Three to See the King

by Magnus Mills

  'Oh, you've been there, have you? What did you think?'

  'Quite sweet really, although I couldn't live there.'

  'Why not?'

  'Cos they talk such nonsense all the time. Really, I thought you were a bit obsessive, but at least you've got your head screwed on properly. This lot babble on and on about tin houses and clay houses, and it's obvious they don't know what they're talking about.'

  'Well, that's as may be,' I replied. 'But you have to watch what you say round here: they're a bit touchy on the subject.'

  'I don't care,' said Mary Petrie. 'I've told you before, it's not where you live that counts but who you live with.'

  'I know, I know, but just while we're here . . . ?'

  'Well, how long's that going to be?'

  'I'm not sure,' I said. 'It depends.'

  Such an answer, needless to say, was totally unsatisfactory, and Mary Petrie seemed on the verge of telling me so when our conversation was interrupted. It was the time of day when volunteers who'd done their three or four days' service left the canyon and were replaced by fresh recruits from the city. As a result, the area around the foot of the ladder became fairly busy for a while, and we were obliged to move out of the way. We watched as the various squads passed by and began their ascent. These included the group I'd recently been working with on the clay beds.

  They're having a few days' rest,' I explained.

  'What about you?' asked Mary Petrie. 'Aren't you going up as well?'

  'No, I don't usually bother,' I said. 'I'd much rather stay down here under the tarpaulins.'

  This wasn't entirely true, of course, as my preferred dwelling would always be one of tin. The real problem was that I felt unable to tackle the climb again without Michael being present, and he hadn't left the canyon for some time now. As a result, neither had I. Every time the others trooped home for a break I'd made some excuse about staying behind to help out, and they'd believed me because of my well-known independent ways. A little later the next batch would arrive, noisily enthusiastic as they came down the ramps and ladders, and I would be amongst the first to greet them.

  As it turned out, there was only a trickle of people this evening. The few who descended and headed for the encampment were nowhere near enough to replace those who'd just left, and vaguely I wondered what had happened to the rest.

  'Come on,' I said. 'It's time to have something to eat.'

  I was aware that the camp would not be Mary Petrie's kind of place at all, so rather than head there directly I took her on a brief tour first. We followed a meandering route along the various planks and footpaths as I showed her the excavations where I'd been involved, and then we called on Steve and Philip. They were carrying out some maintenance on one of the hoists. The moment Steve saw Mary Petrie he stopped work and started giving her a full technical explanation of how it operated. I could tell she wasn't at all interested in the subject, and thought she showed remarkable forbearance in listening politely until he'd finished. After asking one or two questions in the manner of a visiting dignitary, she then began slowly to move away, leaving Steve stranded in mid-sentence as he rambled on about ropes and pulleys.

  He turned to me with a blank expression.

  'Been busy here?' I enquired.

  'Not really,' he said. 'People only dig at half-speed when Michael's not around.'

  'Where is he today then?'

  'Surveying the far end of the canyon.'

  'With Alison Hopewell?'

  'Yes.'

  'That makes a change. Er . . . look, I'd better go and catch up with Mary. Otherwise I'll risk incurring her wrath: you know what she can be like.'

  'I do indeed,' replied Steve. 'But all the same it's nice to see her again.'

  'Suppose it is, yes.'

  Mary Petrie had meanwhile wandered along to the clay beds, where she stood gazing vaguely at the work in progress.

  'By the way,' she said, when I joined her. 'I met another of your friends up in the city.'

  'Who was that?'

  'Patrick Pybus.'

  'Oh, him,' I said. 'He's not a friend really: he just tagged on to me, that's all.'

  'Well, he speaks very highly of you.'

  'Does he?'

  'Oh yes,' she said. 'You seem to be quite popular.'

  'That's because I know all about tin houses,' I pointed out. 'As soon as they've started building from clay they'll forget I exist.'

  While we were there I took the opportunity to show her the site for the kilns. It was evident she was beginning to tire, however, so I next steered her towards the encampment, where food was about to be served. As usual, a place was set aside for me at one of the tables, and I think this impressed Mary Petrie. Nonetheless, I was concerned that she might object to sleeping under the tarpaulins. If she did, I had no idea how I would resolve the matter.

  During supper I noticed that quite a lot of the conversation was about Jane Day and her outburst during the afternoon. I would have expected her opinions to be condemned out of hand, at least publicly, so I was surprised to hear a number of sympathetic comments, even from those who fully accepted that clay was better than tin.

  The debate drew swiftly to a close when Michael Hawkins returned. He was accompanied by Alison, who looked somewhat drained and retired immediately to bed. I then took the opportunity to introduce Mary Petrie to Michael. He was charm itself, welcoming her warmly and disclosing that the plans for the first houses were now ready.

  'We'll start digging the foundations tomorrow,' he announced, glancing at me. 'How are the kilns coming along?'

  'Not too bad,' I said. 'Although we're a bit short-handed.'

  A troubled look crossed Michael's face, and he cast his eyes around the tables.

  'Yes, you're right,' he agreed. 'Where is everybody?'

  'Up in the city of tin, I suppose.'

  'Well, could you do me a favour and count how many we've got down here?'

  'Yes,' I said. 'Sure.'

  Michael often asked me to carry out small but important tasks of this nature, so I wasn't at all surprised by the request. As soon as I'd finished supper I went round the tables counting up, and then made a circuit of the outlying excavations to see if anyone was working late. It turned out that nobody was, so the total amount of people available to work numbered less than eighty. This was in stark contrast to the hundreds that usually flocked into the canyon, and when I returned to Michael I felt like I was the bearer of bad news.

  'Not to worry,' he said, apparently unperturbed. 'We'll just have to have a recruitment drive, that's all.'

  During my absence he and Mary Petrie seemed to have been getting on very well together. She'd already agreed to accompany him on a surveying trip the following day, and had gone to bed early in preparation.

  'I've organized a place for her under the tarpaulins,' he said. 'She should be nice and snug there.'

  20

  The first thing I discovered on awaking next morning was that more workers had slipped away during the night. Why they should depart in such an underhand manner was beyond me, as Michael had always been very frank and open with them. No one had been coerced into coming to this canyon, or detained against their wishes, yet by the time I arose another three dozen had sneaked off as if making an escape! Wandering over for some breakfast I saw Simon, Steve and Philip sitting at a table deep in discussion, so I went and joined them. For a few moments they failed to acknowledge me, though I knew they'd seen my approach. Then abruptly Simon turned to me and said, 'You know about the latest mutterings, do you?'

  'No,' I replied. 'Why, what have you heard?'

  'People are saying that Jane Day was expelled from the canyon for her outspokenness.'

  'Expelled?'

  'Driven into exile by Michael himself.'

  'But that's ridiculous!' I said. 'She went of her own accord!'

  'We're simply telling you what people are saying,' murmured Philip. 'To put you in the picture.'

  'Well, I hope you thr
ee have been setting them straight with a few facts!' I snapped.

  'Nothing to do with us,' said Steve.

  He uttered this with an air of sulkiness that I'd have thought was below him. Meanwhile, Simon and Philip gazed at me in resignation.

  'So are you all just going to sit and wash your hands of the whole affair?' I asked.

  'What more can we do?' answered Simon with a shrug. 'We've tried, but no one listens to us any more.'

  For the rest of the day a sort of hiatus descended on the encampment. None of those who remained were inclined to do any work, and instead they passed the time gathered together in small groups, kicking their heels and chatting. I spent a while ambling around the clay beds, repositioning planks and so forth, but soon I, too, lost momentum.

  The buckets on the hoist swung empty and unused as Steve and the others continued their conversation around the table. From a distance I noticed Alison Hopewell emerge from beneath the tarpaulins and approach them. She had a rather agitated manner, I thought, and was pacing around the table gesticulating with her hands. Something had clearly upset her, so I began walking over to see what was wrong, but suddenly she went marching away along one of the footpaths. I followed for a few hundred yards, unable to catch up, and finally decided that she most likely wanted to be left alone. For this reason I turned back.

  At some point in the afternoon it occurred to me that Michael would most probably have left too early to be aware of the further decrease in numbers. I knew that his presence alone could reverse the situation, and with this in mind I set off to find him and Mary Petrie. I met them a little later, strolling side by side in the direction of the camp, but obviously in no hurry to arrive there. When they saw me coming they quickened their pace.

  'What is it?' asked Michael.

  'Well I think you should get back as soon as you can,' I replied. 'There's hardly anyone left.'

  This was borne out when we drew near and saw the tarpaulins flapping unattended in the early evening breeze. The tables were deserted, as were the nearby walkways. It appeared that even Simon, Steve and Philip had gone, and when we glanced towards the ladders we saw the last of the defectors receding over the top. Michael halted and stood gazing round at the work he'd begun, but which now seemed doomed to failure. The whole place lay silent and desolate beneath the canyon walls that were to have sheltered his people. Even the clay beds, opened so very recently, were fast becoming cracked and dry. The prospects for building a great new city looked slim indeed.

  All of a sudden Michael turned to us and clapped his hands together. 'Very well!' he declared. 'If they won't come to me, I'll just have to go to them!'

  Next instant he was striding across the canyon floor towards the ascent route, with Mary Petrie following close behind. She'd said little since returning, and instead spent most of the time listening intently to what Michael had to say. In her eyes was a look I'd never seen before. I, too, felt a desire to accompany Michael, not least because without him I couldn't face the ladders. He was already halfway up the first one when I arrived at the bottom, so I seized the rungs and climbed blindly after him. There were no reassuring words to help me on this journey, as there had been coming down, so I had little choice but to do exactly as he did, putting my hands and feet where he put his, and resting when he rested. Mary Petrie did likewise, and the three of us climbed steadily up the ladders and ramps before finally emerging onto the plain. At once I felt on my face the harsh wind that until a few weeks ago had been so familiar, but which I'd gradually forgotten in the benign climate below. As my companions went ahead, I paused a while and took a last look into the canyon, certain now that I would not be going back. Then I turned and set off in pursuit of the others.

  I wasn't sure whether Michael intended to go direct to the tin city, or call first at his own house, which as I said before was set some distance apart. Perhaps, I thought, he would go there to rest and prepare himself, or maybe rehearse a speech, prior to approaching his absent followers. If so I'd get the chance to see at first hand the finest tin house of them all: the one chosen by the man himself. This was something I'd wanted to do ever since I'd first laid eyes on the place, but as it turned out I never even got near to it. While I'd been walking I had gradually become aware of much activity outside the city walls, and by the time I caught up with Michael it was apparent that a vast throng had gathered there.

  'Looks like they're having some kind of meeting,' I said. 'What do you think that's about?'

  'Well, we'll soon know,' he replied. They've seen us coming.'

  Even as he spoke we heard a shout, and next moment some members of the crowd began to surge towards us. Others, however, continued milling around where they were, and seemed to waver before eventually following the general flow. The result was a ragged procession of people coming towards us, a procession whose purpose appeared far from certain.

  'Be careful, won't you?' urged Mary Petrie, as Michael went forward to meet the vanguard.

  'It'll be alright,' he said. 'They just need a few words of guidance, that's all.'

  I wasn't so sure. From where I stood this leading mob looked to be getting enough guidance already. At its forefront strode Patrick Pybus, with Jane, Sarah and their band of associates all close at hand, talking in loud voices and offering raucous encouragement to one another. Ignoring the hesitancy of those further back, they forged quickly ahead as if having taken matters into their own hands. This was confirmed when Patrick marched up and presented himself as spokesman, clasping Michael in a brotherly embrace and making a great show of welcoming him.

  Then he said, 'We're glad you're here because we've just arrived at an important decision. All it needs is your approval.'

  'I see,' replied Michael. 'Well then. Tell me what it is you've decided.'

  'We think we should have the freedom to choose between tin or clay.'

  Patrick made his announcement in a steady tone which was neither demand nor request. Instead, he talked as though he was stating a fact, uncompromising and simple, the sanctioning of which would be a mere formality. He seemed quite pleased, nonetheless, when Michael said, 'Yes, of course you're free to choose.'

  'You've no objection then?' asked Patrick. 'If we stick to tin?'

  'None at all,' came the reply. 'If you wish to stay here on this plain it's entirely up to you.'

  Patrick's face fell. 'Oh no,' he said. 'You misunderstand me. We want to move into the canyon.'

  'But that's not possible,' said Michael.

  'Why?'

  'Because I won't allow it.'

  During this brief conversation numerous other people had come along and begun gradually to surround us, while still more were closing in from behind. Judging by their expressions they didn't all share the opinion of Patrick and his accomplices. Some clearly disagreed: others remained undecided. Soon these various factions were joined by the many who had caught nothing of what was being said, and who were now straining hard to listen, jostling one another for a better place. On their faces were looks of sheer bewilderment. They crowded together in a huge seething mass, confused and fearful of the momentous choice that awaited them.

  'You won't allow it?' somebody asked in a mocking tone. 'You won't allow tin houses?'

  It was the voice of Jane Day, and when I glanced in her direction I knew at once that she was enjoying every second of this encounter. She stood in the thick of the mob, sneering with glee as she awaited Michael's response. For my part, I was alarmed by his high-handed manner. Over the past weeks I'd been most impressed with the subtle way in which he'd dealt with his followers, always allowing room for dissent and never speaking down to them. Now I realized that even Michael had his limitations. These circumstances clearly demanded the utmost diplomacy, yet suddenly he appeared to be digging his heels in. It was almost as if he was deliberately placing himself in a predicament, and Jane Day was quick to recognize the fact. 'Come on!' she demanded. 'Give us an answer!' 'You already know the answer,' replied Michael. 'You ca
nnot come into my canyon unless you build from clay.'

  'Cannot?' said Jane, raising her voice. 'Cannot?!' She jabbed a finger into Michael's chest. He yielded a little. Some members of the crowd took this to be a sign of weakness and began jeering. Thus encouraged, Jane prodded him again. 'Cannot?!' she bayed, as he stepped back and lost his balance. Hands stretched out to support him, but in the same instant others grabbed hold and began pulling him towards them. 'Seize him!' they yelled. 'He's ours!' The mob pressed in and Michael was roughly bundled from one group to the next in a desperate struggle for possession. Meanwhile Jane capered wildly amongst them issuing frenzied commands. 'Tear him apart!' she screeched. 'Pull him to pieces!' Next thing they had their captive by the arms and legs and were heaving him in all four directions. Mary Petrie swung round at me, her eyes blazing. 'Do something!' she cried. 'You're the only one they'll listen to!'

  A distant glimmer caught my eye. 'His house!' I bellowed. 'Tear his house to pieces instead!' 'His house!' echoed Mary Petrie in desperation. 'His house, his house!'

  At the fringe of the crowd I could see Simon, Steve and Philip, trying in vain to get through. Their intention was unclear, but when they heard my shout they immediately veered away and began racing towards the lone tin structure. Several people peeled off after them, then more still, enabling me to get closer to those holding onto Michael.

  'Not him, his house!' I roared, over and over, until at last they heard me, loosening their grip one by one and dashing away to where the demolition had already started. At last there remained only Jane Day. With a shriek she dodged round me and attempted to batter Michael, now lying motionless on the ground. Mary Petrie saw her off in a trice, emitting a fierce howl that scared the wits out of her, and chasing her halfway to the city before turning back.

  A groan from Michael told me he was still intact, so I helped him to his feet and watched as he stumbled towards the open plain. From the direction of his house of tin there came a great clamour. The destruction was now complete and each person grabbed whatever he could. As I watched, however, it quickly became clear that there weren't enough pieces to go round, and soon arguments and fights began breaking out amongst the plunderers. Then all at once the entire horde made a rush towards the city, bent on a course of action I couldn't quite make out. Only when they set upon their own houses did I understand. They swarmed around the walls and over the roofs, pulling them apart, and throwing them down into haphazard stacks. Off came the shutters and the doors, the chimneys and the drainpipes, all the different sizes mixed up together. Squads of people gathered up the assorted pieces and began carrying them towards the canyon, leaving them at the brink before returning for more.