The Golden Flask (25 page)

"My sister and brother-in-law are here from England," said Bauer.

"How pleasant," answered Keen. "I have not seen Lord Buckmaster in quite some time. I believe I
treated him for an ailment similar to yours some years
before he married your sister."

Bauer's face immediately brightened. In his case, Keen's cure had gotten to the cause of the disease as
well as the symptoms, taking care to remove a certain
individual who could have complicated his life to a great degree. He wondered whether the same service had been performed for his brother-in-law. In any
event, the doctor had just generously given him ammu
nition against his lordship, should he ever need any.

Though his manner remained brusque, Keen was in
fact treading cautiously, careful not to give away the true nature of his situation. It would not do to let Bauer have any power over him.

"I was in the vicinity," said Keen. "I had hoped to meet a friend."

"A friend?"

Assured from the tone that he had left Bauer with the implication that he was seeking a fellow agent,
Keen proceeded to describe Jake carefully — without
using his name. "He is a fellow doctor, in a sense," he noted. "I had hoped to meet him when he came to the
island. He has been away.”

"Where?"

Keen smiled. "He is quite a traveler, my friend."

"His name?"

"It is perhaps best not to say."

"When did he arrive?"

"I believe within the last day, though it is possible I am returning before him. He is the sort much given to delay. I am sure you know the type."

"Indeed. There was a man here this morning who washed up on shore. His name was Jake Stone or some other such thing, and he said nothing of you, nor of being a doctor."

"I would hope he would not."

"I think him a poor spy. He quickly gave himself away and even mentioned Bacon."

Keen smiled, not bothering to inform Bauer how completely he had been fooled. "I have had some association with General Sir Henry myself," said the doctor. "I would not think one of his men would give himself away."

"Bacon's intelligence people are not as smart as you believe. We are not enemies, General Bacon and I. Nor are our people. You are here, for example."

"Come now, surely you don't believe I am in his employ. I am assigned to the admiralty as a surgeon and doctor."

"Who rarely is aboard ship and is free to come and go as he pleases?"

Keen shrugged. "I wonder where my friend got to."

"Perhaps my sister Patricia could tell you more. She spent some time with him, seeing to his breakfast."

Keen stroked his chin thoughtfully, as if considering whether speaking to her was worth the effort. A few minutes later, he was listening as Lady Patricia recounted the entire meeting. Her continued reference to the man as being "unexceptional" told the doctor she felt otherwise.

"He was pleasant enough, but he seemed mainly interested in getting to the city. I encouraged him.”

Keen nodded. Lady Patricia had changed from her
morning white to a high-waisted gown whose yellow
was the bright shade of spring's first daffodils. Though
near forty, her face had a radiant, youthful smile, and her charm and grace could easily beguile a much younger man.

To say nothing of Keen himself. Her husband was a
weakling, easily managed out of the way.

But duty called. Gibbs would not wait for him.

Perhaps Gibbs would return for Bauer, however. Had he been sent to assassinate him, then warned off
by the guards? Clearly he was after the Tory — Keen's
best path might well be to shadow the man.

"His eyes perked up when I mentioned the theater,"
said Lady Patricia. "I thought he was going to say
something about it, but my brother insisted on domi
nating the conversation."

"The theater. You have been?"

"We are going this evening," said Lady Patricia. "Af
ter some supper and a few errands. We should leave soon, if we are going to eat."

"The theater in New York is surprisingly good," hinted Keen.

"So I have been telling my sister," said Bauer, his tone a harsh hint to Keen.

Which went unheeded.

"I go at every opportunity," said the doctor.

"Perhaps you would join us this evening," said Lady
Patricia. Her tone was stiff. She did not truly want Keen to accompany them, but extended the invitation
for form's sake. In England, it would be completely
understood that she had meant the invitation for po
liteness only.

"I am in the mood for entertainment," said Keen. "Thank you, I accept your invitation."

"Lord Peter Alain is coming with us," said Bauer,
hoping that would put Keen off.

On the contrary. The doctor saw quickly that the
young fool might actually be useful. Keen had recently
supplied him with certain medicines on account, and he would no doubt gladly make inquiries after Gibbs to discharge the debt. These would not attract the same attention as Keen's. Meanwhile, the doctor would stay close to Bauer in case an attempt was made at the theater.

To say nothing of being near Bauer's sister, reluctant though she might be. Keen rose, extending his arm. "M'lady, I am at your beck and call this evening."

"Come then, let me get my husband," said Lady Patricia, ruining the moment.

Chapter Twenty-two

Wherein, Claus van Clynne spies an old acquaintance
.

T
he tailor whose shop
Claus van Clynne sought was
located not far from the tanning yards. It was a good
distance from the Sons of Liberty hideout, and the Dutch squire would have readily accepted a ride, had one been proffered. It was not, nor was van Clynne a
man who would readily condescend to hire a hack. He
therefore contented himself with walking.

Despite his airs and general habits, the Dutchman
could mount a considerable pace when motivated, and
there was no motivation higher in his mind than the
rightful return of his property. Having received a full briefing of the mission from Jake, van Clynne realized that this golden flask was for him a golden opportunity; Washington would react with joyful gratitude when the
Dutchman rode into camp tomorrow with the news he
was about to discover. There was little doubt but that
the commander-in-chief would dispatch a company of men to immediately enforce van Clynne's claims on the
purloined estate.

The squire's suit had been severely punished during
his recent travails, and so he had a ready job with
which to occupy the man and divert his attention. In
addition, some months before van Clynne had ar
ranged to supply the tailor with a good load of buttons
at a considerable profit; he planned to broach the subject now in case a similar opportunity might present itself.

It should be noted that, while his hate of all things
English remained strong and healthy, van Clynne's love
of profit was equally vigorous. If he would not sacrifice
the former for the latter, he would certainly endeavor
to shave or stretch the bounds of both to avoid conflict.

The Dutchman's course ambled across the foot of
Golden Hill in view of the harbor, though his personal
gaze consisted steadfastly of dry land. He had
well
filled his month's quotient for wetness these past few days. Though perhaps not as active as before the war,
the port still did a lusty business, and the usual merchant vessels were greatly supplemented by military
ships and freelancers operating under what polite soci
ety referred to as letters of marque, and more simple
folk called pirates. The body of water between Man
hattan and Long Island was dotted with masts; if it was
not quite the forest some commentators have compared it to, it was still a bit more than open meadow.

The red bricks of the tailor shop soon crowded into
the Dutchman's landlocked view, jutting toward the street in a peculiarly lopsided fashion. Quinton van Tassel had been speaking of repairing these for the
many years van Clynne had known him. One thing or
another had prevented him from letting the contract, but he never failed to mention his resolve to fix the bricks when he spoke with a customer, and today was no exception. Never mind that the two men had not seen each other for several months; the wall and the failing foundation beneath it were the first topic broached.

"The work must be done," opined Quinton without
explanation as van Clynne entered the shop, "but fifty
guilders is the lowest estimate, and too dear at half that."

"I quite agree," said van Clynne. "The worst part is, there is not a good Dutch mason left in the precinct to
do the work.”

"Aye, nor do they make bricks properly anymore,"
said Quinton. "The clay is defective."

"As is the water, a key ingredient. To say nothing of
the trowels."

"Aye, the trowels. A sorry state." The tailor took a
step back and surveyed van Clynne's suit. "A fine out
fit, but in need of a patch and tuck," he declared. "And
some pressing."

"No time for pressing," said van Clynne. "As for the
repairs: how much?"

"Three guilders' worth."

"Outrageous! I could have an entire suit for half."

"Indeed. The cloth alone would come to six."

"I bought the suit for less than three guilders."

"Your father might have. It dates from then."

"For two guilders I'd expect a fine French weave, and see it pressed."

"You find me in a generous mood," said the tailor,
extending his arm.

"I would need the work done on account," mentioned van Clynne after handing over the coat. "As I have recently been separated from my resources."

The tailor's face changed several shades as he promptly flung the coat back to van Clynne.

"I do not believe I heard you properly. Did the word
'account' pass your lips?"

"Indeed," lamented van Clynne. "But considering the affair of the buttons ..."

"An arrangement to which I was forced only by se
vere want."

"As I am now."

The two men jabbed at each other for a good five
minutes. In the end, Quinton agreed to accept four
guilders for the work in two months' time, or five in
three, along with a goodly supply of cloth at a reduced
rate, when this could be arranged by mutual consent. He took up some thread and needle and promptly began the close stitch to repair the tear which ran along one pocket. In truth, his skills justified his fee, as he
could put upwards of twenty-five stitches per inch. His
stitches always looked more decoration than patch.