The arrow polisher’s disappointment is exquisitely painful.

They never see me.

But it shall be made different.

He polishes slowly, clinging to his dream, as he has been doing more and more often of late.

Behold, I see many folk, begins the dream, in old-fashioned, ceremonial style. And in an instant the corridor is full of people walking hither and thither on all kinds of errands, and all of them acknowledge him, the arrow polisher, for they pass before him as he stands on his ladder polishing. He nods back. They share secrets. Dangerous secrets too, and they nod to one another and remind each other about them. On every side their eyes express friendship and respect.

But isn’t Stig coming?

He is the one he would rather meet above all the others. For he doesn’t usually leave it at a mere nod, he is in the habit of stopping for a quick chat as he passes, however busy he is. Foolhardy Stig. They have many important things to talk about, but they don’t mention them here where there are so many eyes to see them. Only half-important things, that watchful eyes can make nothing of.

Isn’t Stig coming today, then ? he says, dragging out the delightful waiting period. This is part of the dream, and it creates a particular pleasure because he knows so well that Stig will come. For Stig cannot do without his daily conversation with him.

There he is at last! Tall and stooping. Happening along as if by chance. But people nudge each other as he passes: that man there, that’s Stig. He’s one of the daring ones. But you must pretend you don’t know. And pretend you know nothing if you meet him. Look, he’s stopped to talk to the chap who looks as if he’s polishing the arrows. You can see he’s stopping as if by accident – but I don’t think it is so. That arrow polisher is the same kind, you know. That arrow polishing is a splendid cover for getting to know your opponent well. He’s running an enormous risk, I shouldn’t wonder, but I expect he’s getting something out of it too. Stig comes and asks his advice every day, believe you me. But for heaven’s sake don’t let on that you know. As you’re aware it’s most important never to talk about anything.

That’s how the whispering goes.

The arrow polisher lets the cloth glide slowly over the fake gold and listens to what they are saying. Stig has stopped now and nodded a greeting. They make small talk, but in reality it is a secret language. Weighty matters of urgency and suchlike. And you me coming, aren’t you? It’s important that you should be there. Does it really matter? Yes, answers Stig, you are obliged to come. Take time off. Well well, I suppose I’ll have to then. Whereupon they embark on small talk again, or something of minor importance.

How delightful to stand there, to be aware of people knowing something about them, about what kind of fellows they are, but for heaven’s sake don’t say anything so that it comes to the ears of any arrow-decorated officials, openly or secretly.