A Cruel Bird Came to the Nest and Looked - By Magnus Mills Page 0,49

in a strictly personal capacity and therefore I needed to maintain a low profile.

A brief hiatus ensued, during which Gadwall looked at me and I looked at him. Then suddenly there was a nearby kerfuffle. I glanced around and saw Gallinule advancing through the throng in his finest crimson apparel. Without so much as a nod in my direction he spoke directly to Gadwall.

‘Gallinule at your service,’ he said. ‘May we introduce our company?’

In a veritable coup de théâtre he then proceeded to introduce Ortolan, Pukeka, Rosella, Mitteria, Chiurlo and Penduline. (Mestolone was nowhere to be seen.)

Gadwall regarded the entourage in solemn silence for several moments. They were attired in all manner of outlandish clothing, yet his face betrayed neither astonishment nor curiosity.

‘What is your business?’ he enquired.

‘The world, sir, is our business,’ replied Gallinule.

‘Then you may wish to attend one of our pavilions,’ said Gadwall. ‘As you can see, preparations are already under way.’

Indeed, the preparations Gadwall referred to were going on apace. Within minutes of arriving the men in olive drab had begun unloading the carriages. In a highly organised operation out came boxes, crates and large bundles of fabric. Very soon a site had been cleared and rows of bell tents erected. These appeared to be for purposes of accommodation, but beyond them some much larger tents were gradually being hoisted into position.

A good part of the crowd had started slowly to disperse, having evidently lost interest after the train’s glorious arrival. A substantial number remained, however, and they seemed almost mesmerised by the frenetic activity they were witnessing. Such industriousness was seldom seen in Greater Fallowfields, and for some it was plainly a fascinating spectacle. Gallinule and his colleagues had soon embarked on a guided tour of the new encampment. In the meantime I decided to take the opportunity to slip quietly away. Privately I suspected Gallinule was on the verge of becoming unstuck. It was obvious to me that he’d only come along to test the market for theatre tickets. Somehow, though, he’d managed to convince Gadwall that he was a man of local importance; and he was now being entertained accordingly. I had no doubt that his acting abilities would enable him to wriggle out of any impending situation, but I didn’t want to be involved.

I wandered along the platform, peering casually through each carriage doorway as I passed. Some interiors were stacked full of equipment; others were virtually empty. The final carriage, I noticed, was not included in all the hustle and bustle. The men in olive drab uniforms did not venture near, and nothing was being unloaded. Nonetheless, I sensed that there was somebody inside.

As I drew near a man appeared in the doorway and looked out. He, too, was dressed in olive drab, but his demeanour was somehow different from the others. There was a certain stillness about him as he observed the unflagging toil of his compatriots. When he saw me coming he directed his gaze at me. I perceived straight away that he was carrying out a visual assessment: it was almost as if he was deducing my worth from my physical appearance. In other words, he was weighing me up.

Then he beckoned me over and spoke. ‘Give me a hand here, will you?’

I glanced into the carriage and saw behind him a large wooden trunk with brass handles at each end. Evidently he had misjudged me: it was quite obvious he thought I was some kind of court functionary who would jump at his every command. Or perhaps he even took me for the station porter! Either way, I decided to play along with the whole game. After all, there was no harm in offering help to a newly arrived traveller.

‘Certainly,’ I said, reaching in and grasping one of the handles.

Together we slid the trunk towards the doorway. Then, with a grunt or two, we heaved it down on to the platform.

A few seconds went by as I stood waiting in silence. An acknowledgement of some sort was all that was required, yet the man did not thank me for my assistance. Instead, to my surprise, he put a silver sixpence in the palm of my hand.

‘There you are,’ he said.

Naturally, I was flabbergasted. It was one thing to be mistaken for a servant, but entirely another to be treated as one. For a moment I gazed speechless at the man, who had already moved away and was attending to other business inside the carriage. It was plain