The Golden Flask (24 page)

“
You describe me perfectly,” said van Clynne. “But I cannot claim to have sired you. Why are you dressed as a boy, when you are clearly girl? Why is your hair fixed that way?”

“
How do you know I am a girl?” she said indignantly.

“
The Dutch can tell such things.”

“
Alison,” said Jake, emerging from the office. “I’d almost forgotten about you. Culper is going to try and find you a job at the coffeehouse. In the meantime, you can spend the night here. Why are you still wearing breeches? I thought Daltoons was going to find you a dress?”

The lieutenant, just emerging at the stairs, shrugged and mumbled words to the effect that she had a mind of her own. Like any well-trained officer of the continental corps, he had long ago learned to choose his battles wisely.

“
I don’t want to work in a coffeehouse,” said Alison. “Not while there is a war to be won.”

“
Listen to me, young lady.” Jake caught her arm and held it tightly. “The first thing you must know about the army is that when a superior gives you an order, you follow it.”

“
I have heard this speech,’ remarked van Clynne into his cup. “A mission has but one chief.”

“
A mission has but one chief,” continued Jake. “And I am it. You are a followers, and a follower follows orders.”

“
But, Father – “

“
I am not a father!”

“
Is that a blanket denial?” asked van Clynne. “Or a specific point?”

“
You stay out of this.”

“
Gladly,” said the squire as he rose. “I make it a habit never to interfere in a family quarrel.”

“
This is not a family quarrel.”

“
As you wish.”

“
This is a deadly serious business, Alison,” Jake warned. “I cannot play governess any longer.”

“
Governess! Is that what you think of me, a child?” Alison said.

“
You’re young. And – “

“
And a woman, is that it?”

“
You’re still a girl.”

“
I am fifteen, and as brave as any man. I want to fight for our freedom.”

“
No boy your age would be allowed to join the army.”

“
Piffle. I know many who have.”

“
Enough,” said Jake. “Working for Culper is the same as working for General Washington. If you want to be treated like a soldier, act like one and follow orders.”

“
But, Father – “

“
And if you call me father one more time, I’ll have you whipped before the entire company.’

“
They should like that, I expect,” said the girl, folding her arms before her.

Chapter Twenty-one

Wherein, Dr. Keen makes his way back into our story.

A
fter leaving the weaver
, Major Dr. Harland Keen
headed to the river near Tappan in as foul a mood as any man since Hudson found it necessary to concede
his craft drew too much draft to pursue the passage to
India up these waters. It was by now well past mid
night. Any boat Keen spied would be his for the taking,
but he feared some random guard or sentry near the
docked ferries might cause complications. So he con
tinued south to an area with less settlement, spotting a
large, old flatboat as he drove his wagon over a pine-
planked bridge spanning a creek that emptied into the
river.

While Dr. Keen was a man on the other side of fifty
and had spent much of his life in London besides, he was still in reasonable shape. His physique was aided
by certain substances of his own concoction which he
imbibed from time to time. He took one of these
now — a small pill whose major ingredient was distilled
from a member of the nightshade family,
Daturastra
monium
— before climbing down from his carriage to
inspect the craft.

This was nothing more than a serviceable vessel, of
the type commonly used by farmers to carry wagons
across the river. Several years had passed since its paint
began chipping off, but otherwise the boat appeared
sound and relatively solid; ropes were conveniently tied
to cleats at the bottom where the wheels of a vehicle
could be secured.

A house sat on a small rise a hundred yards away,
with a grouping of farm buildings just beyond. Keen
briefly considered going there and impressing the inhabitants in the manner of the navy. But free labor was
hardly worth the risks or the delay, and besides, the pill
was already starting to have its effect. He took off his
coat and vest, laying them carefully inside the coach. Rolling up his sleeves, he went to the horses and care
fully led them onto the vessel, pulling their heads firmly despite their brief nickers of protest. He sliced the ropes holding the boat to shore, picked up the large pole paddle, and was off.

There was a moment, just before he reached the
middle of the river, when the tide slipped back. A
nother man might have thought the luck that had brought him to the craft had now gone against him.
But Keen merely pushed his oar harder, and the boat
rewarded him with a swift slide toward the opposite
shore. A bright moon gave him plenty of light to steer
by, and he soon found a landing on the other side of the water.

He would not have paused at a tollhouse had he
seen one, nor did he hesitate as he drove his team onto the south road near the river. The land here was called neutral, meaning that both sides claimed it and neither
could control it. The doctor's earlier adventures had
made it somewhat familiar, and Keen realized that he
had only to go a few miles south to find Dobbs Ferry,
which was a Tory haven.

A Loyalist militiaman attached to a British guard
unit was posted near the road when Keen arrived two
hours before dawn. In actual fact, the man was fulfill
ing his duty with a surfeit of snores; he was stretched
out with his head against a pile of wood and his bayo
net idling nearby. Keen kicked the musket into the
woods with disdain. When this failed to wake the man,
he turned his boot to the laggard's ribs.

"I am Major Dr. Harland Keen," he said over the
man's groans. "Take me to your commander immedi
ately."

The guard's reaction was to reach for his musket,
moving in slow motion as if still dreaming. When his
hand failed to discover it, he reached further; finally he
rolled over as if flopping in bed. Keen was in no mood for this. He bent and grabbed the sentry's neck, hauling
him up with a sharper grasp than a huntsman chastising a young pup.

"I will give you a choice: you will take me to your
captain now, or I will take you to your Creator. Which
do you prefer?"

"Th-the captain," stuttered the unfortunate soldier, who received one last kick from Keen's well-crafted shoe as he hurried into action.

His commander proved to be a hardened lifer who had been up and down the command ranks several
times, advancing as high as major twice before de
scending to start again. He did not take kindly to being
woken in his bed by his private, but his reaction was
•somewhat different when Keen plunged the end of his
walking stick into his stomach.

"You will rise and find me fresh horses to pull my
carriage, and an escort to King's Bridge," said the doc
tor. "You will do so quickly."

"Who the devil are you?"

"I am Major Dr. Harland Keen, of General Bacon's
staff. And if you ask another question, I will answer with the sharp end of my stick, instead of the blunt
knob I have in your stomach. Be thankful that I do not
have any more explosive powder for its charge, or you
would be examining the floorboards through the hole in your middle right now."

Similar rough treatment of fellow members of His Maj
esty's service brought the doctor to Manhattan toward
four
p.m.
He learned one piece of good news along the
way: Bacon, along with his aides, had gone out to the
ships with Howe. Keen was thus afforded a brief op
portunity to intercept Gibbs and dispose of him without his knowledge.

But finding the rebel spy in the city could easily
prove as difficult as catching him on the road south of
New Windsor. Keen was loath to call on the military
establishment for direct assistance for several reasons, the most prominent being that General Bacon might
inadvertently be informed. Besides, Gibbs wasn't likely
to present himself to them for their inspection.

The first time they had tangled, Gibbs had infiltrated
a Loyalist ranger group and foiled their plans to de
stroy the chain blocking the upper Hudson against the
fleet. The next time, Gibbs had been meeting with In
dians and assorted whites friendly to the king. Keen, who had never had a chance to properly question him
on the matter, hypothesized that dealing with Loyalists
must be his enemy's specialty. Perhaps in coming to
the city of New York he was aiming a direct blow at the
men responsible for Loyalist spying throughout the several colonies.

And so, starting with a few hints and prejudices,
Keen worked out a sound plan, deciding to call on ci
vilian officials in a position to interest Gibbs. At the very top of his list was Clayton Bauer, whose house
being north of the city proper made the late afternoon
stop particularly convenient. Keen prepared his face
with a slight touch of rouge, lightening his heavy jowl
before descending from his carriage and walking up the precisely laid path to the front door.

This solid piece of wood was meant to be most im
posing. Carved completely from a chestnut tree several
hundred years old and polished with the same care a gemstone would receive, it glowed a garish hue that
clashed with the rustic hillside leading down to the river.

Keen curled his lip in contempt, thinking of how easy it was to make a fortune in America, but how difficult to display it properly.

* * *

His Colonial host met him in the front parlor with a
less than enthusiastic gait, ushering him toward a settee with a perfunctory gesture.

"I hope you are well," said Bauer with a voice that
suggested otherwise.

"And I assume that you have gotten over the Portu
guese ailment."

The unsubtle reminder that Keen had cured Bauer's
venereal disease a few months before was all the doctor needed to demonstrate his power over him. Bauer
nodded, gave up his pitiful airs, and waved a hand to the servant, dismissing him.