CHAPTER 6
The next afternoon I visited the observatory and discovered that Whimbrel had painted the word JUPITER across one of his window frames.
‘Why’ve you done that?’ I asked.
‘As a reminder,’ he said.
‘Yes, but Jupiter’s not going to be in that window for ever, is it?’
‘Why not?’ said Whimbrel. ‘You told me all the stars were fixed.’
‘They’re all fixed relative to one another, yes,’ I said, ‘but Jupiter isn’t a star; it’s a planet. It’s always on the move.’
‘Well, it was there last night,’ he retorted. ‘I checked especially to make sure I had the correct window.’
‘Yes, but it’s only going to be there for a few weeks and then it’ll be gone.’
‘What?’ said Whimbrel with dismay. ‘It took me all morning to paint those letters so neatly.’
‘It does look neat,’ I conceded, ‘but I’m sorry to say you were wasting your time. Nothing stands still in the universe. It’s like a huge celestial clock with all the parts revolving.’
‘Very well,’ replied Whimbrel. ‘If it’s a clock I’ll simply have to wait until Jupiter comes back round again.’
I gave a sigh.
‘Look, Whimbrel,’ I said, ‘I really think you need to study these matters in more depth. When I said “clock” I actually meant “clocks within clocks”. All the planets are on different orbits to us; Jupiter might not reappear in that particular window frame for months, or even years. Meanwhile, there’ll be other planets with other names going by.’
‘So how do I tell the planets from the stars?’
‘Easy,’ I said. ‘Stars twinkle; planets don’t.’
‘Right.’
‘There’s only eight of them altogether and you can see some without your telescope.’
‘Good,’ said Whimbrel.
‘Have you managed to get it working yet?’
‘No, I haven’t,’ he said, ‘but it so happens I was up on the roof tinkering with it just before you arrived. There’s something I want to show you.’
He led the way up the iron ladder and on to the roof. The telescope stood jammed in its usual position.
‘Look over there,’ said Whimbrel, pointing to the east.
In that direction lay vast tracts of forest interspersed with open wilderness. The land was generally considered to be uninhabitable, and as such formed a natural boundary between the empire and her neighbours. The horizon was a blur of interminable greyness; but when I followed Whimbrel’s gaze I thought I saw a plume of smoke rising up in the distance. It seemed to mark some sort of break in the terrain; hardly more than a vague line; barely discernible.
‘What do you think that is?’ I asked.
‘I don’t know,’ said Whimbrel. ‘I’ve been up here a few times recently. Sometimes I’ve seen smoke; sometimes I haven’t.’
‘Maybe some foresters have headed out there to give it a try,’ I suggested. ‘I know there’ve been several attempts in the past, but they’ve always returned saying it’s too far away to be profitable.’
‘You could be right,’ said Whimbrel. ‘All the nearby forests were used up during the great days of shipbuilding.’
‘Pity that telescope of yours is out of action. Otherwise we could see much more clearly.’
Again we peered into the distance, but by now the smoke had begun to drift away. After a minute, however, another plume rose up. This was perhaps slightly nearer than before, though in truth it was very difficult to distinguish anything in the pervading murk. The more we looked, the less we were able to see, until eventually we gave up even trying.
‘Come on, Whimbrel,’ I said. ‘It’s cold up here; let’s go back inside.’
‘Yes, it is cold, isn’t it?’ he agreed. ‘Autumn is certainly with us now.’
‘I expect they’ve got a nice log fire in the Maypole.’
‘That’s exactly what I was going to say. I’m up here some evenings and I see all the lights blazing and I think of that place. It looks so warm and inviting from the outside.’
We clambered back down the iron ladder.
‘Tell you what,’ I said. ‘Do you fancy going there tonight?’
‘The Maypole?’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Whimbrel. ‘According to Sanderling they employ a bevy of dancing girls.’
‘Even better,’ I rejoined. ‘He’s been there, has he?’
‘No.’
‘Well, we could invite him along too.’
‘Are we allowed though?’ Whimbrel asked.
‘Of course we’re allowed!’ I said. ‘We’re officers-of-state; we can do whatever we like.’
‘I must admit I’ve always found the prospect quite attractive.’
‘Right, then, that’s decided. I’ll see you later, and if Sanderling wants to come as well, the more the merrier!’
I left Whimbrel pondering what to wear and headed across the park. In the past few days I’d made up my mind to allow the orchestra to have the cake to themselves in the evenings; I thought that this was the least I could do since they plainly had nowhere else to go. Dusk was only just approaching, however, so there was still plenty of time for me to call in and see what they were up to. I entered through the main door and immediately saw Greylag conducting once again from the podium. Strictly speaking this should have been regarded as an act of gross insubordination; after all, Greylag was only a serf, despite his undoubted musical talents. The podium was supposed to be out of bounds unless he received express permission. Recently, though, Greylag and I had come to an understanding whereby he was allowed to occupy the podium during practice sessions. I’d realised that he was much better able to carry out his work from this position; and that therefore in the long term it could only be to my advantage. Accordingly, the orchestra kept on going as I strode down the centre aisle and joined them in the pit.
What was difficult to tolerate, on the other hand, was the music itself. To be frank it was quite terrible: a wild, rampaging din that might be heard at some fiendish orgy. Furthermore, it was so loud it was deafening. Only when a particular phrase was repeated did it occur to me that I was listening to the imperial anthem being played at breakneck speed! I allowed Greylag to continue for a few more bars; then I raised my hand and within moments the racket ceased.
‘What on earth’s going on?’ I demanded.
‘I’m very sorry if it offended your ears, sir,’ replied Greylag, ‘but the piece is a useful means for exercising the orchestra.’
‘Is it really necessary?’
‘I’m afraid so, sir,’ he said. ‘We’ve been rather under-stretched of late.’
‘You mean unchallenged?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I see.’
Greylag remained standing on the podium with this vast and accomplished, yet clearly unfulfilled, orchestra gathered all around him. Meanwhile, an idea that had been developing in the back of my mind gradually came to fruition. The moment was waiting to be seized.
I ordered Greylag to dismiss the musicians for the evening. They were soon packing away their instruments; then I sat him down and explained what I wanted to do.
‘To coincide with the twelve-day feast,’ I began, ‘the cabinet has decided to present a courtly entertainment in the form of a play. I won’t bother telling you the title because you probably won’t have heard of it, but I’d like the orchestra to provide an overture which conveys the sense of turbulence, menace and impending doom that characterises the work. It will require elements suggesting nocturnal subterfuge, unnamed peril and grim descent, as well as the more obvious effects: wailing harbingers, howling winds, screeching owls, trumpet blasts, bells chiming, storms raging and cocks crowing.’
While I’d been talking I had hardly glanced at Greylag, but when finally I looked him in the face I saw that his eyes were glistening. He was paying the closest attention to my words, yet at the same time he appeared to be deep in thought, as if he was already plotting the course of the composition I’d requested.
‘What do you think, Greylag?’ I asked.
For a few seconds he seemed unable to reply. He was hardly even breathing and continued to just sit there with a faraway look in his eyes. Then at last he snapped out of it.
‘Yes, sir,’ he stammered. ‘We can do it, and we can start at once!’
He rose to his feet and began pacing about with his hands clasped together.
‘Yes, yes,’ he continued, talking mostly to himself. ‘We can have oboes. There must be oboes in the beginning, playing very faintly at first. Then the horns . . .’
Greylag broke off when he saw me staring at him.
‘Go on,’ I said. ‘I’m listening.’
He came and stood before me. ‘I’m sorry to get so carried away, sir, but such an opportunity hasn’t come my way before. I promise I will do everything to make this the greatest piece of music you have ever heard.’
‘I’m very glad to hear it, Greylag,’ I said. ‘So I can leave you to it, can I?’
‘Yes, indeed, sir. Thank you, sir.’
‘No, Greylag,’ I said. ‘It’s me who should be thanking you.’
By the time I left the cake Greylag had recalled all the musicians and was addressing them from the podium. Outside, darkness had fallen. I wandered back across the park feeling most content. Greylag had promised me the greatest piece of music I’d ever heard, and I was determined to hold him to it. Tonight, however, the unknown pleasures of the Maypole awaited.
When I reached the observatory I found the door wide open. I could hear voices above, so quietly I mounted the spiral staircase. Whimbrel, it seemed, was giving Sanderling a guided tour. I listened with interest.
‘Now in this window,’ Whimbrel announced, ‘we have Jupiter. The most majestic of celestial bodies, I’m sure you’ll agree.’
‘Hmm hmm,’ said Sanderling.
‘Obviously this particular display won’t last long,’ Whimbrel continued. ‘Within only a few weeks Jupiter will be moving away on a separate orbit. Such are the motions of the heavens.’
I concluded that Whimbrel must have got down to studying his subject more thoroughly. I also realised that I could not carry on lurking in the shadows, so I clanged my feet on the iron stairway to make my presence known.
‘Ah, there you are,’ said Whimbrel when I reached the top. ‘We’ve been waiting for you to arrive.’
‘Good evening,’ said Sanderling.
‘Good evening,’ I replied.
‘I was just telling Sanderling about Jupiter,’ Whimbrel informed me. ‘Needless to say, it would look even better if we could use the telescope.’
‘Doesn’t yours work then?’ enquired Sanderling.
‘No,’ said Whimbrel. ‘It’s jammed.’
‘That’s a shame.’
‘I don’t suppose you’ve got any spare telescopes over at the admiralty?’
‘I’m afraid not,’ said Sanderling.
‘Oh.’
‘We haven’t got any ships either.’
‘What!’ exclaimed Whimbrel. ‘You must have.’
‘I can assure you we haven’t.’
‘I thought the whole empire was built on ships.’
‘Maybe it was,’ said Sanderling, ‘but there aren’t any now.’
‘What do you do all day then?’ I asked.
‘Nothing much,’ he said. ‘I was thinking of learning about navigation but apparently you can’t get started unless you know where north is.’
‘Well,’ I said, ‘Whimbrel can show you how to find that.’
‘Can I?’ said Whimbrel. ‘Oh, yes, north. Sorry. Follow me.’
He led Sanderling to one of the windows opposite and then explained in very precise terms exactly how to locate the Pole Star.
‘That was very good,’ I said, when he’d finished. ‘I’m impressed.’
‘I’m suddenly finding astronomy much more interesting,’ Whimbrel answered, ‘and I’ve decided I’m going to the library to read about it properly.’
‘Even if Smew’s there?’ said Sanderling.
‘Of course,’ said Whimbrel. ‘I’m an officer-of-state. I can go there whenever I like.’
‘You’re coming to Smew’s next history talk as well,’ I added.
‘Am I?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘You’re going to sit next to me and not sneak out before the end.’
‘What about me?’ said Sanderling.
‘I don’t know,’ I replied. ‘You only seem interested in finding out about dancing girls.’
‘Well, someone has to,’ he said. ‘Talking of which, aren’t we supposed to be visiting the Maypole?’
Without further discussion the three of us buttoned our dandy coats and headed out into the night. A few minutes later, when we walked past the cake, I was pleased to hear the faint sound of instruments being tuned.
‘Your musicians seem to be hard at work,’ remarked Whimbrel.
‘Oh, yes,’ I said. ‘They never rest.’
Our arrival at the Maypole was met by the usual din of laughter, songs and glasses tinkling. We looked at one another for a long moment; then I pushed open the door and we went inside. We found the place busy but not too crowded. Seated around the tables and in alcoves were an assortment of commoners. One or two of them glanced in our direction as we entered but the majority took no notice, which I had to admit came as a slight relief. There was, as I had imagined, a huge log fire blazing in the hearth; also a dartboard; and over in one corner a number of off-duty postmen were enjoying a noisy game of dominoes. I knew they were postmen by their familiar scarlet and black uniforms. I wondered vaguely how they managed to stay up late at night carousing when they had to get up so early in the morning; but then I decided that they probably caught up with their sleep in the afternoons.
Opposite the door was a counter lined with hand-pumps; behind it stood the publican. He was polishing glasses very slowly, one by one, and placing them upside down on a shelf.
‘Evening, gentlemen,’ he said, as we approached.
‘Evening,’ I replied, before glancing at the other two. ‘What are we having? Beer?’
‘I’ve only got beer,’ said the publican.
‘Oh, right,’ I said. ‘Three beers then, please.’
‘Allow me,’ said Whimbrel. With a flourish he produced a bright sixpence from his pocket and laid it on the counter.
The publican peered down at the coin. ‘The beer’s a penny a pint,’ he announced.
‘Fine,’ Whimbrel answered.
‘That’s a sixpenny piece you’ve got there.’
‘Yes, well, I’m sure you must have plenty of change.’
‘On the contrary,’ said the publican. He turned to his till and pressed the ‘no sale’ key. The drawer sprang open to reveal that it was completely empty.
‘Been a quiet night?’ I asked.
‘Not really,’ he said. ‘It’s about average.’
‘Oh.’
‘Excuse me for a second, will you?’
Underneath one of the hand-pumps, a glass of beer was waiting to be made up to a full pint. The publican spent the next few moments carefully topping it off. Then he placed the glass on the counter and nodded at one of the postmen, who came over and took it without uttering a word.
I was beginning to feel quite thirsty. I watched as the postman rejoined his companions and they all raised their glasses in a raucous toast. The dominoes continued to clatter. Meanwhile, the publican went around the tables collecting empty glasses from customers who all seemed to have full ones close at hand. Finally, he resumed his station behind the counter.
‘So you can’t change a sixpence?’ enquired Whimbrel.
‘I’m afraid not,’ said the publican.
‘In that case we’ll have six pints all at once. I expect the three of us can manage two pints apiece.’
‘That’s not allowed,’ said the publican. ‘You can only have a fresh pint when you’ve finished the last one.’
‘By imperial decree?’ I ventured.
‘Correct.’
‘What about the commoners?’
‘What about them?’
‘They’ve all got pints lined up,’ I pointed out. ‘How do they pay?’
The publican drew us closer and spoke in a lowered voice. ‘Most of them haven’t got a penny to their name,’ he said. ‘They get all their beer on tick.’
‘Then the solution is obvious,’ said Sanderling. ‘We’ll have ours on tick as well. Just so long as you don’t mind, that is.’
‘Certainly I don’t mind,’ replied the publican. ‘You can run a slate if you wish but it won’t look very good, will it?’
Whimbrel, Sanderling and I gazed at one another in dismay. The publican was right, of course. We were officers-of-state. It would have been quite unacceptable for us to receive our drinks on tick, especially in front of all these commoners.
It struck me that the publican had a similar manner to the confectioner, though I noticed he called none of us ‘sir’. Now he stood with his hands flat on the counter and a broad smile on his face. He was clearly very pleased with himself.
‘What are we going to do?’ murmured Sanderling. He was suddenly sounding desperate.
‘All I can suggest is that we go back to the observatory for a nightcap,’ said Whimbrel.
Sanderling’s face lit up in an instant. ‘That’s a relief,’ he said. ‘For a minute I thought we were destined for a “dry” evening.’
‘No, no,’ said Whimbrel. ‘I’ve got a bottle or two we can open.’
‘Right,’ I said. ‘That’s decided then.’
Politely we thanked the publican for his hospitality.
‘My pleasure,’ he said, as we made for the door. ‘Goodnight.’
‘Goodnight,’ we all chorused.
Once we got outside Sanderling said, ‘Shame there weren’t any dancing girls. We must have chosen the wrong evening.’
‘Definitely the wrong evening,’ I agreed.
The three of us trudged towards the park. The moon had risen but the sky was black.
‘Listen,’ said Whimbrel.
We stopped and listened. For a moment all was quiet. Then in the distance we heard a prolonged roll of thunder.
‘Did that come from the east?’ asked Sanderling.
‘Don’t know,’ I said. ‘You tell me.’