A Whisper of Southern Lights Read Online Free Page B

the Japanese flag, I managed to sidle up beside Snelling.
    “Sergeant Major,” I said.
    He looked at me, frowning.
    “Did you see that bloke?”
    Snelling only nodded, looking away.
    “What was he after? What did he want? Was he a Jap stooge?”
    “Don’t think he was, no,” Snelling said. He stared up at the Japanese flag as if unwilling to look me in the eye.
    “So, what was he after, Sergeant Major?”
    “He was asking everyone whether they knew you.”
    “Me?” I walked on in silence. The shadow of the jail hit us, and I had a terrible premonition that this would be a place of doom and suffering and eternal damnation. I almost turned to run, and as panic rose and clasped my heart, a big hand closed around my bicep.
    “Don’t worry, Jack,” Sergeant Major Snelling said. “I told him no.”

Five
    THEY TOOK GABRIEL CLOSE to a park at the northern perimeter of Singapore.
    “Drop the rifle!” one of them shouted. “Drop the rifle, drop the rifle!”
    Gabriel obeyed, and another soldier darted in and snatched it up.
    “This way now!” the Japanese said. He was taller than the others, leaner, and there was a splash of blood on his cheek.
    “Where are you taking me?” Gabriel asked.
    “You’re a prisoner now.”
    Good,
Gabriel thought.
One step closer.
    “Your eye?”
    Gabriel frowned, then felt the blood dribbling down his face. “An old wound,” he said.
    The soldier stepped forward and came very close to Gabriel, staring at the patch. “Take it off, throw it here,” he said.
    Gabriel sighed. He’d liked that lady in Verona. He took off the patch and lobbed it at the soldier, who caught it from the air and plunged it deep into his pocket. He looked up at Gabriel and paused, staring at his hollowed, scarred eye socket.
    “Old wound?”
    “Very.”
    “Still bleeding.”
    “It’s been upset.”
    The soldier stared at Gabriel for a while, his expression perplexed. Then he nodded. “This way.”
    The four of them moved off alongside the park. They were heading south, deeper into the city, and Gabriel hoped he had done the right thing. He could escape if he wanted to; he was sure of that. But he had no wish to add several bullet and bayonet wounds to his collection of scars.
    As they passed the southern tip of the park, Gabriel saw a pile of bodies wearing British uniforms. There must have been at least thirty of them there, gathered around a destroyed machine-gun emplacement. They had obviously been executed—there were no weapons in sight, and some of them were wearing no boots or trousers.
    The tall soldier glanced back at Gabriel, then forward again. “Don’t worry,” he said, obviously confident that his two companions could not understand what he was saying. “Not all Japanese will do that.”
    “Whose blood is that on your cheek?”
    “My own.”
    As the hours went by, they gathered more prisoners, more guards, and moved farther south.

    They arrived at Changi Prison. Gabriel entered with two dozen others, and he took a while to realise that the Japanese were leaving the POWs on their own. There were guards on the walls and no doubt more stationed outside, but within the main building itself, there were only the defeated.
    There were thousands of men inside. There were no toilets that flushed, and the stink was horrendous. Many men still carried food, and they shared it as best they could. Gabriel was just one of many who seemed to be wandering the buildings, searching for their units or friends. Nobody stopped him, though his bloodied eye socket and gnarled face drew curious glances. Eventually, he fashioned a tie from his shirtsleeve, wrapping it around his head and covering the hollowed eye. He hoped that looking like a seasoned soldier would give him anonymity.
    Every face he looked at could have been the man he sought. He had no way of finding out without asking, and asking would quickly draw attention. He did not want that.
    Because Temple was close.
    Even on his approach to the