‘What can we do for you, sir?’
The way he addressed me as ‘sir’ was quite different from the subservient tone employed by Greylag. By contrast, this ‘sir’ was spoken with a sort of begrudging courtesy. In other words, I got the impression that he only called me ‘sir’ because it would be discourteous not to. Customers, apparently, were an inconvenience which he was obliged to tolerate. Nevertheless, I was much taken by the contents of his shop, so I made up my mind to ignore his unfortunate manner.
‘To start with,’ I said, ‘I’d like some jelly babies and some sherbet fizzers.’
‘Separate bags, sir?’ enquired the shopkeeper.
‘Oh no,’ I said. ‘Put them all together please.’
‘As you wish, sir.’
He unscrewed the appropriate jars and tipped a few sweets on to the scales. Then he waited.
‘Some lions and tigers,’ I continued. ‘Also, some rhubarb-and-custard, some hearts-of-violet, some liquorice comfits and some peppermint creams.’
Again he tipped out the required sweets.
‘How much does that all come to?’ I asked.
He placed a weight on the opposite scale. Then he added another. ‘It comes to fivepence, sir.’
‘Ah, good,’ I said. ‘Then I’ll just have some of your dolly mixture to round it up to sixpence.’
‘Round it up, sir?’ said the shopkeeper.
‘Yes.’
‘But you’re only allowed a pennyworth.’
‘Why?’
‘It’s an imperial decree, sir, to stop people from being greedy.’
‘But they’re not for me,’ I protested.
‘Ho ho,’ answered the shopkeeper. ‘That’s what they all say.’
‘No, really,’ I said. ‘I’m Principal Composer to the Imperial Court.’
‘I know exactly who you are, sir.’
‘The sweets are for my musicians,’ I explained. ‘They’ve been working very hard lately and I want to reward them with a treat.’
The shopkeeper frowned.
‘Well, sir,’ he said, ‘if you don’t mind my saying so, I think that’s a big mistake. Oh, I know you’re only trying to be nice to them, but what you regard as an act of kindness they’re sure to interpret as a sign of weakness. Believe me; I know what these serfs can be like.’
‘Do you?’
‘Yes, sir.’
The shopkeeper stood with his hands flat on the counter and a broad smile on his face. He was clearly very pleased with himself.
‘All right then,’ I said, after giving the situation a moment’s thought. ‘I’ll just have a pennyworth.’ I put my hand in my pocket and produced my stipendiary sixpence.
He shook his head.
‘I’m very sorry, sir, but I can’t take that.’
‘Why not?’ I queried. ‘Haven’t you got any change?’
‘Yes, I have,’ he said, ‘but I can’t just go dishing out pennies willy-nilly. Pennies are for commoners.’
‘Oh,’ I said, ‘I see.’
I stood there clutching my sixpence in the palm of my hand. It was all I had, but I was quite unable to spend it.
‘Tell you what, sir,’ said the shopkeeper, ‘how about a toffee apple on the house?’
Chapter 5
On Wednesday afternoon at ten to three I rounded up Whimbrel and Brambling, and we went over to the great library. Smew was due to deliver one of his talks on the history of the empire, and apart from anything else I was interested to find out who would be there. The great library was an impressive edifice with a huge pair of wooden doors at the front. These doors remained wide open for long periods every day, as if inviting people to come and see the vast collection of books inside. We spent a few minutes admiring an apparently infinite maze of fully laden shelves; then we proceeded to the reading room. This was an annexe at the west side of the building, graced with a large bay window which allowed the daylight to come flooding in. There were a good few bookshelves here as well; also, some carefully placed tables and chairs. Everything was arranged, it seemed, for the convenience of the reader.
Today, however, half a dozen extra chairs had been added to accommodate Smew’s listeners. These were positioned in two rows of three. Before them was a small lectern. When we arrived Smew was standing with his back to us, staring out of the bay window as if completely lost in thought. It came as no surprise to see that Wryneck was already sitting in one of the front seats. Also present, immediately behind him, was Sanderling. There was no sign, though, of either Dotterel or Garganey. The clock had begun striking three when Brambling and Whimbrel slid into the other two seats in the back row. I sat down in the front row, at the opposite end to Wryneck. Then Smew turned and addressed us from the lectern.
‘You’ll be pleased to hear,’ he began, ‘that I am not a dates man. It makes no difference to me when such-and-such an event occurred. Such details are for the record books only, and have no relevance in the stream of history. Therefore, we will not be learning any dates during the course of this talk.’
From Wryneck there now came an appreciative chuckle, as though he was sharing some sort of ‘in’ joke with Smew. The rest of us were silent.
‘Neither will I be listing any princes, kings or even emperors,’ Smew continued. ‘I am not concerned with naming names despite their undoubted achievements. Instead, I intend to talk today about the empire itself; about the process by which it came about; and about the factors which sustain it.’
While Smew spoke I found myself gazing at the walls that rose up around the bay window. Looking down at us from these heights were several portraits of previous emperors; but none, yet, of the latest incumbent. Smew stood below them at the lectern, having just revealed that they would not be included in his talk.
‘So how does an empire begin?’ he asked. ‘Well, in our case it started with sailing ships. As we all know, the realm of Fallowfields lies on a western seaboard with many natural harbours and landing places. Consequently, our people since time immemorial have been masters of the deep. They built the finest vessels; they sailed and traded north and south along the coast; they cast their nets and brought home all manner of fish; and the more time they spent plying the waters, the broader their knowledge of ships and sailing came to be.’
Smew went on to describe how we swiftly attained maritime supremacy over our landlocked neighbours in the east. Hemmed in by swamps and forests, they were unable to reach the ocean without passing down our rivers and through our great ports. For this privilege they were required to pay ‘ship money’ which went directly into our coffers. Yet even when they finally left the harbour their seamanship was instantly exposed as being far inferior to ours. Smew told us a number of enjoyable tales about how our ships were often obliged to go and rescue theirs because they’d been blown off course; or because they’d simply lost their way. They were hopeless at navigation compared to us; there was no question of that. Furthermore, their ships had a marked tendency to sink without trace. Whenever we put to sea we invariably gained an advantage, one way or another, and this was all because we were better at sailing than anyone else.
‘And because we were better at sailing,’ announced Smew, ‘we gradually came to believe that we were superior in all other respects as well. At some stage we began to use the title “Greater Fallowfields”, rather than the more literal “Fallow Fields” of yore. “Greater” was a purely geographical term, of course, and originally appeared on maps; its purpose was to include the islands and inhabited sandbanks dotted along our coastline. Very soon, however, we started to take it as meaning “greater” as in “more important”. The way was now open for us to declare ourselves an empire, which we duly did.’