CHAPTER 19
As the clock struck ten, Smew opened the register.
‘Let us begin,’ he said, taking up his pencil. ‘Chancellor of the Exchequer?’
‘Present,’ said Brambling.
‘Postmaster General?’
‘Present,’ said Garganey.
‘Astronomer Royal?’
‘Present,’ said Whimbrel.
‘Comptroller for the Admiralty?’
‘Present,’ said Sanderling.
‘Surveyor of the Imperial Works?’
‘Present,’ said Dotterel.
‘Pellitory-of-the-Wall?’
‘Present,’ said Wryneck.
‘Principal Composer to the Imperial Court?’
‘Present,’ I said.
‘Librarian-in-Chief ?’
‘Present,’ said Shrike.
‘Good,’ said Smew. ‘All present and correct.’
He closed the register and set it to one side.
Shrike’s swift advance through the hierarchy reminded me, once again, that I ought to begin pressing for Greylag’s freedom. With all the fine work he was doing he thoroughly deserved it. This, however, was neither the time nor the place for such matters. The twelve-day feast was over and, at Dotterel’s insistence, an emergency meeting of the cabinet had been convened.
‘Now, Dotterel,’ Smew began, ‘tell us what exactly is bothering you.’
‘I’m gravely concerned,’ said Dotterel, ‘that my artisans are being enticed away from the empire.’
‘In what sense?’ asked Smew.
‘The railwaymen are behind it,’ Dotterel continued. ‘They’ve established recruitment pavilions at the edge of the capital and they’ve spent the last two weeks trying to lure my men away with promises of jobs in the east. Hundreds of skilled workers have signed up already. They’re shipping them out by the trainload.’
‘I see,’ said Smew.
‘It’s not only the skilled workers,’ added Garganey. ‘My postmen are walking around with so-called “recruiting sixpences” jingling in their pockets. They’ve been accustomed to a penny a day and now they all think they’re going to be living like lords.’
‘Sixpence is a huge sum to a commoner,’ remarked Wryneck.
‘Indeed,’ said Garganey, ‘but actually the whole scheme’s a complete fraud. The coins they’ve been given look identical to imperial sixpences, but were actually struck in the City of Scoffers, wherever that may be.’
‘The City of Scoffers,’ repeated Smew. ‘The predominant society in the east.’
‘You’ve heard of it then?’
‘Of course,’ Smew replied. ‘It’s one of the friendly cities I alluded to during my series of talks. Clearly it has expanded beyond its boundaries; and like any growing city it requires more people to work, and yet more after that.’
‘So they’ve come here to recruit,’ said Brambling.
‘Correct,’ said Smew.
‘By fair means or foul,’ intoned Garganey.
‘Why foul?’ Brambling enquired. ‘Surely our people are signing up of their own volition: it’s their choice if they want to leave the empire.’
‘Not quite,’ said Garganey. ‘True enough, these recruitment pavilions are all above board. They’re only glorified tents, actually, but rumour has it that queues of eager applicants are forming every day; once they’ve signed up and received their payment it’s merely a question of waiting for the next available train.’
Garganey paused and glanced around the table.
‘Not everyone signs up, however. Some people are recruited by roving parties whose methods are altogether different. What they do is they slip unsuspecting persons a sixpence on some pretext, for example, in return for a small favour. Once the coin has been accepted it’s deemed a “consideration”. Thereafter the contract is binding. That’s how they snared most of my postmen.’
‘Well, in my humble opinion,’ said Brambling, ‘anyone who accepts money from a stranger deserves all he gets. Besides which, these “recruiting sixpences” aren’t legal tender. They can’t spend them in the empire.’
‘I was coming to that,’ rejoined Garganey. ‘The new coins are so ubiquitous they’re beginning to circulate freely of their own accord. Even as we speak, they’re being honoured in the Maypole.’
‘But what about the edict,’ demanded Wryneck, ‘limiting sales of beers, wines and spirits?’
‘I’m afraid it’s fallen by the wayside,’ said Garganey.
As the discussion unfolded Whimbrel, Sanderling and I remained silent. None of us looked at each other directly, but we all must have been thinking the same thing: we’d been unwittingly recruited. Vaguely I wondered what I’d let myself in for: slaving down a mine, perhaps, or going round and round on a treadmill?
I was quite surprised, then, when Sanderling raised an entirely different subject.
‘This City of Scoffers,’ he said. ‘Do they have dancing girls?’
Before anyone could answer there was a knock on the outer door. Immediately Shrike rushed out to answer it. Then he came back.
‘It was the postman,’ he announced.
Smew was about to take the letter when Garganey intervened.
‘In my capacity as Postmaster General I’d like to examine the postmark, if nobody minds.’
Nobody did, and Garganey quickly reached his conclusion.
‘Local postage, same-day delivery,’ he declared, handing the letter to Smew.
A moment later we all knew the contents. It was a final reminder from the railwaymen. They wanted their invoice settled forthwith. The letter also mentioned that we could expect a visit from Messrs Gadwall, Merganser and Grosbeak. They would meet us at the counting house at twelve o’clock.
‘I suppose we have no alternative but to pay,’ said Smew. ‘After all, they’ve fulfilled their part of the bargain.’ He turned to Brambling. ‘Do we have enough money in the imperial purse?’
‘Almost,’ Brambling replied. ‘We’re just half-a-crown short.’
‘That’s the amount we lent to those strolling players,’ said Wryneck. ‘They’ll have to pay it back immediately.’
‘Well, they should have recouped the outlay by now,’ remarked Dotterel. ‘I gather their production has been a huge success.’
‘Surely, though,’ said Garganey, ‘if we’re down to our last half-crown we’re in dire straits indeed.’
‘Not necessarily,’ said Smew. ‘You really should have more faith in the empire. Our people are our greatest resource, and I have no doubt that together we will all pull through.’
These were precisely the kind of words I wanted to hear. Indeed, I was most impressed by Smew’s bearing during this episode. He seemed to possess all the prerequisites of a true ruler of men: sound judgement, patience and calmness. Smew was unflappable, which meant that we had nothing to worry about.
‘I will lead a delegation to the counting house,’ he continued. ‘Accompanying me will be the following officers: Chancellor of the Exchequer, Pellitory-of-the-Wall and Principal Composer to the Imperial Court. The rest of you should proceed directly to the reading room of the great library. After the meeting I intend to invite the visiting envoys for high tea; surprise them with a nice treat and demonstrate by example what the empire is capable of.’
Thus encouraged we set about getting ready for twelve o’clock. Exactly why Smew had chosen me to join the delegation I had no idea, but I was determined to live up to the part. Accordingly, I decided to wear my dandy coat, which I happened to have left at the cake. There was just time to retrieve it before the scheduled meeting, so with Smew’s permission I hurried off.
When I reached the cake I found Greylag in a very ruffled state. His usual manner was placid to say the least, but when I entered the auditorium he had a hunted look about him. The orchestra were all sitting fiddling with their instruments distractedly, while Greylag paced around in front of them.
‘Greylag,’ I said. ‘Whatever is the matter?’
It took a few moments for Greylag to recover, and then I sat him down and got him to tell me all about it.
‘I’m sorry, sir,’ he said, ‘but these two men were here not half an hour ago. They asked all sorts of questions about the orchestra: how many musicians do we have; how many pieces in our repertoire; how many instruments in each section; how many years’ experience as musicians; they even went through my manuscripts.’
‘Did they leave them all intact?’ I enquired.
‘Yes,’ said Greylag. ‘They handled everything very carefully, but they shouldn’t have interrupted our work, should they, sir? We’re supposed to be getting on and they made us stop.’
The visitation had clearly affected him, but I concluded that no real harm had been done apart from the break in his creative process. I felt sympathetic nevertheless. After all, he was quite unused to having outsiders poking around when he was carrying out his duties.
‘I don’t suppose these men were dressed in olive drab, were they?’ I asked, although I already knew the answer.
‘Yes, they were, sir,’ said Greylag, ‘both of them.’
‘Did they give you anything?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Well, never mind,’ I said. ‘They’ve gone now.’
‘But they shouldn’t have been here, should they, sir?’
‘No,’ I concurred, ‘not without asking.’
I couldn’t afford to delay any longer, so I assured Greylag he wouldn’t be disturbed again, then collected my dandy coat and headed back. The delegation was just about to leave when I arrived. Smew was now wearing the ceremonial crown. Wryneck and Brambling were both attired in their smartest outfits. I joined them and we set off for the counting house. It wasn’t quite twelve yet, but the three men were already waiting at the door. As I expected, they were all dressed in olive drab uniforms. I recognised Gadwall from our previous encounters. His official title was Commissioner of Railways for the City of Scoffers. Merganser turned out to be the man who’d tipped me my silver ‘sixpence’. He was introduced as Chief Recruiting Agent for the City of Scoffers. The third man I hadn’t seen before. His name was Grosbeak, and he announced himself as City Treasurer. Apparently he didn’t consider it necessary to mention which city he was referring to; and this omission more or less set the tone for the proceedings. Several times during the ensuing talks the three men referred simply to ‘the city’ as if we were already quite familiar with its every detail. Furthermore, they made it clear that they regarded the empire as little more than peripheral to the City of Scoffers, which in turn they seemed to think was at the centre of the universe. They spoke as though it had been extant for a thousand years, rather than a few fortuitous decades; and when compared with the City of Scoffers all else paled into insignificance.
Centre of the universe or not, it was certainly the centre of an integrated railway system. We quickly gathered that the network radiated in all directions from a vast industrial heartland. Just lately a new spoke had been extended into Greater Fallowfields; and now the contractors were demanding payment. It transpired that Grosbeak handled the collection of debt.
Before discussing terms, however, Smew insisted that the correct protocol be followed. He began, therefore, by presenting his officers-of-state. First to step forward was Wryneck, who managed to give a very good account of himself. He had obviously done his homework and knew just enough about railway gauges to hold his own in polite conversation. He bowed curtly to Grosbeak, and the gesture was duly returned.
When my turn came, Smew accidentally introduced me as Principal Conductor to the Imperial Court.
‘Principal Composer, actually,’ I said, shaking hands with Grosbeak, ‘although I do conduct from time to time. I’m in charge of the imperial orchestra.’
Grosbeak raised his eyebrows.
‘Ah, yes,’ he said, ‘the philharmonic host.’
This phrase struck me as being rather dismissive, and my initial assumption was that Grosbeak had no interest whatsoever in music. Yet plainly he was aware of the orchestra’s existence. Then I remembered Greylag’s report about the two men who’d turned up at the cake asking all sorts of questions. It sounded to me as if they were ‘taking stock’ of the orchestra, preparing an inventory so to speak, and vaguely I wondered if Grosbeak had anything to do with it.
Meanwhile, the spotlight had turned on Brambling.
‘Financial matters are dealt with here at the counting house,’ declared Smew, ‘so if you have no objection I’ll leave you in Brambling’s care; and hope to see you afterwards for tea?’
Evidently Smew believed he had done all he needed to do. He gave each of us a courteous nod, then strode off in the direction of the great library. Wryneck went with him, but I decided to stay and provide Brambling with some moral support. His chosen approach was seemingly one of openness.
‘Well, gentlemen,’ he began, ‘we’ve received your invoice and we’re prepared to offer an immediate deposit.’
‘Indeed?’ said Grosbeak.
‘The balance to be settled within seven days,’ Brambling added.
Grosbeak conferred briefly with Gadwall and Merganser before replying.
‘This is not our normal way of doing business,’ he said. ‘Seven days is a long while to withhold such a large sum, especially when you’ve had twelve days already.’ He paused. ‘However, it so happens we have further matters to address which could arguably take another week. In consequence we agree to accept your deposit. I presume it’s cash?’
‘Yes it is,’ replied Brambling, ‘so if you’d just care to step inside?’
We filed into the counting house and Brambling led us to the iron-bound treasure chest.
‘Here we are,’ he said.
He then made a bit of a performance out of finding the key, which he pretended to have lost on his person. I guessed that the idea of this jape was to lighten the general mood, but it failed to raise even a smile from the three creditors. Instead, they merely stood watching his antics with sober expressions on their faces. Finally he located the key and unlocked the chest.
The hoard of sixpences, shillings and half-crowns certainly looked impressive as it gleamed in the fading afternoon light. I was therefore surprised by the collective reaction of Grosbeak, Gadwall and Merganser. The sound they uttered, apparently in unison, was difficult to describe. It was part guffaw, part smirk and part sneer; and was so unexpected that Brambling and I glanced at one another warily. Without invitation Grosbeak scooped up a handful of coins, examined them momentarily, and allowed them to trickle between his fingers.
Then he turned to Brambling.
‘We can’t accept this,’ he said.
‘Why not?’ asked Brambling.
‘It’s worthless.’
‘How can it be worthless?’ protested Brambling. ‘This is the imperial currency!’
Grosbeak raised his hand.
‘I should correct myself,’ he said. ‘This money is no longer recognised as international exchange.’
‘Since when?’
‘For at least a decade.’
‘So we can’t use it to settle the debt?’
‘I’m afraid not,’ said Grosbeak. ‘There is only one valid means of payment nowadays.’
He dipped into his pocket and produced a coin, which he held flat in the palm of his hand. It was identical to the ‘sixpence’ I’d received from Merganser.
‘We call this the anvil,’ Grosbeak announced, ‘although its proper designation is the “currency unit of the City of Scoffers”.’
‘Also known as CoS,’ I ventured.
‘Quite so,’ said Grosbeak.
There was a brief hiatus as Brambling sank on to a chair. He was clearly shaken by this unheralded turn of events and needed to catch his breath.
In the meantime, Merganser went over to the table and peered down at Brambling’s ledger. Then, slowly and deliberately, he began turning the pages. He was soon joined by Grosbeak, and the two of them spent several minutes scrutinising the contents.
‘Is this a full record of the empire’s financial affairs?’ asked Grosbeak.
‘Yes,’ Brambling replied, ‘it’s all there in the finest detail.’
‘Then you won’t mind if we borrow it to see if we can find a way out of this impasse?’
‘I suppose not.’
‘Very well,’ said Grosbeak, closing the ledger again. ‘I’ll send my men to collect it later.’
Brambling nodded despondently.
‘Right,’ I said in my brightest tone, ‘now that’s settled we can all go and have some tea.’
I bustled around and tried to make light of the entire matter, as though we officers-of-state were accustomed to dealing with such crises. Seizing Grosbeak by the arm I led him out into the open air; we were followed by Gadwall and Merganser, and quickly we set off towards the great library. Brambling came trailing along behind.
When we entered the reading room we discovered that elaborate preparations had been made to ensure this ‘tea party’ was a success. It was too late in the season to furnish a spectacular sunset through the bay window. Nonetheless, the room looked quite resplendent. The chandeliers had been lit, the imperial flag hung from the ceiling, and the walls were decorated with garlands. Smew had dispensed with the ceremonial crown and was now wearing his lounge suit, presumably to make the guests feel more at home. Dotterel, Garganey and Whimbrel were standing around in relaxed poses, while Sanderling helped Shrike serve the tea and toasted soldiers.
Smew was geniality itself.
‘Everything satisfactory?’ he asked, when we’d all assembled around him.
‘More or less,’ Grosbeak replied.
‘Then I must show you around the library.’
There had been no real opportunity to explain the situation to Smew, but when I thought about it I realised it wasn’t particularly urgent. After all, he was under the impression that in the past half hour the imperial reserves had been reduced to nothing. The fact that they’d been rejected as worthless was hardly better news. For this reason it was probably wiser to let him carry on playing the host uninterrupted. He would doubtless learn the truth later.
His intimate knowledge of the library was now coming to the fore. He obviously delighted in showing the three visitors around, occasionally lifting down odd volumes for them to look at more closely, and generally acclaiming the quality of the vast collection.
‘Who owns all these books?’ enquired Merganser at one point. ‘The citizens of Greater Fallowfields?’
‘No,’ Smew answered, ‘they belong to the emperor.’
Grosbeak raised his eyebrows.
‘Ah, yes,’ he said, ‘the imperial truant.’
‘Truant?’ repeated Smew, visibly startled. ‘How so?’
‘Your esteemed emperor enrolled at our university last term,’ said Merganser. ‘He ceased attending lectures after only a few weeks and we haven’t seen him since.’
‘Did you try his board and lodgings?’
‘Naturally,’ said Grosbeak. ‘It seems he left without paying the rent.’
With this stunning revelation ringing in our ears we resumed our tour of the library. Ostensibly the empire was disintegrating beneath our very feet, yet all we could do was wander along the shelves looking at books. In due course we arrived back in the reading room, where more tea was waiting to be served. By now Smew appeared to have gathered his thoughts.
‘This contract for the railway,’ he said. ‘When did the emperor sign it?’
‘During the first week of term,’ replied Grosbeak.
‘I see.’ Smew frowned. ‘Well, I can only apologise for His Majesty’s continued absence. I dare say there’s a perfectly simple explanation.’
‘Possibly,’ conceded Grosbeak.
‘In the meantime,’ Smew continued, ‘I very much hope the three of you aren’t planning on leaving us just yet?’
‘We intend to stay for at least another week,’ said Grosbeak.
‘Good,’ said Smew. ‘Now is there anything else I can do for you?’
Grosbeak thought for a moment.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘we would like to sample your cake.’