‘Me?’ I exclaimed, astounded. ‘How can I be the emperor in disguise?’
‘Well, we didn’t think it was any of the others.’
‘So you presumed it must be me?’
‘Yes.’
‘I can assure you it isn’t.’
‘Then along came Gallinule.’
‘A much more likely contender.’
‘Agreed.’
‘But surely he’s just an actor?’
‘So why has nobody laid eyes on the other seven players he’s supposed to be with?’
‘Good question.’
‘He visited the counting house this afternoon and poor Brambling felt he had no choice but to lend him half-a-crown.’
‘But that’s equivalent to five sixpences!’
‘Precisely,’ said Whimbrel. ‘He obviously has a high opinion of his own worth; and he talks constantly in the royal “we”.’
‘As if to the manner born?’
‘It’s quite possible.’
‘Hmm,’ I said thoughtfully. ‘ “Find the Emperor”: sounds like a parlour game.’
Just then we heard a voice rising from the doorway down below. It had a clear, resonant tone that carried easily to our ears.
‘Anybody home?’
‘Hello!’ Whimbrel called back. ‘Yes, please come up.’
The iron staircase clanged as Gallinule made his entrance.
‘Absolutely marvellous piece of architecture!’ he said, by way of greeting. ‘So this is the world-famous royal observatory of Fallowfields!’
Whimbrel appeared slightly taken aback, as if he had never considered the place in such august terms before. I thought about the cake and realised that it, too, was ‘world-famous’.
Gallinule turned out to be the perfect guest. Before the guided tour he presented Whimbrel with a bagful of lions and tigers from the confectioner’s shop.
‘Hobby has a wonderful selection of sweets,’ Gallinule told us. ‘We hardly knew which to choose.’
During the course of the tour he asked sensible questions that Whimbrel was able to answer in an informative way. He was especially keen to find out where north was, and seemed impressed when Whimbrel showed him the ‘easy’ method for locating it. Finally we went up on to the roof for an overall view of the sky.
‘I’m sorry I can’t let you have a look through the telescope,’ said Whimbrel, ‘but I’m afraid it’s jammed.’
‘Oh, you should have mentioned it before,’ said Gallinule. ‘We could have brought Mestolone with us.’
‘Who’s Mestolone?’
‘He’s one of our strolling players. He specialises in all the minor roles. You know: captains, soldiers, messengers, attendants, porters, murderers. You name it: he plays it.’
‘What’s all that got to do with my telescope?’ Whimbrel enquired.
‘Mestolone is also a gifted handyman,’ Gallinule explained. ‘He builds all our scenery and he can mend anything. We’ll send him over tomorrow afternoon.’
‘Oh, right, thanks,’ said Whimbrel. ‘So you really are an actor then?’
‘Of course,’ Gallinule replied. ‘Actor par excellence!’
Chapter 11
At ten o’clock on Monday morning, Smew called the register.
‘Chancellor?’
‘Present.’
‘Postmaster?’
‘Present.’
‘Astronomer?’
‘Present.’
‘Comptroller?’
‘Present.’
‘Surveyor?’
‘Present.’
‘Pellitory?’
‘Present.’
‘Composer?’
‘Present.’
‘His Exalted Highness, the Majestic Emperor of the Realms, Dominions, Colonies and Commonwealth of Greater Fallowfields?’
There was no response.
‘Absent,’ said Smew.
‘Oh, that reminds me,’ said Wryneck. ‘We’ve received another letter from the emperor.’
From his inside pocket he produced an envelope. It was addressed to the cabinet and bore the imperial seal.
‘Before we open it can I have a look at the postmark?’ said Garganey.
‘Certainly,’ said Wryneck.
It transpired that the letter had been posted locally on the previous evening.
‘I’m quite pleased about that,’ Garganey remarked. ‘Perhaps my measures are taking effect at last.’
He opened the envelope to reveal an imperial edict:
BY ORDER OF HIS MAJESTY
THE EMPEROR OF GREATER FALLOWFIELDS
IT IS COMMANDED THAT
FROM HENCEFORTH THE SUN WILL SET DAILY AT FIVE O'CLOCK.
The edict was passed around the table so that each officer-of-state could see it for himself.
‘Direct and to the point,’ remarked Dotterel.
We all agreed about that.
Privately, I considered this latest demand to be simply outrageous. It was one thing to restrict the sale of sweets or beer for reasons of public morality; it was quite another to dictate the hour when the sun set. Exactly who, I wondered, did the emperor think he was?
Still, there was no point in voicing my reservations to the others. An edict was an edict and had to be obeyed. I was only glad that it wasn’t my job to enact it.
‘Well, now, Whimbrel,’ said Smew. ‘This looks like your department.’
‘Yes,’ Whimbrel replied, ‘I thought it might be.’
The edict had finished its journey around the table and now lay in Whimbrel’s hands. He stared at it blankly for several long moments before rising to his feet.
‘If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen,’ he said, ‘I’d like to take this back to the observatory so that I can study its implications in depth.’
‘And then you’ll report back, will you?’ enquired Smew.
‘Yes,’ said Whimbrel, ‘although I might be some time.’
Having devolved such a heavy responsibility on to Whimbrel, the rest of us resumed work on our play. It was a fractious rehearsal to say the least. For a start, I was enrolled to play the ghost in Whimbrel’s absence. I spent a good deal of time going in and out of the room, and sitting down in other people’s places. At one point I accidentally chose the emperor’s empty chair and earned a stern rebuke from Wryneck. Nor were matters helped by Smew’s repeated assertion that the king was the only person who couldn’t see the ghost, which I was now beginning to doubt. Then Dotterel mentioned that we kept referring to Garganey as the king when he was in fact a usurper. Furthermore, Dotterel said that he had found at least three other kings in the text.
‘This should help clarify the situation,’ he announced. He had with him a wooden box which he now opened. Inside was a golden crown. He placed it on the table and Wryneck immediately took it up in both hands.
‘Where did you find this?’ he asked.
Wryneck uttered these words as though he was collating evidence for some unnamed future inquisition. His voice was flat and toneless, but the question was nevertheless insistent.
‘I was conducting an inventory of the imperial artefacts,’ said Dotterel. ‘It was in the royal workshop being smartened up for the coronation.’
‘So it’s the emperor’s crown?’ said Sanderling.
‘Sort of,’ said Dotterel. ‘Actually this is the spare crown: the lightweight model used in public ceremonies and processions.’
He removed the crown from Wryneck’s grasp and tossed it across the table towards Sanderling.
‘Here,’ he said, ‘catch!’
To everyone’s surprise Garganey intercepted it in mid-air and put it on his head.
‘You can’t do that,’ said Wryneck. There was a sudden note of disquiet in his voice.
‘I’ve done it,’ replied Garganey. ‘I presume you intended this as a stage prop, Dotterel?’
‘A temporary stage prop, yes,’ Dotterel answered. ‘For rehearsal purposes only, you understand.’