Magnus Mills - Three to See the King

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.

I didn’t really like going on the roof, not if I could help it. It seemed a bit high to me, and I’d actually never been up there before. Nonetheless, one afternoon I found myself clambering round on top of the house as if it was second nature. This was all to do with the chimney, of course, and Mary Petrie’s insistence that it still needed lengthening.