King Rat

“Astonishing!” he said. “I just can’t believe it.” He looked up keenly. “You seriously mean to tell me that Lieutenant Colonel Jones offered to bribe you? With camp provisions?”

“Yes, sir. It was exactly like I told you.”

Smedly-Taylor sat down on his bed in the little bungalow and wiped off the sweat, for it was hot and sultry. “I don’t believe it,” he repeated, shaking his head.

“They were the only ones who had access to the weights—”

“I know that. It’s not that I dispute your word, Grey, it’s just so, well, incredible.”

Smedly-Taylor was quiet for a long time and Grey waited patiently.

“Grey.” The colonel still examined the weight and the tiny hole as he continued. “I’ll think what to do about this. The whole—affair—is fraught with danger. You must not mention this to anyone, anyone, you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“My God, if it’s as you say, well, those men would be massacred.” Again Smedly-Taylor shook his head. “That two men—that Lieutenant Colonel Jones could—the camp rations! And every weight is false?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How much do you think they are light, all in all?”

“I don’t know, but perhaps a pound in every four hundred pounds. I suppose they were getting away with three or four pounds of rice per day. Not counting the dried fish or the eggs. Perhaps there are others mixed up in this—there would have to be. They couldn’t cook rice and not have it noticed. Probably a cookhouse’s mixed up in it too.”

“My God!” Smedly-Taylor got up and began pacing. “Thank you, Grey, you’ve done a fine job. I’ll see that it goes into your official report.” He put out his hand. “A good job, Grey.”

Grey shook his hand firmly. “Thank you, sir. I’m only sorry I didn’t discover it before.”

“Now, not a word to anyone. That’s an order!”

“I understand.” He saluted and left, his feet hardly touching the ground.

That Smedly-Taylor should say, “I’ll see that it goes into your official report”! Maybe they’d promote him, Grey thought with sudden hope. There had been a few camp promotions and he could certainly use the upped rank. Captain Grey—it had a nice ring to it. Captain Grey!

The afternoon was dragging now. Without work, it was difficult for Peter Marlowe to keep the men on their feet, so he organized foraging parties and kept the guards changing, for Torusumi was sleeping again. The heat was vicious and the air parched and everyone cursed the sun and prayed for night.

Finally Torusumi woke up and relieved himself in the undergrowth and picked up his rifle and began to walk up and down to take the sleep away. He screamed at some of the men who were dozing, and he shouted to Peter Marlowe, “I beg thee get these sons of pigs up and about and make them work, or at least make them look as though they are working.”

Peter Marlowe came over. “I’m sorry that thou art troubled.” Then he turned to the sergeant: “For Christ sake, you know you were supposed to keep an eye on him. Get these bloody idiots up and dig a hole or chop that bloody tree or cut some palm fronds, you bloody idiot!”

The sergeant was suitably apologetic and in no time he had the men hurrying about, pretending to be busy. They had it down to a fine art.

A few husks of coconut were moved, and a few fronds were piled, and a few first saw cuts made in the trees. If they worked at the same speed, day after day, well, soon the whole area would be clean and level.

The sergeant tiredly reported back to Peter Marlowe. “They’re all as busy as they’ll ever be, sir.”

“Good. Won’t be long now.”

“Look, sir, would you—would you do something—for me?”

“What?”

“Well, it’s like this. Seeing as how—as you—well…” He wiped his mouth on his sweatrag, embarrassed. But it was too good an opportunity to miss. “Look at this.” He brought out a fountain pen. “Would you see if the Nip’ll buy it?”

“You mean you want me to sell it for you?” Peter Marlowe gaped at him.

“Yes, sir. It’s—well—I thought, you being a friend of the King like, you’d know—maybe you’d know how to go about it.”

“It’s against orders to sell to the guards, both our orders and theirs.”

“Aw, come on, sir, you can trust me. Why, you and the King—”

“What about me and the King?”

“Nothing, sir,” said the sergeant cautiously. What’s the matter with this bugger? Who’s he trying to fool? “I just thought you might help me. And my unit, of course.”

Peter Marlowe looked at the sergeant and at the pen and wondered why he had got so angry. After all, he had sold for the King—or at least, tried to sell for the King—and truthfully he was a friend of the King. And there was nothing wrong in that. If it wasn’t for the King they would have never got the tree area. More likely he would be nursing a busted jaw, or at least a slapped face. So he should really uphold the reputation of the King. He did get you the coconuts.

“What do you want for it?”

The sergeant grinned. “Well, it isn’t a Parker, but it’s got a gold nib,” and he unscrewed the top and showed it, “so it should be worth something. Maybe you could see what he’d give.”