The Golden Flask

Chapter Forty-five

Dewey had always prided himself on his ability at arithmetic, and fully realized that the patriot forces were currently one weapon short. Still, by his reckoning there was no immediate need to comply with Clayton Bauer’s demand that he put down his gun. He was confident that the men who were supposed to be posted outside would eventually reinforce him. “

I can kill you as soon as you fire. And I will,” he told Bauer.

"Brave words, rebel," said Bauer. "Bring him over there, George. Where's my sister?"

"Oh my God," said Lord William. He took a tentative step for the door, but the sailor's voice caught him.

"Move, and your brother will die."

"She's all right, m'lord," said the servant. "I caught this one before he could harm her."

"Your wife is sleeping," Jake told Lord William. "I found it necessary to give her a blow to the head, but there should be no permanent damage. At least she will stay out of the line of fire."

"My guards will be on you in a minute," promised Clayton.

"We have replaced your guards," said Jake. "Our men are just now disposing of them. Your best course is to surrender; we will spare your lives."

"I hardly expect, much less would I even accept, mercy from a rebel."

Jake shrugged and continued to survey the room for some implement or distraction that would change the precarious equation.

Egans made the first move. He had his eyes trained on Jake's guard, and when the servant began moving toward the window to see where the shots were coming from, he crashed against Clayton Bauer with the force of an angry bear. Bauer's bullet flew into the ceiling — but only after it punched a wide hole in Egans's bare chest.

Jake dove to the ground as the servant and sailor shot at each other, the servant's bullet crashing straight through the sailor's heart, killing him instantly. Dewey's aim was just as true, for in that same moment his bullet flew into his enemy's mouth, exploding with gore through the back of his head.

Jake jumped to his feet, Segallas in hand. He grabbed Lord William and fired a single shot directly into his temple. The bullet was too small to kill him instantly, and so the nobleman slumped to the floor, leaving his life to ebb slowly from him.

The patriot spy turned and found Bauer descending on him, wielding his pistol like a hatchet. Jake took a blow at the side of the neck as he shot the Segallas point blank into the Tory's shoulder.

The blow stung Bauer back to the couch.

"Where is Howe going?" Jake demanded, flipping the barrel mechanism around so two fresh bullets were ready to fire.

"Never," promised Bauer. He threw his gun at Jake, who ducked instinctively, choosing not to fire. If he did not succeed in getting Howe's destination, all of these deaths, and his entire mission, would be in vain.

The Tory took this chance to grab another pistol from its panel at the back of the chair where he was sitting.

Jake dove at him before he could aim. As the two men crashed back and forth, the muscles in Jake's body cried out in despair, every injury inflicted over the past few days renewing itself. Half his body was covered in sticky blood.

Bauer surprised Jake by sinking his teeth deep into his arm — apparently the tactic ran in the family. The pain was so desperate the spy felt the hard shock in his backbone. Jake retaliated by punching the Tory with his head, moving him back but not loosening his grip on the pistol. Both men had their fingers on the trigger; both had their other hand on the barrel, flailing in a desperate struggle to aim or divert its fatal ball.

Suddenly, one of the fingers succeeded in slipping against the trigger, igniting the lock.

Whose finger it was, neither could tell. In the pure moment of silence that followed, it did not matter. Both men felt as if they had been transported, plucked from the tormenting fires of hell and deposited in the sweet clover hills of Oblivion.

And then Clayton Bauer's body fell limp, and Jake Gibbs fell back, the smoking pistol dangling from his bloody hand.

Daltoons's men had succeeded in surprising and dismounting the English soldiers, but he could see his troop was outnumbered and greatly outgunned. They had only enough shot and powder to keep on for a few minutes more; already he had lost two of his dozen men. Redcoat reinforcements kept appearing up the road. While the patriots had good firing positions, in command of the highway and the well-tended field before it, a concerted charge by the British would easily overwhelm them.

"Ames, you go back to the house and get them the hell out of there," said Daltoons. "We'll hold out as best we can."

Ames, realizing this might be the last time he saw his commander, nodded gravely, but hesitated a moment before putting down his rifle.

"Go, man," ordered Daltoons, and the young man was off, running down the hill.

It could well be that the moment of regret at leaving his friends cost him his life. For as he neared the house, a British sniper who had managed to infiltrate the woods spotted him, and with a single bullet sent his poor soul scurrying to Saint Peter's well-trod gate.

Jake rose and surveyed the battered room, littered with bodies. Once again he had failed, his finely crafted trick as useless as a child's game. But just as he was about to curse himself and all his damnable cleverness, he realized Egans was still alive. He bent over him and saw the wound was, fatal; the red man born white would die in a matter of minutes, if not seconds.

"You must not try to speak," Jake said gently. He pulled the front of Egans's coat together, covering the bullet hole. "The ball has taken you through the lungs. You are a brave man and true to your word; I am sorry that I did not trust you before now."

"I had not earned it," said Egans, lifting his head. "I do not fear death. The sky has already closed around me. Howe is on his way to Philadelphia." He began to cough blood. "He told his brother."

"Philadelphia," Jake repeated.

"Yes," said Egans. "He said so freely. Father!"

The last word was uttered in the nature of a hoarse shout, emerging from his lips at the very moment his soul passed on. Jake followed the corpse's gaze across the room — right to Lady Patricia, who stood at the doorway with a rifle in her hands.