A train was waiting with all its carriage doors open. Sitting on a bench was Whimbrel, who I’d arranged to meet at ten o’clock so that we could say goodbye to the orchestra.
‘I hope they’re going to be all right,’ he said. ‘They’ve never travelled anywhere before, as far as I know.’
His concern for the orchestra was quite touching. After all, they were my responsibility, not his. Even so, I didn’t really think there was much to worry about. Grosbeak and his companions may have driven a hard bargain, but I sensed that they meant no harm to the orchestra: according to the agreement the musicians were being taken into ‘protection’. This sounded innocuous enough to me, though Wryneck had raised a voice of protest when it was first proposed. Also, I vaguely recalled Mestolone mentioning something about ‘protection’ some weeks earlier.
As a matter of fact, Whimbrel had some fresh tidings and they concerned Mestolone. Apparently, he had offered his services to help with the adjustment and maintenance of the public clocks. He’d approached Smew and explained that he wished to assist the empire in its hour of need; and whilst he had no desire to collaborate with the ‘scoffers’, he realised it was necessary at least to be seen co-operating.
‘Did Smew accept the offer?’ I asked.
‘Without hesitation,’ Whimbrel rejoined. ‘Actually he’s made Mestolone an honorary citizen of Greater Fallowfields.’
‘What about the other actors?’
‘It seems they’ve been keeping a low profile,’ said Whimbrel. ‘They’re ensconced in the Maypole and living on credit.’
‘Just for a change,’ I remarked.
A nearby clock began striking ten, and a file of men came marching along the platform. It took me a moment to recognise them as members of the orchestra, because they were all now wearing their new olive drab uniforms. They carried with them their instrument cases but appeared to have few other possessions. Last to arrive was Greylag. When he saw me and Whimbrel he paused.
‘Morning, Greylag,’ I said. ‘All set?’
‘Yes, sir,’ he replied.
‘Looks as if you’ve got a long journey ahead of you.’
‘Yes.’
The orchestra was accompanied by several of Grosbeak’s henchmen. I thought they spoke rather gruffly as they ordered the musicians into the carriages, but I assumed they had a strict timetable to adhere to. For this reason their impatience could be excused.
‘Well, good luck, Greylag,’ I ventured, shaking his hand.
‘Thank you, sir,’ he said.
Likewise, Whimbrel shook hands with Greylag; he also slipped a silver coin into his pocket.
‘You may find it useful,’ he said.
Greylag thanked him, then turned and climbed into his allotted carriage. He didn’t give me a second glance. Further along the platform a whistle was blown; immediately the engine blew its own whistle in response. Whimbrel and I stepped back a little as the wheels began to turn.
‘I’ve been hoping to secure Greylag’s freedom,’ I said, ‘but it’s too late now.’
‘Yes,’ Whimbrel agreed, ‘it’s too late now.’
Greylag was lost from view. We watched as the train rolled slowly out of the station, carrying him off to the City of Scoffers.
Chapter 21
‘Might just make it!’ cried a blur that came hurtling past us.
It was Sanderling. He was running as fast as his legs would carry him, clutching a valise in one hand and a railway ticket in the other. His dandy coat was all unbuttoned, so that it flapped wildly around him as he rushed along. Some of the train’s sliding doors remained open, and Sanderling clearly thought he had a chance of catching it. Unfortunately, such was his haste that his hat came off his head and he failed even to notice. It went bowling along the platform behind him; quickly I dashed after it, picked it up and set off in pursuit. By now he had drawn level with the last carriage and managed to swing his bag through the doorway. At the same instant a pair of hands grabbed him by the shoulders and helped him inside. Summoning a final spurt, I caught up with the train and tossed his hat into the carriage. Then a second pair of hands grabbed me and pulled me aboard, so that I landed in a heap next to Sanderling. I looked up and saw Gadwall gazing down at me.
‘Glad you decided to join us,’ he said.
The train was now gathering speed. I took a few seconds to get my breath back, then went to the door and peered out. In the distance I could see the diminishing figure of Whimbrel, still standing on the platform.
‘I suppose the train can’t be stopped?’ I enquired.
‘Correct,’ answered Gadwall. He leant over and slid the door closed. ‘Better safe than sorry,’ he added.
Sanderling looked at me and shrugged.
‘Apologies for that,’ he said. ‘Thanks for saving my hat though.’
‘Don’t mention it,’ I replied.
There were about twenty of us in the carriage, including Greylag and perhaps fifteen other musicians. The interior was bare, with no seats apart from a folding one at the far end. This had already been taken by one of the ‘guards’, so the rest of us made ourselves as comfortable as we could along the rough wooden walls. After a while Gadwall came and sat down beside me and Sanderling.
The train rattled on towards the east.
We’d been sitting there for thirty minutes when Sanderling broke the silence.
‘Why aren’t there any windows?’ he asked.
‘Nothing to see,’ said Gadwall.
‘I notice there aren’t any lights either,’ Sanderling continued, ‘only those ventilation slits. What happens when it gets dark?’
‘We can all go to sleep.’
Gadwall’s blunt rejoinder more or less put paid to any further discussion. He was far from unfriendly, however, and in due course he took a bar of chocolate from his pocket. This he passed around the carriage, inviting everyone to partake. When it ran out, one of his companions produced a similar bar. This, too, was shared amongst all and sundry, including the members of the orchestra. Evidently some of them had never tasted chocolate before, and the perceived act of kindness was enough to create a friendly atmosphere for the next few hours.
At some stage I must have drifted off to sleep. When I awoke night had fallen and I realised the train had come to a halt. Inside the carriage all was quiet, but I could hear faint voices outside; also some occasional footsteps. Light dappled momentarily through the ventilation slit, as if a lamp was being swung in the darkness. A minute passed and then there was a loud clunk and the train juddered: presumably some additional carriages were being attached. The sudden movement roused Sanderling briefly. He opened his eyes, rubbed them and asked where we were. When I told him I didn’t know he grunted and went straight back to sleep. There were some more voices nearby; then the lamplight gradually receded. After another delay a whistle was blown and the train began moving again, quite slowly. We trundled along at a steady pace for what felt like an hour before gathering speed once more. I had no idea how many miles we’d travelled, or how many more there were to go. I just sat there staring up at a narrow strip of fathomless sky until eventually I, too, went back to sleep.
When next I surfaced I heard a bell clanging and a voice crying out ‘City of Scoffers!’ It was rather cold. The pale light of dawn crept into the carriage as we emerged, one by one, from our slumbers. Somebody opened the sliding door from the outside; Sanderling was fully awake in an instant.
‘Ah good,’ he said, standing up and fastening his dandy coat. ‘We’re here.’
The train had drawn into a large station with at least a dozen platforms. There was frantic activity everywhere: carriages being loaded and unloaded, and passengers disembarking. Another train was waiting at the far side of our own platform: it was facing in the opposite direction and obviously preparing to leave. This was a most welcome sight. It meant I simply had to cross over, hop aboard and I’d soon be on my way back to Fallowfields.