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

My patience was tried to the limits, however, when he told us one evening how he’d spent the afternoon. Apparently he’d been to a matinée performance of Gallinule’s play.

‘Marvellous piece of work,’ he said. ‘Especially Gallinule himself as the main protagonist: what an actor!’

‘Good show, was it?’ asked Sanderling.

‘Terrific,’ replied Whimbrel. ‘The tale of ambition poised before the fall.’

‘I thought it was sixpence a ticket,’ I ventured.

‘Correct,’ said Whimbrel.

‘Don’t you reserve your sixpence for the telescope?’

‘Normally, yes,’ he answered, ‘but it so happened I had a spare one.’

‘Really?’

‘Quite by chance actually,’ he continued. ‘I meant to tell you about it. Two men appeared at the door yesterday morning asking if they could have a look through the telescope. I pointed out that this was the royal observatory, not a public amenity, but they were very persistent. They said they had their own coins and were prepared to reward me for any inconvenience.’

‘Who were these men?’ I enquired.

‘No idea,’ said Whimbrel. ‘They had foreign accents and wore olive drab uniforms; they seemed harmless enough, though, so I took them up on to the roof.’

‘Let me guess,’ I said. ‘They wanted to look at the railway?’

‘At first, yes,’ said Whimbrel, ‘but then they turned to the west and spent ages peering in that direction. I told them there was nothing out there except the sea but they wouldn’t listen. They just kept plying the telescope with coins as if there was no tomorrow. The pair of them certainly seemed prosperous. They each had a pocketful of money and when they left they gave me a sixpence for my trouble.’

‘Did they say thank you?’

‘Funny you should ask that,’ said Whimbrel. ‘As a matter of fact they didn’t.’

‘And have you still got the coin they gave you?’

‘Indeed I have.’

He reached into his pocket and produced a silver sixpence; except, of course, that it wasn’t a sixpence at all.

‘Good grief,’ said Whimbrel, ‘I’ve been swindled.’

His face betrayed sheer astonishment as he inspected the coin properly for the first time. It was exactly the same as the one I’d been given, with a hammer and anvil on one side and CITY OF SCOFFERS on the other.

There was a long silence, and then Sanderling spoke.

‘I’ve got one of those too,’ he said, rather bashfully.

From his pocket he produced an identical coin.

‘How did you come by yours?’ I asked.

‘I met two men in olive drab uniforms,’ he said. ‘They asked directions to the observatory and then gave me this.’

I decided I had better confess about my own coin as well. I told the story of how I’d acquired it, and then the three of us sat glumly pondering our foolishness.

‘I’ve seen those men on a few occasions, around and about,’ said Sanderling, ‘and others like them.’

‘Where?’ I queried.

‘All over the place, actually. They usually go in pairs and seem to be scrutinising everything.’

‘You mean like tourists?’

‘Not really,’ said Sanderling, ‘more like they’re on patrol.’

‘Doesn’t anyone question their presence?’

Sanderling shrugged. ‘It’s a holiday, isn’t it? Nobody pays them any attention.’

‘They even came to see Gallinule’s play,’ said Whimbrel. ‘There were two of them sitting in the back row this afternoon. Oddly enough, they appeared quite unmoved by the tragedy. There were all these characters on stage being betrayed, coerced, shamed and abandoned, not to mention simply murdered, yet the pair of them just sat there expressionless with their arms folded.’

‘Maybe it wasn’t their cup of tea,’ suggested Sanderling.

‘Yes, maybe,’ agreed Whimbrel.

He picked up a wine bottle and replenished each of our glasses. The prevailing mood was sombre.

‘I’d like to have seen Gallinule’s play,’ I remarked.

‘Then why didn’t you?’ asked Whimbrel.

‘I didn’t have a sixpence,’ I replied. ‘Not a proper one.’

‘Well, I wish you’d told me,’ he said. ‘I could have lent you mine.’

As the clock struck ten, Smew opened the register.

‘Let us begin,’ he said, taking up his pencil. ‘Chancellor of the Exchequer?’

‘Present,’ said Brambling.

‘Postmaster General?’

‘Present,’ said Garganey.

‘Astronomer Royal?’

‘Present,’ said Whimbrel.

‘Comptroller for the Admiralty?’

‘Present,’ said Sanderling.

‘Surveyor of the Imperial Works?’

‘Present,’ said Dotterel.

‘Pellitory-of-the-Wall?’

‘Present,’ said Wryneck.

‘Principal Composer to the Imperial Court?’

‘Present,’ I said.

‘Librarian-in-Chief?’

‘Present,’ said Shrike.

‘Good,’ said Smew. ‘All present and correct.’

He closed the register and set it to one side.

Shrike’s swift advance through the hierarchy reminded me, once again, that I ought to begin pressing for Greylag’s freedom. With all the fine work he was doing he thoroughly deserved it. This, however, was neither the time nor the place for such matters. The twelve-day feast was over and, at Dotterel’s insistence, an emergency meeting of the cabinet had been convened.

‘Now, Dotterel,’ Smew began, ‘tell us what exactly is bothering you.’

‘I’m gravely concerned,’ said Dotterel, ‘that my artisans are being enticed away from the empire.’

‘In what sense?’ asked Smew.

‘The railwaymen are behind it,’ Dotterel continued. ‘They’ve established recruitment pavilions at the edge of the capital and they’ve spent the last two weeks trying to lure my men away with promises of jobs in the east. Hundreds of skilled workers have signed up already. They’re shipping them out by the trainload.’

‘I see,’ said Smew.

‘It’s not only the skilled workers,’ added Garganey. ‘My postmen are walking around with so-called “recruiting sixpences” jingling in their pockets. They’ve been accustomed to a penny a day and now they all think they’re going to be living like lords.’

‘Sixpence is a huge sum to a commoner,’ remarked Wryneck.

‘Indeed,’ said Garganey, ‘but actually the whole scheme’s a complete fraud. The coins they’ve been given look identical to imperial sixpences, but were actually struck in the City of Scoffers, wherever that may be.’

‘The City of Scoffers,’ repeated Smew. ‘The predominant society in the east.’

‘You’ve heard of it then?’

‘Of course,’ Smew replied. ‘It’s one of the friendly cities I alluded to during my series of talks. Clearly it has expanded beyond its boundaries; and like any growing city it requires more people to work, and yet more after that.’

‘So they’ve come here to recruit,’ said Brambling.

‘Correct,’ said Smew.

‘By fair means or foul,’ intoned Garganey.

‘Why foul?’ Brambling enquired. ‘Surely our people are signing up of their own volition: it’s their choice if they want to leave the empire.’

‘Not quite,’ said Garganey. ‘True enough, these recruitment pavilions are all above board. They’re only glorified tents, actually, but rumour has it that queues of eager applicants are forming every day; once they’ve signed up and received their payment it’s merely a question of waiting for the next available train.’

Garganey paused and glanced around the table.

‘Not everyone signs up, however. Some people are recruited by roving parties whose methods are altogether different. What they do is they slip unsuspecting persons a sixpence on some pretext, for example, in return for a small favour. Once the coin has been accepted it’s deemed a “consideration”. Thereafter the contract is binding. That’s how they snared most of my postmen.’