A Cruel Bird Came to the Nest and Looked In by Magnus Mills

Author:Magnus Mills
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: For the Benefit of Mr. Kite
Published: 2010-12-31T16:00:00+00:00

Or, more correctly, nobody worked faster than they needed to: not the postmen, nor the artisans, the clerks, or the purveyors of goods. That was how it had been as far back as I could remember. Even in the great days of shipping it often took equally as long to unload a vessel as it had for it to cross the sea in the first place. Such was the abundance that there was simply no need to hurry.

These men, by contrast, had clearly never heard the maxim. Or if they had they chose to pay it no attention. It was impossible to see what was driving them as they strove to lay their iron rails and move the engine, yard by yard, towards its destination. Every function was performed with the efficiency of clockwork. None of these men paused even for a moment’s rest.

They were all attired in a plain olive drab uniform bearing a distinct insignia. This comprised the letters CoS.

After observing them for a minute or two I noticed that one man was standing slightly apart from the rest, and was giving instructions rather than physically working. When he saw Greylag and me he nodded as though he’d been expecting us. He issued a further set of instructions to his men; then he walked over to where we stood.

“I’ve been expecting a delegation,” he said. “Is there any reason for the delay?”

Something in his tone suggested it would be unwise for me to admit I had no idea what he was talking about.

“Not as far as I know,” I replied.

“Well, I haven’t got time to wait any longer,” he announced. “I need to go back with the engine.”

He looked at his watch, then produced a whistle from his pocket and blew it twice. Immediately, the entire workforce downed tools and walked towards the engine. Within seconds another squad of men appeared from the direction of the tents. Having drawn closer I now saw that there was a windowless carriage attached to the rear of the engine. A sliding door was opened and the retiring men squeezed inside. Their replacements had already begun work when the engine repeated its shrill blast.

“All right,” said the man with the whistle, “we’ll no doubt meet again.”

He turned and strode briskly towards the engine.

“And you are?” I enquired.

“Gadwall,” he said, over his shoulder. “Commissioner of Railways.”

He climbed into the carriage and blew his whistle once more. Then we watched as the great engine gathered steam and departed backwards down the track.

I was curious as to whether the remaining workers would ease their pace now that the overseer had departed. Or perhaps even cease work altogether, as would invariably be the practice in the empire. On the contrary these men continued without faltering, and again I wondered what unseen force could be propelling them. Meanwhile, the engine chugged and chuffed into the distance, the iron rails ringing forlornly beneath its wheels. Greylag seemed completely mesmerised by the sight and sound of these industrious men with their slavish engine.

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