The Golden Flask

Chapter Forty-one

Jake 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 tomorrow morning with the information or the march for Boston would begin. Already he envisioned the soldiers gathering their things, advance parties readying 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 fertilize 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 anxiously as if it were honey. "Just like my mother's cooking," 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 upset; indeed, as they had watched the ingredients being prepared, they were not in a mood to hurry the concoction 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 information, 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 responded 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 under 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 lingering 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 before?"

"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 himself 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."

"You better keep your voice down; you'll hurt Alison's feelings. She's the only one left in the house."

"Her feelings are incapable of being trampled, that much is clear," said the Dutchman. "She has the spirit of a herd of wild horses, and more energy than ten boys loosed from school for the summer."

"Speaking of Alison. ." Van Clynne immediately increased his guttural garrumphs, pulling at his beard as if to amplify the effect. "I do not think, sir, that I should be charged with minding her. It is a task without reward."

"Now how do you know what I'm thinking?"

"Your embarrassed smile quite gives you away when you are preparing to hand over an odious mission." Van Clynne sighed deeply. "The Dutch are as fond of children as any race, but I am afraid you will find me an exception to the general rule. Children and I do not mix; we are like the proverbial cruets of water and beer."

"She's clearly not a child any more, Claus. She seemed to grow five years in the past few days."

"Do not let the dress sway you, sir," warned van Clynne. "Many a man has been wiled into submission by the strategic swish of a skirt."

"Granted. But I know you won't be."

Van Clynne signaled his frustration by twirling his beard around his finger. "She is at a difficult age," he warned. "Fresh on the door of adulthood."

"I'm not asking you to raise her, just to take her to Culper. He's promised to find a place for her in Westchester."

"I must point out that it is quite impossible to govern the young where love is involved."

"How do you know she's in love?"

"I would think it obvious," said van Clynne, "from the way she moons about in your presence."

"My presence?"

"Absolutely."

"Nonsense. There was a boy on Long Island she fell in love with. He is a year or two younger than she, but I think it an excellent match. They will be very happy together."

Van Clynne snorted. "I tell you solemnly, sir, it's you she's interested in."

"Impossible," said Jake.

"No it's not!" Alison burst through the door from the other room, where she had stood listening to the entire conversation. "I'm not too young for you. Many girls my age marry."

Never on the battlefield had Jake been taken by such surprise. He stood stunned a full minute before replying.

"That's certainly true," he admitted gently, "but in this case, I think, it's more complicated."

"I shall like to watch you wrestle yourself out of this one," declared van Clynne. "I only wish I had some of Smith's excellent ale to assist my appreciation."

"Don't you have something to do, Claus?" asked Jake.

"No. Not at all. I have already spent a full day's exertion. . but perhaps I had best be getting some fresh air." It was not the look from Jake that changed the Dutchman's mind, but a glance from Alison twice as murderous.

The girl flew into Jake's arms as soon as the door shut.

"I loved you from the moment you swept me up in my father's inn," she declared. "Couldn't you tell?"

"You are beautiful and brave," said the spy, his honey-sweet tone hinting strongly at the "but" that would follow. Well-used to breaking hearts, Jake had given this species of speech many times. Yet rarely had he felt this much tenderness delivering it.

"My heart is pledged to someone else," he told her, lightly pushing her from his chest.

"Someone older?"

"Yes."

The widow Sarah Thomas would have been greatly pleased to hear this, though she would have treated the words as someone does a clipped coin, not quite at face value. Still, they were meant sincerely. Jake might have made an even more eloquent case, his words rivaling many a poet's, had he explained further that before any earthly love, his life was pledged several times over to the cause of Freedom. But even Milton's tongue would have had no more effect on Alison than the simple shake of Jake's head when she asked if she might not change his mind.

"You must go with Claus to the city," Jake ordered. He pulled up his coat and prepared for her rebuttal and was greatly surprised when none came.

"All right," she said meekly. "You win. Let me just go and gather my things."

Jake narrowed his eyes as she left the kitchen to go upstairs. Nonetheless, he trusted the Dutchman would be more than a match for her. He himself had a great deal to do if he was going to finish this little puzzle.