A Cruel Bird Came to the Nest and Looked - By Magnus Mills Page 0,25
their fish. In other words, we took full advantage of our sea-going skills. By this time we literally ruled the waves. We even claimed the prime meridian of longitude for ourselves, building an observatory especially to mark the spot, as Whimbrel here will no doubt verify.’
Smew paused and gave Whimbrel a quizzical look. This was met by an expression of utter bafflement from Whimbrel.
‘Well, Whimbrel?’ said Smew.
‘Oh, yes, yes, of course,’ Whimbrel eventually managed. ‘The prime meridian of longitude. Yes.’
Smew gave him a penetrating stare before resuming his talk once again.
‘It was at this stage,’ he said, ‘that some of our sailors began to venture due west, across the wider ocean. They said they were going to seek their fortunes, but they never came back. More sailors followed and they also failed to return. This was taken as evidence that there was nothing in the west except the prospect of shipwreck. Such a conclusion should have spelt an end to further exploits. It certainly reinforced our belief that we were at the centre of civilisation and that everywhere else verged on wilderness. At the same time, however, we knew we were the only people capable of sailing into the west. The implied challenge was unavoidable. Therefore, we continued sending out more and more of these so-called adventurers, even though they were never seen again. The consequences of such a policy were slow to reveal themselves, but gradually the empire became depleted both of ships and of the mariners to sail them. Which returns us to my original question: when did marmalade change from orange to quince?’
Smew ceased talking and surveyed his audience, as if waiting for an answer.
‘When there were no ships left at all?’ I offered.
‘Correct,’ said Smew, with a note of triumph, ‘when there were no ships left at all.’
He took a small bow and to my surprise a round of applause broke out behind me. Glancing around I discovered that sometime during the talk Gallinule had slipped into the back row of seats. I must have been so engrossed with Smew’s exposition that I failed to notice.
‘Very, very interesting,’ said Gallinule. ‘Thank you.’
He quickly went forward and introduced himself to Smew. The pair of them seemed to hit it off at once, and not long afterwards Gallinule was being invited to tea in the large bay window. The invitation also included Wryneck, but not Garganey, Whimbrel or me. We watched as Shrike was summoned and dispatched again with an order for lemon curd and toasted soldiers.
‘Damned rude,’ muttered Garganey, before heading swiftly towards the door.
Then Whimbrel turned to me and asked, ‘What did all that have to do with quince?’
I explained that there were no ships remaining to go and collect the oranges; and that instead we’d learned to make marmalade from quince, which was home-grown.
‘Ah,’ said Whimbrel, ‘I see.’
He was still holding his notepad in his hand, and when I looked at it I saw that he had written only one word: LONGITUDE?
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.