Dotterel, Brambling, Wryneck and I quickly shared out the remaining roles.
Meanwhile, Garganey rose from his seat and started walking around the table in a very self-conscious manner.
‘A final note,’ said Smew. ‘Don’t forget that the king is the only person who can’t see the ghost. All right, Whimbrel, proceed when you’re ready.’
‘Proceed where?’ Whimbrel asked.
‘You’re supposed to sit down.’
‘I’m sitting down already.’
‘No,’ said Smew, ‘you have to enter the room and sit in the king’s place.’
‘Oh,’ said Whimbrel, ‘right.’
He got up, went out of the room, then came back and sat down on Garganey’s empty chair. In the meantime, Garganey continued to walk around the table. When nobody spoke he walked round again.
‘Come on, someone,’ urged Smew.
‘Sorry,’ said Brambling. ‘I missed my cue. Please Your Highness to grace us with your company?’
‘The table’s full,’ said Garganey.
‘Here’s a place reserved, sir,’ said Dotterel.
‘Where?’ said Garganey.
‘Here, my good lord,’ said Dotterel. ‘What is it that moves Your Highness?’
‘Which of you have done this?’ said Garganey.
‘Done what?’ said Dotterel.
‘That’s my line, actually,’ said Wryneck, ‘and you said it wrong.’
‘I’m fully aware whose line it is,’ replied Dotterel. ‘I’m just asking what’s been done?’
‘Well, haven’t you read the play?’ asked Smew.
‘Of course I have.’
‘Then you must know about the murder.’
‘Yes,’ said Dotterel, ‘and so does the king.’
‘Your point being?’
‘My point being that you said the king is the only person who can’t see the ghost.’
‘Correct,’ said Smew.
‘So if he can’t see the ghost why does he ask who’s done it?’
‘Maybe I’m sitting in the wrong seat?’ suggested Whimbrel.
‘No, I don’t think so,’ said Dotterel.
Smew gave a sigh. ‘Perhaps we should all have a discussion about the meaning of the play,’ he said. ‘Just to ensure we’re all reading from the same page, so to speak.’
‘I agree,’ said Garganey, sitting down in Whimbrel’s place.
‘That’s settled then,’ said Wryneck.
There was a brief hiatus in the conversation while everybody looked through their texts.
Then Smew said, ‘All right, does anyone want to tell us what this play’s about?’
‘Well, basically,’ said Brambling, ‘it’s about this nobleman who’s told by the oracles that he’ll be king; and that his friend, who’s also a nobleman, won’t.’
Smew frowned.
‘A brief but fairly accurate summary as far as it goes,’ he announced, ‘but really I was referring to the broader meaning of the play.’
‘Oh,’ said Brambling, ‘sorry.’
‘It’s an example of the feudal system in perfect working order,’ said Wryneck, ‘until someone tampers with it.’
‘Very concise,’ said Smew. ‘Yes, to operate properly a feudal kingdom depends on obedience, trust, honour and duty. Here we have a generous king surrounded by his loyal noblemen and all appears to be well. The natural order is upset, however, by ambition, treason and murder. You’ll also notice that the play lacks any kind of sub-plot. There are no trivial sideshows or distractions. All is cast in desolate shade. The entire five acts are weighed down with the consequences of treachery. Even the murderers mistrust one another.’
We sat in silence around the table, each of us pondering Smew’s stark description. Through the windows I could see dark clouds approaching. There’d been rain overnight and now, it seemed, it was going to rain again. The hands of the clock had almost reached eleven. This meant that the meeting would soon be over.
‘By the way,’ I said, ‘I’ve taken the liberty of commissioning some music to accompany the play.’
‘Really?’ said Smew. ‘So we can look forward to hearing it portrayed in abstract symphonic terms?’
‘Hopefully,’ I replied.
‘Or will it be simply a variation on the imperial anthem?’ enquired Wryneck.
‘Certainly not,’ I said. ‘What are you implying?’
‘I’m implying nothing,’ said Wryneck, ‘but you may wish to know that altering the imperial anthem is officially regarded as an act of treason.’
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘I had no idea.’
‘I’ve been studying the public records,’ said Wryneck. ‘They make very interesting reading.’ He now turned to Garganey. ‘It is also treasonous to interfere with the imperial postal service.’
‘Even to make improvements?’ said Garganey.
‘I’m afraid so,’ replied Wryneck. ‘I’m only telling you this for your own good, you understand.’
‘Thank you,’ said Garganey, ‘and what’s your function exactly?’
‘I’m Pellitory-of-the-Wall,’ said Wryneck. ‘The name speaks for itself.’
Chapter 8
When the rain came down, Whimbrel was unable to see the stars. Instead, he spent the evening in the observatory studying his charts. He’d been in the library all afternoon reading about astronomy and at last he appeared to be making some progress. I watched as he worked with ruler and compasses, making calculations and writing the results on his notepad. Eventually, though, he decided he’d learned enough for one day.
‘I meant to tell you,’ he said. ‘Sanderling has heard a rumour.’
‘Not another bevy of dancing girls?’
‘No, no,’ said Whimbrel, ‘nothing like that. Apparently a troupe of strolling players arrived at the imperial gates yesterday morning and asked to be allowed into the royal quarter.’
‘Why did they have to ask?’ I said. ‘Those gates are purely ceremonial. They’re never closed.’
‘Well, you know what actors are like,’ said Whimbrel, ‘always trying to seek attention.’
‘Yes, I suppose so.’
‘Sanderling says they’ve taken lodgings at the Maypole.’
‘How did they manage that?’ I demanded. ‘We couldn’t even get served a glass of beer.’
‘Perhaps they’re singing for their supper,’ suggested Whimbrel. ‘They can’t have any money: they come from outside the empire.’
‘Do they indeed?’
‘According to the rumour, they’ve been travelling for weeks.’
‘So they must have been caught in all that rain last night?’
‘Probably, yes,’ said Whimbrel.
This was a most unusual turn of events. Strangers from abroad rarely visited the heart of the empire, and I wondered what sort of life they lived. Then again, a rumour was only a rumour. I’d believe it when I saw these ‘strolling players’ for myself, and not a moment sooner.
‘I’ve got some news too,’ I said. ‘Brambling maintains that we don’t get another sixpence until we’ve spent the last one.’
‘Really?’ said Whimbrel.
‘He’s trawled all through his ledger and found the appropriate entry.’
‘Well, my sixpence remains stubbornly unspent.’
‘Mine too,’ I said. ‘In fact, I mentioned it to Brambling.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He told me we were lucky to get sixpence when the postmen only earn a penny a day.’
‘That doesn’t make sense.’
‘No,’ I agreed, ‘I don’t think Brambling knows very much about money.’
‘Well, he is Chancellor of the Exchequer,’ said Whimbrel. ‘He’s obviously perfect for the job.’
‘Quite.’
For some reason I took my stipendiary sixpence from my pocket and began examining it closely. On one side was the head of a long-forgotten emperor; on the other was the image of a ship under full sail.