After a few moments it ceased and silence returned. I opened the door and entered the auditorium. Down in the orchestra pit I could see the musicians having one of their pauses for reflection. They were talking quietly to one another and attending to their instruments. In the meantime, Greylag sat at the piano plinking odd notes and making alterations to a manuscript. Nobody had noticed my arrival so I found a seat in the back row and watched. After a while Greylag went to the podium and gave some instructions to the orchestra. Then he held his baton aloft before quickly bringing it down again. Gradually he spread his arms outwards and the sound returned, distantly at first but steadily drawing nearer, then rising up in a great single chord. It immediately conjured up the railway engine, but now transmitted through ninety-eight musical instruments! Yet at the same time there was something else as well. The chord Greylag had created contained not only an industrial shrillness, but also a kind of sad cry. It was as if he had attributed feelings to this mechanical beast.
Eventually Greylag gave another signal and the music stopped. Then he returned to the piano and began making further adjustments. To me it sounded perfect already, but I had come to know that for Greylag perfection was unattainable. It was evident he was wholly absorbed in his work, so quietly I left the auditorium and went outside.
Darkness had fallen, but for some reason I wandered into the royal park and began roaming amongst the ancient trees. I quite liked their timeless presence, especially on winter evenings when the wind roared through the empty branches. Some distance away I could see the lights of the observatory tower. These told me that Whimbrel was at home, and I made my mind up to call on him later. Oddly enough, however, I thought I saw some other lights moving amid the trees. I remained standing where I was, and the lights drew closer. Finally, two figures appeared out of the gloom. The first I recognised as Mestolone. The second, who I did not know, was carrying a torch.
‘How does the night?’ he asked.
‘The moon is down,’ replied Mestolone. ‘I have not heard the clock.’
‘And she goes down at twelve,’ said the other man.
They obviously hadn’t noticed me standing there in the shadows, and for a few moments I listened with interest as they continued discussing how dark it was. Then I deliberately stepped on a dead branch that was lying nearby.
‘Who’s there?’ they said.
‘Only me,’ I answered. ‘I was on my way up to the observatory when I heard you coming.’
‘Ah, good evening,’ said Mestolone. ‘I don’t think you’ve met Ortolan?’
I was introduced to the other actor, and Mestolone enquired if I would be coming to see their play when it was ready.
‘Certainly,’ I said. ‘I’m looking forward to witnessing a professional performance.’
‘It’s sixpence a ticket,’ said Mestolone.
Just then another light approached through the trees.
‘Who’s there?’ said Ortolan.
‘A friend,’ said a voice, and presently Gallinule emerged from the darkness. He, too, was carrying a torch.
What most caught my attention, though, was the golden crown he had perched on his head. I could only see it dimly by the light of the torch, but it looked very similar to the ceremonial crown recently adopted by Smew.
‘What, sir, not yet at rest?’ said Ortolan.
Gallinule was about to reply when I interrupted.
‘Yes, Mr Gallinule,’ I said, ‘I’d have thought you’d be ensconced in the Maypole by now.’
I only meant this as a friendly jest, but Gallinule seemed quite indignant.
‘We players don’t spend all our time drinking,’ he said. ‘We also have to rehearse.’
‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I forgot.’
Actually it was fairly easy to win back Gallinule’s favour. I’d discovered soon after meeting him that all I needed to do was ask him a few questions about himself and he’d be happy. The trick worked again tonight. Soon he was telling me about all the important roles he’d performed during his career, and which particular part he had chosen for the forthcoming production. Naturally, it was the title role.
‘Ah yes,’ I said. ‘Garganey had a go at playing him.’
‘Had a go?’ retorted Gallinule. ‘One can’t merely “have a go” at him: he speaks the greatest lines ever written!’
‘Agreed,’ I said quickly, ‘and I’m sure you’ll deliver them par excellence.’
This evidently satisfied Gallinule because next thing I was being invited to accompany the players to the Maypole that evening.
‘I’d like to join you,’ I said, ‘but unfortunately the publican won’t accept my stipendiary sixpence.’
This was technically true, though I failed to mention my pockets were empty.
‘Oh, don’t worry about the publican,’ said Gallinule. ‘We’re running a slate at the Maypole.’
‘You mean you get your beer on tick?’
‘And wine, of course,’ said Gallinule, ‘depending on the time of day.’
‘But I thought the slate was only for commoners.’
‘We can play the commoner when required,’ he said. ‘We can also play the clown, the deluded lover, the madman and the hurt hawk, but our speciality is the royal roles. We are the Player King.’
The conversation continued to revolve around Gallinule as the four of us made our way towards the Maypole. Soon the remaining actors caught us up and I was introduced to Pukeka, Rosella, Mitteria, Chiurlo and Penduline. They were undoubtedly a colourful bunch and all plainly of the same ilk; by the time we entered the premises I was being treated as a lifelong friend. Accordingly, the publican’s welcome was extended to include me.
As a matter of fact I discovered that we officers-of-state were now held in high esteem by the general populace. Word was out that the ‘conspiracy of the clocks’ had been foiled thanks to our resolve; and everyone was looking forward to the long, dark evenings of the twelve-day feast. Trade at the Maypole had increased already. My first pint, therefore, was ‘on the house’. The players and I sat around a long table and revelled in good cheer. Over in the corner the postmen were playing a game of dominoes. From somewhere else there came an occasional snatch of song. I gazed at my foaming beer glass, the sea of smiling faces and the blazing log fire, and decided I could probably come to enjoy such a life.
There was only one disappointment.
‘You should have been here last night, really,’ announced Gallinule. ‘They had a bevy of dancing girls.’
He was still wearing his golden crown, and only removed it when Mestolone reminded him.
‘Force of habit,’ said Gallinule. ‘We’ve been rehearsing all day and I quite forgot.’
He placed the crown on the table.
‘Do you mind if I try it on?’ I said.
Gallinule had no objection, so I lifted the crown and weighed it in my hands. It was evidently a lightweight model just the same as Smew’s. In fact, under the bright lights I could see that it was identical. Briefly I put it on my head, and when I took it off again I happened to glance inside the rim. There I saw a small insignia which I assumed to be the mark of the maker. On closer examination it turned out to comprise the letters CoS.
‘Where did you get this?’ I asked.
‘Oh, we likely picked it up on our travels,’ replied Gallinule. ‘It’s only a stage prop.’
‘Actually,’ said Mestolone, ‘it was left behind when our king went into exile.’