Magnus Mills - Three to See the King

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 cannot 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.