Magnus Mills - Three to See the King

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.’

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 three 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!’