The Man Who Would Be King

I've come back.

Give me a drink, brother Kipling.

Don't you know me?

No.

I don't know you.

Who are you?

What can I do for you?

I told you, give me a drink.

It was all settled…

…right here in this office.

Remember?

Danny and me signed the contract…

…and you witnessed it.

You…

…stood over there.

I stood there.

And Daniel stood here.

Remember?

Carnehan.

Peachy Taliaferro Carnehan.

Of course.

Keep looking at me.

It helps to keep my soul from flying off.

Carnehan.

The same…

…and not the same who sat beside you in the first-class carriage…

…on the train to Marwar Junction…

…three summers and a thousand years ago.

Jodhpur, please.

Blast.

May I?

Riding in this bloody ash cart…

…is like getting kicked in the rear by a battery mule every ten minutes.

Mr. Clutterbury Das…

…failed entrance examination, Calcutta University, 1863.

Writer of correspondence for the illiterate general public.

Shut up.

Thank you, sir.

Out the window, babu.

Thank you, sir.

Outside, you inky-fingered thief.

- And I hope you break your dirty neck. - Thank you, sir.

Good God, man, you might have killed the chap.

Serves him right if I had.

But we're not making five miles an hour on this grade.

But why?

I caught him stealing your watch.

My watch?

I say, it is my watch.

Well.

I'm very much obliged to you, Mr…?

Carnehan. Former gunnery sergeant in Her Majesty's Forces.

Mine's Kipling.

- May I offer you a drink? - I don't mind if I do.

You've knocked about India a bit, I take it?

You can say that twice. On foot, on horseback and on camel.

But you don't look too green yourself, either.

No, I was born in India.

Great country, or was till the bureaucrats took over and ruined everything.

- I hope you're not one of them. - No, I'm not a bureaucrat.

No, I didn't think so.

They're usually narrow-chested chaps with long noses for looking down at you…

…and I've yet to have one of them offer me a drink.

Glenlivet, 12 years old.

You've an educated taste in whiskey.

I've an educated taste in whiskey and women…

…waistcoats and bills of fare…

…but I've had few chances to exercise it lately.

Because them that governs spend all their time making up new laws…

…to stop men like you and me from getting anywhere.

And who's loss is it? Why England's, of course.

If such as we were given our heads, it wouldn't be 70 millions…

…she'd be making in revenues, it'd be 700 millions. Right?

Yes, I quite agree. Yes.

- Where are you heading for? - Jodhpur.

Will you be travelling back along this line?

- In about ten days time. - Could you make it eight?

I must get a message to a man who'll be travelling through Marwar Junction…

…on the Bombay Mail on the night of the 24th.

He expects me to meet him, but I can't.

- I've got urgent business in the south. - I'm sorry, I can't help you there.

Supposing I was to ask you…

…as a stranger going to the west…

…to seek for that which was lost.

What would you say then?

I should answer, "Where do you come from?"

From the east, and I am hoping that you will give my message…

…on the square for the sake of the widow's son.

Which lodge do you hail from?

Travelling Lodge 3276, the Fore and Fit.

The Queen's Own Royal Loyal Light Infantry, Regimental District 329A.

- To whom shall I deliver the message? - Daniel Dravot.

- Dravot? - Yes.

A big man with long gray sideboards. A great swell he is.

You'll find him surrounded by his luggage in a first-class compartment.

But don't you be afraid, just slip the window down and say:

"Peachy's gone south for the week."

Peachy's gone south for the week.

Yes, and he'll tumble.

Well, I'll be getting off now before we reach the station.

By the way, brother Carnehan…

…I missed my watch in the station at Lahore…

…before boarding the train.

How was I to know you were a Mason?

Oh!

What's this?

God's holy trousers, tickets again?

Is your name Dravot, sir?

Hm?

I'm to say that Peachy has gone south for the week.

He's gone south for the week.

Did he say I was to give you anything for telling me this? Because I won't.

- No, he didn't. - Then why did you do it?

For the sake of the widow's son.

- Oh. - Heh, heh, heh.

- He said south, did he? - Yes.

Then that'll be Degumber.

Since you're a pal of Peachy's, I don't mind telling you.

We're going to put the screw on the rajah for what he did to his mother-in-law.

Filled her with red peppers, hung her over a beam and flogged her to death.

You mean to say that you intend to blackmail him?

Man, you wouldn't get out of Degumber alive.

If they don't cut your throats, they'll certainly poison you.

Both's been tried more than once, but Peachy and me, we don't kill easy.

But the rajah's an independent ruler, he answers to nobody. Ha, ha, ha.

How do you hope to put the screw on him?

By telling him we're correspondents for The Northern Star.

You can't. You can't do that. You can't do that.

Because I am the correspondent of The Northern Star!

You what?

I'm the correspondent of The Northern Star!

Eh? What did you say, brother?

As you know, Kipling, we took them at the Degumber Border…

…so there's a question of jurisdiction involved.

But a charge of conspiracy to blackmail might be brought.

I didn't lay this information before you as a criminal prosecution, sir…

…only to save their lives.

Then may I ask what particular interest you have in these scoundrels?

Well, they… They happen to be…

…Freemasons, like myself.

Freemasons?

Those chaps? I should think you'd strike them off your roll.

Once a Mason, always a Mason.

Never could understand how perfectly pukka chaps, like yourself…

…can go about on public occasions wearing aprons and sashes…

…shaking hands with total strangers.

Just what is Masonry, Kipling?

It's an ancient order dedicated to the brotherhood of man…

…under the all-seeing eye of God.

We should've done well to have left that sort of thing behind us in England.

It can never work here.

There are tales that it did work here before we ever came.

Some audacious scholars can even trace it back to the builders of Solomon's Temple.

Hm. Old wives' tales, I suspect.

Yes, in all likelihood, sir.

Well, let's have a look at your lodge brothers.

Right turn.

Halt.

Hats off.

You men are not under arrest…

…thanks to Mr. Kipling here, who happens to be a genuine correspondent…

…for The Northern Star.

But both of you richly deserve to be in jail.

I have your records before me.

There's everything in them…

…from smuggling to swindling to receiving stolen goods…

…to bare-faced blackmail.

Sir, I resent the accusation of blackmail.

It is blackmail to obtain money by threats of publishing information in a newspaper.

But what blackmail is there in accepting a small retainer…

…for keeping it out of a newspaper?

And how did you propose to keep it out?

By telling the editor what I know about his sister…

…and a certain government official in these parts.

Let him put that in his paper if he has need of news.

It would have been wiser if you had gone home at the end of your army service.

Home to what?

A porter's uniform outside a restaurant and tanner tips from belching civilians…

…for closing doors on them and their blowzy women?

Not after watching Afghans come howling down out of the hills…

…and taking battlefield command when the officers had copped it.

Well said, brother Dravot.

There may be no criminal charges against you…

…but I'll see these files reach Calcutta…

…with the recommendation that you be deported as political undesirables.

Detriments to the dignity of the Empire and the izzat of the Raj.

Detriments you call us? Detriments?

I want to remind you it was detriments like us…

…that built this bloody Empire and the izzat of the bloody Raj.

Hats on.

About turn.

By the left, quick march.

Left…

…turn.

There's no need to let any of this get into the Star…

- …I take it, Kipling? - Huh?

No, no.

Copy.

My God. You two.

What do you want this time?