King Rat

But at the same time he knew that he would have gone just because he had been asked to go, and because of the might-be-food and might-be-girl.

He saw the King deep in a shadow, beside a hut, talking to another shadow. Their heads were close together and their voices were inaudible. So intent were they that Peter Marlowe decided to pass the King by, and he began to mount the stairs into the American hut, crossing the shaft of light.

“Hey, Peter,” the King called out.

Peter Marlowe stopped.

“Be right with you, Peter.” The King turned back to the other figure. “Think you’d better wait here, Major. Soon as he arrives I’ll give you the word.”

“Thank you,” the small man said, his voice wet with embarrassment.

“Have some tobacco,” the King said, and it was accepted avidly. Major Prouty backed deeper into the shadows but kept his eyes on the King as he walked the space to his own hut.

“Missed you, buddy,” the King said to Peter Marlowe and punched him playfully. “How’s Mac?”

“He’s all right, thanks.” Peter Marlowe wanted to get out of the shaft of light. Dammit, he thought. I’m embarrassed being seen with my friend. And that’s rotten. Very rotten.

But he could not help feeling the major’s eyes watching—or stop the wince as the King said, “C’mon. Won’t be long, then we can go to work!”

Grey went to the hiding place just in case there was a message for him in the can. And there was. Major Prouty’s watch. Tonight. Marlowe and him.

Grey tossed the can back into the ditch as casually as he had picked it up. Then, stretching, he got up and walked back towards Hut Sixteen. But all the time his mind worked with computer speed.

Marlowe and the King. They’ll be in the “shop” behind the American hut. Prouty. Which one? Major! Is he the one with the Artillery? Or the Aussie? Come on, Grey, he asked himself irritably, where’s the card index mind you’re so proud of? Got him! Hut Eleven! Little man! Pioneers! Aussie!

Is he connected with Larkin? No. Not to my knowledge. An Aussie. Then why not through that Aussie black-marketeer Tiny Timsen? Why the King? Maybe it’s too big for Timsen to handle. Or maybe it’s stolen property—more likely, for then Prouty wouldn’t use regular Aussie channels. That’s more like it.

Grey glanced at his watch. He did it instinctively, even though he had not had a watch for three years, even though he needed no watch to tell the time or gauge the hour of the night. Like all of them, he knew the time, as much of time as it was necessary to know.

It’s too early yet, he thought. The guards don’t change yet awhile. And when they did, from his hut he would be able to see the old guard plod the camp, way up the road, past his hut toward the guardhouse. The man to watch’ll be the new guard. Who is it? Who cares? I’ll know soon enough. Safer to wait and watch until the time, then swoop. Carefully. Just interrupt them politely. See the guard with the King and Marlowe. Better to see them when the money changes hands or when the King hands over the money to Prouty. Then a report to Colonel Smedly-Taylor: “Last night I witnessed an interchange of money,” or just as good: “I saw the American corporal and Flight Lieutenant Marlowe, DFC—Hut Sixteen—with a Korean guard. I have reason to believe that Major Prouty, Pioneers, was involved and provided the watch for sale.”

That would do it. The regulations, he thought happily, were clear and defined: “No sales to guards!” Caught in the act. Then there would be a court-martial.

A court-martial to begin with. Then my jail, my little jail. With no extras and no katchang idju-bully. No nothing. Only caged, caged like the rats you are. Then to be let go—angry and hating. And angry men make mistakes. And the next time, perhaps Yoshima would be waiting. Better let the Japs do their own work—to help them isn’t right. Perhaps in this case it would be all right. But no. Just a nudge, perhaps?

I’ll pay you back, Peter Bloody Marlowe. Maybe sooner than I’d hoped. And my revenge on you and that crook will be ecstasy.

The King glanced at his watch. Nine-four. Any second now. One thing about the Japs, you always knew to the instant what they were going to do, for once a timetable had been set, it was set.

Then he heard the footsteps. Torusumi rounded the corner of the hut and came quickly under the lee of the curtain. The King rose to greet him. Peter Marlowe, also under the curtain, got up reluctantly, hating himself.

Torusumi was a character among the guards. Quite well-known. Dangerous and unpredictable. He had a face where most of them were faceless. He had been with the camp for a year or more. He liked to work the POW’s hard and keep them in the sun and shout at them and kick them when the mood was on him.

“Tabe,” said the King, grinning. “Like smoke?” He offered some raw Java tobacco.