‘Just to remind everybody who’s king and who isn’t?’
‘Indeed.’
‘And where’s the proper crown?’ I enquired.
‘I’ve no idea,’ said Dotterel. ‘It’s reputed to be made from solid gold, whereas the spare one is base metal and gold paint.’
‘Base metal or no base metal,’ said Garganey, ‘this crown bears the imperial writ.’
He was still wearing it on his head, a fact that appeared to be causing Wryneck considerable unease. Smew, meanwhile, had fallen unusually silent. Finally, Garganey lifted the crown off his head and placed it back on the table.
Just then the door opened and Whimbrel came in. He nodded at everyone before taking his usual seat next to mine. Somehow he seemed very self-assured; he even looked larger in stature than when he went out.
‘How did you get on?’ I asked.
‘Very successfully,’ he replied. ‘I think I’ve found the solution.’
‘Which is?’
‘Well,’ said Whimbrel, ‘plainly we can’t alter the sunset; therefore, we’ll have to alter the clocks.’
A stir went around the room.
‘Good idea,’ I remarked. ‘I never thought of that.’
‘I’ve consulted my tables,’ Whimbrel continued, ‘and it so happens that the sun set yesterday evening at exactly five o’clock. According to my calculations we need to put the clocks forward by two minutes every day.’
‘To guarantee a sunset at five?’ said Smew.
‘Correct,’ said Whimbrel. ‘Now, Dotterel, I remember you once told me you were in charge of all the artisans.’
‘Yes,’ said Dotterel, ‘I am.’
‘So presumably you’re in charge of all the clocks as well?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then it looks as if you’re going to be very busy.’
As the gravity of the disclosure dawned on Dotterel he visibly turned pale. There were dozens of public clocks in the royal quarter, let alone the thousands situated all across the empire. For the edict to be carried out effectively, every one of these clocks would have to be altered daily. Whimbrel’s work was done: Dotterel’s, apparently, was only just beginning.
‘I must set things in train at once,’ he said, heading for the door.
‘What about this?’ said Smew, indicating the ceremonial crown. ‘Shall I keep it safe in the library?’
‘Yes, please,’ said Dotterel. ‘That would be a great help.’ He was about to leave when he paused at the door and turned to Garganey. ‘I’ll need to confer with you about informing all the clock-keepers. They’ll require a letter of instruction.’
‘The postmen aren’t going to like it,’ declared Garganey. ‘They’ll have to get up two minutes earlier every day.’
‘That can’t be helped,’ said Wryneck.
‘I know it can’t be helped,’ said Garganey, ‘but they’re still not going to like it.’
During all this flurry Whimbrel sat motionless at the table. I thought he looked quite pleased with himself.
‘Don’t forget you’ve got a visitor this afternoon,’ I reminded him.
‘Oh, yes, the handyman,’ said Whimbrel. ‘I almost forgot.’
Being no longer required in the cabinet room, we made our excuses and left. A short while later we arrived at the observatory to find a man waiting outside the door.
‘Mestolone, I presume?’ said Whimbrel.
The man was completely unlike Gallinule. His coat was black and he spoke plainly.
‘You’ve got a defective telescope, I understand?’
‘Yes,’ said Whimbrel, ‘would you like to come up?’
The three of us clanged our way to the top of the building. It was another bright autumn afternoon and the telescope glinted in the sunlight. Mestolone placed his hand on the barrel and gave it a gentle nudge. As usual it failed to move. Then he walked around and examined it from the other side.
‘Aha,’ he said. ‘Have you got a sixpence by any chance?’
‘Of course,’ said Whimbrel. He reached into his pocket, produced his stipendiary sixpence and handed it over.
Next moment there was a clunk. Then Mestolone swung the telescope upwards and peered through the eyepiece.
‘There you are,’ he said. ‘It works now.’
‘Marvellous,’ said Whimbrel.
It took him a little while to get used to directing and focusing the device correctly, but soon he was happily gazing across the park at various buildings.
In the meantime I stepped around to Mestolone’s side of the telescope. He showed me the slot where he’d dropped the sixpence in.
‘So it wasn’t broken?’
‘No.’
Another clunk signalled that Whimbrel’s time was up.
‘Let’s have a go,’ I said, fumbling for my own sixpence. I looked first at the cake, focusing on the main door and imagining Greylag and the orchestra busily at work inside. I hadn’t dropped in on them for several days now. I wondered casually how the overture was progressing, and whether it was nearing fruition. Then I turned the telescope the other way and tried to see in through the windows of the royal palace. I thought that maybe I could even catch a glimpse of our reclusive emperor! Another clunk, however, put paid to that idea.
‘You don’t get very long, do you?’ remarked Whimbrel.
‘Well,’ I said, ‘at least you’ve now got something to spend your sixpence on.’
Nonetheless, we agreed that we’d both wasted our money on this occasion.
‘We should have looked across at those plumes of smoke,’ said Whimbrel. ‘I forgot all about them in the excitement.’
We turned to the east and, sure enough, a plume of smoke was rising. It seemed to be a good deal closer than the last time I’d been up here; furthermore, the vague line in the terrain was less ill-defined than before.
‘What do you think that smoke is?’ I asked Mestolone. ‘We think there must be some foresters working over there.’
Mestolone looked doubtful.
‘Foresters usually work in squares and oblongs,’ he said. ‘These people appear to be coming in a straight line.’
Mestolone continued staring in the same direction for quite a while but he offered no suggestion about the plume of smoke. He was a quiet man but now he had become even quieter. It struck me that he was maybe feeling a little homesick. After all, he and the other players had travelled a long way to get here.
Whimbrel thanked Mestolone for his help and invited him to stay for tea. Then we took a last look eastward before descending the iron ladder. The telescope would have to wait until Whimbrel and I had received our replacement sixpences.
‘Where do you all come from, Mestolone?’ I asked, while Whimbrel was boiling the kettle.
‘Down in the south-east,’ said Mestolone. ‘Our country was a fledgling democracy.’
‘Was?’ I said.
‘I’m afraid so,’ replied Mestolone. ‘Our king was in exile and we were being ruled by a parliament.’
Now he looked very sad indeed and I began to wish I hadn’t started the conversation. Still, it was too late now.
‘I thought parliaments were supposed to be a good thing,’ I ventured.
‘They are,’ affirmed Mestolone, ‘but our parliament tried much too hard. They spent hours and hours debating every subject under the sun; and then they made laws which they couldn’t enforce.’
‘Such as?’
‘Well,’ said Mestolone, ‘take the Act of Emparkment, for example. This stipulated that no man could graze more than one hundredth part of any common land.’
‘Sounds fair enough to me,’ I said.
‘That was the trouble,’ said Mestolone. ‘The Act was drawn up in the name of fairness but without considering the consequences. Common land couldn’t be fenced off, which meant that grazing animals were able to stray out of their allotted “hundreds”. Hence, the graziers broke the law without doing anything wrong. The whole Act was thrown into question; and there were many others in a similar vein. It was all most unsatisfactory.’