Three to See the King Read Free

the vicinity round about the same time as me, and I suppose you could call him a friend. To tell the truth, though, ‘half-friend half-nuisance’ would he a much better description. The trouble with Simon was that he tried too hard to be sociable, frequently turning up at odd hours of the day on so-called surprise visits which generally involved exchanging unnecessary gifts. These calls were fine so long as they were also short-lived, but unfortunately he had a tendency to outstay his welcome and often needed to be shown the door. For limited periods, however, he was a good companion, and for this reason I knew he could be relied on for what I had in mind.
    I should mention that Simon Painter was not my only neighbour, but he was by far the nearest. Living beyond him were Steve Treacle and Philip Sibling, and strewn around the area were two or three others whom I’d never met, all separated by intervals of several miles. The only thing we had in common was that we each lived alone in a house built from tin. We rarely saw one another because we preferred it like that. So went my understanding of the arrangement anyway.
    The last time I’d laid eyes on Simon was when he came over to tell me he was planning to hoist a captive balloon above his house. Did I have any objections, he wanted to know. Well obviously I didn’t, and I realized he’d made the journey simply as an excuse to visit somebody. I had no doubt that he’d also called upon each of the others under the same pretext. The idea of this balloon, apparently, was to make his residence more easily identifiable. I knew for a fact that it was already equipped with a flagpole on the roof and a bell that chimed whenever the wind blew. This proposed new addition confirmed an opinion I’d held for some time, namely, that Simon Painter was trying to attract attention to himself. Why he’d chosen to live in such a remote setting I couldn’t understand, because he seemed to spend his days seeking the fellowship of other people. I’d lost count of the many occasions (when the wind was in the right direction) that I’d heard his bell clanging forlornly in the dead of night. If I could hear it at such a distance, then surely it must have kept him wide awake, which seemed a high price to pay.
    Of course, it wouldn’t have done to question Simon’s presence on this wide and deserted plain. He always swore that it was the place where he’d found contentment, and he would have denied any suggestion to the contrary. Nevertheless, I wasn’t entirely convinced.
    As I approached his house the first thing I saw was the balloon anchored above it. Large enough, at a guess, to support the weight of two or three men, this balloon swayed gently at the end of a long rope. Next I saw his flag, brightly coloured in a combination of orange and purple, flapping at the top of its pole, and indicating that Simon Painter was ‘at home’.
    Drawing nearer to his house of tin, it was odd to think that I wasn’t the only person to occupy such a dwelling. Recently I’d spent so much time in or around my own place that I’d come to believe I was unique; that there was no one else in the world with such an interesting existence. My visit to Simon Painter reminded me that there were, in fact, several of us. His walls and roof gave off a dull gleam in the morning sunlight, and for a few moments I could only stand and stare at such a perfect spectacle.
    The clanging of Simon’s bell interrupted my reverie. A breeze was getting up, but I noticed the shutters on the house were all wide open, which must have created quite a draught. Then 1 heard a joyful cry from within. This told me there would he no need to knock.
    ‘Oh hello!’ called Simon as he threw open the door. ‘Come in! Come in! This is a pleasant surprise!’
    I knew for a fact that he would have been watching through the shutters from the moment I appeared in the distance, but I said nothing as I had no wish to contradict him. He