. Garganey would have to find out for himself.

  A trial period of three months was generally agreed, and I then expected deliberations to be swiftly concluded. Smew, though, had one more item for us to consider.

  ‘Now then,’ he said, ‘I know that it’s only the beginning of autumn and the twelve-day feast still seems a long way away. All the same, this is the time of year when we need to start thinking about some kind of courtly entertainment for the occasion. Sooner or later His Majesty is bound to send us an official reminder, but meanwhile it would be a great help if we could all at least mull over a few ideas.’

  ‘What about some dancing girls?’ suggested Sanderling.

  Smew peered across the table at Sanderling as if he’d never noticed him before.

  ‘You were very quick off the mark,’ he said. ‘Dancing girls, eh? Well, that certainly rings a bell.’

  From the ceiling there dangled a tasselled cord. Smew pulled it and an instant later a liveried attendant came into the room.

  ‘Yes, sir?’

  ‘Ah, Shrike,’ said Smew. ‘Whatever happened to those dancing girls we used to have?’

  ‘They went away, sir.’

  ‘Why was that?’

  ‘They became great with child, sir.’

  ‘All of them?’

  ‘I’m afraid so, sir.’

  ‘Do we know . . .?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘I see.’ Smew furrowed his brow. ‘All right, Shrike. That will be all for now.’

  The attendant nodded and left the room, closing the door behind him. The rest of us sat in silence for several seconds, until eventually Garganey spoke. ‘Since when have we had liveried attendants at our beck and call?’

  ‘Actually, there’s only one of them,’ Smew replied. ‘Shrike has been helping me out as Assistant Librarian.’

  ‘Really?’ said Garganey. He appeared unimpressed.

  ‘It looks as though there won’t be any dancing girls,’ remarked Wryneck.

  ‘Indeed not,’ said Smew, ‘and to be honest they probably wouldn’t have been entirely suitable for a courtly entertainment. What I had in mind was some sort of performance in which we ourselves could participate.’

  ‘You mean a play, for instance?’ said Wryneck.

  ‘Correct,’ said Smew. ‘Obviously it would need to be one that accommodated all eight of us more or less equally. I’ve taken the liberty of bringing along an example that just might fit the bill.’ He reached for the textbooks which were stacked beside him and began handing them around. ‘Unfortunately there are only six copies available, so some of you will have to share.’

  Whimbrel took one of the books and placed it between himself and me.

  ‘Ah, yes, I’ve heard of this,’ he said, examining the title page. ‘They all get killed at the end, don’t they?’

  ‘A few of the
m, not all,’ said Smew. ‘However, there is no need to concern ourselves with the details of the plot at this juncture. Instead, I thought perhaps we could simply read through one of the scenes in order to get a feel of the play. Also, we might get some idea as to who will be suited to what parts.’

  ‘It doesn’t look to be a very long play,’ observed Brambling.

  ‘That’s a point in its favour,’ said Smew. ‘The entire five acts only take about an hour and a half all told, which is quite a lot less than the average cabinet meeting. In fact, we could rehearse the play while we’re waiting for His Majesty to reappear.’

  Dotterel had already begun flicking through his copy of the book. ‘Who’s going to play the king then?’ he enquired.

  ‘I was coming to that,’ Smew replied. ‘There’s a famous scene in the play involving a banquet, so I suggest that since we’re all sitting around this table we should give it a try, each of us taking turns to be different characters.’

  During the ongoing discussions I’d been expecting an outburst from Garganey at any moment. After all, Smew had seized the helm again, just like on the previous Monday. I could tell from Garganey’s face that he had little enthusiasm for joining in with Smew’s project, but to my surprise he didn’t offer a word of objection. He merely sat at the table studying his copy of the book.

  ‘The scene in question is on page forty-three,’ said Smew. ‘Now all you need to know for the time being is that the king is the only person at the banquet who cannot see the ghost. Perhaps we could start by reading it silently to ourselves.’

  We all obeyed.

  Whimbrel, I soon discovered, had the habit of running his index finger along each line of print, word by word, as he read. Presumably he thought that I would read at precisely the same pace as him while we were sharing, whereas in truth I went fairly quickly and had to keep waiting until he moved his finger out of the way. Still, we managed somehow, reaching the end of the scene after only a few minutes. The first to finish, though, was Dotterel.

  ‘This ghost,’ he said. ‘Who is he, exactly?’

  ‘He’s a former friend of the king,’ answered Smew.

  ‘But he can’t see him?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Right.’ Dotterel turned back to page forty-three and commenced reading the scene again.

  In the meantime, Smew addressed the rest of us. ‘You’ll notice that one of the characters is a lady,’ he said. ‘To save unnecessary embarrassment I’ll take her part for now. Unless someone else wishes to volunteer, of course?’

  Nobody did.

  ‘I’ll be the ghost,’ said Whimbrel.

  ‘I’ll be the king,’ said Garganey, ‘if nobody minds.’

  ‘And I’ll be the murderer,’ said Sanderling.

  ‘All right,’ said Smew. ‘Everyone else will be the noble guests. Now to begin with the king has to “mingle with society and play the humble host”, which means basically that he has to walk around the table greeting everybody. So, when you’re ready, Garganey.’

  ‘Just a second,’ Dotterel interjected. ‘Shouldn’t we move the emperor’s chair out of the way?’

  ‘Why’s that?’ asked Smew.

  ‘Well, the king says “the table’s full”.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘It can’t really be full when there’s an empty chair, can it?’

  ‘It won’t be empty for very long,’ said Smew, ‘because the ghost comes and sits in it.’

  ‘But you just said the king couldn’t see the ghost.’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘So it’ll still look empty to the king.’

  ‘And whilst I’m walking around the table,’ added Garganey, ‘my chair’s going to be empty too.’

  ‘That’s two empty chairs,’ said Whimbrel.

  ‘All right!’ snapped Smew, closing his book and laying it on the table. ‘You’ve all made it quite clear you’re not interested in doing this play, so we won’t bother!’

  ‘On the contrary,’ said Dotterel. ‘I think it seems very profound on first reading. I’m definitely for carrying on.’

  ‘Same here,’ said Brambling.

  ‘Why don’t we simply pretend that the emperor’s chair isn’t there?’ I suggested. ‘After all, we’re hardly entitled to move it out of the way.’

  One or two people murmured their assent.

  ‘Sounds like a reasonable compromise,’ said Smew. ‘Everyone agreed?’

  ‘Agreed,’ said Wryneck.

  The clock struck eleven.

  ‘Is that the time already?’ said Sanderling.

  No one answered.

  ‘Maybe we should leave it until another day,’ I said. ‘Then we can all read the play at our leisure and come back next week fully prepared.’

  ‘Good idea,’ said Brambling.

  ‘Well, I suppose there’s no particular hurry,’ observed Smew, ‘just so long as everybody does their homework properly.’

  ‘We’ll do our best,’ said Garganey. ‘I presume I’ll be king again next time?’

  ‘If you like,’ said Smew.

  For an instant I thought I saw the pair of them glance warily at one another across the table; but then I decided it was probably only my imagination. Nonetheless an awkward silence ensued, during which the rest of us began rising to our feet. Sanderling went over to the clock and stood gazing through the glass at its inner workings. He seemed slightly startled when all of a sudden the minute hand ticked forward by one degree.

  ‘Can we take these books with us?’ asked Whimbrel.

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ said Smew. ‘You’ll have to come to the great library and read them there.’

  ‘But I thought libraries were for borrowing books.’

  ‘It’s not a public lending library,’ Smew replied. ‘It’s the imperial library of the court of Greater Fallowfields. There’s an important difference.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Whimbrel. ‘I’ll try to bear it in mind.’

  Wryneck gathered together the books and handed them to Smew. Meanwhile, I headed out through the door and down the steps, thankful that the meeting was over for another week. I hadn’t got very far, however, when Brambling caught up with me.

  ‘Can I have a word?’ he said.

  Chapter 4

  The counting house was tall and narrow and built from red brick. Brambling unlocked the front door and led me inside.

  ‘Here we are,’ he said. ‘Welcome to my domain.’

  We were in a plainly decorated room with small windows and sparse furnishings. There was a marble floor, a desk and two chairs. In the corner stood an iron-bound treasure chest. A huge ledger lay on top of the desk. On the walls hung portraits of several previous emperors; but none, yet, of the latest incumbent.

  ‘Three words actually,’ said Brambling. ‘Fees, rents and disbursements.’

  ‘Do I owe some rent then?’ I enquired.

  ‘Oh no,’ he said. ‘Officers-of-state reside at the emperor’s expense.’

  ‘That’s what I thought.’

  ‘The reason I’ve invited you here is to discuss your stipend.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘I expect you’re curious to learn what it is, aren’t you?’

  ‘To tell you the truth I hadn’t really considered it.’

  ‘I’m surprised,’ remarked Brambling. ‘All the others have been here to claim theirs already.’

  ‘Even Whimbrel?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, he never said anything to me about it.’

  ‘There’s no reason why he should, is there?’

  ‘No,’ I said, ‘I suppose not.’

  ‘Anyway, please take a seat and we’ll look it up.’

  We sat down opposite one another at the desk and Brambling opened the ledger. It was evidently a weighty tome because at his first attempt to turn its pages it slammed shut again noisily. The sound reverberated all around the counting house. Only when I reached over and helped from my side of the desk was Brambling able to open t
he ledger properly and find the place he required. I could see a series of printed columns with handwritten entries beside them.

  ‘Now then,’ said Brambling, running his finger down the page. ‘Principal Composer to the Imperial Court. According to my records the office pays a stipend of sixpence.’

  ‘Very generous,’ I said.

  From where I sat I could clearly see the entries for all the other officers-of-state, including Brambling himself. Each was to receive a stipend of sixpence, just the same as me. Brambling must have known this beforehand and hence there had been no real need for him to ‘look it up’. I didn’t mention this, though, as I had no wish to quash Brambling’s pretensions. In his role as Chancellor of the Exchequer he dealt with all fees, rents and disbursements, and it was his privilege to conduct matters in the way he thought appropriate.

  Carefully, he closed the ledger. Next he opened a drawer on his side of the desk and from it produced a tin money box. This, apparently, was locked. Brambling then proceeded to fumble in his pockets until eventually he found the key. Lastly he opened the lid and took out a sixpence, which he placed on the desk before me.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘Do I need to sign for this?’

  ‘Of course not,’ replied Brambling. ‘Your office is one of trust.’

  I took the sixpence and examined it casually.

  ‘Just one more question,’ I continued. ‘Is it sixpence a day or sixpence a week?’

  At these words Brambling looked at me with complete astonishment. It was as if I had just queried a central tenet of his existence; or challenged the integrity of the chancellery; or maybe suggested that the counting house was built on shifting sands. For several long moments he stared at me silently across his desk. Then he stood up and walked around the room, glancing from time to time in my direction. Finally, he opened the door, went outside and peered in at me through the window.

  After a while he came back.

  ‘Nobody’s ever asked me that before,’ he said. ‘I’ll have to find out.’

  Brambling was still going through his ledger, page by page, in search of an answer, when I said goodbye and left him to it. I had decided to pay Greylag a surprise visit, so I strolled across the park with my sixpence in my pocket. It must have rained during the night because there were large puddles of water lying everywhere. I wondered vaguely how the weather affected Whimbrel’s nocturnal activities. After all, he could hardly study the skies when there were great rain clouds blocking his view. I remembered that prior to the cabinet meeting he’d mentioned something about ‘the astronomer’s bane’, but I hadn’t really paid much attention. Presumably this was what he’d been referring to.