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

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.

When the first day of feasting arrived I realised I hadn’t made any festive arrangements. I’d been so busy with the orchestra, the railway and so forth that I hadn’t noticed it creeping up on me. Most of the populace, of course, had all manner of preparations in hand: windows were decorated with brightly coloured lights, doors were garlanded, log fires were kindled, plum puddings were mixed and gooseberry pies were baked. The objective was to eat, drink and be merry, and consequently the public houses were expecting to do a roaring trade.

I should add, though, that the twelve-day feast was actually a misnomer. Celebrations rarely extended beyond the third day; after that the holiday subsided into a kind of limbo as the supply of cakes and ale slowly dwindled and people contemplated returning to work. The only citizens who customarily took the full twelve days were the postmen, so I was surprised when a card was delivered that very first morning. The postman who brought it informed me that mine was the only call he’d made today; furthermore, he’d had to rise from his bed especially to make it. I pointed out that I’d also had to rise from my bed especially to answer his knock, but he seemed unimpressed. He wished me a ‘fruitful feast’ and went on his way, presumably in the direction of the Maypole.

After he’d gone I opened the card. It was from Smew. Apparently he was holding a grand reception from three until five in the afternoon. The venue was the reading room of the great library, and I was invited. This more or less eliminated the other possibility open to me; namely, that of joining Gallinule and his companions in their chosen hostelry. I could imagine the sort of day that lay ahead of them and it was not uninviting. The drink flowed unusually freely when Gallinule was ‘in the chair’, and a pleasant time was therefore guaranteed. At the back of my mind, though, was the question of finance. I could hardly show up at the Maypole with my newly acquired coin and try to get it past the publican. Also, I might be put under pressure to purchase a ticket for the company’s forthcoming play. Once more the problem came down to money. The price was sixpence; and sixpence I didn’t have. As much as I wanted to see this tragedy, I didn’t savour the prospect of sitting in a pauper’s seat.

I looked again at Smew’s invitation and decided I had no alternative but to accept. Indeed, it struck me that it would have been churlish not to. Here I was, being invited to the most prestigious social event of the season, one that was likely to be the envy of many, yet I was considering giving it a miss! I chided myself for being so foolish and set about getting ready.

The card said three o’clock but I determined to make my entrance at half past. Turning up any earlier would have made it look as if I had nowhere else to go, aside from which I wanted to avoid the awkwardness of being first to arrive. As it happened I need not have worried: that particular honour fell upon Sanderling. At three thirty I walked into the reading room to find him attired in his smartest dandy coat, and doing his best to converse with Wryneck. I could see immediately that he was struggling. The two of them appeared to be discussing the numerous portraits hanging around the walls, but there was a very obvious distraction. Close by stood a table laden with glasses, all brimming with wine, and as yet untouched. Poor Sanderling was plainly undergoing a mild form of torture. I watched with interest as he nodded and concurred with Wryneck, all the time casting glances at the wine as though he feared it would suddenly vanish. Meanwhile, Wryneck explained each painting down to the last tiny detail, before steering his hapless pupil towards the next masterpiece, and then the one after that. I wondered how long Sanderling would be able to bear being deprived of the drink that was so near and yet so far. Soon Whimbrel joined me, quickly followed by Dotterel, Brambling and Garganey. These last three were slightly damp. It was now raining outside, apparently, as well as being dark and gloomy. Exactly why our ancestors established the feast at this dismal time of year I didn’t know, but I presumed it was because they needed an excuse to stay indoors.