Three to See the King

11

The opening of the shutters soon became a daily ritual in my house of tin. It was done each morning before breakfast, at the command of Mary Petrie. There were exceptions, of course, such as when the wind gusted up and blew the sand around as if summer had never come. On those occasions the whole place remained firmly battened down. Most days, however, the weather was good. Therefore, the shutters were opened and the light let in.

I had no objection to this as it gave me plenty to do. More importantly, it kept Mary Petrie happy as she continued her improvements to the interior. There were now vases and pictures everywhere, downstairs and up, as well as the further comforts she had produced from her trunk. We drank our coffee, for example, not from enamelled mugs as had long been my custom, but from china cups and saucers. At night we slept beneath a feather eiderdown.

With the shutters open the house was pleasant, bright and airy, yet after a while there appeared an unforeseen side effect. For some reason the increased ventilation caused the stove to emit more smoke than it had previously. Soon there were deposits of soot appearing on the walls, and Mary Petrie demanded that something should be done about it.

‘We can’t do anything,’ I said. ‘It’s unavoidable.’

‘Don’t give me that,’ she answered, opening the door and going outside. A moment later she was back. ‘The chimney’s too short. We’ll have to have a longer one.’

‘Wouldn’t it be easier just to close the shutters again?’ I suggested. ‘That’s obviously what’s causing it.’

‘I don’t want them closed!’ she exclaimed. ‘They’re much better open at this time of year. What it needs is a longer chimney!’

‘How do you know?’

‘I just do!!’

The look on her face confirmed that she was certain of this, so I immediately gave up arguing.

‘That must have been why Steve Treacle lengthened his chimney,’ I remarked. ‘I wondered what he did that for.’

‘So he could show you how to do it, could he?’ asked Mary Petrie.

‘Oh yes, he’s got all the stuff over there.’

‘Well, you’ll have to go and see him then.’

‘I can’t really, can I?’ I protested. ‘Not the way things are at present.’

‘I don’t care about that!’ she said. ‘I’m not putting up with all this soot when there’s a perfectly simple solution! It’s only pride that’s keeping you away from Steve, and Philip for that matter, so you can get yourself over there tomorrow!’

The following day I set forth in the sunshine bearing gifts. I’d decided overnight that there would have to be one for each of my remaining neighbours, and that the best thing to take would be some cakes.

‘Won’t they have had their fill of cakes by now?’ asked Mary Petrie. ‘That’s what you took every day when they were moving Simon. Maybe you should give them something else instead.’

‘No, no,’ I replied. ‘Cakes’ll be fine.’

‘Alright,’ she said. ‘Well, give them both my regards, won’t you?’

‘OK then. Bye.’

A good while had passed since I’d last been to Steve’s, but I was quite sure of the way and hardly even thought about it as I walked. After a couple of hours, however, I began to wonder if maybe I’d strayed off course a little. There was no other landmark in the vicinity apart from Steve’s house, and I’d expected it to appear ahead of me at any minute. Instead I saw nothing, so I decided to stop and have a good look around me. The view, I thought, seemed familiar. In all directions a vast red plain stretched away into the distance, crossed occasionally by eddies of drifting sand. Yes, this was definitely the right place.

Where, then, was the house? As I glanced about me my eyes fell on a large rectangular shape marked on the ground, and suddenly I knew the answer. With ease I traced the perimeter of Steve’s former abode, recognizing the places where the door, the stove and the stairway used to be. Now it was all gone, and so was the collection of spare parts he kept stacked round the back. These, I recalled, included some lengths of chimney pipe. The whole lot had disappeared, and I could only assume that he’d decided to move nearer to Philip. I wondered if he’d used the same system to notate the pieces of tin from his own house as he had with Simon Painter’s. If so, it would be interesting to see the result, which was why I decided to press on in the direction of Philip’s. This was only another hour’s journey away, and as long as I got a move on I’d have plenty of time to get home again before dark.

After taking what I assumed was my last ever look at Steve Treacle’s old residence, I started off. My inhibitions about seeing the two of them again had now disappeared, and I found myself eagerly anticipating the prospect of a pair of tin houses standing side by side. I could just imagine the carry-on when Steve, impetuous as ever, had rushed about reassembling his components right next door to Philip. Meanwhile, his companion would have lent a hand in a staid sort of way, saying little apart from passing the odd droll remark. I speculated that Steve might well have found a method for coupling the two structures together. What a sight that would be, and maybe they’d even have a chimney to spare! Surely, I told myself, when I arrived and presented them both with cakes, the three of us would be able to forget recent events altogether.

During the past hour I’d become aware that the wind had swung back towards west-south-west and was increasing slightly. I felt quite pleased that I’d detected this change without the aid of a weathercock, but something else gratified me as well. To tell the truth, I found the mild, gentle conditions of summer rather irritating, much as I imagined a sailor might feel when stuck in the doldrums. Warm, hazy days were alright for a short period, but after a while I found them frankly tiresome and longed for a return to ‘proper weather’. By this I meant louring grey skies, a cool temperature and a bracing wind. A glance at the horizon told me that my wish was about to be granted, although I knew there would be a price to pay. Some regions are simply not suited to summer, and this plain of ours was a perfect example. I’d learnt from experience that we would have to undergo a violent storm before the climate reverted to normal. With this in mind I put my head down and hurried on towards Philip Sibling’s house.

It was even longer since I’d been there than it had been for Steve Treacle’s, but if I remembered rightly the last occasion was in the aftermath of just such a storm. The previous evening had seen a gathering of clouds in the distance, and sometime around midnight the rain had come. This was a fairly rare occurrence in these parts and quite welcome as the tank could always do with a top-up. It had been falling heavily for an hour or so when I put on some waterproofs and went outside to check that the downpipe was clear. A minute later the sky was lit by the brightest bolt of lightning I’d ever seen. The fork struck the ground somewhere in the vicinity of Philip’s house, so the following morning when things were drying up I went over to make sure he was alright.

I should have known he would be, of course. Philip Sibling wasn’t the sort of person to go out in a deluge like that, and I found him sitting in his kitchen staring at the ceiling.

‘I’m trying to work out if any rain came in last night,’ he explained.

‘Have you got a leak then?’ I asked.

‘Oh no. It’s tight as a ship.’

‘So how could rain get in?’

‘Capillary action,’ he said, giving me a significant look. ‘You can’t trust it.’

That was just about the longest talk I ever had with Philip. He was a man of few words, and didn’t like to waste them in conversation. This suited me fine, and for the remainder of my visit we sat quietly at his table, sharing a pot of coffee and not exchanging more than the most necessary remarks. Just before I departed, Steve Treacle had arrived, apparently for the same reason as me. Philip invited him in, then all three of us sat together for a while, saying very little, until I decided it was time to leave. Something like a year must have passed since that visit, and now, as I walked once more towards Philip’s, I recalled Steve drumming frantically on the table. I could still hear him after I’d said goodbye and gone outside, but I could also hear the pair of them beginning to chat away quite freely. That must have been the day when their friendship first started to flourish, and I had no doubt that they discussed more interesting things than capillary action.

I was interrupted in my thoughts by a faint cry. It came from somewhere up ahead, and reminded me of the plaintive call of a bird on some remote and forsaken strand. Except I knew it wasn’t a bird. Stopping in my tracks I peered into the distance, where a group of six or seven people was slowly moving towards the west. They were about a mile away, but I could see that they too had been halted by the cry. A moment later another tiny figure came in sight, apparently running after them. They waited while this individual caught up, and then the whole group clustered together for several minutes before continuing westward again.

As they gradually disappeared from view I watched with an odd feeling of disquiet. These people had made their appearance more or less in the area where Philip lived, yet there was no sign of his house nor Steve’s. Surely, I thought, the pair of them can’t have just upped and gone. Of all the men I knew, Philip was the last I would have expected to dismantle his dwelling and move it somewhere else. After another quarter of an hour’s walking, however, I discovered the truth. There, marked on the ground in front of me, was a large empty rectangle. Beyond it lay a trail of footprints. Overcome with disappointment I sat down and ate the cakes myself.

By the time I got home Mary Petrie had been round and closed all the shutters against the oncoming storm. The weathercock pointed west-south-west. So far the breeze had only risen slightly, but already sand was beginning to accumulate against the windward side of the house. As I approached I saw her at work with the shovel, clearing some of it away.

‘Don’t worry about that now,’ I said.

‘Well, someone’s got to do it,’ she answered. ‘And you’re never here these days.’

‘I had to go and see about the chimney, didn’t I?’

‘That’s no excuse. This storm’s been building up for hours. You should have come back.’ She ceased shovelling and looked at me. ‘So where is it then?’

‘Where’s what?’

‘The new chimney.’

‘Ah, well,’ I explained. ‘Steve’s moved house. So’s Philip. They’ve gone.’

‘Where else did you try?’ she asked.

‘Nowhere. There isn’t anywhere else.’

‘Great!’ she said. ‘You’ve been out all day and returned with nothing!’

By this time I’d gently removed the shovel from her grasp and taken over the work. Actually, this was a complete waste of energy because when the storm arrived it was just going to blow sand all over the place. Under the circumstances, however, I thought I’d better make a show of doing something. Mary, Petrie took position nearby and stood watching me with her arms folded.

‘Anyway, the chimney shouldn’t be a problem for the moment,’ I pointed out. ‘Not now the shutters are closed again.’

‘I expect you’re quite pleased about that, aren’t you?’ she replied. ‘Nice dark sky, blustery wind, sand flying around everywhere. Suits you perfectly, doesn’t it?’

I was always impressed when she made remarks like these as she seemed to know my likes and dislikes inside out. It was almost as if she’d studied me in depth and was keeping notes on the subject.

‘Never mind,’ I said. ‘We’ll be nice and snug inside the house.’

‘But it’s the height of summer!’ she declared. ‘We shouldn’t need to be nice and snug!’

‘It’s only summer by name,’ I replied. ‘We’re right in the middle of the wilds, don’t forget.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m sure I won’t forget that.’

Carefully she opened the door, slipped inside, and shut it again. The descending gloom now appeared close enough to touch. With it came sporadic flashes of lightning, and these told me that we could expect sand and dust, rather than rain, which would fall elsewhere.

To tell the truth, I quite liked watching the advance of dry lightning, as I called it, when I was assured that I wouldn’t get soaked to the skin at any moment. For some reason it was never accompanied by thunder, and instead the only noise came from the rising wind as the sand scattered before it. There was nothing to be gained from further work with the shovel, so I had a rest and observed the sky for another few minutes. Then I went in and joined Mary Petrie. I told her about the group of people I’d seen near Philip’s place, and the trail of footprints heading west.

‘Do you think it’s got anything to do with Michael Hawkins?’ she asked.

‘Why should it?’ I replied.

‘Well,’ she said. There aren’t usually this many people coming past are there? Maybe they’re going to see him.’

‘I doubt it,’ I said. ‘They’re probably just having a look round, that’s all.’

Our discussion was interrupted when a heavy gust of wind battered against the house. It was certainly going to be a rough night. With a feeling almost of glee I listened to the familiar noise of the tin walls creaking and groaning under the assault. Another hour and it would sound as if someone outside was hurling sand against them. This was the sort of weather I wanted, and with a bit of luck it would stay the same for weeks, or at least until Mary Petrie forgot about altering the chimney.

Even so, I was quite disturbed by her suggested cause for the sudden influx of newcomers. During the past few months I’d managed to forget all about Michael Hawkins and his supposedly marvellous existence somewhere beyond the horizon. Now he entered my thoughts again, and this time he wouldn’t go away. I pictured those people in the afternoon pressing westward when the weather was deteriorating so obviously. There’d been something dogged and imperturbable about their progress, and it had shown even in the patience with which they’d awaited the straggler. He in turn had sounded desperate to join them.

Then there was the question of Steve Treacle and Philip Sibling. They had both spoken several times of going to see Michael Hawkins, and I began to wonder if that was in fact where they’d gone. On balance I agreed it was a possibility, but all the same it seemed a bit extreme taking their houses along too.

I was given further cause for conjecture the following day when the brunt of the storm had passed. Emerging quite early in the morning, the first thing I saw was yet another bunch of people in the distance, again heading west. I got the strong impression that for some reason they were giving a wide berth to my place. Their circumspection suited me, of course, as I didn’t want strangers coming past at all hours.

What I didn’t realize was that this was just the beginning. That afternoon I spotted another person, far away to the south, making his way in the same direction as the others. From then on the sightings became increasingly frequent. Almost every day Mary Petrie would return from her walk and report that she’d seen more travellers going by, sometimes in pairs or on their own, but most often in groups. I saw them too, and I found their movements quite interesting to watch. It was the manner in which they just kept on going that fascinated me, always at the same relentless pace, rarely pausing unless someone had fallen behind, and never changing course. Invariably it was towards the west.

There was something else I noticed as well. Often they moved in single file, one after the other, and when they did I could see that many of them were carrying burdens. At such a distance I couldn’t tell for sure, but these looked very much like pieces of tin.