CHAPTER 7
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.
‘His Exalted Highness, the Majestic Emperor of the Realms, Dominions, Colonies and Commonwealth of Greater Fallowfields?’
There was no response.
‘Absent,’ said Smew.
I couldn’t see whether he put a cross or a tick in the register, because once again he was holding it tilted slightly towards him.
‘Oh, that reminds me,’ said Wryneck. ‘We’ve received a letter from the emperor.’
From his inside pocket he produced an envelope. It was addressed to the cabinet and bore the imperial seal.
‘Before we open it can I have a look at the postmark?’ said Garganey.
‘Certainly,’ said Wryneck.
He handed the envelope across the table and Garganey examined it closely.
‘Interesting,’ he said. ‘This has taken four days to arrive, yet it was only posted around the corner.’
‘How do you know?’ asked Smew.
‘Postmarks vary throughout the empire,’ Garganey explained. ‘This was posted here in the royal quarter.’
‘So where’s it been in the meantime?’
‘Good question,’ said Garganey. ‘Clearly my efficiency measures are taking a while to work their way through the system. All the same, I intend to persevere until I see some improvement.’
‘At least this tells us the emperor is near at hand,’ said Whimbrel.
‘Was there ever a suggestion he wasn’t?’ enquired Wryneck.
‘Not that I’ve heard.’
‘What did you mean then?’
‘Just . . .’
‘His Majesty is absent from cabinet,’ interrupted Smew, ‘which is all we need to know. Any further conjecture is unnecessary.’
An awkward silence followed during which Garganey opened the envelope. Inside was an ornate card, which he passed around for each of us to see. It read:
THE EMPEROR OF GREATER FALLOWFIELDS
HEREBY EXPRESSES HIS WISH FOR A
COURTLY ENTERTAINMENT
TO MARK THE OCCASION
OF THE
TWELVE-DAY FEAST.
‘There we are,’ said Smew. ‘I thought we’d receive an official reminder eventually.’
‘Rather a low-key request,’ I observed. ‘It certainly lacks the grand tone of previous communications.’
‘Nevertheless, it carries the same weight as any other imperial edict,’ said Wryneck.
‘Indeed,’ said Smew. ‘Now we’d better get on. Can we all turn to page forty-three in our textbooks?’
Everybody helped themselves from the stack of books in the centre of the table. There still weren’t enough to go around, however, so again I had to share with Whimbrel.
‘Now if I remember rightly,’ resumed Smew, ‘Sanderling was the murderer, Whimbrel the ghost and Garganey the king. I’ll be the lady and the rest of you are the noble guests. Decide amongst yourselves who’s going to be who and then we can begin.’
Dotterel, Brambling, Wryneck and I quickly shared out the remaining roles.
Meanwhile, Garganey rose from his seat and started walking around the table in a very self-conscious manner.
‘A final note,’ said Smew. ‘Don’t forget that the king is the only person who can’t see the ghost. All right, Whimbrel, proceed when you’re ready.’
‘Proceed where?’ Whimbrel asked.
‘You’re supposed to sit down.’
‘I’m sitting down already.’
‘No,’ said Smew, ‘you have to enter the room and sit in the king’s place.’
‘Oh,’ said Whimbrel, ‘right.’
He got up, went out of the room, then came back and sat down on Garganey’s empty chair. In the meantime, Garganey continued to walk around the table. When nobody spoke he walked round again.
‘Come on, someone,’ urged Smew.
‘Sorry,’ said Brambling. ‘I missed my cue. Please Your Highness to grace us with your company?’
‘The table’s full,’ said Garganey.
‘Here’s a place reserved, sir,’ said Dotterel.
‘Where?’ said Garganey.
‘Here, my good lord,’ said Dotterel. ‘What is it that moves Your Highness?’
‘Which of you have done this?’ said Garganey.
‘Done what?’ said Dotterel.
‘That’s my line, actually,’ said Wryneck, ‘and you said it wrong.’
‘I’m fully aware whose line it is,’ replied Dotterel. ‘I’m just asking what’s been done?’
‘Well, haven’t you read the play?’ asked Smew.
‘Of course I have.’
‘Then you must know about the murder.’
‘Yes,’ said Dotterel, ‘and so does the king.’
‘Your point being?’
‘My point being that you said the king is the only person who can’t see the ghost.’
‘Correct,’ said Smew.
‘So if he can’t see the ghost why does he ask who’s done it?’
‘Maybe I’m sitting in the wrong seat?’ suggested Whimbrel.
‘No, I don’t think so,’ said Dotterel.
Smew gave a sigh. ‘Perhaps we should all have a discussion about the meaning of the play,’ he said. ‘Just to ensure we’re all reading from the same page, so to speak.’
‘I agree,’ said Garganey, sitting down in Whimbrel’s place.
‘That’s settled then,’ said Wryneck.
There was a brief hiatus in the conversation while everybody looked through their texts.
Then Smew said, ‘All right, does anyone want to tell us what this play’s about?’
‘Well, basically,’ said Brambling, ‘it’s about this nobleman who’s told by the oracles that he’ll be king; and that his friend, who’s also a nobleman, won’t.’
Smew frowned.
‘A brief but fairly accurate summary as far as it goes,’ he announced, ‘but really I was referring to the broader meaning of the play.’
‘Oh,’ said Brambling, ‘sorry.’
‘It’s an example of the feudal system in perfect working order,’ said Wryneck, ‘until someone tampers with it.’
‘Very concise,’ said Smew. ‘Yes, to operate properly a feudal kingdom depends on obedience, trust, honour and duty. Here we have a generous king surrounded by his loyal noblemen and all appears to be well. The natural order is upset, however, by ambition, treason and murder. You’ll also notice that the play lacks any kind of sub-plot. There are no trivial sideshows or distractions. All is cast in desolate shade. The entire five acts are weighed down with the consequences of treachery. Even the murderers mistrust one another.’
We sat in silence around the table, each of us pondering Smew’s stark description. Through the windows I could see dark clouds approaching. There’d been rain overnight and now, it seemed, it was going to rain again. The hands of the clock had almost reached eleven. This meant that the meeting would soon be over.
‘By the way,’ I said, ‘I’ve taken the liberty of commissioning some music to accompany the play.’
‘Really?’ said Smew. ‘So we can look forward to hearing it portrayed in abstract symphonic terms?’
‘Hopefully,’ I replied.
‘Or will it be simply a variation on the imperial anthem?’ enquired Wryneck.
‘Certainly not,’ I said. ‘What are you implying?’
‘I’m implying nothing,’ said Wryneck, ‘but you may wish to know that altering the imperial anthem is officially regarded as an act of treason.’
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘I had no idea.’
‘I’ve been studying the public records,’ said Wryneck. ‘They make very interesting reading.’ He now turned to Garganey. ‘It is also treasonous to interfere with the imperial postal service.’
‘Even to make improvements?’ said Garganey.
‘I’m afraid so,’ replied Wryneck. ‘I’m only telling you this for your own good, you understand.’
‘Thank you,’ said Garganey, ‘and what’s your function exactly?’
‘I’m Pellitory-of-the-Wall,’ said Wryneck. ‘The name speaks for itself.’