Three to See the King

joined him just as he finished putting in the next peg.
    ‘Simon, what do you think you’re doing?’ she asked.
    ‘Oh hello,’ he said. ‘I’m just marking out the site for my house.’
    Anyone who’d been in the canyon more than a day was usually caked with grime. Simon, however, looked comparatively fresh, as though he’d only just arrived. This should have set him at some advantage over Alison, who was tired and work-stained after a day in the excavations. Unfortunately for him, it went the other way. I could tell by his expression that he saw absolutely nothing wrong with hammering pegs into the ground. He was therefore ill-prepared for the onslaught that followed.
    The site for your house?’ she repeated.
    ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘This is the first spot to catch the sun in the morning. It’s just perfect.’
    ‘So you’ve taken it for yourself, have you?’
    ‘Along with Steve and Philip, yes. Those other pegs are for their houses.’
    ‘I can’t believe I’m hearing this,’ said Alison. ‘I mean, what if I’d come and put a lot of pegs in. What then?’
    ‘You’d have had to take them out again,’ replied Simon.
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Because we were here before you.’
    ‘What difference does that make?’
    ‘Well—’ he began, but that was all he managed.
    ‘Don’t you dare!’ cried Alison. ‘You can’t just go grabbing land for yourselves when there are so many of us working! Who do you think you are, exactly?!’
    ‘We’re Michael’s closest friends.’
    I looked at Simon and realized that he believed what he said was true. He really thought that he, Steve and Philip occupied some privileged position. A glance around the canyon told a different story. From all directions came workers heading back to camp, each of whom were convinced they had a special affinity with Michael Hawkins. Several dozen had already left the footpath and wandered over to find out what the fuss was about. Now they stood watching as Simon made his preposterous claim.
    ‘We’re all his friends!’ announced Alison. ‘You and your cronies are just trying to steal a march on the rest of us.’
    ‘No, we’re not!’ protested Simon. ‘We’re preparing the ground, that’s all.’
    This sounded rather lame to me, and I wasn’t surprised when it brought a jeer from the onlookers.
    ‘Nonsense,’ said a voice behind me. It belonged to Patrick Pybus. I turned and saw him coming forward with six or seven other people in tow. These I recognized as some of the fresh-faced volunteers from the city. They didn’t seem quite so friendly now, and all at once Simon’s situation appeared less than secure.
    ‘Hello, Patrick,’ I said, attempting to lighten matters. ‘How are you settling in?’
    ‘How can anyone settle in?’ he demanded. ‘When none of us is ever told what’s happening. Day after day we’ve been waiting for the word to come, and still we hear nothing. All we get is these so-called friends of Michael telling us what we can and cannot do!’
    Everyone now looked at Simon, who had suddenly raised his hand for silence.
    ‘Michael says we should be patient,’ he announced.
    This provoked another jeer, and I realized that if he kept on coming out with such unwise remarks he was going to be in serious trouble. Quickly, I stepped towards him and removed the hammer and pegs from his grasp. Then, watched by many eyes, I went round the other pegs and pulled them out of the ground. A murmur of approval came from the crowd as I did this, and I hoped it would be enough to get them to disperse. Next instant, however, there was a flurry and someone said, ‘Here’s Michael.’
    It was extraordinary the way they parted to let him through. The confrontation with Simon had caused their number to swell to more than a hundred, yet Michael passed between them with ease, pursued by a question coming as from one voice: ‘When shall we build our city of tin?’
    Walking behind him were Steve Treacle and Philip Sibling, who looked most put out when the jostling mob surged around them. Only Michael himself was given room to move, and it was with some difficulty that these two managed to keep up. Steve had a bustling manner about him, and I almost expected to hear a shout of ‘Make way!’ as he followed after Michael. Philip, meanwhile, pushed along as best he could. Both of them were apparently oblivious to the one question being repeated all around them, and seemed only interested in maintaining their role as