Free Three to See the King by Magnus Mills Page B

the rectangle, the sky and the horizon. Occasionally they even gazed at me.
    When I’d finished speaking, the first one said, ‘Where does that go?’
    She was pointing at something that had come into existence over the past few weeks, namely, the beginnings of a trail. It followed the route taken each day by Simon, Steve and Philip, and consisted of no more than a collection of footprints. Even so, it appeared to lead to some far-off destination, and I could understand the interest it must have aroused in the three women.
    ‘It doesn’t go anywhere really,’ I said. ‘It’s all just wilderness from here.’
    ‘Wilderness?’
    ‘Yes, you know. More of the same.’
    In that instant a look passed between them that I wasn’t supposed to recognize. It was one of pity, and I knew that for some reason they all felt sorry for me. Awkwardly, I opened the basket as if to check the contents. Then I closed it again. Meanwhile, the three women seemed to have come to an unspoken agreement. Lying on the ground were several bags, which they now began to gather up.
    ‘We’ll probably have a look along there,’ said the second one, nodding towards the trail. ‘Seems quite promising.’
    She started walking and the others closed in behind.
    ‘Bye,’ I said.
    ‘Bye,’ they all replied.
    I watched as they went, and wondered what it was they expected to find. Then I picked up the basket, took a last look at the rectangular mark, and started for home. When I got back Mary Petrie was engaged with closing all the shutters for the night. Some of these had been quite difficult to open, and I was impressed with how she was coping on her own. There was only one left to do, so I reached up and held it while she released the catch. Next thing it was securely fastened down.
    ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘It’s a big improvement having shutters that work.’
    ‘Good,’ I replied. ‘By the way, I saw those three women you told me about. They were looking at Simon Painter’s old place.’
    ‘Thinking of settling there, are they?’
    ‘No,’ I said. ‘I think they gave it some serious consideration, but in the end they decided to move on.’
    ‘Seeking they know not what,’ she remarked, before going inside.
    It was dusk now and the gentle breeze of the day was beginning to freshen slightly. Despite my previous objections to having a weathercock on the roof, I’d begun to find it fairly interesting in a casual sort of way, and I tended to glance at it quite often. This evening I noticed that it was still pointing towards the west, as it had done for several days now. For the time being the prevailing wind had ceased, but I was certain this change was only temporary.
    11
    The opening of the shutters soon became a daily ritual in my house of tin. It was done each morning before breakfast, at the command of Mary Petrie. There were exceptions, of course, such as when the wind gusted up and blew the sand around as if summer had never come. On those occasions the whole place remained firmly battened down. Most days, however, the weather was good. Therefore, the shutters were opened and the light let in.
    I had no objection to this as it gave me plenty to do. More importantly, it kept Mary Petrie happy as she continued her improvements to the interior. There were now vases and pictures everywhere, downstairs and up, as well as the further comforts she had produced from her trunk. We drank our coffee, for example, not from enamelled mugs as had long been my custom, but from china cups and saucers. At night we slept beneath a feather eiderdown.
    With the shutters open the house was pleasant, bright and airy, yet after a while there appeared an unforeseen side effect. For some reason the increased ventilation caused the stove to emit more smoke than it had previously. Soon there were deposits of soot appearing on the walls, and Mary Petrie demanded that something should be done about it.
    ‘We can’t do anything,’ I said. ‘It’s