King Rat

“He’ll want to know what you want for it. I’ll ask him, but you set a price.”

“If you could get me—sixty-five dollars, I’d be happy.”

“Is it worth that much?”

“I think so.”

The pen did have a gold nib and a fourteen karat mark, and as near as Peter Marlowe could judge it was genuine. Not like the other pen.

“Where’d you get it?”

“It’s mine, sir. I’ve been keeping it against a rainy day. Been raining a lot recently.”

Peter Marlowe nodded briefly. He believed the man. “All right, I’ll see what I can do. You keep an eye on the men, and make sure there’s a guard out.”

“Don’t you worry, sir. The buggers won’t bat a bleeding eyelid.”

Peter Marlowe found Torusumi leaning against a squat tree, heavy with a grasping vine. “Tabe,” he said.

“Tabe.” Torusumi glanced at his watch, and yawned. “In an hour we can go. It’s not time yet.” He took off his cap and wiped the sweat off his face and neck. “This stinking heat and stinking island!”

“Yes.” Peter Marlowe tried to make the words sound important, as though it were the King speaking and not he: “One of the men has a pen he wishes to sell. It occurred to me that thee, as a friend, might wish to buy it.”

“Astaghfaru’llah! Is it a Parka?”

“No.” Peter Marlowe brought out the pen and unscrewed the top and held the nib so it caught the sunlight. “But it has a gold nib.”

Torusumi examined it. He was disappointed that it wasn’t a Parker, but that would have been too much to expect. Certainly not on the airfield. A Parker would be handled by the King personally.

“It is not worth much,” he said.

“Of course. If thou dost not wish to consider it…” Peter Marlowe put the pen back in his pocket.

“I can consider it. Perhaps we can pass the hour, considering such a worthless item.” He shrugged. “It would only be worth seventy-five dollars.”

Peter Marlowe was amazed that the first bid was so high. The sergeant can’t have any idea of its value. God, I wish I knew how much it was really worth.

So they sat and haggled. Torusumi got angry and Peter Marlowe was firm and they settled on a hundred and twenty dollars and a pack of Kooas.

Torusumi got up and yawned again. “It is time to go.” He smiled. “The King is a good teacher. The next time I see him I will tell him how thou hast taken advantage of my friendship by driving such a hard bargain.” He shook his head with feigned self-pity. “Such a price for such a miserable pen! The King will surely laugh at me. Tell him, I beg thee, that I will be on guard in seven days from today. Perhaps he can find me a watch. A good one—this time!”

Peter Marlowe was content that he had safely made his first real transaction for what seemed to be a fair price. But he was in a quandary. If he gave all the money to the sergeant, the King would be very upset. That would ruin the price structure that the King had so carefully built. And Torusumi would certainly mention the pen and the amount to the King. However, if he gave the sergeant only what he had asked and kept the rest, well that was cheating, wasn’t it? Or was it good “business”? In truth, the sergeant had asked for sixty-five, and that’s what he should get. And Peter Marlowe did owe the King a lot of money.

He wished he’d never started the stupid business. Now he was caught in the trap of his own making. Trouble with you, Peter, is you’ve too big an idea of your own importance. If you’d said no to the sergeant you wouldn’t be up the creek now. What are you going to do? Whatever you do is going to be wrong!

He strolled back slowly, pondering. The sergeant had already lined the men up, and took Peter aside expectantly. “They’re all ready, sir. An’ I’ve checked the tools.” He lowered his voice. “Did he buy it?”

“Yes.” Then Peter Marlowe made the decision. He put his hand in his pocket and gave the sergeant the bundle of notes. “Here you are. Sixty-five dollars.”

“Sir, you’re a bloody toff!” He peeled off a five dollar bill and offered it to him. “I owe you a dollar-fifty.”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“Ten percent’s yours. That’s legal, an’ I’m happy to pay it. I’ll give you the dollar an’ a half soon as I get change.”

Peter Marlowe shoved the note back. “No,” he said, feeling suddenly guilty. “Keep it.”

“I insist,” the sergeant said, pushing the note back into his hand.

“Look, Sergeant—”

“Well, at least take the five. I’d feel terrible, sir, if you didn’t. Terrible. I can’t thank you enough.”

All the way back to the airfield Peter Marlowe was silent. He felt unclean with the monstrous bundle of notes in his pocket, but at the same time he knew that he owed the money to the King and was pleased to have it, for it would buy extras for the unit. The only reason the sergeant had asked him was because he knew the King, and the King, not the sergeant, was his friend. The whole miserable business was still going round and round in his mind when he got back to his hut.

“Grey wants to see you, Peter,” Ewart said.

“What for?”

“I don’t know, Peter boy. But he seemed peed off about something.”