‘Good,’ said Smew.
‘You have a negative balance of half-a-crown.’
‘So I believe.’
Grosbeak opened the ledger at a certain page.
‘Let’s get straight down to business,’ he continued. ‘We are prepared to defer the cash payment as long as three conditions are fulfilled.’
‘Just a moment,’ murmured Smew. He reached into his pocket and produced his notepad and pencil. Then he sat holding them at the ready. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘what are these conditions?’
‘Firstly, that the empire adopts Standard Railway Time.’
‘Ah,’ said Smew, ‘the march of progress.’
‘It’s quite elemental,’ Grosbeak commented. ‘You need to be integrated into the network and you might as well do it now as later.’
‘We’ve recently put a lot of effort into setting our clocks for winter,’ said Whimbrel.
‘That can’t be helped,’ said Grosbeak. ‘You’ll just have to reset them.’
‘Let’s hear the second condition,’ said Smew.
‘We wish to requisition your cake. It is a fine building with a large capacity: we propose to use it for future recruitment rallies.’
‘What about the orchestra?’ I objected. ‘They have nowhere else to go.’
‘I was coming to that,’ said Grosbeak. He referred briefly to the ledger. ‘I understand that the imperial orchestra consists entirely of serfs.’
‘Correct,’ said Smew.
‘These serfs being the property of the crown estates: actually the only portable property.’
As Grosbeak uttered these words I sensed Whimbrel stirring beside me. I began to feel rather uneasy, and even Wryneck drew a deep breath.
‘Such is the nature of serfdom, yes,’ said Smew warily.
‘Then the third condition is that the orchestra be taken into our protection and removed to the City of Scoffers.’
‘That’s not fair,’ said Wryneck.
‘Fairness doesn’t enter into it,’ replied Grosbeak. ‘Those are our terms. Don’t forget, we’re the injured party, not you. We built the railway as per the contract. Now we desire recompense. It’s as simple as that.’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Smew, ‘we fully understand.’
At that instant a shrill whistle was heard in the distance.
Grosbeak looked at his watch.
‘Five o’clock,’ he announced. ‘The evening train is exactly on schedule.’
Simultaneously, public clocks all around the capital began to strike eleven. Or some of them did anyway. Others played a short melody and then chimed the hour. As I listened it quickly became evident that a few of these clocks needed urgent attention. They’d only been adjusted about two weeks previously, yet half of them sounded as if they’d lost several minutes already! No sooner would one clock complete its cycle of chimes than another would start up nearby, then another after that, as though they were arguing about precisely what time it was. Of course, as far as Grosbeak was concerned they were all ‘wrong’. If his first condition was to be met, then someone would have to go around altering them again. Without Dotterel on hand to oversee the task, I wondered how this could possibly be achieved.
Equally unsettling was Grosbeak’s second condition. It appeared that the ‘recruitment pavilions’ near the railway were no longer sufficient for his requirements. Instead, he wanted to take over the cake and hold mass rallies there. How the populace would view such a prospect was anybody’s guess: we simply didn’t do that kind of thing in the empire, and especially not in the capital.
It was the third condition, however, that was most disturbing of all. Grosbeak intended to transplant the orchestra to the City of Scoffers, which meant, effectively, that I’d be out of a job. Oh, I was fully aware that my role as Principal Composer was merely nominal. Everyone knew who the real composer was. Nonetheless, as an officer-of-state I still felt that I had much to contribute. To be quite truthful I enjoyed being a member of the cabinet, not only for the privileges it conferred, but also because it put me at the very heart of imperial affairs. With the orchestra gone, my position would be far less tenable.
While I was pondering all this, Smew had been busily in consultation with Wryneck. The two of them stood slightly apart from the rest of us with their heads together, talking quietly.
Now Smew turned to Grosbeak. ‘We feel that you leave us little choice,’ he said. ‘The honour of the empire must be preserved and therefore we agree to your conditions.’
‘Excellent,’ Grosbeak replied. ‘We will begin operations tomorrow.’
Whimbrel was in a sombre mood when I visited him at the observatory that evening. He said nothing when he let me in, and remained silent as we climbed the iron stairway. Then we sat at his table and drank the remaining drops of our fortified wine. I’d called in at the cake on my way over and broken the news to Greylag. He’d accepted it in his normal resigned manner, a fact which came as a relief to me. The last thing I needed was Greylag kicking up a fuss. Apparently, some of Grosbeak’s men had paid a visit during the afternoon and distributed the new outfits. Each musician now sat with an unopened brown-paper parcel at his feet. Rehearsals had been discontinued and all the instrument cases were packed in preparedness for their departure. They’d been told to be ready to leave by ten o’clock the following morning (local time).
‘A final concession to the empire,’ remarked Whimbrel. ‘Henceforward, we’ll all be living in Standard Railway Time.’
We peered through the observatory window. In the moonlight we could see a large flag fluttering above the cake, emblazoned with a hammer and anvil. Similar flags had also been hoisted at various locations across the capital, the flags of the empire having first been lowered.
‘They’re very self-assured, aren’t they?’ I said. ‘Confident to the point of arrogance, actually.’
‘Maybe so,’ said Whimbrel, ‘but there’s something bothering them all the same.’
‘How do you mean?’ I asked.
‘I’ve lost count of the number of times they’ve come here demanding to look through the telescope. True, they always bring a pocketful of sixpences, or anvils as they prefer to call them: they never fail to pay their way. Yet they always turn the telescope to the west and spend hours gazing towards the sea. I’ve told them repeatedly that there’s nothing out there but they won’t listen. They just continue pouring coins into the slot.’
‘What do you think they’re watching for?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Whimbrel. ‘It’s almost as if they’re on guard against some hidden menace lurking just beyond the horizon.’
‘Well, at least the empire’s recouping some money,’ I said. ‘We need every penny we can get.’
After that the conversation subsided into silence again. We each sat with our own thoughts as the sky darkened and the stars appeared over the occupied capital.
By next morning I’d decided that I really ought to try and do something for the orchestra. Remembering my failed attempt to buy them all some sweets, I determined to tackle the confectioner once again. Maybe he would accept my ‘recruiting sixpence’ as payment, especially now that the coins were circulating throughout the realm. When I arrived at the sweetshop, however, I found the door locked and a sign hanging outside: CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE. I looked through the window at all the sweets in their jars, as inviting and unreachable as ever. Then I turned and headed for the railway station.
Much had changed since my previous visit: apart from the main line there was now a siding with a loop in the track so that trains could be turned around without uncoupling; a prefabricated building labelled PROCESSING CENTRE had replaced the former encampment; and the station platform had been provided with wooden benches.