Three to See the King

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!’
    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