King Rat

“There,” Steven said. “Now let’s take your temperature.” He put the thermometer in Peter Marlowe’s mouth, then took off the bandages and looked at the wound. The swelling was down and the green and purple hue was gone and hard clean scabs covered the wound. Steven spread more sulfa powder on the wound.

“Very good.” Steven was pleased with the success of the treatment, but not pleased with today at all. That dirty Sergeant Flaherty, he thought, nasty man. He knows I hate doing it, but he picks me every time. “Rotten,” he said out loud.

“What?” Mac and Larkin and Peter Marlowe were concerned.

“Isn’t it all right?” Peter Marlowe asked.

“Oh yes, dear. I was talking about something else. Now let’s see the temperature.” Steven took the thermometer out and smiled at Peter Marlowe, reading the measure. “Normal. At least, just a point over normal but that doesn’t matter. You’re lucky, very lucky.” He held up the empty antitoxin bottle. “I just gave you the last of it.”

Steven took his pulse. “Very good.” He looked up at Mac. “Do you have a towel?”

Mac gave it to him and Steven put cold water on it and put a compress on Peter Marlowe’s head. “I found these,” he said, giving him two aspirins. “They’ll help a little, dear. Now rest for a while.” He turned to Mac and got up and sighed and smoothed his sarong around his hips. “There’s nothing more for me to do. He’s very weak. You’ll have to give him some broth. And all the eggs you can get. And take care of him.” He turned back and looked at the gauntness of Peter Marlowe. “He must have lost fifteen pounds in the last two days and that’s dangerous at his weight, poor boy. He can’t weigh more than eight stone, which isn’t much for his size.”

“Er, we’d like to thank you, Steven,” Larkin said gruffly. “We, er, appreciate all your work. You know.”

“Always glad to help,” said Steven brightly, fixing a lock of hair that curled on his forehead.

Mac glanced at Larkin. “If there’s anything, er, Steven, we can do—just say the word.”

“That’s very kind. You’re both so—kind,” he said delicately, admiring the colonel, increasing their embarrassment, playing with the Saint Christopher locket that he wore around his neck. “If you could just do my borehole detail for me tomorrow, well, I’d do anything. Just anything. I can’t stand those smelly cockroaches. Disgusting,” he gushed. “Would you?”

“All right, Steven,” Larkin said sourly.

“We’ll see you at dawn then,” Mac grunted and moved back a little, out of the way of Steven’s attempted caress. Larkin was not quick enough and Steven put his hand on the colonel’s waist and patted it affectionately. “Night, dears. Oh, you’re both so kind to Steven.”

When he’d gone, Larkin glared at Mac. “You say anything and I’ll pin your ears back.”

Mac chuckled. “Eh, mon, dinna fash yoursel’. But you certainly gave the impression you enjoyed it.” He bent down to Peter Marlowe, who had been watching. “Eh, Peter?”

“I think you’re both ready for a piece,” said Peter Marlowe, smiling faintly. “He’s well paid, but you two go offering your services, tempting him. But what he could see in you two old farts, damned if I know.”

Mac grinned at Larkin. “Ah, the wee laddie’s better than somewhat. Now he can pull his weight for a change. And not, how is it the King puts it—ah yes—and not ‘goof off.’”

“Is it two or three days since the first injection?” Peter Marlowe said.

“Two days.”

Two days? Feels more like two years, Peter Marlowe thought. But tomorrow I’ll be strong enough to get the money.

That night, after the last roll call, Father Donovan came to play bridge with them. When Peter Marlowe told them about the nightmare quarrel he had had with them, they all laughed.

“Eh, laddie,” Mac said, “your mind can play strange tricks with you when there’s fever on you.”

“Yes,” Father Donovan said. Then he smiled at Peter. “I’m glad your arm is healed, Peter.”

Peter Marlowe smiled back. “There’s not much that goes on that you don’t know about, is there?”

“There’s not much that goes on that He doesn’t know about.” Donovan was very sure and completely peaceful. “We’re in good hands.” Then he chuckled and added, “Even you three!”

“Well, that’s something,” Mac said, “though I think the colonel is far beyond the pale!”

After the game, and after Donovan had left, Mac nodded to Larkin. “You keep a lookout. We’ll hear the news, then call it a night.”

Larkin watched the road and Peter Marlowe sat on the veranda and tried to keep his eyes alert. Two days. Needles in his arm and now he was cured and had his arm back. Strange days, dream days, and now it was all right.

The news was enormously good, and they all went back to their beds. Their sleep was dreamless and contented.

At dawn, Mac went to the chicken run and found three eggs. He brought them back and made an omelet and filled it with a little rice he had saved from yesterday and perfumed it with a sliver of garlic.

Then he carried it up to Peter Marlowe’s hut, and woke him and watched while he ate it all.

Suddenly Spence rushed into the hut.