‘Moreover, they’re fully aware that the changes are only for a trial period and don’t carry the full weight of an imperial edict.’
‘In other words they’re being awkward.’
‘I don’t really like to call it awkwardness,’ said Garganey. ‘After all, they’re only trying to maintain what they see as a tradition, however archaic it might appear. We’re talking about honourable men with unbending principles. Yet they also have ordinary desires. With this in mind I attempted to soften them up a little this afternoon, though I’m afraid my efforts were to no avail.’
‘What happened?’
‘I took the delegation along to the confectioner’s shop and offered to buy them all a treat; but then that damned Hobby refused to accept my stipendiary sixpence. I felt most humiliated.’
‘I don’t doubt it,’ said Smew.
‘He even had the cheek to offer me a toffee apple in recompense.’
‘Did you accept?’ I asked.
‘Certainly not,’ said Garganey. ‘The delegation had already taken their leave and I had to set off after them. Eventually, after much persuasion, they agreed to continue with the trial for the time being, but the situation remains unsatisfactory.’
‘As you correctly pointed out,’ said Wryneck, ‘the full weight of an imperial edict would have been helpful.’
‘Quite,’ said Garganey.
While we’d been talking the sun had finally dipped behind the royal palace. Soon Shrike reappeared and cleared away the teacups. Then he started going around lighting the lamps.
‘All right, Garganey,’ said Smew, rising from his seat. ‘I suppose you want some peace and quiet so you can get down to studying the play?’
‘Yes, if nobody minds,’ replied Garganey. ‘I’d like to rehearse my role as king.’
‘Temporary role,’ said Wryneck.
‘Of course,’ said Garganey.
Chapter 6
The next afternoon I visited the observatory and discovered that Whimbrel had painted the word JUPITER across one of his window frames.
‘Why’ve you done that?’ I asked.
‘As a reminder,’ he said.
‘Yes, but Jupiter’s not going to be in that window for ever, is it?’
‘Why not?’ said Whimbrel. ‘You told me all the stars were fixed.’
‘They’re all fixed relative to one another, yes,’ I said, ‘but Jupiter isn’t a star; it’s a planet. It’s always on the move.’
‘Well, it was there last night,’ he retorted. ‘I checked especially to make sure I had the correct window.’
‘Yes, but it’s only going to be there for a few weeks and then it’ll be gone.’
‘What?’ said Whimbrel with dismay. ‘It took me all morning to paint those letters so neatly.’
‘It does look neat,’ I conceded, ‘but I’m sorry to say you were wasting your time. Nothing stands still in the universe. It’s like a huge celestial clock with all the parts revolving.’
‘Very well,’ replied Whimbrel. ‘If it’s a clock I’ll simply have to wait until Jupiter comes back round again.’
I gave a sigh.
‘Look, Whimbrel,’ I said, ‘I really think you need to study these matters in more depth. When I said “clock” I actually meant “clocks within clocks”. All the planets are on different orbits to us; Jupiter might not reappear in that particular window frame for months, or even years. Meanwhile, there’ll be other planets with other names going by.’
‘So how do I tell the planets from the stars?’
‘Easy,’ I said. ‘Stars twinkle; planets don’t.’
‘Right.’
‘There’s only eight of them altogether and you can see some without your telescope.’
‘Good,’ said Whimbrel.
‘Have you managed to get it working yet?’
‘No, I haven’t,’ he said, ‘but it so happens I was up on the roof tinkering with it just before you arrived. There’s something I want to show you.’
He led the way up the iron ladder and on to the roof. The telescope stood jammed in its usual position.
‘Look over there,’ said Whimbrel, pointing to the east.
In that direction lay vast tracts of forest interspersed with open wilderness. The land was generally considered to be uninhabitable, and as such formed a natural boundary between the empire and her neighbours. The horizon was a blur of interminable greyness; but when I followed Whimbrel’s gaze I thought I saw a plume of smoke rising up in the distance. It seemed to mark some sort of break in the terrain; hardly more than a vague line; barely discernible.
‘What do you think that is?’ I asked.
‘I don’t know,’ said Whimbrel. ‘I’ve been up here a few times recently. Sometimes I’ve seen smoke; sometimes I haven’t.’
‘Maybe some foresters have headed out there to give it a try,’ I suggested. ‘I know there’ve been several attempts in the past, but they’ve always returned saying it’s too far away to be profitable.’
‘You could be right,’ said Whimbrel. ‘All the nearby forests were used up during the great days of shipbuilding.’
‘Pity that telescope of yours is out of action. Otherwise we could see much more clearly.’
Again we peered into the distance, but by now the smoke had begun to drift away. After a minute, however, another plume rose up. This was perhaps slightly nearer than before, though in truth it was very difficult to distinguish anything in the pervading murk. The more we looked, the less we were able to see, until eventually we gave up even trying.
‘Come on, Whimbrel,’ I said. ‘It’s cold up here; let’s go back inside.’
‘Yes, it is cold, isn’t it?’ he agreed. ‘Autumn is certainly with us now.’
‘I expect they’ve got a nice log fire in the Maypole.’
‘That’s exactly what I was going to say. I’m up here some evenings and I see all the lights blazing and I think of that place. It looks so warm and inviting from the outside.’
We clambered back down the iron ladder.
‘Tell you what,’ I said. ‘Do you fancy going there tonight?’
‘The Maypole?’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Whimbrel. ‘According to Sanderling they employ a bevy of dancing girls.’
‘Even better,’ I rejoined. ‘He’s been there, has he?’
‘No.’
‘Well, we could invite him along too.’
‘Are we allowed though?’ Whimbrel asked.
‘Of course we’re allowed!’ I said. ‘We’re officers-of-state; we can do whatever we like.’
‘I must admit I’ve always found the prospect quite attractive.’
‘Right, then, that’s decided. I’ll see you later, and if Sanderling wants to come as well, the more the merrier!’
I left Whimbrel pondering what to wear and headed across the park. In the past few days I’d made up my mind to allow the orchestra to have the cake to themselves in the evenings; I thought that this was the least I could do since they plainly had nowhere else to go. Dusk was only just approaching, however, so there was still plenty of time for me to call in and see what they were up to. I entered through the main door and immediately saw Greylag conducting once again from the podium. Strictly speaking this should have been regarded as an act of gross insubordination; after all, Greylag was only a serf, despite his undoubted musical talents. The podium was supposed to be out of bounds unless he received express permission. Recently, though, Greylag and I had come to an understanding whereby he was allowed to occupy the podium during practice sessions. I’d realised that he was much better able to carry out his work from this position; and that therefore in the long term it could only be to my advantage. Accordingly, the orchestra kept on going as I strode down the centre aisle and joined them in the pit.
What was difficult to tolerate, on the other hand, was the music itself. To be frank it was quite terrible: a wild, rampaging din that might be heard at some fiendish orgy. Furthermore, it was so loud it was deafening. Only when a particular phrase was repeated did it occur to me that I was listening to the imperial anthem being played at breakneck speed! I allowed Greylag to continue for a few more bars; then I raised my hand and within moments the racket ceased.