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

Outside, everything felt different. I had no idea what time it was but the streets were completely deserted so I guessed it was very late. Many of the lights had gone out, and those that were still lit had a rather cold glow about them. Fortunately the moon was shining brightly, a fact which seemed a little odd to me, though I couldn’t think why. I looked left, then right, then left again, pondering which way to go before finally choosing neither course. I crossed over and walked straight up the street opposite. Then I turned a corner. Then another. By now I wasn’t thinking about where I was going. Nor was I looking back on the wonderful evening I’d enjoyed. I was just walking. After a while I found myself in the park, stumbling along amongst the trees. They looked stark and sombre in the moonlight. The wind was still roaring through their branches and I stopped to listen for a minute. As I stood there swaying I saw a lamp glowing in the observatory. Whimbrel was obviously still at work so I resolved to call in on him. It took some time to find my way to the start of the curving path, but I traipsed on and ultimately arrived at his door.

I knocked and waited; then knocked and knocked again.

‘Hold on,’ I heard him cry from above, ‘I’m coming.’

He made me wait an hour before opening the door.

‘What kept you?’ I said.

‘Give me a chance,’ he replied. ‘I got down as quick as I could.’

‘I’ve come to pay you a visit,’ I announced.

‘Yes, so I see.’ He shone his lamp in my face. ‘Are you feeling all right?’

‘Of course,’ I said, ‘never better.’

‘Well, I think you ought to come in.’

Whimbrel’s tone suggested I wasn’t quite myself. He led me up the iron spiral and sat me down in a chair. Then he gave me a glass of water. He watched me sternly for a moment or two, then went to his chart table and resumed his work. How long I remained sitting there I don’t know, but every time I looked across at Whimbrel he was still examining his charts. After a while I asked him for another glass of water and gradually I began to feel normal again. I didn’t move, though, and continued gazing idly at Whimbrel as he worked.

‘What are you doing?’ I enquired at length.

‘I’m trying to calculate what time it is,’ he answered, ‘so that the clocks can be readjusted.’

‘I thought you finished that hours ago.’

‘It’s proving more difficult than I expected,’ said Whimbrel. ‘To tell you the truth I don’t even know where to start.’

‘Well, how did you manage before?’

‘It was different then,’ he explained. ‘The clocks were all correct. Now they’re all wrong.’

Whimbrel sounded desperate. All those charts and tables he had at his disposal were apparently of no use at all. Not when he couldn’t understand them, anyway.

‘If it’s any help,’ I said, ‘the moon goes down at twelve.’

‘Does it?’ replied Whimbrel.

‘So maybe you could work it out from there.’

‘Yes,’ he said, his mood suddenly brightening.

I heaved myself out of my chair and the two of us went over to the window. Sure enough, there was the moon, shining in all its glory. It was about to dip over the horizon.

‘Just in time,’ I remarked.

‘What a piece of good luck,’ said Whimbrel. ‘Thank heavens you turned up when you did. You’ve saved the day.’

‘Night,’ I said.

We spent the next few minutes eagerly following the slow descent of the moon. Whimbrel stood next to his clock, and at the required moment he altered the hands to midnight. Then he got to work producing a new set of tables. I assisted by tearing up the old ones.

‘By the way,’ he said, ‘remember that shrill piping noise we heard in the east?’

‘Oh, yes?’ I replied.

‘Well I’ve been hearing it again recently, and it seems to be much closer than before.’

‘It’s only the orchestra,’ I said. ‘Greylag is experimenting.’

‘Is that allowed?’ Whimbrel asked.

‘Certainly,’ I answered. ‘I’ve given him a free hand following his success with the overture. He’s very interested in the musical undertones of industrial progress.’

‘Good grief,’ said Whimbrel. ‘How on earth does he know about that?’

‘He just does,’ I said with a shrug. ‘Greylag is much more than a simple serf, you know. As a matter of fact I’m convinced he’s a genius.’

At these words, Whimbrel turned away from his tables and gave me a penetrating look. ‘Then don’t you think it’s time you did something for him?’

‘What sort of something?’ I said.

‘Well,’ said Whimbrel, ‘you could use your influence to help him gain freedom from bondage.’

For a few moments I stared at Whimbrel with surprise.

‘Yes, I suppose I could,’ I said. ‘I never thought of that.’

We continued labouring over Whimbrel’s tables for several hours more. He was keen to get them completed as soon as possible so that he could present them to the cabinet as a fait accompli . After that he intended to go to the royal printing works and get them published throughout the empire. It was almost light when at last we finished. Considering the season, dawn came much sooner than we expected. According to the clock it was only half past five, yet daylight was already starting to stream in through the windows. Nonetheless, we both agreed that the time must be correct. We were committed to the new tables: there was no going back now.

Whimbrel cooked breakfast and thanked me for my help; then I set off on a brisk morning walk. I needed to clear my head and the park was the perfect setting. My plan was to take a stroll around the boating lake. I hadn’t got very far, however, when I heard the familiar shrill piping. It was rather early in the day, I thought, for Greylag to be at work. Besides which, the sound was coming not from the cake but from another direction entirely. Soon I heard it again. Quickly I crossed the park to the gates at the far side. Then I walked through the outlying postal districts. After half an hour I arrived at the edge of the capital. There amongst the scrub and brush stood the railway engine. The track, it seemed, was complete. I approached cautiously and saw Gadwall overseeing the final operation. A pair of buffers was being placed in position by his gang of men.

When he saw me he was polite and we exchanged greetings.

‘Congratulations,’ I said. ‘It looks like a fine piece of workmanship.’

‘Thank you,’ he replied.

We watched as the last nuts and bolts were fastened. Then the engine gave a shrill whistle. The job was truly finished.

‘Is this the end of the line?’ I asked.

‘No,’ said Gadwall, ‘this is the beginning.’

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.’