Three to See the King

first residents of the completed city. Nightly, he went round the encampment trying to muster support for his proposition that every dwelling should eventually have its own flag. Like Steve and Philip, however, he was no longer taken seriously.
    For my part, I found myself spending more and more time in the company of women, though maybe I should add that relations between us never went beyond ordinary friendship, since it was impossible to obtain sufficient privacy under those tarpaulins even if the flaps were rolled down. Indeed, the place was beginning to get quite crowded. Fresh recruits were continuing to arrive in the canyon, and they, too, had to be accommodated. Sometimes I looked around and wondered where they were all going to live, but on each occasion I had to admit that the operation was fully under control. Michael appeared to be going from strength to strength. The dual supply of clay and manpower meant he had all the resources he needed, and as the canyon expanded, so did his enthusiasm for the work. Even Alison Hopewell managed to get swept along in it. Her aloofness had faded and she was now amongst the first to rise in the morning, frequently offering to go and assist him when he surveyed some new terrain. They would come back hours later, full of the joys of spring.
    Yet there was one who doubted him. Jane Day had been Michael’s most zealous follower, and I thought that she of all people would fall straight into line and accept the changes without demur. Instead, when she heard that the city of tin was to be forsaken, she raised a voice of protest. This amounted to little more than a whinge: a petty complaint that bore no substance. Nevertheless, it was enough to sow the seed. Her misgivings emerged one day when a group of us, including Jane and Sarah, were working on the clay beds, preparing for the production of bricks and tiles. There were numerous kilns to be constructed before we could even think of building the city itself, and most people recognized that the whole process was going to be a slow one. Jane, however, seemed rapidly to be losing interest. As a consequence, she began to seek faults in the man whose idea it had been.
    ‘1 suppose Michael will be living apart from the rest of us,’ she said. ‘When this new city is finished.’
    ‘It’s possible,’ I replied. The tin house that stands alone is his, I presume?’
    ‘Yes,’ said Jane. ‘Meanwhile, the rest of us all get packed together. I expect he’ll have one half of the canyon, and we’ll have to share the remainder.’
    ‘Well, I think Michael deserves some space to himself,’ remarked one of the other women. ‘After all he’s done for us.’
    ‘And what’s that exactly?’
    The abruptness of Jane’s question caused those nearby to stop work and look round. It had clearly caught the woman unprepared, for she hesitated a moment without making any reply. This lapse provided Jane with a further opening.
    ‘I’ll tell you what he’s done,’ she said. ‘He’s played a trick on us.’
    ‘Oh Jane!’ exclaimed Sarah, ‘How can you say that when he’s building a great new city, entirely from clay?’
    ‘Cos I want to live in a house of tin!’ cried Jane at the top of her voice. ‘That’s why I came here in the first place!’
    ‘So did we all,’ said Sarah, ‘But now Michael’s asked us to take a further step.’
    This caused Jane to laugh aloud. ‘And then what after that? Eh? What will the next step be then? Another promise? Something else to keep us working like slaves? If you want my opinion he’s led us all a merry dance and we’ve fallen for it! At this rate we’ll be stuck here waiting forever!’
    Sarah gazed at her dumbfounded, and next moment Jane had gone stalking off towards the footpath. The whole party watched in silence as she made her way across the canyon towards the ladders, and then began climbing upwards.
    ‘Are you alright?’ someone asked Sarah, who looked a little shaken.
    ‘Just about,’ she replied, staring at Jane’s diminishing figure. ‘I don’t know what’s come over her lately.’
    ‘Well, she has got a point hasn’t she?’
    This last comment came from a man I’d met once before, at Simon Painter’s house. On that occasion he’d directed us all to listen to the wind under the eaves, as though it was some great and original discovery he’d just made. For this reason I didn’t much care for him. Now, it seemed, he was taking Jane’s side of the