Three to See the King

19

In some respects I felt quite sorry for Simon, Steve and Philip. They had, after all, been pioneers in their particular field, and now at a stroke it was being snatched away from them. To live in a house of tin had ceased to be the great ideal. As a result, their knowledge of the subject offered no advantage. Previously they’d managed to persuade themselves that it might win them favour with Michael, but the episode with the pegs had shown them otherwise. He’d moved forward, and their only hope was to follow his lead and take their place in the city of clay.

To their credit, they seemed quickly to have grasped this, and they buckled down to the new regime within a couple of days. It was clear, though, that some of their habits weren’t going to change. At any particular time, for example, Steve could still be seen marching up to some work party or other and dishing out all sorts of orders. The difference now was that no one took the slightest bit of notice, as word of his powerlessness went before him. Undeterred, he managed to put himself in charge of the hoists, which everyone agreed was a good channel for his energy. The fact that nobody else wanted the job didn’t appear to bother him. Philip, of course, was always at hand to lend assistance, and the two of them spent many an hour maintaining an apparatus that actually required no attention.

Simon, meanwhile, had set himself the task of designing a flag to fly above his new house. His former optimism had returned apace, and he was convinced he would be amongst the first residents of the completed city. Nightly, he went round the encampment trying to muster support for his proposition that every dwelling should eventually have its own flag. Like Steve and Philip, however, he was no longer taken seriously.

For my part, I found myself spending more and more time in the company of women, though maybe I should add that relations between us never went beyond ordinary friendship, since it was impossible to obtain sufficient privacy under those tarpaulins even if the flaps were rolled down. Indeed, the place was beginning to get quite crowded. Fresh recruits were continuing to arrive in the canyon, and they, too, had to be accommodated. Sometimes I looked around and wondered where they were all going to live, but on each occasion I had to admit that the operation was fully under control. Michael appeared to be going from strength to strength. The dual supply of clay and manpower meant he had all the resources he needed, and as the canyon expanded, so did his enthusiasm for the work. Even Alison Hopewell managed to get swept along in it. Her aloofness had faded and she was now amongst the first to rise in the morning, frequently offering to go and assist him when he surveyed some new terrain. They would come back hours later, full of the joys of spring.

Yet there was one who doubted him. Jane Day had been Michael’s most zealous follower, and I thought that she of all people would fall straight into line and accept the changes without demur. Instead, when she heard that the city of tin was to be forsaken, she raised a voice of protest. This amounted to little more than a whinge: a petty complaint that bore no substance. Nevertheless, it was enough to sow the seed. Her misgivings emerged one day when a group of us, including Jane and Sarah, were working on the clay beds, preparing for the production of bricks and tiles. There were numerous kilns to be constructed before we could even think of building the city itself, and most people recognized that the whole process was going to be a slow one. Jane, however, seemed rapidly to be losing interest. As a consequence, she began to seek faults in the man whose idea it had been.

‘1 suppose Michael will be living apart from the rest of us,’ she said. ‘When this new city is finished.’

‘It’s possible,’ I replied. The tin house that stands alone is his, I presume?’

‘Yes,’ said Jane. ‘Meanwhile, the rest of us all get packed together. I expect he’ll have one half of the canyon, and we’ll have to share the remainder.’

‘Well, I think Michael deserves some space to himself,’ remarked one of the other women. ‘After all he’s done for us.’

‘And what’s that exactly?’

The abruptness of Jane’s question caused those nearby to stop work and look round. It had clearly caught the woman unprepared, for she hesitated a moment without making any reply. This lapse provided Jane with a further opening.

‘I’ll tell you what he’s done,’ she said. ‘He’s played a trick on us.’

‘Oh Jane!’ exclaimed Sarah, ‘How can you say that when he’s building a great new city, entirely from clay?’

‘Cos I want to live in a house of tin!’ cried Jane at the top of her voice. ‘That’s why I came here in the first place!’

‘So did we all,’ said Sarah, ‘But now Michael’s asked us to take a further step.’

This caused Jane to laugh aloud. ‘And then what after that? Eh? What will the next step be then? Another promise? Something else to keep us working like slaves? If you want my opinion he’s led us all a merry dance and we’ve fallen for it! At this rate we’ll be stuck here waiting forever!’

Sarah gazed at her dumbfounded, and next moment Jane had gone stalking off towards the footpath. The whole party watched in silence as she made her way across the canyon towards the ladders, and then began climbing upwards.

‘Are you alright?’ someone asked Sarah, who looked a little shaken.

‘Just about,’ she replied, staring at Jane’s diminishing figure. ‘I don’t know what’s come over her lately.’

‘Well, she has got a point hasn’t she?’

This last comment came from a man I’d met once before, at Simon Painter’s house. On that occasion he’d directed us all to listen to the wind under the eaves, as though it was some great and original discovery he’d just made. For this reason I didn’t much care for him. Now, it seemed, he was taking Jane’s side of the argument.

‘What point’s that then?’ I enquired. ‘Just out of interest.’

‘You should know,’ he said. ‘You’re supposed to be the great exponent of tin.’

‘Maybe I am, but I’ve still no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘It’s simple,’ he replied. ‘Jane wants to live in a tin house, that’s all. She’s not interested in these so-called extra steps.’

‘And you agree with her, do you?’

‘To an extent, yes.’

‘But in the long run we’ll be better off with clay, surely,’ said Sarah.

‘Well, if you wish to believe that it’s up to you,’ he answered. To tell the truth I’ve had enough.’

As the debate continued, other members of the party began to join in, all offering different points of view. It soon transpired that some among them were less than convinced about the possibilities Michael had to offer. They were still prepared to give it a go, they said, but this building from clay looked like it was a hard slog. How much easier it would be to live in a city of tin.

I decided to keep my own counsel on the matter, and was about to resume work when I noticed a woman descending the ladder that Jane had just gone up. Her movements were very familiar, so I continued watching until she arrived at the bottom, where she stood glancing around as if trying to get her bearings. Obviously a newcomer, I concluded, but next second I realized it was Mary Petrie!

Downing tools I set off to meet her, pondering what could have brought her all this way. Then suddenly it struck me that something must have happened to the house! On the verge of panic I broke into a run, tearing along planks and footpaths to the other side of the canyon. Mary Petrie saw me coming and waited.

‘You’re as bad as that woman on the ladder,’ she said, as I dashed up. ‘She nearly knocked me off, she was in such a hurry.’

‘Is anything wrong?’ I asked, after an appropriate embrace.

‘I was going to ask you that,’ she replied.

‘Why?’

‘Because you didn’t come back, of course!’

‘Oh, right,’ I said. ‘Well, I’ll tell you the reason.’

I then gave her the full story of my arrival, of all the people I’d met, and how I’d stayed a while to help with the canyon. This took about ten minutes, and when I’d finished Mary Petrie said, ‘Don’t bother asking how I’ve been, will you?’

‘How have you been?’ I asked.

‘I’m OK,’ she replied. ‘And you’ll be pleased to know that your precious house is still standing.’

‘It should be,’ I said. ‘Apparently Michael built it.’

‘Oh yes, the great Michael Hawkins! I can’t wait to make his acquaintance.’

‘Michael’s alright when you get to know him,’ I remarked. ‘He’s got big plans for this place.’

‘So I gather,’ she said. ‘It’s all they talk about in the tin city.’

‘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.’