King Rat

“Hey, you two,” the King called out. “You want to sit with us?” He had the favored seat on the aisle.

“Well, I’d like to, but you know—” Peter Marlowe said uncomfortably.

“Yeah. Well, see you later.”

Peter Marlowe glanced at Larkin and knew he was thinking too that it was wrong not to sit with your friends if you wanted—and at the same time it was wrong to sit there.

“You, er, want to sit here, Colonel?” he asked, passing the buck and hating himself for passing the buck.

“Why not?” Larkin said.

They sat down, acutely embarrassed, aware of their defection and aware of the astonished eyes.

“Hey, Colonel!” Brough leaned over, a smile creasing his face. “You’ll get handed your head. Bad for discipline and all that jazz.”

“If I want to sit here, I’ll sit here.” But Larkin wished he hadn’t agreed so readily.

“How’re things, Peter?” the King asked.

“Fine, thanks.” Peter Marlowe tried to overcome his discomfort. He felt everyone was looking at him. He had not yet told the King about the sale of the pen, what with being on the carpet in front of Smedly-Taylor, and the brawl he had almost had with Grey…

“Evening, Marlowe.”

He glanced up and winced as he saw Smedly-Taylor passing. Flint eyes.

“Evening, sir,” he replied weakly. Oh my God, he thought, that’s torn it.

There was a sudden quickening of excitement as the Camp Commandant walked down the aisle and sat down in the very front row. The lights dimmed. The curtain parted. On the stage was the five-piece camp band, and standing in the center of the stage was Phil, the band leader.

Applause.

“Good evening,” Phil began. “Tonight we’re presenting a new play by Frank Parrish called Triangle, which takes place in London before the war. It stars Frank Parrish, Brod Rodrick, and the one and only Sean Jennison…”

Tumultuous cheers. Catcalls. Whistles. Shouts of “Where’s Sean?” and “What war?” and “Good old Blighty” and “Get on with it” and “We want Sean!”

Phil gave the downbeat with a flourish and the overture began.

Now that the show was on, Peter Marlowe relaxed a little.

Then it happened.

Dino was abruptly at the King’s side and whispering urgently in his ear. “Where?” Peter Marlowe heard the King say. Then, “Okay, Dino. You beat it back to the hut.”

The King leaned across. “We gotta go, Peter.” His face was taut, his voice barely a whisper. “A certain guy wants to see us.”

Oh my God! Shagata! Now what? “We can’t just get up and leave now,” Peter Marlowe said uneasily.

“The hell we can’t. We both got a touch of dysentery. C’mon.” The King was already walking up the aisle.

Nakedly aware of the astonished eyes, Peter Marlowe hurried after him.

They found Shagata in the shadows behind the stage. He was nervous too. “I beg thee forgive my bad manners in sending for thee suddenly, but there is trouble. One of the junks of our mutual friend was intercepted and he is presently being questioned for smuggling by the pestilential police.” Shagata felt lost without his rifle and knew that if he was caught in the camp off duty he would be put in the windowless box for three weeks. “It occurred to me that if our friend is questioned brutally, he may implicate us.”

“Jesus,” the King said.

Unsteadily he accepted a Kooa and the three of them went deeper into the shadows.

“I thought that, thou being a man of experience,” Shagata continued with a rush, “thou might have a plan whereby we could extricate ourselves.”

“He’s got a hope!” the King said.

His mind raced back and forth and it always gave him the same answer. Wait and sweat.

“Peter. Ask him if Cheng San was on the junk when it was stopped.”

“He says no.”

The King sighed. “Then maybe Cheng San can squeeze out of it.” He thought again, then said, “The only goddam thing we can do is wait. Tell him not to panic. He’s got to keep tabs on Cheng San somehow and find out if he talks. He’s got to send us word if the goddam shoot blows.”

Peter Marlowe translated.

Shagata sucked air between his teeth. “I am impressed that the two of thee are so calm while I am fluttering with fear, for if I am caught I shall be lucky if they shoot me first. I will do as thou sayest. If thou are caught, I beg thee try not to implicate me. I will try to do likewise.” His head jerked around as there was a soft warning whistle. “I must leave thee. If all goes well we will keep to the plan.” He hurriedly thrust the pack of Kooas into Peter Marlowe’s hand. “I do not know about thee and thy gods, but I will certainly talk to mine, long and hard, on our mutual behalf.”

Then he was gone.

“What if Cheng San lets the cat out?” Peter Marlowe asked, his stomach an aching knot. “What can we do?”

“Make a break.” The King shakily lit another cigarette and leaned back against the side of the theater, hugging the shadows. “Better that than Utram Road.”

Behind them the overture ended to applause and cheers and laughter. But they did not hear the applause and cheers and laughter.

Rodrick was standing in the wings glowering at the stage hands setting the stage for the play, chasing them, hurrying them.