Free King Rat by James Clavell

“Lovers’ quarrel?”
    “Go to hell!”
    After a minute the King said tentatively, “You known Sean long?”
    “He was in my squadron,” Peter Marlowe said at length. “Sean was the baby, and I was sort of detailed to look after him. Got to know him very well.” He flicked the burning end off his cigarette and put the remains of tobacco back in his box. “In fact he was my best friend. He was a very good pilot - got three Zeros over Java.” He looked at the King. “I liked him a lot.”
    “Was — was he like that before?”
    “No.”
    “Oh, I know he didn’t dress like a woman all the time, but hell, it must have been obvious he was that way.”
    “Sean was never that way. He was just a very handsome, gentle chap. There was nothing effeminate about him, just a sort of… compassion.”
    “You ever seen him without clothes on?”
    “No.”
    “That figures. No one else has either. Even half naked.”
    Sean was allowed a tiny little room up in the theater, a private room, which no one else in the whole of Changi had, not even the King. But Sean never slept in the room. The thought of Sean alone in a room with a lock on the door was too dangerous, because there were many in the camp whose lust swept out, and the rest were full of lust inside. So Sean always slept in one of the huts, but changed and showered in the private room.
    “What’s between you two?” the King asked.
    “I nearly killed him once.”
    Suddenly the conversation ceased and both men listened intently. All they could hear was a sigh, an undercurrent. The King looked around quickly. Seeing nothing extraordinary, he got up and climbed through the window, Peter Marlowe close behind. The men in the hut were listening too.
    The King peered towards the corner of the jail. Nothing seemed to be wrong. Men still walked up and down.
    “What do you think?” the King asked softly.
    “Don’t know,” said Peter Marlowe, concentrating. Men were still walking by the jail, but now an almost imperceptible quickening had been added to their walk.
    “Hey, look,” Tex whispered.
    Rounding the corner of the jail and heading up the slope towards them was Captain Brough. Then other officers began to appear behind him, all heading for various enlisted men’s huts.
    “Got to mean trouble,” Tex said sourly.
    “Maybe it’s a search,” Max said.
    The King was on his knees in an instant, unlocking the black box. Peter Marlowe said hurriedly, “I’ll see you later.”
    “Here,” the King said, throwing him a pack of Kooas, “see you tonight if you like.”
    Peter Marlowe raced out of the hut and down the slope. The King jerked out the three watches that were buried in the coffee beans and got up. He thought a moment, then he stood on his chair and stuffed the three watches into the atap thatch. He knew that all the men had seen the new hiding place but he did not care, for that could not be helped now. Then he locked the black box and Brough was at the door.
    “All right, you guys, outside.”
     

Chapter 4
     
    Peter Marlowe was thinking of nothing except his water bottle as he shoved through the sweating hive of men forming up on the asphalt road. He tried desperately to remember if he had filled the bottle, but he could not remember for sure.
    He ran up the stairs from the street towards his hut. But the hut was already empty and a soiled Korean guard already stood in the doorway. Peter Marlowe knew that he would not be allowed to pass, so he turned back and ducked under the lee of the hut and up the other side. He ran for the other door and was beside his bunk with his water bottle in his hand before the guard saw him.
    The Korean swore at him sullenly and walked over and motioned for him to put the water bottle back. But Peter Marlowe saluted with a flourish and said in Malay, which most of the guards understood, “Greetings sir. We may have a long time to wait, and I beg thee, let me take my water bottle with me, for I have dysentery.” As