Three to See the King

that I might never see my friends again. After all, they had little cause to come calling any more. These thoughts played on my mind quite a lot that night. By the following morning I’d resolved to go over to Simon Painter’s place every day with a basket of provisions for the three of them. Then they’d know that although they were gone, they were by no means forgotten. For some reason, however, I couldn’t face seeing them in person. This wasn’t because I felt ashamed for not helping with the move. It was just that I didn’t think I’d know what to say to any of them. Accordingly, I decided not to pay my visit until the late afternoon, by which time I reckoned they should have arrived and departed again.
    Sure enough, when I got to Simon’s about an hour before dusk the first thing I noticed was that three more pieces of tin had been taken away. I was pleased to see they’d used the rope to tie down the rest of the pile, just as I had, but apart from that there was no sign of anyone having been there. I checked everything was secure, then left the basket of victuals in a prominent position.
    When I went back the next day the pile had again been reduced by three items. It was disappointing to discover, though, that the flask of coffee had not been touched. Only the cakes were gone.
    ‘Perhaps the coffee went cold overnight,’ suggested Mary Petrie when she heard about it.
    Of course, I thought, how stupid of me! After that I switched to making my delivery early in the morning, then returning again in the afternoon to retrieve the basket. This system was quite time-consuming, involving two journeys there and back, but I felt somehow rewarded the first time I found the coffee had been drunk and all the cakes eaten.
    As the days went by I found that these trips became increasingly important to me. I would study closely the diminishing stack of tin to see which pieces had been removed, and always I looked to see if anything new had been left behind. There was nothing I was expecting in particular, I should add, but I thought I might find an occasional message saying how they were getting on, or maybe a ‘thank you’ note. Instead, there was only the empty basket. It soon became clear that my daily offerings were of little importance compared with the task of moving an entire house bit by bit. This did little, however, to reduce my interest, which was now starting to become obsessive. I began to recognize the ways in which the pieces of tin had been marked for reassembly, and I kept a note of them for my own reference. I’d soon worked out, for example, that FRS was an abbreviation of front right side, while LHT meant left hand top. The more I became acquainted with this special code Steve Treacle had devised, the more I suspected that it was doomed to failure. My doubts were confirmed when I came across a part marked TLH. What was the difference, I wondered, between top left hand and left hand top?
    After two weeks the pile had decreased considerably in size. Still the coffee and cakes were consumed daily, and still I received no acknowledgement. Undeterred, I maintained my regular visits. This soon caused trouble at home. Mary Petrie mentioned frequently that I seemed to be spending a lot of time away, so one afternoon I invited her to come with me on my journey. Then she could find out for herself what was so fascinating about a heap of tin, as she put it. We arrived quite late because of the speed she walked, then all she did was stand gazing in silence at the deserted site. This was actually her first visit to Simon Painter’s house, and I could see that its reduced condition meant nothing to her. Therefore, I thought I’d better explain the layout.
    ‘Simon used to live right on this very spot,’ I said. ‘The door was here and the kitchen was there, and the stove was in that corner. Don’t you find that interesting?’
    ‘Not if he’s left the place, no,’ she replied. ‘Where’s his bell?’
    A short search revealed it hidden amongst his other possessions, along with the Sandfire nameplate, the wind chimes and the rolled-up flag. I gave the bell a ring, and when she heard its familiar tone her eyes welled up with tears.
    ‘How come you’re so engrossed with Simon all of a sudden?’ she demanded. ‘When he was living here all you did was criticize him!’
    ‘Yes, but only as a friend,’ I replied.
    ‘You were never friendly to him!’
    ‘I was.’
    ‘No you weren’t!’ she