a Feather in your Cap concluded
Thus Percy Robeson found himself settling into his new routine; Mornings were a blur of rising, yawning and hurling himself down the rickety stairs at home, down the hill into London and the thick surging tide of traffic as it swept its uneven course along the Thames gulch.
An early riser he nonetheless often spotted Mr Botham as he passed the docks and the busy crowds waiting for the wagon trains to arrive. Fortunately, the man was too preoccupied to notice him and Percy had the advantage too of being in the covered cab he could now afford - it really did make a difference to his mood, even if the Handsome often found itself stuck on roads and lanes cluttered by falling masonry from one decrepit building or other.
Robeson was all too familiar with the public complaints about such things - much as the powers that were might contest the accusations, blaming atmospheric conditions, blight and nefarious anarchist action, especially that infernal group known as the ‘six-pence’. In any case, not a place to linger - what with the Bluebottles in a temper and the aerial patrols snatching at anyone caught dawdling for long, came the yell “Keep the streets moving!” and really Percy was beginning to hear the cry in his sleep already.
Nonetheless he arrived at work in an even temper, greeting the Porter and slipping into his position with instinctual ease, no more wobbling on the ladder but upsy-daisy and in a trice at that.
Work would then proceed to the music of rustling papers and the thump of his stamp and that of Mr Levers. On occasion Percy would jump down and pull the cord for the sliding archive that toured the building on a pair of well greased brass runners. These archives were the blood in the veins of Legal and Misc. and they were vast - indeed, cataloguing the material required a department all of its own. And they were far removed from the general workforce. The archives were therefore cloaked in mystery and were the provocation behind many urban myths - they even, it was claimed, held the secret of ‘the change’ and what had been before, back when London was supposedly a truly flourishing metropolis with the houses still standing and the social order utterly different.
The answer was somewhere in the ever circling shelves; cosmic rays, rocks from space, war, volcanic eruption, the rumours were widespread, but as far as Percy knew, no relevant volumes or journals, or memos had been seen that stated facts clearly. Levers would sigh as the bookcases slammed home in their locked position. Percy never much minded the clatter, he was grateful to have instant access to the sort of documents and literature the juniors could only apply to use, and with a form that crossed Robeson’s own desk now. He took great delight in marking PENDING to those ex-colleagues that were not in his favour.
And then before he knew it, it would be luncheon. In the case of Mr Levers this meant an eternal foul smelling pie that he went through a charade of offering to Robeson. Percy declined with unconvincing politeness whilst he took out his own biscuits, or, once a week, a fish, yet another new luxury he was indulging in.
As time wore on, he began to listen to Mr Levers as they ate, for it was the only real opportunity to converse, albeit whilst leaning from his work-space or dangling from the ladder. For his part, Levers was willing to stand on his own desk which made things somewhat easier. Percy was learning about the staff and the quirks of his post, all the gossip of his level - chatter that he would have killed to overhear when he was but a Junior Clerk.
“Oh, and as for Mr Grawling,” Levers would hold forth, “hmm, that old buzzard - well he seems to have been around forever, most of the younger seniors seem to dislike him, but the trouble is no/one can match him for memory, a veritable encyclopaedia he is. The others must be patient - and they’re not keen on that!”
This was palpably true for each morning when those very seniors brushed past, Robeson heard them. As well as forever complaining of hunger or thirst they would frequently be muttering and cursing about having to endure the wait.
“Vultures they are,” Levers would conclude. Having finished his pronouncements, the man would use the remaining minutes of their break to dash off, ostensibly for a daily paper though Percy never saw him read one. He wondered if a woman was involved, since there were none at Legal and Misc, (save the cleaning staff and the cha ladies,) and in any case fraternising with anyone on work time was a serious misdemeanour. Upon returning, Levers would greet a candle-man who would then whisk him off to present a summary of their mornings labours to the head of their department, a Mr Jears, one of those, Percy was sure, that went by him of a morning. Percy would nod affably to the candle-man, a stolid type, and no feathers of course so the fellow would not react to Percy unless first spoken to directly.
One day however this routine was abruptly altered.
Levers had just disappeared off to wherever he obtained his paper from, (a kiosk or shop, Percy had yet to ask which,) when the candle-man arrived. Despite his cautious blank expression and his usual air of servility the candle-man positively radiated haste.
“Early,” said Percy rather obviously, “you’re early.”
The candle-man nodded. “Yessir, beg pardon Sir, only his nibs is busy t’day and he’s sent me afore the usual time.”
Percy hmm-ed, and drummed a finger on the top of the ladder for effect. “Well, Levers isn’t here.”
“Yessir, quite right Sir, only ‘im upstairs he’s sent me all the same - and ‘e won’t want me coming back empty handed, that is - someone’ll have to come all the same. Orders Sir, innit.”
He was ringing his hat as he spoke - Percy almost felt sorry for the man, but Robeson was too busy feeling pleased for himself. This’ll be a one up on Levers, he thought, and no conniving on my part either.
“Very well, I shall have to go myself. Wait just a moment will you?”
And turning away Percy quickly scanned his desk before sliding down the ladder and doing the same thing again at Levers’ position. He grabbed a handful of papers for good measure. Their jobs were so similar Percy had no doubt he could convey the gist of both their activities that morning.
“Right ho!” he breezed.
The candle-man turned around, and Percy admired the delicate pattern of wax drippings that made a mosaic of the man’s jacket. The candle-man placed his hat back on his head and popped a candle in the iron banding before lighting it from a flint (and with a well practised hand). That done, he moved off down the long corridor at pace. Percy followed him, amused by the bobbing light that became brighter as they journeyed together deeper into the building and into the shadows.
Time and distance became somewhat of a blur as they hurried along and up and down and surely even back again - for so it seemed to Percy as he struggled to keep up with the Candle-man. At one point (and surely in a serious breach of protocol,) the Candle-man grabbed a hold of a moving bookcase and Percy was forced to follow suit - dangling his legs off the ground as best he could and cursing the state his shoes and trousers would be in. Hopping off at a junction, the candle-man pointed to a lift with a rusty concertina of iron across it. “This’ll take you direct Sir, Mr Jears is waiting.”
And before the dazed Robeson could reply, the Candle-man had scampered off again. Damn him! Percy pried open the lift guard and stepping into pressed the only visible button. With a lurch the contraption rose upwards at an unlikely speed. Bumping into the side boards Percy cursed again - this was positively a conspiracy to reduce his appearance to a ragged embarrassment! He was bumped again as the lift came to a stop. Adding insult to injury his stomach now decided that it was indeed lunch hour and began to protest as much, quite forcibly and quite audibly.
“Hungry are we?” said a voice quite suddenly. Percy franticly tucked his shirt in, waved a hand through his hair and brushed his knees. “I know the feeling!” The voice came again. “You have my sympathies.”
Breathing deeply and clutching his papers under his arm, Percy opened the creaking lift and stepped forward into the office of Mr Jears, a senior.
What an office! Percy tried not to gasp at the sight of it, the glittering brass finished ornaments, the fine crimson rugs, the wide open windows with an equally wide balcony and the whole giant room filled with fine smelling plants and flowers. His stomach grumbled anew.
Mr Jears, who, it seemed had particularly acute hearing, came from behind his desk, nodding as he did so. “Luncheon,” he agreed with a sharp, clipped voice, “is not a thing to miss.” He was a tall man, though he stooped slightly, dressed in the imposing black cap and gown of the law-court; wide billowing sleeves and a tail coat that brushed the ground.
Now was his chance, thought Percy, Levers be-damned, and he waved his papers. “As you wanted Sir,” he said.
“Indeed,” said Jears, running a delicate boned hand through a fringe of dark hair, “it’s very important. Come forward young man. New to post are we?”
“Yes Sir, not long Sir.”
“Work alone, eh?” The senior was being polite enough, but clearly his mind was on higher things. Percy would need to make an impression.
“Not exactly Sir.”
“And what exactly does ‘not exactly’ mean?” Jears was moving restlessly as he spoke, shifting his weight from one long leg to another.
“Well I have a man under me,” said Robeson, choosing his words carefully now, “my assistant Mr Levers, who normally comes to you.”
“Ah!” Levers seemed amused suddenly, waving a wide arm. “Well then…” he smiled a thin smile at Percy. “I daresay he could take on your duties if you were needed elsewhere, if there was an important need for you elsewhere?”
Again the arm made a circling motion, very showy thought Percy - but he was thrilled to his boots, to be needed elsewhere already - to be moved on, moved up, so soon! His stomach grumbled all the same, and this time he was sure he could now hear the senior’s belly growling in support.
“Yes Sir,” he said firmly, almost clicking his heels, “yes indeed!”
“Oh, well that’s excellent!” And Jears smiled wide this time, a full bright grin.
And then lifting up his arms wide he snapped in two. As if hinged, the entire torso flipped back, the black arms began to flap in earnest as a great beak and two dark eyes erupted from the insides, shaking itself loose of a placenta like membrane of goo and tasting with obvious relish first the freedom of the office and its air, and then with a snap! the sweet and suddenly fearful meat of Percy Robeson.
Some while later - and feeling fully reasonably satisfied, Jears moved to the window and, with a contented sigh, flapped his great wings and took to the sky circling over the grand wreckage of London, looking for dessert.
