Three to See the King

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.
    I remained at the centre of all this chaos feeling quite uninvolved. I knew now that I had only to wait. After a while Mary Petrie joined me and asked what had happened to Michael. I pointed to a remote figure. ‘I must go and comfort him,’ she said.
    Darkness was beginning to fall, yet still the dwindling city continued to be dismantled, piled up and carried away. No one seemed to have stopped to think how they were going to put it all together again. Instead they ordered each other around, and squabbled over the gleaming components as night descended and the moon appeared. Eventually, there was nothing whole to be seen: all that remained of the city was a collection of tin, teetering at the edge of the canyon. I could hear the hoists being operated as attempts were made to lower the various sections. More often, though, I heard arguments about how it should be done. Some people tried carrying pieces down the ladders and ramps, but there were frequent accidents, or they became lost in the deepening gloom. Others stole from their former companions. There were shouts, and clangs, and still more shouts. And in the midst of it all I could hear the plaintive voice of a woman, calling out, ‘Where is he?! Where has he gone?!’
    Around midnight, while I sat observing the mayhem, I was approached by a party of three men. They were led by Patrick Pybus.
    ‘We don’t know what to do,’ he said. ‘Our city is in ruins and we need guidance.’
    ‘Well, how do you expect me to give you the answer?’ I replied, ‘if you wouldn’t even listen to Michael?’
    ‘He asked too much of us,’ said Patrick. ‘We just wanted a better place to live, that was all.’
    Then there’s only one thing you can do, and if I tell you, you won’t like it.’
    Tell us anyway,’ said another man. ‘Please.’
    ‘Only if you promise to obey me.’
    ‘We will!’ exclaimed Patrick. ‘Only tell us!’
    ‘Very well.’
    I rose to my feet and stood for a long time regarding their upturned faces. Then I gave my judgement.
    ‘You must cast your tin over the precipice!’ I said. ‘And go back to where you came from!’
    21
    I live in a house built entirely from tin, with four tin walls, a roof of tin, a chimney and door. Entirely from tin.
    My house has no windows because there’s nothing to see. Oh, there are shutters that can be opened to let the light in when required, but mostly they remain closed against the weather. It stands in a wild place, my house, high up on the plain. At night it creaks and groans as the wind hammers it for hour after hour, seeking a gap to get inside. I used to worry that in such harsh conditions it might one day fall apart. Now, though, I’m certain the structure is quite sound. The man who built it made sure of that.
    I’ve heard he intends eventually to return and begin his work again. If he does, of course, he will be most welcome as his knowledge is second to none, but so far there’s been no sign of him.
    From time to time people come wandering onto this plain in search of a better place to be. Some of them say they want to live as I do, protected from the elements by a layer of corrugated metal and nothing more. If they ask me for guidance, I tell them they can find comfort here as long as they don’t expect too much. Some slay: others move on.
    This house of mine has served me well. Though only built from tin, it held together while kingdoms were being swept away. It is both my refuge and my fortress. Let it be your temple.