Magnus Mills - A Cruel Bird Came to the Nest and Looked In

‘Well, sir,’ he said, ‘it would be very pleasant to go out in the fresh air for a change, instead of being cooped up in here all the time.’

‘Fresh air?’ I said. ‘Yes, I can arrange that, Greylag. Consider it done.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

‘Meanwhile I have some more guests to inform, so good luck and I’ll see you afterwards.’

Having contacted Whimbrel, Brambling, Garganey and Sanderling, as well as allowing for Dotterel’s absence, there were only two names left on my list: Wryneck and Smew. I went over to the great library in the late afternoon with plenty of time to spare, as the performance wasn’t scheduled until seven thirty.

Unusually, the library doors were closed when I arrived. They weren’t locked, however, so I went inside and began browsing around the shelves. This was certainly a well-stocked collection of books and I could see why Smew was so attached to his domain. Even so, I didn’t think he was quite the expert on literature that he obviously felt himself to be. His interpretation of the play contained some glaring errors, and I’d begun to wonder about the accuracy of his so-called history of the empire. Entertaining as it was, the facts had yet to be proved. When I reached the far end of the shelves I saw that the door to the reading room was also closed. I knocked and entered without waiting for a reply.

Wryneck and Smew were clearly not expecting visitors. Indeed, they appeared mildly surprised to see me. They were sitting in their comfortable chairs by the large bay window. Between them was a tray of tea and toasted soldiers; also a pot of lemon curd. On Smew’s desk lay the ceremonial crown. It had been removed from its box and was gleaming in the late-afternoon sunshine.

‘Aha,’ I said, by way of greeting, ‘the unclaimed crown.’

Neither Wryneck nor Smew replied.

I closed the door behind me.

‘What I meant,’ I continued, ‘was that we’re still waiting for the coronation to take place.’

‘Yes,’ said Wryneck.

Smew said nothing.

‘So the crown remains unused for the time being.’

They gazed at me with blank expressions.

‘Until the emperor claims it,’ I ventured.

I didn’t seem to be getting through to them.

The clock struck five and the sun began to set. It was a picture of regal splendour: the entire room was instantly bathed in a sumptuous glow, just the same as the day before; and the day before that; and the day before that as well.

Then the truth dawned.

‘There was no edict, was there?’ I said.

‘No,’ Smew answered.

‘It was all concocted for your personal enjoyment.’

‘Yes.’

‘What about the emperor?’

‘He’s not here.’

‘Only this pretend crown?’

‘Correct.’

Wryneck and Smew had begun to look very uncomfortable. I glanced around at the cups and saucers, the teapot, the plates and the toasted soldiers. I watched the last rays of sunset creep slowly across the room. Finally I passed judgement.

‘Rather selfish, wasn’t it?’

According to Wryneck and Smew they had no choice in the matter. The young emperor had failed to come home from university at the end of term; neither had he written to declare his intentions. With no official word forthcoming, Wryneck and Smew decided they should try to carry on as though everything was normal. They quietly postponed the coronation and continued to hold weekly cabinet meetings. Meanwhile they held court in private.

‘Certain traditions needed to be maintained,’ said Smew. ‘What better symbol of changelessness than tea at five in a sunlit reading room?’

He rose from his chair and put the crown back in its box.

‘How long has all this been going on?’ I asked.

‘Several months,’ replied Smew. ‘I only discovered the emperor was absent when he neglected to return his library books.’

‘You mean he’d borrowed them?’

‘Yes.’

‘I thought you said it wasn’t a lending library.’

‘It’s different for the emperor,’ Smew pointed out. ‘He owns the books.’

‘Oh.’

‘I’m a mere custodian.’

‘If you’re a mere custodian,’ I said, ‘what entitled you to take charge of the affairs of state?’

‘Wryneck and I felt it was the best course of action,’ said Smew, ‘to ensure the continuity of the empire.’

From that point of view I conceded they were probably right. All the same, the pair had taken a number of liberties which needed to be addressed.

‘What about the edicts?’ I enquired. ‘I assume they were forgeries.’

‘Yes they were,’ said Smew. ‘We realised we needed the full weight of authority behind us if we were to succeed.’

‘So why didn’t Garganey get an edict to help him deal with the postmen? That would have been of great use to him.’

‘We thought it was too obvious,’ Smew replied.

‘Well, neither he nor Dotterel are going to be very pleased when they find out about this,’ I said. ‘You’ve made both their lives extremely difficult.’

‘Are you going to tell them then?’

‘Not yet, no,’ I said. ‘It all has to be untangled very carefully; otherwise the populace could become restless.’

‘I’m glad to hear you have a grasp of the situation,’ remarked Wryneck.

There was another motive as well, of course. I didn’t want anything to interfere with the evening’s concert performance. Time was slipping by, so I handed them their invitations and set off towards the cake. I planned to greet the guests as they arrived. I’d also decided that I should ask Gallinule and his companions along, not least because they promised to brighten up the audience. I called in at the Maypole and learnt that they were not at home.

‘They’re busy rehearsing their play,’ said the publican.

As usual he was standing behind his counter polishing glasses.

‘Could you pass them a message?’ I enquired.

‘Certainly,’ he said. ‘Is it about the Greylag Overture?’

‘Oh,’ I said, somewhat surprised by the reference, ‘yes.’

‘Thought so.’

‘You know about that then, do you?’

‘Everybody knows about it,’ he said. ‘The word has spread and no doubt they’ll be clamouring at the door.’

This was news to me. I’d always assumed that the kind of orchestral music heard at the cake was confined to court circles only. It now appeared I was misinformed. I glanced around the bar and for the first time realised it was deserted.

‘Where is everybody?’ I asked.

‘Queuing up, I imagine,’ replied the publican.

I thanked him and hurried off towards the cake. It was nearly seven o’clock and, sure enough, there was a queue at the door that extended right around the circumference of the building. This queue consisted of postmen, artisans and other commoners. They filed through the door in an orderly manner and took their places in the hard seats at the rear of the auditorium. Next to arrive were the officers-of-state, all wearing their dandy coats, and I was pleased to see that even Dotterel had found time to attend. Naturally the strolling players turned up with only minutes to spare. Gallinule made an entrance dressed in all his crimson finery, and such a fuss ensued as he found his seat that anyone would have thought the audience had come to see him, rather than the imperial orchestra.

I joined Whimbrel, Garganey and Sanderling in the soft seats near the front. Brambling, Dotterel, Wryneck and Smew chose the row behind us. Then I watched with pride as Greylag took to the podium. Although he wore the imperial livery, which showed that he was a serf, he had all the bearing of an established conductor. At precisely seven thirty he primed the waiting orchestra and the music began.