CHAPTER 10
Of course, the life of an officer-of-state wasn’t all work and no play. One bright afternoon Sanderling and I walked across to the far side of the park. We’d heard there was a boating lake, and sure enough when we arrived at the water’s edge we saw a short jetty with a dozen vessels tied alongside. They were attractive little rowing boats, each with their oars shipped, and all painted different colours. At the end of the jetty was a green hut in which a man was sitting. When he saw us he walked over and joined us on the shore.
‘Afternoon, sir,’ he said to each of us in turn.
‘Afternoon,’ we both replied.
‘What can I do for you gentlemen?’
‘We thought we might like to hire a boat,’ said Sanderling.
‘Oh, yes?’
‘It looks a bit quiet at the moment.’
‘Well, it is rather late in the season, sir.’
‘So I expect you’ll welcome a little extra business?’
‘That depends, sir.’
I was beginning to develop an unwelcome feeling about this character; or more particularly about his way of addressing us as ‘sir’. His attitude was different again to that of Greylag, Hobby or Gallinule. The manner in which he said ‘sir’ was almost insolent, as though he was quite used to calling people ‘sir’ if they deserved it; but in our case he was reserving judgement.
‘How much does it cost?’ enquired Sanderling.
‘It’s a penny a go, sir,’ said the boatman.
Sanderling then reached into his pocket and produced his stipendiary sixpence.
‘That should cover it,’ he said.
‘I’m afraid it doesn’t, sir,’ replied the boatman.
‘Why not?’
‘I require half-a-crown deposit, sir, to insure against accidental loss or damage.’
‘How can we possibly lose a boat on this lake,’ demanded Sanderling, ‘when we can clearly see across to the other side?’
‘You might sink, sir,’ came the reply.
‘We haven’t got half-a-crown,’ I said flatly. ‘We’ve got a shilling between us.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said the boatman, ‘but it can’t be helped.’
All of a sudden Sanderling took hold of my sleeve and drew me aside to confer.
‘You keep him talking,’ he said. ‘I’ll be back as quickly as I can.’
He stalked away and was soon lost from sight amongst the trees. Meanwhile I engaged the boatman in small talk. We discussed the weather, which we agreed was clement for the time of year and therefore liable to change any day soon. In fact, he suspected that more rain was very close by. Then we discussed the excellent condition of the rowing boats, and he told me that he painted them all by hand once a year. Each boat had its own combination of colours, which were carefully preserved from one season to the next.
‘That’s very commendable,’ I remarked. ‘I’m impressed.’
‘It’s not a question of anyone being impressed, sir,’ said the boatman. ‘It’s a question of doing something properly if it’s going to be done at all.’
A minute later Sanderling returned. His appearance had changed somewhat because he now had an unusual black hat on his head. It was worn ‘fore and aft’ and curled downwards at each end. Displayed on the front was the imperial crest.
Sanderling marched directly on to the jetty and stepped into the first boat he came to. As he did so it rocked slightly, but he managed to keep his feet.
‘In the name of the admiralty I am commandeering this vessel,’ he announced.
To my surprise the boatman snapped to attention. ‘Aye aye, sir,’ he said, ‘aye aye.’
He then began fussing around the boat, making sure everything was ‘shipshape’, as he put it. He examined the oars to check they were secure in the rowlocks; he coiled the mooring rope; and he sponged the bilges for good measure.
‘There you are, sir,’ he said. ‘Take her out for as long as you wish.’
I joined Sanderling in the boat and we pushed off from the jetty. Once we’d drifted out of earshot I asked him how he knew his ploy would work.
‘Former naval man,’ Sanderling explained. ‘They actually like taking orders but you have to approach them in the correct way.’
‘How do you know he was in the navy?’
‘He has an earring.’
‘Oh,’ I said, ‘I didn’t notice.’
So it was that Sanderling and I spent a very pleasant afternoon rowing up and down the lake. At the periphery was a reedbed, so we poked around in there for a while and scared up a few ducks. Then we realised that another figure had appeared on the jetty: a man in a crimson coat.
‘It’s the Player King,’ said Sanderling. ‘I met him earlier.’
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I’ve met him too.’
We watched as Gallinule spoke briefly with the boatman. Next moment he was helped into a boat and set off rowing across the lake.
‘Why didn’t he have to jump through hoops like we did?’ I asked.
Sanderling offered no answer.
On an empty lake it was quite natural for the only two boats to gravitate towards one another, which they duly did.
‘Ahoy there!’ called Gallinule as he drew near.
Sanderling was still wearing his admiral’s hat, but he refrained from a maritime greeting. He merely said hello in reply.
‘How are you, Gallinule?’ I asked. ‘I haven’t seen you for a day or two.’
‘We’ve been very busy,’ Gallinule replied. ‘We had to pay a visit to the counting house.’
‘Really?’
‘Needed to arrange a loan,’ he added, ‘just to tide us over, you understand.’
‘Any luck?’
‘Oh yes,’ said Gallinule, ‘the Chancellor was most accommodating.’
He then went on to tell Sanderling and me that we really must call in at the Maypole when we had the chance.
‘We had a marvellous time last night,’ he said. ‘The beer was flowing freely; there was music playing; and there were lots of dancing girls.’
When he heard this piece of news Sanderling said nothing, and after a while we rowed away. He had still said nothing when we reached the jetty and handed the boat in.
‘Never mind,’ I said, ‘it can’t be helped.’
‘No,’ he replied, ‘it never can be helped, can it?’
The hour was approaching five o’clock and the sun was beginning to set over the royal palace. I thought Sanderling looked quite crestfallen in his admiral’s hat as we went our separate ways.
‘I’m going over to see Whimbrel this evening,’ I said. ‘Why don’t you come along too?’
‘No thanks,’ he said, ‘I think I’ll stay in and learn to tie some nautical knots.’
In the event it was probably fortunate that Sanderling didn’t come to the observatory. When I arrived I found Whimbrel waiting for a very special guest.
‘The Player King has requested a guided tour,’ he said. ‘He’ll be here soon.’
Whimbrel was becoming more of an expert on the stars as time went by. He could now recognise several constellations without reference to his charts; and he was getting to grips with the movements of the planets. Furthermore, he had been back to the library and found out the meaning of longitude.
‘It actually has nothing to do with astronomy,’ he declared.
‘Hasn’t it?’ I asked.
‘Latitude, yes,’ he said, ‘longitude, no.’
I absorbed this information with a furrowed brow. Meanwhile, Whimbrel went to a window and looked out.
‘Excellent,’ he concluded. ‘A fine, clear sky.’
Nonetheless, I sensed that Whimbrel was rather edgy, as if he wasn’t particularly looking forward to the guided tour. He hesitated for a moment before turning away from the window.
‘Listen,’ he said, ‘there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask your opinion about.’
‘What sort of something?’ I enquired.
‘Well, it’s this Player King,’ he said, ‘this Gallinule.’
‘What about him?’
‘Don’t you think he acts as if he owns the place?’
‘He acts as if he acts,’ I replied. ‘That’s for certain.’
‘Seriously though,’ Whimbrel continued, ‘haven’t you noticed how he makes himself at home everywhere he goes; and how closed doors simply open at his every whim and fancy? He practically invited himself on this guided tour and I could hardly say no, could I?’
‘Suppose not,’ I said. ‘So what are you driving at exactly?’
‘It’s just that there’s this tradition about the emperor going around in disguise to gauge the true lie of the land.’
‘And you think this could be him?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Whimbrel. ‘For a while Brambling and I thought it was you.’
‘Me?’ I exclaimed, astounded. ‘How can I be the emperor in disguise?’
‘Well, we didn’t think it was any of the others.’
‘So you presumed it must be me?’
‘Yes.’
‘I can assure you it isn’t.’
‘Then along came Gallinule.’
‘A much more likely contender.’
‘Agreed.’
‘But surely he’s just an actor?’
‘So why has nobody laid eyes on the other seven players he’s supposed to be with?’
‘Good question.’
‘He visited the counting house this afternoon and poor Brambling felt he had no choice but to lend him half-a-crown.’
‘But that’s equivalent to five sixpences!’
‘Precisely,’ said Whimbrel. ‘He obviously has a high opinion of his own worth; and he talks constantly in the royal “we”.’
‘As if to the manner born?’
‘It’s quite possible.’
‘Hmm,’ I said thoughtfully. ‘ “Find the Emperor”: sounds like a parlour game.’
Just then we heard a voice rising from the doorway down below. It had a clear, resonant tone that carried easily to our ears.
‘Anybody home?’
‘Hello!’ Whimbrel called back. ‘Yes, please come up.’
The iron staircase clanged as Gallinule made his entrance.
‘Absolutely marvellous piece of architecture!’ he said, by way of greeting. ‘So this is the world-famous royal observatory of Fallowfields!’
Whimbrel appeared slightly taken aback, as if he had never considered the place in such august terms before. I thought about the cake and realised that it, too, was ‘world-famous’.
Gallinule turned out to be the perfect guest. Before the guided tour he presented Whimbrel with a bagful of lions and tigers from the confectioner’s shop.
‘Hobby has a wonderful selection of sweets,’ Gallinule told us. ‘We hardly knew which to choose.’
During the course of the tour he asked sensible questions that Whimbrel was able to answer in an informative way. He was especially keen to find out where north was, and seemed impressed when Whimbrel showed him the ‘easy’ method for locating it. Finally we went up on to the roof for an overall view of the sky.
‘I’m sorry I can’t let you have a look through the telescope,’ said Whimbrel, ‘but I’m afraid it’s jammed.’
‘Oh, you should have mentioned it before,’ said Gallinule. ‘We could have brought Mestolone with us.’
‘Who’s Mestolone?’
‘He’s one of our strolling players. He specialises in all the minor roles. You know: captains, soldiers, messengers, attendants, porters, murderers. You name it: he plays it.’
‘What’s all that got to do with my telescope?’ Whimbrel enquired.
‘Mestolone is also a gifted handyman,’ Gallinule explained. ‘He builds all our scenery and he can mend anything. We’ll send him over tomorrow afternoon.’
‘Oh, right, thanks,’ said Whimbrel. ‘So you really are an actor then?’
‘Of course,’ Gallinule replied. ‘Actor par excellence!’