The Steel Tsar Read online

  'You knew the Chinese were after Shawcross, didn't you?' I said. 'That's what you meant yesterday when you said a lot of people were looking for him.'

  'Yesterday? I don't remember.' He puffed on the cigarette, drawing the smoke deep into his lungs.

  'You might have saved him, Dempsey, if you'd warned someone at the time.'

  He straightened up a little and he seemed amused as he glanced towards the forest. 'On the other hand I might have done everyone else more harm. It's a bit of a luxury, a social conscience, isn't it Bastable?' He felt in his pocket. 'I came to give you this. I found it on the steps.' He held out a Yale key. 'Must have fallen from Shawcross's pocket when they dumped him.'

  I hesitated before accepting the key. Then I turned and tried it in the lock. The wards clicked back and the door swung open. The interior smelled of stale liquor and burnt rubber.

  'All that's left of Shawcross is his stink,' said Dempsey. 'Now you're going to try to wireless for help, I suppose.'

  'I'll try,' I said. 'If I can get through to Darwin I'll ask them to reroute the first available airship to pick me up – and anyone else who wants to leave the island.'

  'Better tell them it's an emergency.' Dempsey waved his hand in the general direction of the town. 'Make no bones about it. There are half a dozen excuses for an uprising now. Allsop finding out about Shawcross will be just one more. The Chinese are in a mood to slaughter all the Malays and if the whites interfere, they'll probably get together and kill us first. It's true.' A ghost of a smile appeared on his lips. 'I know. I'm in rather closer touch with the natives than most, after all. Shawcross was just a beginning.'

  I nodded. 'All right. I'll tell Darwin.'

  'You know how to work the wireless?'

  'I've had some training

  Dempsey followed me into the gloomy interior of the office. It was a filthy litter of empty beer cans, bottles and bits of broken wireless equipment. He pulled back the shutters and light came through the dusty windows. I saw what could only be the wireless set in one corner and I picked my way across the floor towards it.

  Dempsey showed me the pedals underneath the bench. I sat down and put my feet on them. They turned slowly at first and then more easily.

  Dempsey inspected the set. 'Seems to be warming up,' he said. He began to fiddle with the dials. There was a faint crackle from the phones. He picked them up and listened, shaking his head. 'Valve trouble, probably. You'd better let me have a go.'

  I rose and Dempsey sat down in the chair. After a while he found a screwdriver and took part of the casing off the set. 'It's the valves, all right,' he said. 'There should be a box of spares behind you on the other bench. Could you bring it over?'

  I found the box and placed it beside him as he continued to work.

  'Did you learn about radios on airships?' I asked him.

  He tightened his mouth and went on with the job.

  'How did you happen to turn up here?' I said, my curiosity overcoming my tact.

  'None of your bloody business, Bastable. There, that should do it.' He screwed in the last valve and began pedaling, but then he fell back in the chair coughing. 'Too bloody weak,' he said. 'You'd better do the pumping, if you wouldn't mind...' He lapsed into another fit of coughing as he got up and I replaced him.

  While I pedaled, he twisted the dials again until we heard a faint voice coming through the earphones. Dempsey settled the headset over his ears and -adjusted the microphone. 'Hello Darwin, this is Rowe Island. Over.' He turned a knob.

  He flipped a toggle switch and spoke impatiently into the mike. 'No, I'm sorry, I don't know our bloody call sign. Our operator's been killed as a matter of fact. No, we're not a military base. This is Rowe Island in the Indian Ocean and the civilian population is in danger.'

  While I continued to pedal the generator, Dempsey told Darwin our situation. There was some confusion, a wait of nearly twenty minutes while the operator checked with his superiors, some more confusion over the location of the island and then at last Dempsey leaned back and sighed. 'Thank you, Darwin.'

  As he stripped off the headset he glanced down at me. 'You're lucky. They'll have one of their patrol ships over here in a day or two - if it hasn't been shot down. You'd better tell the others to pack their bags and be ready.'

  'I'm very grateful, Dempsey,' I said. 'I don't think I'd have had a chance of getting through if it hadn't been for you.'

  The problems with the wireless had exhausted him. He got up and began to rummage around in the office until he found an almost full bottle of rum. He opened it, took a long drink, and then offered it to me.

  I accepted the bottle and sipped the rum, gasping. It was raw stuff. I handed it back and watched with a certain amount of respect as he finished it.

  We left the office and began to walk across the airpark. As we approached the mast he paused and looked up through the girders. The passenger lift was at the top of the mast, presumably left there by the last hasty group to go aboard the ship when it had taken the bulk of the Europeans off the island. This won't be any good,' he said. 'Nobody to work it, even if it was in decent condition. The ship will have to come right down. It's going to be a problem. Everybody will have to muck in.'

  'Will you help me?'

  'If I'm conscious.'

  'I heard you commanded an airship once,' I said.

  Then I regretted my curiosity for a peculiar look of pained amusement came over his face. 'Yes. Yes, I did. For a very short time.'

  I dropped it. 'Let me get you a drink,' I said.

  Olmeijer was in his usual spot at the bar, reading his book. Greaves was not there. The Dutchman looked up and nodded to us. He made no mention of the previous night's business and I didn't bring it up. I told him that we had managed to get through to Darwin and that they were sending an airship. He seemed unimpressed. I think he enjoyed his role as the last hotelier on the island. He would rather have customers who couldn't pay than no customers at all. Dempsey and I took our drinks to one of the tables near the window.

  'You've been a great help, Dempsey,' I said.

  Cynically he stared at me over the rim of his glass. 'Am I helping? I may be doing you a disservice. Do you really want to go back to all that?'

  'I think it's my duty.'

  'Duty? To support the last vestiges of a discredited imperialism?'

  It was the first time I had heard him utter anything like a political opinion. I was surprised. He sounded like a bit of a Red, I thought. I could think of no answer, which wouldn't have been impolite.

  He downed the rest of his scotch and stared out over the airpark, speaking as if to himself. 'It's all a question of power and rarely a question of justice.' He looked sharply at me. 'Don't patronize me, Bastable. I don't need your kindness, thanks. If you knew . . .' He broke off. 'Another?'

  I watched Dempsey walk unsteadily to the bar and then get fresh drinks. He brought them back almost reluctantly.

  'I'm sorry,' I said. 'It's just - well, you seem to have a lot on your mind. I thought a sympathetic ear . . .'

  'There was a very strange look in his eyes now. 'Sympathetic? I wonder how sympathetic you would stay if I told you what was really on my mind. There's a war on, Bastable. I heard you speculating yesterday about how it started. I know how the war started. I know who started it, too. It was a bloody accident.'

  I restrained my exclamation of astonishment and waited to hear more, but Dempsey leaned back in the wicker chair and closed his eyes, his lips moving as he spoke to himself.

  I went to get him another drink, but he was already asleep when I returned. I let him sleep and joined Olmeijer at the bar.

  Shortly afterwards Greaves came in. He looked tired, as if he had not been to bed since I had seen him.

  'Give me a triple gin, Olmeijer, quickly. Morning, Bastable. I don't advise you to go back through the town alone. There's a lot of trouble. Big gangs of Malays and Chinese fighting each other. Arson, rape and bloody murder all over the place.'


  'Has Allsop found out about . . .?'

  'Not yet, but pretty well everyone else knows: He'll hear soon. The Chinese managed to steal a Malaysian boat last night and buggered off with it - probably poor Shawcross's murderers making their getaway. The Malays roughed up some Chinese families. The Chinese retaliated. I think we're in very hot water this time.'

  I told him about the wireless message to Darwin and the probability of a ship coming. He looked more than relieved. 'You'd better send one of your chaps into New Brum, Olmeijer. Tell him to let everyone know - to get up here as fast as possible.'

  Grumbling, Olmeijer rolled off to find a servant.

  Greaves walked round to the other side of the bar. 'I think another drink is called for - on the house. Bastable?' I nodded. 'Dempsey?'

  I saw that Dempsey had woken up and was making for the door. He shook his head and said with a tight, crooked smile. 'I've some business in town. Cheerio.'

  'It's dangerous,' I said.

  'I'll be all right. Hope to see you later, Bastable.'

  We watched him leave.

  'Poor bastard,' said Greaves. He shuddered and downed his gin.

  9.

  Hopes of Salvation

  Allsop came up to the hotel in the afternoon and asked suspiciously after Shawcross. We said that we had heard he'd had some sort of accident. He didn't believe us, of course, but he had his hands full in the town and couldn't wait to question us further. He'd escorted some clergymen to the hotel and some Chinese nuns from the Catholic mission. They sat huddled in the far corner of the bar and didn't talk much to us. Nesbit's secretary, a round-faced, anxious Bengali, had come with Allsop and he remained almost constantly by the window, looking out as if he expected the airship to arrive at any minute. I asked Allsop about Dempsey and the soldier glowered at me, muttering that Dempsey had been seen with some of the Chinese 'rebels' and might find himself in real trouble with the authorities if he wasn't careful. I also learned that Hira had decided to stay on at the hospital along with most of his nuns.

  By that evening a few more people had drifted up, including two Irish priests who joined the others in the corner. Olmeijer seemed delighted to have so many new guests and rushed around seeing that rooms were prepared for them. Even I received a room on the second floor.

  Allsop returned looking tired and angry. His normally neat uniform was dusty and he had a bruise over his right eye. He seemed to be blaming Greaves and me for his problems and wouldn't speak to us at all on this second visit. He had brought us three of his twelve-man army for protection. The rest were remaining in the town to 'keep order', though from the noise below there was precious little of that, and to protect the Official Representative's residence, for Brigadier Nesbit, it emerged, had elected to stay, along with his valet.

  Allsop rode back a little later. He was alone and as stiff-backed as ever as he guided his horse down the hill and disappeared into the darkness and the cacophony below. I don't believe he was seen alive again.

  By midnight the ladies and gentlemen of the cloth had all gone to bed and Greaves, Olmeijer and myself were in our usual places at the bar while the little Bengali paced back and forth beside the windows.

  Even Greaves seemed a trifle nervous and once he expressed the belief that we 'might not quite last out'. Then he, too, went to bed and the Bengali followed him. Olmeijer had his big account book open on the bar and for a while seemed cheerfully engrossed in his arithmetic before closing the book with a crash, nodding goodnight to me, and heaving his huge bulk away to his own quarters.

  Now, save for the Ghoorkas on guard outside, I was the only one up. I felt exhausted but not particularly sleepy. I decided to go outside and see if I could detect any activity in the town.

  As I entered the lobby I heard voices by the main entrance. I peered out, but the oil lamp wasn't bright enough to show me anything. I opened the door. One of the Ghoorka guards was shouting at a man I could dimly see in the moonlight. The Ghoorka gestured with his bayoneted rifle and the man turned away. For a moment I saw his face in the faint glow from the lamp in the lobby. I pushed past the soldier and hurried outside.

  'Dempsey? Is that you?'

  He looked back. His shoulders were bowed and his jacket had been ripped. His face was deathly pale, his eyelids almost closed. 'Hello, Bastable.' The speech was slurred -the voice of a cretin.

  'Thought this was my hotel.'

  'It is.' I went towards him and took a limp arm. 'Come inside.'

  The Ghoorka made no attempt to stop us as I took Dempsey into Olmeijer's. The man was staggering and shivering. A dry retching noise came from his throat. He was gripping something tightly in his right hand. There was no point in questioning him and I did my best to get him up the stairs and along the passage to his room.

  The door was unlocked. I half-carried Dempsey in, let him sit on the bed while I lit the oil lamp.

  The light revealed a room, which was surprisingly neat. The bed was made up and there was no litter. In fact the room was completely impersonal. I got Dempsey onto the bed and he stretched out with a sigh. The shivering came in brief spasms now. He blinked and looked up at me as I took his pulse.

  'Thank you very much, Bastable,' he said. 'I thought I might have a word with you.'

  'You're in bad shape,' I said. 'Better sleep if you can.'

  'They're looting down there,' he said. 'Killing each other. Perhaps it's something in the air...' He coughed and then started to choke. I got him upright and tried to pry the packet he held from his fingers, but he reacted angrily, with surprising strength. He pulled his hand away. 'I can look after myself now, old man.' There were tears in his eyes as he sank back onto the pillow. 'I'm just tired. Sick and tired.'

  'Dempsey, you're killing yourself. Let me—'

  'I hope you're right, Bastable. It's taking too bloody long, though. I wish I'd had the guts to do it properly.'

  I stood up, telling him that I would call back later to see how he was. He closed his eyes and seemed to fall asleep.

  I had that feeling of impotence common to many who have themselves experienced the relief of drug addiction. I knew only too well that there was little I could do for the poor, tormented wretch. He could only help himself. And Dempsey seemed genuinely haunted, perhaps by a special insight into things, as they really were, perhaps by something in himself, some aspect of his own character, which he could not reconcile with his moral outlook. For it was becoming increasingly clear that Dempsey, in spite of his denials, had a very moral outlook and that he didn't think much of himself.

  I went to my own room along the passage and took off my jacket and trousers. I lay down on the bed in the darkness, listening to the insects hurling themselves against the woven wire of the window screens. Moonlight flooded the room. Soon I fell into a light sleep.

  I woke up suddenly.

  My door was creaking as it slowly opened and I looked around for a weapon, thinking that the coolies had attacked the hotel-while I slept.

  Then, with a sigh of relief, I saw that it was Dempsey. He was leaning almost nonchalantly on the door handle. His face was as pale as ever but he seemed to have recovered his strength.

  'Sorry to disturb you Bastable.'

  'Do you need help?' I got up and pulled on my trousers:

  'Perhaps I do. There isn't a lot of time now.' He smiled. 'Not "practical" help, though.' His eyes were glazed and dreamy and I realized that he had taken some kind of stimulant to offset the effects of the opium. I hated to think what was happening both to his mind and his body. He sat down heavily on my bed.

  'I'm fine.' He spoke as if to reassure himself. 'I just thought I'd drop in for a chat. You wanted a chat, eh? Earlier.'

  I sat down in the wicker armchair beside the bed. 'Why not?' I said as cheerfully as I could.

  'I told you there's no need to patronize me. I've come to make a sort of confession. I don't know why it should be you, Bastable. Possibly it's just because, well, you're one of the victims. Singapore and ever
ything . . .'

  'It's over,' I said. 'And it certainly couldn't have been anything to do with you. "The War is ceaseless. The most we can hope for are occasional moments of tranquility in the midst of the conflict". I quote Lobkowitz.'

  His drugged eyes shone for a second with an ironic light. 'You read him, too. I didn't think you were another Red, Bastable.'

  'I'm not. Neither, for that matter, is Lobkowitz.'

  'It's a matter of opinion.'

  'Besides, I speak from a great deal of experience.'

  'As a soldier?'

  'I have been a soldier. But I have come to the conclusion that the human race is constantly in a state of tension, that those tensions make us what we are and that they will often lead to wars. The greater our ingenuity at inventing weapons, the worse the wars become.'

  'Oh, indeed, I agree with that last statement.' He sighed. 'But don't you believe it's possible for people to acknow­ledge the tensions and yet make harmony from those tensions, just as music is made?'

  'My experience would have it otherwise. My hope, of course, is another thing. But I see little point in such a debate when the world is currently in such an appalling state. This frightful Armageddon will probably not be over until the last aerial man-o'-war falls from the skies.'

  'You really see it as Armageddon?'

  I could not tell him what I knew: that I had already passed through three alternative versions of our world and in each seen the most hideous destruction of civilization; that I myself felt responsibility for at least one of those great wars. I merely shrugged. 'Perhaps not. Perhaps there will be peace. The Russians and the Japanese have always been at loggerheads. What I can't understand is how Britain failed to stop it and why the Japs turned on us with such ferocity.'

  'I know why,' he said.

  I patted his arm. 'Do you know? Or is it the opium telling you? I've been fond of opium in my time, Dempsey. My appearance was once not too different from yours. Can you believe that?'

  'I thought there was something. But why—?'