First, though, I considered it only proper to bid farewell to my travelling companions. Greylag and the rest of the orchestra were already being ‘rounded up’ by some of Gadwall’s assistants. They got down from the train and assembled in a large group while a headcount was carried out. I was about to go and speak to Greylag when I spotted Sanderling stalking off down the platform.
‘Sanderling!’ I called, but he didn’t seem to hear. ‘Sanderling!’ I repeated.
He had a very single-minded look about him, and I thought I had a good idea what he was going in search of. I made an attempt to follow, but he was moving through the crowd so rapidly that I soon lost sight of him. By now the orchestra had formed into two files and was beginning to march away. Greylag was in the lead.
‘Goodbye, Greylag!’ I called, as he passed me by, but he didn’t hear me either.
Gadwall himself had hurried off the minute the carriage door opened, which meant I was now alone. With everybody gone about their business, I decided I might as well take my leave at once.
When I tried to board the other train, however, a uniformed man appeared and asked me for my ticket. When I told him I hadn’t got one he politely directed me to the ticket hall. There were a number of small windows with men sitting behind them. I chose one at random and spoke through the opening.
‘A ticket for Fallowfields, please.’
I placed my solitary anvil on the counter.
‘Travel permit?’ said the booking clerk.
‘I haven’t got one,’ I replied.
‘Outbound journeys require a travel permit.’
‘Where do I get one of those?’
‘Passes and permits.’
He pointed towards the far end of the hall. I thanked him and he smiled politely before closing his window and turning away. I glanced across towards my train: doors were being closed and whistles were being blown.
‘Damn!’ I thought to myself. ‘I’m going to miss it!’
All the same, I realised I had no alternative but to go and find out about a travel permit. Doubtless another train would be leaving in an hour or so, so I retrieved my coin and wandered along the ticket hall. Now that I had a little more time on my hands I was able to take in my surroundings properly. On first impressions it was all extremely well organised. The vast interior had countless windows, timetables and notices displaying departures and arrivals; there was also a left luggage office, a lost property office, a parcels dispatch office, a waiting room and a booth selling platform tickets. In a far corner I found the department I was seeking: PASSES AND PERMITS. I approached the window and rang a bell.
Presently a man appeared. ‘Can I help?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I need a travel permit, please.’
‘Right you are.’
He looked down at the counter as if expecting to see something lying there. I produced my anvil and placed it before him.
‘No, no,’ he said, ‘I have to check your reference; from your employer. What’s your job?’
‘I haven’t got a job.’
‘Haven’t got a job?’ he repeated. ‘How can you not have a job in the City of Scoffers?’
He said this in such an incredulous tone that two or three of his colleagues joined him at the window and peered out at me with curiosity.
‘I’ve only just got here,’ I explained.
His colleague on the right said something to him quietly; then he leaned forward and looked me up and down. I was wearing my dandy coat but I had no luggage with me because of my surprise departure. After appraising me for several moments he spoke at last.
‘A Fallowfieldsman, I presume?’
‘Correct,’ I said.
‘Well,’ he declared, ‘we can’t make any exceptions, not even for you people.’
I wasn’t sure what he meant by this.
‘What should I do then?’ I asked.
Fortunately, his associates had started to lose interest in me and were drifting away. Otherwise they’d have witnessed my obvious shock when he gave his reply.
‘You’ll have to get a job,’ he said. ‘There’s an employment exchange at the corner of the street.’
Reeling from this piece of information I retraced my steps down the length of the ticket hall, arriving at the platform just in time to see my train departing. I walked slowly after it as it clanked and swayed over the points and into the wasteland beyond the city. When I reached the end of the platform I stopped. I could hardly believe what had happened. Gradually the retreating train dwindled until it could be seen or heard no more, yet still I remained standing where I was. For ages and ages I stared blankly across the railway tracks, scarcely aware of the desultory gusts of wind that tugged at my coat, or the restless engines shunting back and forth along the sidings. Behind the station loomed tall buildings shrouded in vapour; factory hooters were blaring and smoke was rising from their immense chimneys; sparks flew inside cavernous steel sheds; beneath a gantry an iron girder descended steadily on a hook and chain; cables unwound from revolving drums; all around me the City of Scoffers was gathering momentum for the day ahead, while I could do nothing but gaze haplessly into an apparent void.
It was only when my stomach started rumbling that I remembered I hadn’t eaten for several hours. With new determination I turned around and headed for the front entrance of the station. After a hearty breakfast, I resolved, everything would begin to look a lot better.
When I got out into the street there were crowds surging in all directions, but I managed to get my bearings and went in search of some sustenance. By peeking through a few windows I soon discovered that two kinds of establishment served breakfast: there were canteens which charged one anvil, and restaurants which charged two. From what I could gather the food was exactly the same in both, so I concluded that the difference must rest in the way it was cooked. Not that I had any choice in the matter: my total wealth amounted to one anvil, so I chose a suitable-looking canteen and went in. For somewhere to be properly suitable, of course, I would have preferred it to be completely empty. As a former officer-of-state in Greater Fallowfields I’d become accustomed to the luxury of dining alone. Here in the city, by contrast, it was necessary to share premises with other people. Moreover, they were all sitting in very close proximity to one another. The canteen I’d selected only had two or three empty tables, but I quickly recognised that I wasn’t going to come across anywhere quieter at such a busy time of day. As it was, I almost lost my place before I started. Having seemingly reserved a table, I went and washed my hands only to return and find someone else had taken it. After that I made sure I was quicker off the mark: within a few minutes I had a table all to myself.What I couldn’t help noticing, however, was that everyone behaved as though nobody else was in the room. For instance, there was a man sitting about two feet away on my right who reminded me slightly of Whimbrel. I was almost tempted to strike up a conversation with him, except that not once did he glance in my direction or even acknowledge my presence. He just sat silently minding his own business. The same applied to the man on my left, and the man to the left of him. In fact, no one paid the faintest attention to anybody else, so that each of us was effectively dining alone after all.
Before parting with my anvil I took a last look at the troublesome coin. It was odd to think that only a few weeks ago I had mistaken it for my stipendiary sixpence, which in its turn had made me feel like a man of importance. Now it was barely enough to buy my breakfast; and I realised that getting a job was no longer merely a convenient means for obtaining a travel permit: it was now a necessity. With these thoughts in mind I paid my bill and set off towards the employment exchange.