The Golden Flask (49 page)

"What the hell has Howe done, the incompetent windbag?" complained Bauer. "What of Clinton?"

"Summoned by Howe the very day you were killed. Or shot, rather."

"Should we send a message to his brother-in-law?" v
an Clynne asked Daltoons. "There is, after all, the
question of my fee."

"I am sure you'll be paid," said Daltoons. "Do you want us to send to them?"

Before Bauer could reply, there was a sharp volley of
gunfire outside.

"Damn," said Daltoons. "The rebel sympathizers
have launched many raids from within our borders,
emboldened by their nearby army. I assure you, I
will protect you as I have these past six weeks. It is a matter of honor. Doctor, take care of him. I will have a
squad of men to escort you to the boat when there is
no hope of defense. Do not hesitate when they arrive."

Daltoons exited. Van Clynne rolled up his sleeves
and mixed the salt in a glass of water, as if preparing a
treatment.

"What is this?" Clayton demanded as the glass was
offered to him.

"An emetic," said the pseudo-physician. "Your spleen must be vacated."

"Thank you, I think not."

The Dutchman shrugged. "As you wish." He placed
the glass on the bureau. "Should I send a message to your brother-in-law his lordship?"

Clayton hesitated before answering.

"Yes."

"Well? How shall I find them?"

"Send after Howe."

"The general or the admiral?"

"The general, you idiot."

"Excuse me, sir, but I think that you would show a bit more respect for the man who saved your life."

Bauer scowled. "If the general has taken Boston as
he planned, then I assume they are there. Though they
may just as well be back in England."

"Here, let me make you comfortable."

And with that, the Dutchman flicked some sleeping
powder into Bauer's nose, sending him back off to slumber.

Chapter Forty-one

Wherein, the coffee is putrid, and a new plan is hatched to verify the results of the old.

J
ake drummed his fingers
on the pine farm table. The others – van Clynne, Daltoons, Eagans, Alison and two other Liertymen – sat at various stations around the stone-walled kitchen, waiting for his decision. Daltoons thought Bauer must have told them the truth, which meant Boston was the target. Van Clynne was convinced of just the opposite, contending that the Tory had somehow seen through their charade.

Jake wasn’t sure.
Their little play had gone off fairly
well; he'd sat with his ear to the wall and heard every
bit of it. But the
ill
logic of attacking Boston continued
to bother him. And something about Bauer's replies
seemed as fake to his ears as the others' lines.

"I have to have some other verification," said Jake
finally. "Bauer may have seen through our charade."

"What other proof can we get you?" asked
Daltoons. "Not even Culper has broken through their
silence."

Jake rose and went to the small fireplace on the side
of the room. He had to reach General Washington to
morrow morning with the information or the march for
Boston would begin. Already he envisioned the
soldiers gathering their things, advance parties ready
ing the road.

Jake pushed away a bunch of dried onions hanging
from the kitchen rafters as he walked to the side of the room. He turned there and walked back, trying to fer
tilize his thoughts with exercise. Alison had taken it
upon herself to make breakfast, though given the meager cupboard this was more an act of conjuring than
cooking. Three eggs, small enough to embarrass a hen
or perhaps embolden a sparrow, were fried with the help of some pork grease in the iron pan at the fire's
fore; these were multiplied in a sense with the help of a
few stale crusts that the mice had not deemed worthy
of attacking. The only things plentiful were onions, and
Alison had populated her omelet with two dozen of them, a fact the others noted grimly as they picked through the scrapings.

Except for Daltoons, who gobbled it down as anx
iously as if it were honey. "Just like my mother's cook
ing," he told the girl, who smiled at first but then resumed the businesslike pose copied from Jake.

Alison poked open the kettle and judged that the coffee was not quite done. The men did not seem up
set; indeed, as they had watched the ingredients being prepared, they were not in a mood to hurry the concoc
tion along. About a dozen beans, retrieved from the
bottom of a grinder, were supplemented with a chicory
weed, some grass and a handful of dried blueberries.

Or at least, they seemed to be dried blueberries. It was difficult to tell, as they appeared to have been dried several lifetimes before.

"If I return to Washington with the wrong informa
tion, it will be worse than not arriving at all," said Jake
finally. "I'm just not convinced."

"It is a shame that you had no truth potion," said
Daltoons. "Stuff some of that up his nose and we'd have the answer in a lick."

"Doctor Keen tried such a medicine on me during
one of our meetings," said the Dutchman. He had re
sponded to the news that his nemesis had died a second time with a contemptuous grunt. He had little doubt Keen would rise again. "It rendered me dizzy,
but was insufficient to loose my tongue. Of course, our
friend inside is not Dutch, but I would think no drug
foolproof."

"My people have an excellent method for extracting
information," said Egans. "Set him over a fire and put
the question to him."

"I agree," said Daltoons.

Jake frowned. "Too many people admit fantasies un
der torture. We could never trust what he said, especially now."

"Too bad we can't just release him and see what he
does," suggested Daltoons, rising to see if the coffee
might be ready. "He'd be bound to make a report to
someone."

"Why can't we do that?" asked Jake. "That's a great
idea, Mark."

"I think, sir, the effects of the bullet's drug are lin
gering in your brain," said van Clynne. "Or else the
fumes of the concoction our little friend is preparing.
Release him and let him report to Howe?"

Jake stepped toward Egans, staring into the white man's tattooed face. The paint he had been wearing during their first meeting had faded, but a hard mask
still obscured his emotions. "Have you met Bauer be
fore?"

"Never."

The man whose eyes were locked with his had tried
to murder him a few days before. Jake searched behind those green disks for some sign that he could trust him.
But
there are rarely obvious flags of a man's deeper
intentions. The white Indian could easily be part of a
ruse by Howe to throw the Americans off his track, just
as his letter might be. Perhaps Black Clay Bacon him
self had done Jake one better, arranging the show like an Italian puppet master.

Even Keen's death might have been faked.

"You will be a messenger for Howe," Jake told
Egans. "Sent from Burgoyne. Claus can arrange for the
necessary papers."

"I have them in my pocket," said the Dutchman, patting his jacket.

"We will deliver Bauer to his doorstep and revive him," said Jake. "Egans will arrive at nearly the next moment, exhausted from his flight south. He will be in the house when Bauer talks to his brother."

"How does this help?" asked Egans. "Am I to ask where Howe is?"

"No. You say nothing at all, only listen. Clayton will see that New York is not under attack. He will tell his sister what happened; he'll have to explain that he is alive. He will either be angry that he gave away the secret, or he will gloat that he fooled us. You will be in the room nearby; all you have to do is listen."

"He may not say where the attack truly is," said Daltoons.

"He will. He's too full of himself to keep his mouth shut in victory," said Jake.

"My opinion is firmly set on Philadelphia," van Clynne protested after the others had gone to see to the plan's contingencies. "The wig-maker's intelligence is impeccable, and I have never known one to lie."

"If I didn't think you might be right," said Jake, "I wouldn't be going back to Manhattan." He poured some of the strong liquid Alison had made into a cup for the Dutchman, then turned to the shelf to find one for himself.

"You're going back yourself? But Egans and Daltoons have just left."

"They have to find Culper's men at the rendezvous first. I'll still beat them."

One thing the Dutchman was good at: adding two and two and jumping to the proper conclusion. "You don't trust Egans, do you?"

"Why should I?"

"I would trust him as I trust my mother."

"You told me once you would never trust your mother." Jake sat at the table-and began sipping the
coffee concoction. Its taste was roughly akin to the
squeezings of a tortured boot, following an uphill
trudge through a berry bramble. "We cannot afford to
trust him."

"You must rely on blood, sir. When a Dutchman gives his word, it is as good as gold."

"I have seen gold hammered into many shapes," said
Jake. "Including a flask that very fortuitously fell into
our hands — exactly as it would if a charade were being
played. Doesn't his running across us both on our way
south bother you? Especially given Keen's appearance?"

"A coincidence, surely. I converted him to the truth."

"If he has come over to us, then both he and I will have the plan. In any event, the true destination will
come pouring out, no matter how complicated Howe's
ruse."

"You are walking into the lion's den," said van
Clynne. "If I did not know better, I might think you
interested in stealing another taste of the lady's lips."

"I'll be safe enough," answered Jake, who could not
conceal a slight smile.

Van Clynne sipped the coffee for the first time. "This
is worse than the vinegar they served me in prison."

"I don't know. I've had worse."

"I had forgotten the extent of your torture by the
Mohawk," said van Clynne. "I intend to complain to Culper of this at my earliest convenience. There are
standards to be kept if one is to undertake a secret mission. The least they could have done was have Smith leave some of his beer in the house."