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

Equally unsettling was Grosbeak’s second condition. It appeared that the ‘recruitment pavilions’ near the railway were no longer sufficient for his requirements. Instead, he wanted to take over the cake and hold mass rallies there. How the populace would view such a prospect was anybody’s guess: we simply didn’t do that kind of thing in the empire, and especially not in the capital.

It was the third condition, however, that was most disturbing of all. Grosbeak intended to transplant the orchestra to the City of Scoffers, which meant, effectively, that I’d be out of a job. Oh, I was fully aware that my role as Principal Composer was merely nominal. Everyone knew who the real composer was. Nonetheless, as an officer-of-state I still felt that I had much to contribute. To be quite truthful I enjoyed being a member of the cabinet, not only for the privileges it conferred, but also because it put me at the very heart of imperial affairs. With the orchestra gone, my position would be far less tenable.

While I was pondering all this, Smew had been busily in consultation with Wryneck. The two of them stood slightly apart from the rest of us with their heads together, talking quietly.

Now Smew turned to Grosbeak. ‘We feel that you leave us little choice,’ he said. ‘The honour of the empire must be preserved and therefore we agree to your conditions.’

‘Excellent,’ Grosbeak replied. ‘We will begin operations tomorrow.’

Whimbrel was in a sombre mood when I visited him at the observatory that evening. He said nothing when he let me in, and remained silent as we climbed the iron stairway. Then we sat at his table and drank the remaining drops of our fortified wine. I’d called in at the cake on my way over and broken the news to Greylag. He’d accepted it in his normal resigned manner, a fact which came as a relief to me. The last thing I needed was Greylag kicking up a fuss. Apparently, some of Grosbeak’s men had paid a visit during the afternoon and distributed the new outfits. Each musician now sat with an unopened brown-paper parcel at his feet. Rehearsals had been discontinued and all the instrument cases were packed in preparedness for their departure. They’d been told to be ready to leave by ten o’clock the following morning (local time).

‘A final concession to the empire,’ remarked Whimbrel. ‘Henceforward, we’ll all be living in Standard Railway Time.’

We peered through the observatory window. In the moonlight we could see a large flag fluttering above the cake, emblazoned with a hammer and anvil. Similar flags had also been hoisted at various locations across the capital, the flags of the empire having first been lowered.

‘They’re very self-assured, aren’t they?’ I said. ‘Confident to the point of arrogance, actually.’

‘Maybe so,’ said Whimbrel, ‘but there’s something bothering them all the same.’

‘How do you mean?’ I asked.

‘I’ve lost count of the number of times they’ve come here demanding to look through the telescope. True, they always bring a pocketful of sixpences, or anvils as they prefer to call them: they never fail to pay their way. Yet they always turn the telescope to the west and spend hours gazing towards the sea. I’ve told them repeatedly that there’s nothing out there but they won’t listen. They just continue pouring coins into the slot.’

‘What do you think they’re watching for?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Whimbrel. ‘It’s almost as if they’re on guard against some hidden menace lurking just beyond the horizon.’

‘Well, at least the empire’s recouping some money,’ I said. ‘We need every penny we can get.’

After that the conversation subsided into silence again. We each sat with our own thoughts as the sky darkened and the stars appeared over the occupied capital.

By next morning I’d decided that I really ought to try and do something for the orchestra. Remembering my failed attempt to buy them all some sweets, I determined to tackle the confectioner once again. Maybe he would accept my ‘recruiting sixpence’ as payment, especially now that the coins were circulating throughout the realm. When I arrived at the sweetshop, however, I found the door locked and a sign hanging outside: CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE. I looked through the window at all the sweets in their jars, as inviting and unreachable as ever. Then I turned and headed for the railway station.

Much had changed since my previous visit: apart from the main line there was now a siding with a loop in the track so that trains could be turned around without uncoupling; a prefabricated building labelled PROCESSING CENTRE had replaced the former encampment; and the station platform had been provided with wooden benches.

A train was waiting with all its carriage doors open. Sitting on a bench was Whimbrel, who I’d arranged to meet at ten o’clock so that we could say goodbye to the orchestra.

‘I hope they’re going to be all right,’ he said. ‘They’ve never travelled anywhere before, as far as I know.’

His concern for the orchestra was quite touching. After all, they were my responsibility, not his. Even so, I didn’t really think there was much to worry about. Grosbeak and his companions may have driven a hard bargain, but I sensed that they meant no harm to the orchestra: according to the agreement the musicians were being taken into ‘protection’. This sounded innocuous enough to me, though Wryneck had raised a voice of protest when it was first proposed. Also, I vaguely recalled Mestolone mentioning something about ‘protection’ some weeks earlier.

As a matter of fact, Whimbrel had some fresh tidings and they concerned Mestolone. Apparently, he had offered his services to help with the adjustment and maintenance of the public clocks. He’d approached Smew and explained that he wished to assist the empire in its hour of need; and whilst he had no desire to collaborate with the ‘scoffers’, he realised it was necessary at least to be seen co-operating.

‘Did Smew accept the offer?’ I asked.

‘Without hesitation,’ Whimbrel rejoined. ‘Actually he’s made Mestolone an honorary citizen of Greater Fallowfields.’

‘What about the other actors?’

‘It seems they’ve been keeping a low profile,’ said Whimbrel. ‘They’re ensconced in the Maypole and living on credit.’

‘Just for a change,’ I remarked.

A nearby clock began striking ten, and a file of men came marching along the platform. It took me a moment to recognise them as members of the orchestra, because they were all now wearing their new olive drab uniforms. They carried with them their instrument cases but appeared to have few other possessions. Last to arrive was Greylag. When he saw me and Whimbrel he paused.

‘Morning, Greylag,’ I said. ‘All set?’

‘Yes, sir,’ he replied.

‘Looks as if you’ve got a long journey ahead of you.’

‘Yes.’

The orchestra was accompanied by several of Grosbeak’s henchmen. I thought they spoke rather gruffly as they ordered the musicians into the carriages, but I assumed they had a strict timetable to adhere to. For this reason their impatience could be excused.

‘Well, good luck, Greylag,’ I ventured, shaking his hand.

‘Thank you, sir,’ he said.

Likewise, Whimbrel shook hands with Greylag; he also slipped a silver coin into his pocket.

‘You may find it useful,’ he said.

Greylag thanked him, then turned and climbed into his allotted carriage. He didn’t give me a second glance. Further along the platform a whistle was blown; immediately the engine blew its own whistle in response. Whimbrel and I stepped back a little as the wheels began to turn.

‘I’ve been hoping to secure Greylag’s freedom,’ I said, ‘but it’s too late now.’