‘Are you sure he’s gone?’ Lizard asked.
‘He went past the peanut seller, and then I couldn’t see him anymore,’ she said.
Lizard crawled out from under the concrete slab, glanced warily round and climbed out of the drain. ‘Thanks,’ he said to the girl, and he hurried down the road, ignoring the stares that people gave him as he passed by emitting the fragrance eau de drain.
Ten minutes later, Lizard was in the back lane behind the Tanjong Pagar wet market at the jackfruit tree, a popular meeting spot where the local children gathered to play marbles. He hoped it was the right jackfruit tree. He had rinsed himself off with a standpipe by the street, but he was still quite smelly. He was relieved when Fatty Dim Sum hurried past the fruit sellers and squatted down next to him. Fatty sniffed, then moved away a little.
‘Don’t look at me,’ hissed Fatty, lighting up a cigarette. ‘You’re a good boy, Lizard. Yes, I know you steal, but you don’t steal from me. I don’t want you to die like Ah Beng.’
‘Me neither,’ said Lizard, perched on the low brick wall of the wet market. He crouched down and started to put his shoes back on slowly, not looking at Fatty.
‘Lucky you got away,’ said Fatty. ‘Maybe the Japanese know you work with Ah Beng. I don’t say anything. But they have spies everywhere. That Japanese guy, Katsu, he’s a gunjin spy I think—’
‘What’s gunjin?’ asked Lizard.
‘Gunjin is Japanese army or navy man. He hang round my shop, ask questions. He ask about Ah Beng. Where he live, what he do, who he talk to. He even give me money to talk.’
‘You didn’t take his money?’ said Lizard, impressed. Chinatown businessmen would generally agree to sell you their last grandmother if you paid cash.
‘Of course I take it!’ said Fatty, affronted. ‘Otherwise he suspicious. I give it to Ah Ling for the Anti-Japan War in China Fund.’ He spat happily into the open drain. ‘I tell him small stuff. Not important. But that Ah Beng, he got a big mouth. Got himself killed. The gunjin think he stole something important from them. Something secret. Something’—here his voice dropped even lower—‘that could make them lose the war.’
‘The war in China?’ asked Lizard, putting a hand on his satchel.
‘Must be,’ said Fatty. ‘Unless they starting some other war.’ He sucked on his cigarette and stood up. ‘You be careful. That’s all I want to say. Keep quiet. Stay out of trouble.’
He stared at something in the wet market for a long time. Lizard followed his gaze and found himself looking at a cage stuffed full with live chickens, their heads sticking out through the wires. They weren’t clucking; they just waited.
‘I’m scared of the gunjin. In China, they are very cruel,’ Fatty Dim Sum said. ‘That’s why we Chinese don’t want to use Japanese stuff now, or go to Japanese shops. We blame the shopkeepers, even though it’s the gunjin who do the killing.’
Lizard thought about the Japanese people that he knew. Mostly they were in Middle Road near Raffles Hotel and ran shops selling things like textiles and silk goods. The Japanese doctors and dentists had their offices there too. There was also Mr Nakajima who had the photographic studio round the back of Raffles Hotel. None of them had ever shown any inclination to hurt him. Maybe being only half Chinese was good for something after all.
‘The Japanese shopkeepers in Middle Road aren’t cruel,’ Lizard said. ‘It’s not fair to blame them.’
‘It’s the soldiers that kill. The gunjin don’t tell the ordinary Japanese people what they do. But some of them are spies, Lizard. That’s the trouble, eh. We don’t know who is normal Japanese person and who is a gunjin spy,’ said Fatty Dim Sum. ‘Don’t come to my shop now. Katsu will be watching.’ He smiled sadly at Lizard. ‘The world is changing, Lizard. I feel it. The world is changing.’
Lizard headed for home, cutting through the wet market, past sellers weighing wriggling crabs, avoiding the buckets of water everywhere and resisting the temptation to steal a ripe mango from a laden fruit stall. As he left the market, he saw a shaved head bobbing above the crowd. Katsu! Was he still looking for Lizard?
Without a second thought, Lizard followed him. He was careful to stay well behind and in the thick of the crowd. This might be his chance to find out more about the strange book in the box. Lizard followed the bobbing shaved head of the unpretty Katsu all the way up South Bridge Road and over the Elgin Bridge. Katsu looked behind a few times, but Lizard found it easy to avoid being seen in the colourful commotion of the road.
Katsu continued on to North Bridge Road and then turned left into Middle Road. Lizard hurried to catch up. As he rounded the corner, he noticed it was less busy here. He ducked behind a concrete post and cautiously looked out. Street sweeper, yes. Ladies in kimonos, yes. Hawkers and amahs, yes. Tall, ugly gunjin spy, no. He had lost him somewhere in Middle Road.
CHAPTER SIX
The Lazy Gardener
Lili put down the watering can and adjusted the wide-brimmed straw hat she was wearing. She had found both lying by the garden shed at the back of Raffles Hotel. Few people were around as she moved into the Palm Court garden. Perhaps everyone was having an afternoon nap.
Here was suite seventy, where the Whitford Joneses were guests. Lili stepped behind a bush that screened her from the front door, making sure the turbaned soldier standing guard hadn’t seen her. She peeked through the leaves of the bush as Commander Baxter of the Royal Navy came into the passageway. He looked just like his photo in the mission file, only a lot more worried.
‘I don’t expect much action tonight, Singh. The horse has bolted, I’m afraid. At least Mrs Whitford Jones will feel better with a guard at the door,’ Commander Baxter said, lighting a cigarette.
‘Yessir,’ the guard said.
Lili crouched down and pulled out some scruffy plants which she hoped were weeds.
A man came out. Lili recognised him as Sebastian Whitford Jones. She was curious to see if he looked like the kind of man who would betray his country for money. All she could tell was that he looked genuinely distressed as he accepted the cigarette that Commander Baxter offered him. She would have to wait and see. The two men strolled out into the courtyard garden.
‘I had no idea it was so important, Commander. None,’ Sebastian Whitford Jones burst out.
‘I blame myself, Sebastian. I was sure that the low-key approach would keep the Japanese Navy from knowing it was here,’ Commander Baxter said.
‘Are you sure it was the Japanese who took it, then?’ said Mr Whitford Jones.
The commander gave a bitter bark of laughter. ‘Can’t really be sure of anything. It might have been the Nazis, except they’re so busy with the war in Europe…’
‘Do you think Japan will join the war?’ said Mr Whitford Jones.
‘I think it’s likely,’ said the commander.
‘Terrible business in Shanghai, eh? Even women and children,’ said Mr Whitford Jones. ‘Why on Earth were the soldiers so ruthless?’
Behind the bush, Lili shuddered, but she had a job to do, and she couldn’t afford to let her feelings get in the way.
‘It all comes from the top. The new Japanese military command uses brutality to control things, even within their own troops,’ said Commander Baxter.
Lili took out her miniature camera. She angled it through the leaves and took a few shots of the two men. Judging by the conversation, the commander didn’t seem to suspect Mr Whitford Jones of being a traitor.
‘About this box. I wasn’t told what was in it,’ said Mr Whitford Jones. ‘Do you know?’
‘No, it’s top secret,’ Commander Baxter admitted.
Lili was startled. She knew what was in the box; she knew this secret and the navy commander didn’t. For the first time, she felt the heavy responsibility of belonging to a covert intelligence organisation.
‘It’s really that important, is it?’ said Mr Whitford Jones.
‘So the captain says.’ Lili could see the commander’s pained hunch e
ven through the leaves. ‘Had rather an unpleasant interview with him this morning. If you hear a clunk from across town, it will be my head dropping onto the Persian carpet in his office.’
‘We’re not actually at war with the Japanese, are we?’ asked Mr Whitford Jones. ‘Can’t we just let the Asiatics fight it out among themselves?’
Commander Baxter took a deep, controlling breath in through his nostrils.
Lili sympathised. Mr Whitford Jones seemed too dull to be able to organise the sale of sensitive secrets to a foreign power like Japan.
‘Don’t underestimate the Japanese Empire, Sebastian,’ said Commander Baxter. ‘They need land. They need oil and rubber and tin and so forth. The entire Indochina area is valuable, including Malaya, and what’s at the end of the Malayan Peninsula? Singapore. Jewel of the East and a slap in the face for the British if the Japanese take her.’
‘Japan can’t just take over a country because it feels like it,’ said Mr Whitford Jones.
‘Why not? We did.’ Commander Baxter stubbed out his cigarette vigorously in the ashtray on a nearby table. ‘We’ve been taking over countries for centuries. That’s what an empire is, Sebastian.’
‘Well, if you say so,’ Mr Whitford Jones said doubtfully. ‘Just doesn’t seem right.’
‘Because we don’t want to share. The Japanese want Asia for their empire and will fight with European powers to get it. It’s a fight we must win. So, no, we can’t just let the Asiatics fight it out themselves.’
‘So we need the box, then?’ Mr Whitford Jones said.
‘Absolutely. We’ve been questioning the staff all day. Had to get a Hainanese interpreter. Not all the staff speak English.’ Commander Baxter straightened his uniform. ‘Right. I’d best be getting back. Singh will be on guard all night.’
He headed off, towards the main building, and Sebastian Whitford Jones went back inside.
Lili didn’t think Mr Whitford Jones sounded like a man who had sold out the British. However, it was possible that he was only pretending to be dull, and that he was double crossing Commander Baxter. She needed to keep watching Mr Whitford Jones.
The shadows had lengthened right across the garden and the birds were making a big racket as they jostled for the best positions in the trees. It would be dark soon, and the gardeners didn’t work at night, so Lili couldn’t stay in the Palm Court disguised as one. She waited until the Sikh guard was called inside, and then she abandoned the hat and watering can behind the bush and scrambled up the pillars and balustrades of the building and onto the roof. If Sebastian Whitford Jones was going to meet anyone secretly, the roof would be a great spot to observe the rendezvous. She lay down on the warm roof tiles and peered over the edge. She could see the bush near suite seventy. There was someone in the shadows where she had been hiding. She gulped at her close escape.
Lizard waited until after sunset before slipping in to the Palm Court, carrying the teak box in his satchel. As he ducked behind a bush near the door of suite seventy, he stubbed his toe on a heavy watering can. He thought unkind thoughts about lazy gardeners who left watering cans lying around.
The door of suite seventy opened. Lizard’s eyes bulged with alarm as a big, bearded Sikh soldier came out, closed the door and planted himself in front of it as if he would be there all night. Lizard cursed his bad luck. How would he get to see Georgina and ask her about the teak box now? He needed to find another way to sneak in to suite seventy.
Time to visit his friend Roshan.
Since the Palm Court was a guest-only area, Lizard needed a disguise. He reached out and picked up the watering can and a hat lying next to it, taking back his previous harsh thoughts about the lazy gardener. He stepped out from behind the bush and kept close to the hedges along the walkway, avoiding the moonlight and hoping he wouldn’t be noticed even though he had his gardener’s disguise.
On the rooftop, Lili realised that her position was fine for watching the garden, but that she couldn’t see the covered walkway in front of the suite. The lamps around the Palm Court were now lit. For a moment, a figure below reminded her of Lizard, but of course it couldn’t be him. It must be a real gardener, tidying away the hat and watering can. She gave herself an angry shake and vowed not to let stray thoughts of Lizard distract her again.
Lizard went round the back of the Bras Basah wing of the hotel on his way to the staff area. He surreptitiously dropped the hat and the watering can by the wall. As he was passing the Raffles Photographic Studio, Mr Nakajima popped out. ‘Konbanwa, Lizard-san,’ he said, and bowed.
‘Konbanwa, Nakajima-san,’ Lizard said, returning the bow.
Then, Mr Nakajima said in a hushed voice, ‘You hear, Lizard-san? Stealing happening here! Yes!’ He bobbed his head. ‘At Raffles Hotel! How can be? So impolite!’
Lizard didn’t want to waste time, but the man looked so horrified and dejected that he stopped. ‘Oh, yes, I did hear something.’ He groaned inwardly as his ears heard what his mouth had just said. He should have said no, he hadn’t heard.
‘You heard? What did you hear? Did your friend Roshan say something?’ Mr Nakajima darted forward. Lizard had enjoyed cups of genmaicha—roasted rice green tea—with Mr Nakajima. The man had a thirst for gossip and company. Lizard thought he must be lonely, stuck in the darkroom of his studio for hours on end, developing film into photographs.
‘No, I haven’t seen Roshan yet. I’m just going there now,’ Lizard said.
‘Come in and have some genmaicha. I remember how you like it.’ He gave a little bow of invitation and extended a hand towards his studio. ‘This terrible thing is bad for business. I have some seaweed snacks fresh in too.’
‘Well, maybe for a short time,’ said Lizard, suddenly hungry for green tea and seaweed snacks.
‘What have you got there?’ Mr Nakajima gestured at Lizard’s bag.
‘Oh,’ Lizard said, putting his hand on it. ‘Nothing. Just some school books.’
Mr Nakajima nodded, as he ushered Lizard into the studio. ‘You not seen Roshan yet? Who tell you about the stealing then?’
‘No one. I don’t know anything about the stealing, I just saw a lot of soldiers and police in the driveway,’ Lizard lied. ‘What was stolen?’
‘They will not say, but I think it must have been something very valuable,’ said Mr Nakajima, pursing his lips.
He waved at the small wooden table he kept at the left side of the studio and hurried off through a side door on the right to prepare the tea. Lizard followed him to the doorway. He glimpsed a windowless room with a sink and jars of chemicals on a shelf. This was the darkroom where Mr Nakajima developed his photographs.
‘Need any help?’ Lizard asked.
‘No!’ said Mr Nakajima, whirling round and hurrying back to Lizard. He made flapping motions at Lizard and half-closed the door. ‘You sit! Sit!’
Lizard backed out into the large studio, where Mr Nakajima photographed people. He also took his camera gear to the Raffles Tea Dances to take pictures of the glamorous couples there.
On the left, past the table, were pretty screens that he used as backdrops, as well as various props neatly organised along the wall. A large, elegant crackle-glazed turquoise vase sat on a shelf next to the screens. Lizard knew it was Mr Nakajima’s favourite possession. It was given to him by his mother and he had brought it with him from his home island of Awaji in Japan.
Lizard looked at the photographs displayed on the wall next to the darkroom door. They were mostly of British army officers and their well-groomed wives in their best frocks, although there were also photographs of Singapore Harbour, some huge boats in a dock, various cityscapes and a few beaches. With a bittersweet jolt, Lizard recognised one as Changi beach, near his old home.
He leaned in, looking at the coconut palms by the beach. Several people stood under the trees. Might one of them be Uncle Archie? They were too far away to make out clearly. As he peered at the photograph, Mr Nakajima returned, shutting the darkroom door firmly be
hind him.
‘Come, Lizard-san! Sit down, have some tea.’
‘I thought you only took photographs of people.’ Lizard’s eyes lingered on the Changi beach photograph as he sat down at the table and put his bag on the floor.
‘People, buildings, beaches, ships, planes; Nakajima takes photographs of all Singapore. I take photographs for the newspaper, you know. Even for the British Navy. Photographs of the British Naval Base. Very beautiful.’ Chuckling to himself, he put down the plate of snacks and poured out the tea, settling himself on a chair next to Lizard. The fragrant smell of roasted rice tea wafted into Lizard’s nostrils.
Just as Lizard was about to pick up his cup, he was startled to hear sweet piping chirps. ‘What’s that?’ he said, looking at the far corner of the studio from where the sound came.
‘Ah!’ said Mr Nakajima with a smile. ‘Marvellous! That is the first time my new pet has sung its beautiful song.’
Lizard saw a paper-covered screen on a table. There must be a bird in a cage behind the screen.
‘My little uguisu. In Japan, people believe spring has arrived when we hear the song of the uguisu bird.’ He took a sip of his tea. ‘You bring me luck, young Lizard. I have had it a month and this is the first time it sings.’
‘Why is it behind the screen?’
‘It encourages them to sing if you block out some of the light. Excuse me, Lizard-san, I must check it has enough water.’ He stepped to the table in the corner and moved the screen aside. He murmured softly in Japanese to the bird, while pouring water for it. Lizard craned his head and caught a glimpse of a beak through the bamboo bars of the cage. Mr Nakajima reached in and stroked the bird with a finger.
Lizard thought it must be hot and boring behind that screen. He wouldn’t feel like singing if he was stuck in that corner. ‘Can I see it?’ he asked.
‘Oh, it is nothing special to look at. Only its song is beautiful. Anyway, terrible thing, this stealing, isn’t it?’ Mr Nakajima sat back down again. ‘What did you see outside?’
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