The rain held off so we pressed forward. During the next hour we heard more shrill piping noises, as well as various clangs and hisses. Presently there also came the sound of men’s voices. We passed some felled trees and entered a clearing. Shrouded in steam and smoke stood a huge, dark engine with a blackened funnel. Behind it an iron railway receded into the distance. A wire fence ran parallel on either side of the tracks. At the edge of the clearing was a double row of bell tents; also, some kind of field kitchen.
I had never seen men working as hard as those gathered around the engine. They barely glanced in our direction when we appeared out of the scrub, but just kept on labouring at their task. The sight of these men came as something of a revelation to me. We had a maxim in the empire:
HE SHALL EARN BUT A PENNY A DAY
BECAUSE HE CAN'T WORK ANY FASTER.
Or, more correctly, nobody worked faster than they needed to: not the postmen, nor the artisans, the clerks, or the purveyors of goods. That was how it had been as far back as I could remember. Even in the great days of shipping it often took equally as long to unload a vessel as it had for it to cross the sea in the first place. Such was the abundance that there was simply no need to hurry.
These men, by contrast, had clearly never heard the maxim. Or if they had they chose to pay it no attention. It was impossible to see what was driving them as they strove to lay their iron rails and move the engine, yard by yard, towards its destination. Every function was performed with the efficiency of clockwork. None of these men paused even for a moment’s rest.
They were all attired in a plain olive drab uniform bearing a distinct insignia. This comprised the letters CoS.
After observing them for a minute or two I noticed that one man was standing slightly apart from the rest, and was giving instructions rather than physically working. When he saw Greylag and me he nodded as though he’d been expecting us. He issued a further set of instructions to his men; then he walked over to where we stood.
‘I’ve been expecting a delegation,’ he said. ‘Is there any reason for the delay?’
Something in his tone suggested it would be unwise for me to admit I had no idea what he was talking about.
‘Not as far as I know,’ I replied.
‘Well, I haven’t got time to wait any longer,’ he announced. ‘I need to go back with the engine.’
He looked at his watch, then produced a whistle from his pocket and blew it twice. Immediately, the entire workforce downed tools and walked towards the engine. Within seconds another squad of men appeared from the direction of the tents. Having drawn closer I now saw that there was a windowless carriage attached to the rear of the engine. A sliding door was opened and the retiring men squeezed inside. Their replacements had already begun work when the engine repeated its shrill blast.
‘All right,’ said the man with the whistle, ‘we’ll no doubt meet again.’
He turned and strode briskly towards the engine.
‘And you are?’ I enquired.
‘Gadwall,’ he said, over his shoulder. ‘Commissioner of Railways.’
He climbed into the carriage and blew his whistle once more. Then we watched as the great engine gathered steam and departed backwards down the track.
I was curious as to whether the remaining workers would ease their pace now that the overseer had departed. Or perhaps even cease work altogether, as would invariably be the practice in the empire. On the contrary these men continued without faltering, and again I wondered what unseen force could be propelling them. Meanwhile, the engine chugged and chuffed into the distance, the iron rails ringing forlornly beneath its wheels. Greylag seemed completely mesmerised by the sight and sound of these industrious men with their slavish engine. On his face was a faraway expression that I’d seen before. His eyes were glistening, just as they had been when I first outlined the requirements for the overture. Evidently he could detect music in the mechanical rumblings. The men themselves, of course, had no such ‘romantic’ notions. Their only interest was in laying the next set of rails. They laid them straight and level and then moved on, repeating the same process again and again. They took no notice of Greylag or me.
We gazed after the engine as gradually it diminished into a tiny speck. Moments before it vanished it gave a last shrill peep. Then it was heard no more.
Chapter 15
‘Which of you have done this?’ demanded Garganey.
Certain changes had taken place during my brief absence. I’d only been away for one day yet in that time it appeared Garganey had seized power. He was standing at the far side of the room wearing the ceremonial crown. Everyone else was seated around the table, and I assumed I’d walked into an emergency meeting of the cabinet. It was only chance that had brought me here in the first place. I’d arrived home quite late in the evening and gone straight to bed. The following morning around ten o’clock I went to call on Whimbrel but found the observatory deserted. Guessing he must have gone to see Brambling about a replacement sixpence, I’d then proceeded to the counting house. Nobody was there either, so next I headed for the library. Maybe, I thought, Whimbrel or Brambling had some fact to look up in one of the books. It was Shrike who told me everyone was at the cabinet meeting. He’d been put temporarily in charge of the library and was plainly making the most of his new-found responsibility. I discovered him lounging in Smew’s comfortable chair by the large bay window. True enough, he jumped to his feet the instant he saw me. Nevertheless, it was obvious he’d been idling.
The clock had finished striking ten when I left the library and headed for the cabinet room. Now I felt most annoyed. Why, I wanted to know, had I not been informed of the situation?
I happened to arrive just as Whimbrel was going in. Normally I would have hailed him, but this morning I wasn’t in the mood. Surely he of all people could have told me what was happening. He was supposed to be a friend. Then again, he’d recently been testing this so-called friendship to the limit. For a start he’d never bothered to repay the sixpence I’d lent him. Oh, I know he wasn’t going to run away with it; he was only around the corner and, besides, he needed the sixpence more than I did. Yet it was the principle that mattered: at least he could have offered to repay it. Maybe that was why he spent more time with Brambling than with me. Another flaw had been revealed on the evening we visited the Maypole. On that occasion Whimbrel had invited Sanderling and me back to the observatory for a ‘bottle or two’ as he put it. Quite reasonably we’d both taken this to mean a bottle or two of fine wine, not dandelion-and-burdock as it turned out to be. I recalled that Sanderling had been particularly disappointed. Nor did I like the way Whimbrel and Brambling had conjectured that I was the emperor in disguise. They’d patently discussed me as if I was an exhibit in a display cabinet. Finally, of course, Whimbrel had a marked tendency to hog the telescope instead of sharing it with other people.
I watched as he entered the cabinet room. Then, after waiting a moment, I followed him inside. I was still taking my seat when Garganey uttered his declamation.
‘Which of you have done this?’ he said again.
‘Done what?’ I asked.
I noticed that both Wryneck and Smew were staring at me intently. They had the same look about them as when I’d arrived unexpectedly at teatime a few days before. Indeed, they seemed slightly taken aback. Then I realised that it would have probably suited the pair of them if I’d missed the cabinet meeting. After all, I was the only person who knew about their sleight of hand.
Or was I?
I glanced at my colleagues, one by one, and tried to decide who knew what. Then it occurred to me that Garganey must have seized power under this very pretext. He certainly looked enraged.