The King's Last Song

by Geoff Ryman

  What a soldier you are, Map, what a hard man. No one can find you in the woods you are such a fighter!

  The smoke is laced with incense, sweet and heavy, like in a temple.

  Red light glimmers between the leaves and Rith eases his way forward.

  Map is kneeling, his back to Rith. He lights a row of five candles. Beyond these, two coconuts have been cut to stand upright by themselves. Stuck into the white flesh of each are three incense sticks tied together with red thread. In an old condensed milk tin, three more incense sticks burn.

  Rith smiles in scorn. Such an advanced man, so modern.

  Tan Map thinks he's a kru doh ompoeu, an exorcist.

  Tiny fish from the baray smoke on sticks over the green fire.

  "Feeling happy, Rith?” asks Map without looking round. “Have you come to shoot me?"

  Rith suddenly finds with a lurch, that he has not. That's not why he's come. His jaw flaps. He looks at his raised gun. He discovers that the gun is there to protect him against Map or his friends in the police. He slips it back into its holster.

  So why is he here?

  Map turns around. “In that case, could you help me? Put that star-fruit branch in the water. I must not touch it."

  Rith's anger has a strange wrench to it. “Ah yes, the lok kru must never even walk under a star-fruit tree.” Nevertheless he lifts up the branch and crouches forward. “Trying to drive out the spirits of your victims, Map?"

  "Yes,” Map says.

  Rith moves the star-fruit branch over the bowl. He can't believe it. He's actually taking part in an exorcism. He's helping Map.

  "You do this every night?"

  "Yeah.” Map sniffs, and turns back to his cooking fire. “So why are you here?"

  The answer is to hand. “I want to know why you murdered my man."

  "Which one?” says Map, stretching round. His teeth in firelight glow yellow-green. “I've shot so many."

  "I'm not here to joke! We found my man with no head and everybody said they'd seen you. Was it because he tried to stop you thieving?"

  "I don't remember shooting him. But I must have done,” says Map.

  "Were you drunk?"

  Map's eyes are bleary. “Who shot Veasna? You tell me that, and you'll tell me the person I should have shot instead.” His eyes were Khmer Rouge eyes: like a stone dropped into a dark well at moonlight.

  "Veasna? Who was Veasna?"

  "The best man in the regiment. He got volunteered to go out to Pailin and stepped on a mine. Remember? You remember. He had no hands. He had no legs. Come on, you don't notice much but you must remember that.” Map's voice goes raw. “Veasna married my sister, he's the father of my nephew, he was my brother!"

  It produces something like vertigo to see that Tan Map is just as angry as Rith. It's like hearing your own voice echo back to you from the bottom of a well.

  Who are you to feel pain? Rith thinks. Who are you to be angry?

  Map quietens down. “He never complained! He used to drag himself to the toilet and all the army had to do was feed him, just one bowl of rice a day, but even that was too much, so someone, somewhere, just decided it was easier to kill him!” Map turns back to the fire.

  "I do remember,” says Rith and slumps down onto the leaves. This is confusing. He feels something like motion sickness.

  "So your poor quartermaster was just the first guy I met when I found out. Maybe if he'd just said, those fuckers shot your brother, I could have taken it. He tried to pretend it hadn't happened.” Map shrugged. “Veasna was the nearest thing to a brother I had. So I just lost my head, and your man lost his. Pow!” Map looks round at Rith. “I went back to my old farm and Chams were living in it and I cleared them out and burned the place down so no one else would have it. Then I went to Phnom Penh and found out my sister had killed herself."

  Rith says very quietly. “So did your friend."

  Map's neck snaps around. “Thaa mee! ” Excuse me?

  "Your brother killed himself too."

  "Ah,” says Map. “Ah."

  He leans the twig with its tiny fish back over the fire. He goes immobile. His eyes gleam brighter and Rith can see the man is trying not cry. His mouth crumples.

  Who would have thought this wild man had any feelings at all? This is embarrassing. Rith wants to hide.

  Map says, “That's why he keeps coming back."

  "What, you mean his ghost?” Rith tries to chuckle. It's not that he doesn't believe in ghosts, it's just that ghosts are so unmodern.

  Map's eyes look haunted. “He can't rest. I leave him food out there...” Map jerks his head towards the forest all around them. “He comes out of the trees like he's mad at people, and walks around their houses like he's looking for blood. He holds up his stumps at me!” Map pokes the fire. “It's why I can't live with people."

  "Those are dreams,” says Rith. “I have dreams too. The dreams are true, but only part of the truth. I think they can do less than mist."

  "They're not dreams. I make rituals.” Map waves at the circle of coconut shells. “He glares at women. He wants them and can't have them. I try to tell him about his son. But I think he hates his son for being alive."

  "It was the war,” says Rith.

  "They all keep coming at me! There are not enough stupas for them all. I give them food, they sniff it, but are not satisfied. All those men, all those women, all those children, they all come and ask me: Why are we dead? Why were we killed by our own people?"

  Rith thinks: I thought you had no shame or remorse. You are made of shame and remorse. It's why you scratch your forehead, it's why you have those spots; it's why you do those crazy things.

  You are a poor, ugly, tough little fellow, and we both came through it.

  Map looks up. He presses one nostril shut and blows out snot. He's trying to look like a tough guy. “I'm sorry about your man. He was just in the way. I was crazy then."

  "Don't worry, that quartermaster is among the happy dead. He has gone on. I hope he was reborn as someone more brave."

  It's strange, thinking now, but Rith had never really liked that little squirt of a quartermaster. He had not been a friend. He was just someone in the ranks whom Rith should have protected. In fact, Rith and his friends had mocked him, played tricks on him, made him miserable. Funny how you forget things. We stole his account books; we moved things around on the shelves just to watch him scratch his head. Naw, that quartermaster had not been a friend. Rith was just angry that he was shot on his watch.

  "How...” Map dips suddenly as if under a heavy load. “How did Veasna kill himself?” Map almost chuckles. “He had no hands! What did he do, roll under a truck?"

  Rith has to think. There was something... “He....went to a cistern, and just kept drinking. He drank one whole water butt, and crawled to the next, and drank that one too. Too much water will kill you."

  Map holds up a kebab stick. “You want some fish that a ghost has sniffed?"

  "That's a fish? It's so small I thought it was a cricket.” Rith hunkers down onto the leaves. “Yeah, why not? I just kicked my dinner back in my wife's face."

  Map grins. “So, were you going to shoot me?"

  "I think I just wanted this to end, you know? Thinking about how you killed my man."

  "Has it ended?"

  Rith thinks. “He wasn't my man. You thought we'd killed yours. I don't know. I'm sick of thinking about it.” A different kind of feeling writhes inside Rith. “I'm sick of all of it."

  "Have some fish,” says Map again.

  They pass the stick back and forth between them, exchanging bites of crunchy-boned fish, crisp and tasting of smoke.

  Rith admits, “You've done good work on the investigation."

  "So have you. The roadblocks have got everybody pinned down."

  Now it's Rith's turn to fight down emotion. “We've got to find out who told Saom Pich when the Book was being moved and how."

  "Yup,” says Map, laconic and strong again.
r />   Rith says, “Somebody must have told the thieves “It's leaving now, by air.” We've asked everyone on the UN team and none of them knew. Luc Andrade hadn't even told his own people. He hadn't told APSARA! So we thought he must have told you.” Sinn Rith raises and drops his hands. “We hoped he had."

  Map squats down beside him. “Did you ask the Phimeanakas staff?"

  "What, those nice little girls in shoulder pads?"

  "No,” says Map, and rolls to his feet.

  * * * *

  Rith and Map drive up to the Phimeanakas gates at midnight in an army van.

  Once again, Mrs. Bou's guard Prak shouts back from behind the closed gates. “I told you, Tan Map, that Mrs. Bou says you are to stay out of this house."

  Rith answers him in a low, clear voice. “Tell Mrs. Bou that this is the army and if you don't open these gates we will take a tank to the front of her hotel."

  Map glances about the street. The usual gang of motoboys has gone home. Good. In the old days, you always had the watchers watched. Underpaid motoboys would be easy to use as spies.

  Barefoot, in loose green trousers and a fluttering white shirt, the security guard toddles forward, his hands held in prayer in front of a fixed, sweaty grin.

  "Yes, Lieutenant-Colonel. Yes, sir,” Prak says. The keys rattle in his hand, and he has no strength to slide open the gate.

  Prostitutes wait outside the bar next door, alert, necks craning. Map thinks, motoboys string for prostitutes. Old Ta Pich will have many ways to keep an eye on things.

  Map and Rith catch other's eye. He's thinking the same thing. They fling the gates back, and hustle Prak into the shadows of the courtyard. They draw their pistols, click off the safety catches and point them at the guard's head.

  "Keep your voice down,” says Rith. “What have you done with my general? Where is he?"

  Prak first looks scared, and then confused. Wrong way round if you are actually innocent. Then he wipes his sweaty mouth. “Your general, I don't have your..."

  Rith nods to Map. They grab Prak's arms and wrench them round.

  Prak jumps inside his own skin. “What are you doing?"

  "Shut up!” hisses Rith. They drag him forward and Map crams him into the front seat of the van, then rams him down onto the floor so he can't be seen from the street. Rith starts the van, and repeatedly slams the knob of the gearstick into Prak's face to get him out of the way. They pull out, leaving the courtyard gate open. Map kneels on Prak's back.

  They start play-acting. They threaten Prak, they threaten his children. They tell him they know he told Saom Pich. They pretend to be crazy guys who want to hurt him just for the fun of it. They pull over outside of town and Map says, “Oh, let's just shoot him!"

  It takes longer than they had thought it would for Prak to dissolve, to lose all dignity. He starts to tell them, then contradicts himself, then denies it, but finally, his whole skin weeping with fear, he tells them.

  They are not that much further ahead. Prak told Pich when the Book was being moved, but he knows nothing else. He doesn't know where Luc or the Book are now.

  Rith starts up the van again, heading for Army HQ. They may have pushed Prak too far. He lies docile on the floor of the cab, staring ahead, Map's knee still pushing him down.

  Part of Map has enjoyed himself. He really yearned to hurt Prak.

  "I'm wrecked inside,” Map says forlornly, even though Prak can hear him. He remembers he once got angry with a girlfriend and started to hit her. He couldn't stop. He has crossed over some kind of line and he can't go back.

  "I know,” says Rith. “All the more reason to get people like Saom Pich."

  But how?

  Then Map remembers to ask Prak, “How did you pass messages?"

  * * * *

  Luc and the old man work late into the night.

  Vutthy groans and rocks, looking up and around at the light, wild-eyed. His skin glistens.

  "Fever,” says the old man, still reading. He chews the inside of his cheek.

  Luc feels as though they are walking along the edge of a cliff. “Get him to a doctor?"

  That hard, amused half-smile. “So he can say where we are?"

  "You could drive him to a hospital, leave him there and just drive away."

  The old man chuckles and shakes his head. “You don't know when you are lucky, Kru Luc."

  "Drop him and just keep driving, drive away. Don't come back here. Leave me tied up. Take the Book. Just disappear."

  The old man looks directly into his eyes. “I would have to leave my family, my children. I did that once before. Once was enough. Anyway, there are roadblocks."

  Between them was the bare fact: the old man was going to have to shoot them both.

  Never accept, warned a cat's-paw voice, that you are going to die.

  "Then take me with you,” says Luc.

  The old man is flabbergasted, his jaw drops. “What?” His wide, angry eyes seem to say: Don't you know where you are? Don't you know what this is? I don't want to be trapped with you.

  Luc says, “You don't have to kill me."

  The old man splutters in surprise.

  Luc continues. “I don't have to turn you in. I could pretend that I have no idea who you are. Just some Cambodian guy."

  The old man rocks again. He shakes his head. Almost teasing, he tosses the notebook at Luc's head. “Why wouldn't you tell them who I am?"

  Luc scoops up the notebook quickly before it slides into water. “Because I don't believe you are a bad man."

  "You don't know me. I am not soft-hearted."

  "That is true. But you are not destructive. You are not wasteful."

  "Words,” says the old man. “You are made of words."

  "So are you."

  The old man shakes his gun. “I am a man who acts."

  Luc pushes. “You also ask yourself questions. You remember your past. You plan the future. All of that is done through words."

  "And bullets."

  "Yes,” says Luc, but thinks: I'm not scared. I'm really not. And you know that I'm really not. “And it's also done through letting people go, and signing treaties, and getting back to work."

  The old man sighs over his half-moon spectacles, a wise old soldier in a yoke.

  Luc keeps on. “You could send one of the boys to the hospital to buy antibiotics."

  "No we couldn't. The people in the store would know something was wrong. My people can't buy drugs. They don't buy drugs.” The old man looks resigned.

  Vutthy crows aloud. Sweat pours from him. His eyes are as wild as a horse's trapped in a forest fire.

  "Where is the merit in letting an old man die?"

  The old man peers at him. “Don't presume that I believe in merit."

  Enough, said the cat's-paw voice.

  The Book. I must also save the Book. Luc passes the full notebook back to the old man and goes back to work on another.

  * * * *

  William sleeps securely in the moonlight, cool night breezes delicious on his back.

  Something is chirruping, making some kind of noise he can't identify. He doesn't want to move.

  My phone! I left it on, it will wake up Aunty, I shouldn't have left it on. He catapults himself forward onto his knees and starts slapping his clothes, his bag. Where did I leave it, where did I leave it, I'll wake up everybody in the house. His hand hits something solid in his trousers, he fumbles inside the pocket, pulls out the phone and hunches over it. “Hello, hello?"

  The phone that Luc Andrade gave to him.

  "Motoboy,” a voice growls. “I'm coming to get you!"

  William recognizes Sinn Rith's voice. Then there is a cackle of laughter, and wuffling sound as the phone is passed, and another voice shouts. “Pay no attention to that animal, William. This is Map. We've done it! We've cracked the case! Listen, the security guard at the hotel helped Luc a lot, he knew when it was being transported and Pich scared him into helping. He's told us everything. So we have all the arm
y roadblocks alerted."

  "What, what?"

  "We've solved it. William, we might get Ta Barang back yet."

  "Why did Rith..."

  "That was just a joke! Rith and I are friends. So look, William, I need you to come now and meet me. The whores saw us take Prak and they tipped off one of the motoboys who drove out to Pich's place at night with no lights. We arrested him..."

  "One of my boys? Which one?"

  "...but another messenger has left the farm and we're sure he's on his way to warn Pich. So come now!"

  William is already shaking his way into his clothes and starting to chuckle with excitement. “Yeah. Okay. But which motoboy was it?"

  "The one called Mons. We arrested all the whores as well. It's a party! I'll see you outside the bus station, not the guesthouse. We still think it's being watched. The bus station, understand?"

  As William drives, his mind begins to clear and his heart inflates with joy.

  They just might do it, they just might get the Book back, get Luc Andrade back. William starts to smile.

  He coasts into the bus station with his lights off. The bus station is more like a dusty broken concrete triangle than a building. Map is waiting behind a closed-up food stall.

  "Are you happy?"

  "Very happy, and you?"

  Map whispers. “The messenger just went past the last roadblock into town. The guys there say he's heading down Sivutha Street towards us.” Map has to laugh. “He's got three hens strapped to the back. They got his name, everything! So whatever happens that's one more arrested."

  They push the bike farther out of sight, around the corner to the riverfront. They wait under a shop awning in darkness. They hear a motorcycle coming. It buzzes out of Sivutha and turns right. William wheels the bike out silently and starts it so gently it purrs. They follow the sound out towards the south.

  They drive back out of town over the dike. The first day's drive seems a week ago. They are shooting along a road in the dark. Ahead of them, they see the break in the dike. William brakes, and eases the bike down the slope.

  He rides across the single plank of wood in the dark with no lights. History repeats like moonlight.