A Cruel Bird Came to the Nest and Looked - By Magnus Mills Page 0,4

silence followed as they stood holding their various instruments.

‘All right,’ I said. ‘Thank you.’

There was no response.

‘You can sit down,’ I said. ‘Have a rest.’

Quietly, they all sat down, but still the silence prevailed. Perhaps, I thought, they felt intimidated by my presence on the podium, towering above them as it were. For this reason I stepped down and strolled over to the violinist in the front row. Instantly, he stood up and bowed again.

‘Your name is?’ I asked.

‘Greylag, sir.’

‘And how long have you been with the orchestra?’

My question, intended merely to establish a less formal tone, appeared instead to baffle Greylag completely. He was clearly lost for words. It then dawned on me that such an enquiry would be meaningless to him and his companions. The imperial orchestra of Fallowfields was comprised wholly of serfs, and hence they knew of no existence other than their service to the court. To ask Greylag how long he’d been with the orchestra was as futile as asking him about his expectations for the future. My mistake, of course, had been to forget the lowliness of his situation. True enough, serfdom was a rare circumstance nowadays in Greater Fallowfields, persisting mostly in the farthest-flung corners of the colonies. Here at the very heart of the empire, by contrast, the tradition remained fully intact. These particular serfs had the distinction of being the personal property of the emperor himself. My question, therefore, verged on foolishness.

Even so, it was too late now. As Greylag stood mute before me I realised that there was still much for me to learn.

‘Sorry, sir,’ he murmured at length. ‘I don’t know the answer.’

‘That’s all right, Greylag,’ I said. ‘Maybe we should have some more music.’

‘Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,’ he said.

‘Oh, by the way,’ I added, ‘is there anything else, apart from the imperial anthem?’

‘Well, we do have some variations on the theme, sir, if you’re interested.’

I wasn’t sure what he meant exactly, but the suggestion sounded fairly reasonable so I gave my immediate consent. I was then treated to a performance of the same tune played in countless different ways. Again, I ‘conducted’ from the podium while Greylag took care of the actual details. I was now beginning to recognise the full potential of this arrangement. Indeed, my first day in charge of the orchestra had turned out to be most satisfactory.

Eventually, when afternoon drifted into evening, I left them to their own devices and headed for the door. As I walked across the park I could still hear the music ringing in my ears, and I reflected on how extraordinary it was that a single theme could be subject to so many modifications and still be recognisable. At one point even the melody itself seemed to have been altered, yet the music retained the unmistakable stamp of the imperial anthem. I looked forward with eager anticipation to yet further variations. Moreover, it was plain that I had the finest orchestral resources at my disposal. All I had to do now was work out precisely what I was going to do with them.

It was a chilly evening and the stars were out. I peered up and verified the positions of one or two constellations that I knew; then I strolled on towards the observatory which, I noticed, was in complete darkness. For a moment I assumed that Whimbrel had wandered off somewhere, but when I arrived at the door I found it was unlocked. I went inside and ascended the iron spiral, my boots clanging noisily on the stairway. Then I heard Whimbrel’s voice from above.

‘Come up!’ he called. ‘Sorry, it’s so gloomy!’

I found him standing near a window, struggling to read one of his charts by starlight. He turned it this way and that, but appeared to be having no success.

‘This is impossible,’ he said. ‘To observe the stars properly it needs to be dark; but when it’s dark, of course, I can’t tell what it says on the chart.’

‘Why don’t you go up on the roof?’ I suggested.

‘I’ve tried that,’ replied Whimbrel. ‘It’s hardly any better up there.’

‘Well, I know a couple of constellations to start you off,’ I said. ‘How about if I point them out and then you can check them against the chart tomorrow in daylight?’

Whimbrel agreed to my proposal and we went up the ladder to the roof. When we emerged through the tiny door we were confronted once again by the defunct telescope.

‘Incidentally,’ said Whimbrel, ‘I had a word with Dotterel