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‘When, though?’ asked Sanderling.

‘Tomorrow, perhaps,’ offered Whimbrel.

‘Right,’ said Sanderling, ‘tomorrow it is. Goodnight.’

Next moment he’d gone dashing off through the rain without arranging a proper time. Whimbrel turned to me and shrugged. Meanwhile, Dotterel, Brambling and Garganey had wandered away in separate directions, all clutching their seasonal gifts.

‘I think I’ll call in on the orchestra,’ I said. ‘See what sort of feast they’ve been having.’

I thought Whimbrel looked at me slightly oddly when I said this, but he passed no remark so I wished him goodnight and went on my way.

‘Shall I pop round tomorrow?’ I asked at the last moment.

‘If you like,’ Whimbrel replied.

Then he was all alone in the darkness.

So it was that the twelve-day feast began to tick slowly by. I put into immediate effect my resolve to spend more time with the orchestra. I found them, of course, just as I had left them, hard at work on Greylag’s music. Obviously serfs were not granted holidays like the rest of us, so they just carried on practising as normal. Nor had they been idle during my absence. I soon discovered that Wryneck was quite correct in describing Greylag’s tremendous advances. To tell the truth I’d never heard anything like it: great crashing chords greeted me as I strode down the auditorium; woodwind, brass and strings clambered over one another as they vied for my attention; themes emerged, developed and faded away, only to be resurrected once more. I felt as if I had entered some immense factory where music was being invented for the first time. Occasionally, I picked up the conductor’s baton and offered my services, but most of the time Greylag remained at the helm. Whenever there was a break, which was rare, he explained what he was striving for musically; but most of it went straight over my head. From what I could gather, the nearer he got to his goal, the further it moved away. Even so, he was plainly gaining in confidence. For my part, all I could do was urge him to continue as best he could. Such was the extent of my involvement with the orchestra: they would play and I would listen.

In the world outside the feast rolled on. The Maypole, of course, served as a beacon in the surrounding winter darkness. It was always thronging with merrymakers, and more than once I was tempted to pay a return visit. My previous qualms, however, were yet to subside. Therefore, I decided to wait until after the festivities had quietened down. Instead, I spent the evenings with Whimbrel at the observatory. I was in good company. Sanderling had also become a regular fixture, and gradually the three of us worked our way through successive bottles of fortified wine. Whimbrel turned out to be a bounteous host and often provided a range of edible treats. For this reason I determined not to mention the sixpence he owed me.

My patience was tried to the limits, however, when he told us one evening how he’d spent the afternoon. Apparently he’d been to a matinée performance of Gallinule’s play.

‘Marvellous piece of work,’ he said. ‘Especially Gallinule himself as the main protagonist: what an actor!’

‘Good show, was it?’ asked Sanderling.

‘Terrific,’ replied Whimbrel. ‘The tale of ambition poised before the fall.’

‘I thought it was sixpence a ticket,’ I ventured.

‘Correct,’ said Whimbrel.

‘Don’t you reserve your sixpence for the telescope?’

‘Normally, yes,’ he answered, ‘but it so happened I had a spare one.’

‘Really?’

‘Quite by chance actually,’ he continued. ‘I meant to tell you about it. Two men appeared at the door yesterday morning asking if they could have a look through the telescope. I pointed out that this was the royal observatory, not a public amenity, but they were very persistent. They said they had their own coins and were prepared to reward me for any inconvenience.’

‘Who were these men?’ I enquired.

‘No idea,’ said Whimbrel. ‘They had foreign accents and wore olive drab uniforms; they seemed harmless enough, though, so I took them up on to the roof.’

‘Let me guess,’ I said. ‘They wanted to look at the railway?’

‘At first, yes,’ said Whimbrel, ‘but then they turned to the west and spent ages peering in that direction. I told them there was nothing out there except the sea but they wouldn’t listen. They just kept plying the telescope with coins as if there was no tomorrow. The pair of them certainly seemed prosperous. They each had a pocketful of money and when they left they gave me a sixpence for my trouble.’

‘Did they say thank you?’

‘Funny you should ask that,’ said Whimbrel. ‘As a matter of fact they didn’t.’

‘And have you still got the coin they gave you?’

‘Indeed I have.’

He reached into his pocket and produced a silver sixpence; except, of course, that it wasn’t a sixpence at all.

‘Good grief,’ said Whimbrel, ‘I’ve been swindled.’

His face betrayed sheer astonishment as he inspected the coin properly for the first time. It was exactly the same as the one I’d been given, with a hammer and anvil on one side and CITY OF SCOFFERS on the other.

There was a long silence, and then Sanderling spoke.

‘I’ve got one of those too,’ he said, rather bashfully.

From his pocket he produced an identical coin.

‘How did you come by yours?’ I asked.

‘I met two men in olive drab uniforms,’ he said. ‘They asked directions to the observatory and then gave me this.’

I decided I had better confess about my own coin as well. I told the story of how I’d acquired it, and then the three of us sat glumly pondering our foolishness.

‘I’ve seen those men on a few occasions, around and about,’ said Sanderling, ‘and others like them.’

‘Where?’ I queried.

‘All over the place, actually. They usually go in pairs and seem to be scrutinising everything.’

‘You mean like tourists?’

‘Not really,’ said Sanderling, ‘more like they’re on patrol.’

‘Doesn’t anyone question their presence?’

Sanderling shrugged. ‘It’s a holiday, isn’t it? Nobody pays them any attention.’

‘They even came to see Gallinule’s play,’ said Whimbrel. ‘There were two of them sitting in the back row this afternoon. Oddly enough, they appeared quite unmoved by the tragedy. There were all these characters on stage being betrayed, coerced, shamed and abandoned, not to mention simply murdered, yet the pair of them just sat there expressionless with their arms folded.’

‘Maybe it wasn’t their cup of tea,’ suggested Sanderling.

‘Yes, maybe,’ agreed Whimbrel.

He picked up a wine bottle and replenished each of our glasses. The prevailing mood was sombre.

‘I’d like to have seen Gallinule’s play,’ I remarked.

‘Then why didn’t you?’ asked Whimbrel.

‘I didn’t have a sixpence,’ I replied. ‘Not a proper one.’

‘Well, I wish you’d told me,’ he said. ‘I could have lent you mine.’

Chapter 19

As the clock struck ten, Smew opened the register.

‘Let us begin,’ he said, taking up his pencil. ‘Chancellor of the Exchequer?’

‘Present,’ said Brambling.

‘Postmaster General?’

‘Present,’ said Garganey.

‘Astronomer Royal?’

‘Present,’ said Whimbrel.

‘Comptroller for the Admiralty?’

‘Present,’ said Sanderling.

‘Surveyor of the Imperial Works?’

‘Present,’ said Dotterel.

‘Pellitory-of-the-Wall?’

‘Present,’ said Wryneck.

‘Principal Composer to the Imperial Court?’

‘Present,’ I said.