The Golden Flask (11 page)

And the boy...

"You're a girl," said Jake, rising. His push into her had proven the matter beyond doubt.

"I'm as strong as any boy my age," she replied, bolt
ing up after him. "And I'll get you, Tory bastard."

She tried to make up for mishandling the gun by
wrestling the intruder to the ground. Jake picked her up in his arms, twirled her around the room as she
flailed, and, as gently as possible, tossed her at her fa
ther. The pair collapsed backward into the fireplace,
sending a spray of dust and embers into the room. Jake
picked up the blunderbuss from the floor where it fell, stomped on the cinders to keep them from starting a fire on the chestnut floorboards.

"What will you do with us now, Sir Tory?" demanded the keeper indignantly after retrieving himself from the fire.

"I'm not a Tory," said Jake. As the man had proved himself a stout if less than fully effective champion of the Cause, the spy decided to trust him. He reached into his sock and pulled out the paper with Washington's signature. "Few deserters carry a warrant from the commander-in-chief," he said.

The keeper grabbed his daughter as she was about to fly into Jake. "Read these for me," he said, adding in an apologetic voice, "the light here is too dim for me."

Which, of course, wasn't true; though Jake thought it more polite not to mention that fact, especially as it had possibly saved his life a moment ago, the keeper deciding to bluff rather than actually discovering the evidence against him.

The girl could read very well, and she was soon nodding at her father, telling him in an awed voice that the man they had tried to arrest could charge "whatsoever honest amount he deems appropriate" and was "to be regarded with respect" as dictated by His Excellency, General Washington.

"A hundred apologies, sir. A thousand, indeed. Paul Brown, at your service. Ask for anything. This is a patriot house. Stout patriots, as the neighbors will attest. Let me get you something to eat and drink. You must be tired after our — our discussion as it were."

"It has been a long day," allowed Jake, replacing the pass in its hiding place.

The keeper showed him to a seat at a table near the fireplace and presented him with a wooden bowl of baked beans and a full pewter tankard of very hard cider.

"Those beans are our best," said Brown, who was now hospitable to a fault, fussing over each bite Jake
took. "Alison learned the recipe from her mother, God
rest her soul. Daughter takes after her, lucky for me."

"Your wife dressed as a boy?"

"I am close to the river here, sir, and not far from
the British for all that," said Brown. "With a fifteen-
year-old girl, well, as you appear to be a man acquainted
with military matters, I need not tell you of certain indecencies the British have taken of late in this prov
ince. What I said before is true; there are strong rumors of redcoat raids this evening."

But her father's opinion and Alison's reasons for wearing breeches were perhaps not in total harmony. For the girl clearly chafed as he spoke.

"I'm not afraid of any British soldier," she declared.
Her pants were a size or so too big, as was her shirt,
but Jake judged that she would soon burst out in ways that shorn hair and rough clothes could not disguise. "I
am as brave as any boy, and twice as strong."

Jake smiled at her.

"I am, sir. And I am as great a lover of freedom as
anyone in the country, of any gender. I wish to serve
the Cause and enlist. Other women have done so, and
helped out quite handsomely."

"Hush now, Alison. Let the man eat."

"Please, sir, if you know General Washington, take me to him. I would like to be a soldier."

"Alison!"

Jake looked up from his food, bemused. "A strong
patriot, eh?"

"As strong as anyone."

"You make good beans."

"Do not try to sweeten me with your tongue, sir. I know that is what spies are always doing."

"What makes you think I am a spy?"

"With a note from General Washington and a direc
tion toward New York, what else would you be?"

Jake winked at her father. "I wouldn't think of join
ing the army if I were you," he said. "Sleeping on the ground
night after night puts a sharp kink in your back.
And the food is not as good as this."

"You mock me, sir." Alison stood before him at the
table, hands on her hips.

"I do have need of a guide," said Jake, addressing
her father. "I would like to find the most inconspicuous
way to a ferry near Perth Amboy. I realize I'm quite a
distance off."

"You are indeed, sir," whistled the keeper. "You'll
never make Perth tonight, and would spend a good
portion of tomorrow, if not the next day. It's in British
hands, besides."

"I need to be in Manhattan by daybreak."

Brown shook his head. "There are ways to the island, but tonight —"

"I can take him, father. He should cut straight to Torman's, descend the Palisades, and find a boat there."

"Hush, dear, we don't want to interfere in the man's business."

"Actually, sir, I'd be happy for your help," said Jake.
"And another share of this food."

Alison took the plate and refilled it.

"You are asking much," said Brown. "My home would be undefended. Even some of my neighbors covet it."

"If you can spare a few hours to guide me," Jake told him, "you would do our Cause a great deal of good."

"Let me go instead, father. You have to mind the
inn. I know the way as well as you, and shortcuts be
sides."

A complicated series of looks crossed the poor innkeeper's face. While his instincts told him the man before him was in great need, he had no real proof that
he should trust him beyond the letter from Washing
ton. Truly, such a document could be easily forged; nei
ther Brown nor his daughter had the vaguest notion what Washington's hand was like. But the tavern keeper was a strong patriot, determined to see the Cause prevail. Sacrifice was demanded of all, and chances had to be taken or the
British would never be beaten. He could guide Jake to
the river and be back by daybreak — a small risk, surely.

"I will take you," Brown finally decided. "As soon as
you are ready."

"I am ready now," said Jake, taking a last bite and
then draining the cider. "Let us get something for my
horse and be off."

"Father, please take me, you must." Alison wrapped
herself around her father like a snake around a tree.

"It is too dangerous," said Brown, but it was clear from his voice that he was wavering.

"Listen to your father," suggested Jake.

"I have the gun," Alison told her father. "I am the best shot in the neighborhood, you know it."

"Better for you to stay."

Alison took a shy glance at Jake, then put her arm
gently on her father's arm. "But, papa, please. If it's
not too dangerous for you, it won't be for me. We are a
pair; you have said so yourself many times."

The keeper sighed. In truth, he had never refused his
daughter the slightest favor since his wife had died.
This was nothing more than a quick midnight ride, and
perhaps it would quench her thirst for adventure.

"All right. Come along."

Jake scowled, but decided against objecting. He
wanted to leave as quickly as possible, and did not want
to risk his guide changing his mind.

And really, how much trouble could a young woman
be, even one who insisted on wearing breeches?

Chapter Ten

Wherein, the river is not quite reached.

T
he innkeeper and his
daughter were most efficient
guides, taking Jake across a succession of open mead
ows and close woods in the moonlight as easily as if they were riding down city streets. The keeper, who
inside had appeared anything but athletic, proved to be
a considerable horseman, and his skills had obviously
been passed on to his daughter.

The willingness of ordinary folk to do extraordinary
things in the name of Freedom continually amazed
Jake. Many times he had been helped, even saved, by
some farmer or housewife, who under other circum
stances might have lived the most undisturbed life since Methuselah.

While he was more than happy to take advantage of
their assistance, the spy also felt some obligation to
repay their kindness. In this case, it seemed to him he
could do that by informing Alison of the hard dangers of soldiering, in case she should run away and try to
join the army. But every remark he made as they rode
was answered by some optimistic comment. She loved
the mud; she could exist for weeks on gruel; the damp
earth invigorated her when she slept. She was three times as tricky as any boy, and able to hold her own should it come to that.

Jake could hear her father sighing beneath his breath; evidently these arguments had been made before.

Finally, she capped her retorts by declaring that if
she couldn't join the line and march, then certainly she
would become a spy such as her new friend, who was
obviously not subject to the deprivations he was boast
ing so strongly of.

"I wonder, have you ever met Abigail Adams?" Jake
asked, huffing a moment as he muscled his horse over a hedge.

Alison cleared the obstruction without the slightest
exertion, and answered that she had not.

"You would like her. She is a Boston lady with ideas
as bold as yours and wit twice as sharp."

"Then we shall have a pleasant time shooting redcoats together," retorted the girl.

The trio passed over a large creek and found a wide
road. They traveled along it briefly, then crossed back
into a cultivated cornfield and found an old path through a fallow field. The moon, missing only the slightest sliver, illuminated their way so completely they left the torches the innkeeper had prepared unlit.

The keeper had stuck an old, rusty sword in his sad
dle scabbard. Alison had been allowed to wield the
blunderbuss. She rode with it across her saddle, half-
cocked. Her father had made her take the precaution
of securing the lock mechanism with a twig that pre
vented accidental firing; he claimed that it was faulty
and given to slipping. Twig or no twig, Jake made sure
to stay out of the line of fire.