The Whiskey Rebel

Ethan Saunders

It was growing dark, but that would not matter, could not matter. We would ride through the night, at a slow crawl if need be, if that would get us to Philadelphia before the trading began. We rode swiftly, clinging to every last second of daylight, and with the violence behind us, the violence I would not permit myself to think of, it did indeed seem as though we could get there before dawn. The roads were good, and there was no sign of rain or snow. We would arrive in time and Hamilton could perform whatever magic was required to calm the City Tavern crowd. It was too late to prevent some damage in New York, but he could send agents there, as well as to the other trading cities, who would buy at Treasury’s direction to stanch the bleeding.

I thought of what we would do, not what we had done. I had no wish to recollect the whiskey men torn apart by Lavien’s grenade, or Isaac Whippo executed, or charming Joan Maycott, who had engineered death and plotted to ruin a nation. I tried not to think of these things, and for the most part I succeeded. I thought mostly of the cold and discomfort and the growing dark. After sunset, as our pace slowed, we took turns holding a torch to light our way.

We rode on in silence, the cold bludgeoning us, numbing us. Our arms ached from holding the reins, from holding the torch. Our legs and backs were stiff and wretched. The skin on the insides of my thighs burned and itched. Onward we rode. I did not take out my watch. I would not. I would ride in the dark as fast as I could, and that would be enough. Knowing that I made good time or ill would not matter to me.

I don’t know that I fell asleep. Not precisely. My mind, however, went elsewhere as we made our way in that slow, deliberate, careful pace. It was black of night, no end conceivable, as though we were to ride in the cold, barren darkness forever. And then, toward the east, I saw the first rouging of the sky.

We had not spoken in hours. Now Lavien turned back to look at me. “We shall be at Hamilton’s office before seven o’clock. We’ve done it, Saunders. We’ve done all that men could do, and that will have to be enough.”

We rode on, picking up the pace with the rising of the sun. In ten minutes, we were trotting. Five minutes after that, we were in a full gallop. The road showed signs of a nearby town, spotted now with farmers’ shacks and outbuildings and a tavern where I wished, dearly wished, we might stop for tea and warm punch and the freshly baked bread that perfumed the air. It was an abstract wish, for what I truly wanted was to complete my task, to take my news to Hamilton and then rest. To eat my fill of food and drink and then lie down and let sleep overtake me and not wake for a day or more. Next I would find Cynthia. And then, with no urgency upon me, with the schemers on the run, wallowing in the filth of their own ruined plots, I would track them down one by one and make certain they knew justice.

We rode hard, leaning forward in our saddles, no longer troubled by pain or fatigue or cold. The chill wind and the beating of the hooves drummed in my ears, but I felt gleeful and giddy. I turned to Lavien. I said, “You know, in the midst of all this madness-”

That was as much as I said, because all went wild and the sky twisted from the top to the side, and the ground corkscrewed around to meet my face in a slap of cold earth that came hard and fast, making my teeth rattle. The blood trickled from my mouth, my nose. I felt the most dreadful of pains, those that come from a blow to the head.

I never heard the shot that killed my horse, but I heard the next one. It must have been only an instant after the one that brought me down, but I was already upon the ground, stunned and feeling pain reach out with its first tentative, exploring tendrils. There was a second crack and Lavien’s beast reared up, threw him off, and collapsed upon him.

I thought how foolish they had been to shoot at me first, but it did not seem to matter. Not yet. And then I remembered that they had a marksman among their number, one of Daniel Morgan’s men, and they’d shot our horses, not us. It could not have been an accident. We’d killed five of their men the day before, and they still took pains to keep us alive. But then again, it occurred to me they could not know. No one could have traveled faster than we had. If news was coming, it was not yet there.

Lavien was upon the ground some fifteen feet ahead of me, his horse atop his lower body. Blood-I presumed the animal’s-pooled around him. He did not move. Lavien lay in the muck of the King’s Highway, perhaps dead, perhaps dying. I was determined I would go to him, and was attempting to clear my head when I heard the voice.

“Can you stand?” asked the voice.

I knew not if he’d been standing there, ten feet behind me, all along, or if he’d approached while I lay in my daze. I could not see him easily in the glare of the sun, but I could determine that he was a large man, riding like an ancient warrior upon his beast. It was the Irishman.

“I asked if you can stand.”

“Lavien’s hurt,” I said. I pushed myself to my feet and found that yes, I could stand. I was dizzy and my head ached, and I wished to Christ I had someone or something to lean against, but I would not tell him that. I wiped at my bloody nose with my sleeve. It bled but was not broken.

“He’s hurt,” I said again.

“We’ll see to him,” the Irishman answered. Dalton.

There must have been other men, men who used the glare of the sun and my own disorientation against me, for a hood came down over my head, and I felt rough hands grab me and begin to tie my wrists together behind my back. Hands moved me so a tree was to my back, and I was made to sit. The blood still ran from my nose, and it trickled over my lips.

From a distance I heard voices. They said, “His leg is broke,” and “We’ll need a litter,” and “To the house.” I heard Dalton’s Irish accent, and I heard another man who sounded like a Scot. I thought, It’s still early. If we get to Philadelphia by ten or eleven o’clock, we might yet salvage all, but I did not know how that could happen. I was dazed and bound and hooded. Lavien, it seemed, had broken his leg, and what was I without Lavien? I was a mind without a body, an arm without a fist.

Time passed, I knew not how quickly or slowly, but I felt its agonizing, excruciating pace. I feared not for myself. These people wanted us alive-or at least had no will to kill us. What was life to me, though? We had done what we had done because Lavien believed, believed to his soul, that the survival of the country depended upon our arriving in Philadelphia in time for Hamilton to quiet the markets. He’d set aside his humanity, murdered a helpless man, because he believed if he did not get to Philadelphia in time, Duer’s ruin would be the spark to ignite the destruction of a new fragile nation. I could not simply allow myself to be held, to live passively while the forces of destruction won out.

At last I felt hands lifting me to my feet. They were soft hands, and I smelled the flowery scent of female flesh. “Come, Captain Saunders,” said Mrs. Maycott. “Let’s come this way.”

“Lavien,” I croaked. I was thirsty but would not ask for drink.

“He’s hurt,” she said. “His horse fell on his leg. It’s broken, but Dalton says it’s a clean break. He knows a bit of surgery from the war, and from the West too. He’s already set the bone, which he says will heal well enough in time. They’ve borne him back to the house.”

“What house?” I walked slowly, as she guided me, daring to trust her leadership.

“It’s not half a mile east, by the river. It’s lovely, actually.”

“What do you want with us?”

“As our men in New York seem not to have detained you, we must do it ourselves. We only want to keep you as our guests,” she said. “Until, perhaps, this evening, when all will be too late for Hamilton. Then you may go.”

I said nothing, which she seemed not to like. She said, “There were two groups sent to stop you. Five men in all. How did you get past Mr. Whippo and the rest?”

I shook my head. “Never saw them. Must have outrun them without knowing it.”

I heard skepticism in her voice but did not pursue it. “You might have outrun Whippo’s men, but what of Mortimer? He and his partner should have intercepted you in New Jersey.”

I shook my head. “Never saw them.”

She sighed. “I suppose all will out. For now, let us get you to the house.”

I did not answer. There was nothing I could say.

We walked and walked and then the dirt, made treacherous by rocks and malevolent tree roots, gave way to packed gravel. Our feet crunched along this for a few minutes, and then Joan led me up a set of steps, and I heard the sound of a door opening. Now I went up one flight of stairs and then another. I sniffed the air, trying to learn something of my surroundings, but I could smell nothing but the wetness of the sack and my own blood.

I heard another door open, and then I was pressed down in a chair. The door closed, and a lock turned. My hood came off.

I was in a small room, empty of furniture except for the chair upon which I sat. Marks on the floor and walls suggested that the room had previously contained more furnishings and wall hangings, but these were now gone. I could not help but wonder if they’d been removed for my sake, for fear I should turn a chair or a portrait into a deadly weapon.

Before me stood Joan Maycott, looking pretty in a gown of pale pink with a white bodice. She smiled, and perhaps it was the sunlight that streamed through the windows, but I saw the lines about her eyes. For the first time she looked like a woman past her youth.

“Oh, look at you.” She gently wiped at my face with her handkerchief. The fabric felt hard and rough and hot.

“So, this is it,” I said. “This is what you were after all along. You wanted to ruin Duer, and you made me help you.”

“Duer is evil,” she said, as she wiped blood from my upper lip. She had a gentle touch. “He deserves ruin.”

“And the bank?”

“The bank in an instrument of oppression,” she said. “Its shares will collapse in the coming panic, and they shall never recover. Hamilton gave birth to his whiskey tax to fund the bank without giving a single thought to the damage it would do-that it does yet.”

“And what of the country itself?” I asked. “Have you thought of that?”

“I’ve thought of little else,” she said. “I’m a patriot, Captain Saunders, just like you. This country began in a flash of brilliance, but look what has happened. The suffering of human chattel ignored by our government, a small cadre of rich men dictating our national policies. In the West, men die-they die, sir-as a consequence of this greed. This is not why my husband fought in the Revolution. I suspect it’s not what you fought for either. Now I fight to change it.”

“And what if something worse comes from the chaos?”

“Then the world will have to wait for just governance,” she said. “Better anarchy than an unjust nation that masquerades as a beacon of righteousness. That would be worse than outright tyranny.”

“Well,” I said. “That is certainly interesting, and you clearly have the better of me. I wonder if you would consider untying me, and if I could impose upon you for some food and drink. If I am to be your prisoner, I should like at least to be a comfortable one.”

“I would ask for your word that you make no mischief, but I somehow don’t think you would consider yourself bound by it. What do you think?”

I thought at first that this question was addressed to me, but then I realized she spoke past me, to someone I had not yet noticed.

“Captain Saunders is a man of honor, but it is his own unique sort. He would not consider himself bound by his word if, by breaking it, he believed he might do a greater good.” The man came and stood near Joan Maycott, where I could see him. It was Leonidas.

I could not be surprised to see him there, not after he had attempted to trick me with a case of sherry into a drunken expedition to the western frontier. Even so, it left me uneasy.

He turned to Mrs. Maycott. “I beg you give us a few minutes.”

She nodded and took herself from the room. Once she was gone, Leonidas removed a knife and cut free the ropes binding my hands. The freedom of movement felt wonderful, and I rubbed at my wrists.

“Now it’s your turn to free me,” I said.

“You had me wait longer than I would have wished. It is time for me to return the favor.” He suppressed a smile and, mad though it was, I could not help but feel that it was good to see him, even under these circumstances, for now I understood that though he had betrayed me he had not abandoned our friendship.

“My God, Leonidas, why would you join with them?”

“Money,” he said. “I did it for money and the promise of freedom.”

“But you were free!” I shouted.

“Yes, but I did not know it. Ethan, do you not hear your own words? What good is my freedom if I and the world know nothing of it? I have a wife, I will have a family, and we must have liberty. Mrs. Maycott offered me enough money to live free, and she promised no harm would come to you.”

I said nothing, for I could neither forgive nor condemn.

“You need not worry,” he said. “I’ve visited with Mr. Lavien, and he is well. His leg broke clean and should heal, and without fever. Neither of you will be harmed. What Mrs. Maycott says is true.”

“There’s still time,” I said. “You could let me go.”

He shook his head. “No, Ethan. I won’t. Beyond the money, I believe in the cause. It is better to burn down the edifice than let it rest on a rotten foundation.”

I sighed. “Can I get something to drink at least?”

“Don’t expect a glass bottle.” He left the room, and came back in a few minutes with a wineskin and a small pewter cup. “I would not trust Lavien with even this little, but I don’t believe you can do much damage with these.”

“I never thought to drink wine from pewter,” I said.

“It’s whiskey,” he said. “Drink as much as you like. The drunker you are, the more comfortable we shall be.”

I resented Leonidas’s implication, but I nevertheless poured a drink. Before even a few minutes had passed, however, I heard a rattle at the door to my room, which arrested me from my efforts to excuse my inaction. The door swung open. I expected to see Leonidas or Mrs. Maycott or perhaps even Dalton. It was Lavien.

He stood upon one leg, the other was out before him, held straight by a splint and wrapped in a thick sheath of bandages. He used a long rifle as a crutch. His face was drawn and pale beneath the darkness of his beard, but his eyes were bright with pain and, I thought, with the delight of his disregard for it.

“Are you prepared to leave?” he asked me. He pulled back his lips in something like a sneer-or, perhaps, a wince.

It took me a moment to find words. “I must say, I’m touched that you troubled yourself to rescue me.”

He managed a sort of shrug. “I don’t think I can get down the stairs by myself.” His voice was easy, as though he discussed something of import, but I felt his gaze on me, urgent and desperate, and something else, something greater and hotter and more intense. This, I understood, was Lavien’s place and Lavien’s time. He was a cannonball, fired toward Philadelphia, and no wall, no flesh, no fire would stop him.

I pushed myself to my feet and stepped out into the hall, and the mirth and wonder drained away. There, upon the floor, lying at the sick angles of the lifeless, was a man, pale and bloodied, his eyes wide as the face of oblivion. I’d not seen him before, but he was a rugged-looking fellow, probably handsome while he’d been alive. Now his throat had been opened, and for the first time I noticed the knife tucked into Lavien’s belt.

“Christ. Who’s that?” I asked, keeping my voice low.

Lavien did not spare a glance, but then why should he? I could only be speaking of one man. “A marksman. They called him Jericho. He’s probably the one who shot our horses. Now he’s dead. Let’s go.”

“How are we going to get out of here? How are we going to get past the whiskey men?”

His eyes grew harder, darker. His lips turned ruddy with anticipation. “We will kill anyone who opposes us.”

“Hold,” I hissed, suddenly feeling as though I held conversation not with a man but with a raging storm. “I am not going to kill Joan Maycott. And Leonidas is with them.”

He nodded. “I’ve seen him. I am fond of Leonidas, but I’ll kill him if he opposes me.”

“My God, Lavien, is it worth it? All this killing? To save Hamilton’s bank?”

“How many times must I tell you it is not about the bank?” he breathed. “It’s about averting chaos, riot, and bloodshed and another war of brother against brother. This country is a house of cards, and it will not take much to bring it down. Now let’s go.”

He moved down the hall, hopping on one foot and using the butt of the rifle to balance himself, and yet he moved more quietly than I did. We came to the first set of stairs. I scouted down and saw no one on the second-floor landing and reported back to Lavien.

“I think they’re all downstairs,” I said. “I heard some faint voices.”

He nodded.

“Whose house is this, anyhow? Where are we? Who is helping them?”

“I heard them say we are just outside Bristol,” he said.

A chill spread through me. Not here, I thought. Why must it be here? “The Bristol house. Pearson put it about that it was sold, but it wasn’t; they were here all the time. Cynthia and the children are likely here. For God’s sake, be careful with your fire.”

Lavien nodded, and I knew at once that he already knew, or suspected, that this was Pearson’s house. He’d simply neglected to tell me.

We took the steps slowly, one at a time. Lavien steadied himself, silently pressed his rifle butt to the stair below us, and swung down. He repeated this over and over, never making a noise, not even letting the stairs creak. At last we made it to the second-floor landing. Before us stood the stairs to the first floor; to the left, a wall on which hung a large portrait of a puritanical sort of man; and to the right, a corridor with two doors on either side and one at the end. As we stood there, the door at the end opened, and we faced a man in his fifties, graying and bearded, strangely elegant. I recognized him at once. He was the Scot I’d met at the City Tavern.

He saw us and his eyes went wide with surprise and terror. From behind me, Lavien pushed forward, taking a massive leap off his good leg, landing upon it again, using the rifle to balance himself but somehow keeping it from banging against the floor. In two such impossible strides, he was upon the old fellow, gripping his throat, pressing him against the wall, and taking out his knife.

I hurried over. “Stay your bloody hand,” I cried in as loud a whisper as I dared.

I could not see his face, so I did not know how he responded, but he did stop. “You said not to kill the woman or Leonidas. You said nothing of this man.”

“We don’t have to slaughter them. We only have to get away from them. They’re not fiends, Lavien, they’re patriots. They may be misguided patriots, but they do what they do for love of country, and I won’t hurt them if I can help it.”

“I haven’t the time,” he said in an exasperated breath. “We haven’t the time for stealth or cleverness. We’ve only time for violence.” So he said, but he still did not kill the poor man. He continued to squeeze his throat, and his face began to purple behind the gray of the short beard, but Lavien did not strike with the knife.

My heart beat so hard I felt the reverberation in my clavicle. Fists clenched in rage, I struggled to think of something to spare this man, this schemer who had been set against me for weeks. My mind was soft and spongy and would not answer when I called. There had to be something, I told myself, and without knowing what I would say, I began to talk. It was always the best way.

“Do you remember, Lavien, when we had our first talk that night at your house? Do you remember how you told me Hamilton described me to you?”

He nodded. “He said you could talk the devil himself into selling you his soul.”

“Then let me do it.”

“He didn’t say you could do it with all speed,” Lavien hissed.

“Let me try, damn it.” I felt the faintest hint of optimism, but terror too, for if he gave me this chance, I did not know how to use it.

He lowered the knife and eased his grip on the Scot.

“Did you hear all that, or were you too busy being killed?” I asked the man.

He nodded vigorously, which for the sake of convenience I chose to understand meant he had heard.

“Good, then. Now, I’ve just saved your life, fellow. That’s usually worth something. Is it worth something to you?”

“It is,” he managed in a Scottish brogue, “but I’ll not betray my friends.”

“Oh, there’s no betrayal in the works. I promise you that. We only want a way out of here. That’s all we want.”

“It’s a betrayal, for you’ll run to Hamilton and tell him all.”

I shook my head, desperate for something. “It’s too late for that. It’s already too late, but this man, this man with a beard just like your own, only darker with youth, his wife is due to deliver unto him his first child, and we must hurry. You would not want, I think, to be the cause of him not being at her side when she gives birth. You are not so base as that, are you?”

“You’ll have to do better than that,” said the Scot, “if you want to talk the devil into giving up his soul.” I could not blame him. It had been a weak effort, but given he knew I attempted to trick him, none but a weak effort would do.

“Right, then,” I said to Lavien. “Best to kill him.”

“Hold,” he gasped, throwing forth his arms, much as I had predicted. “I’ll help you. The front door is locked, but take my key.” He dug into his pocket and came forth with a heavy brass key, which he handed to me. “They are all in the back sitting room, by the kitchens. They’ll not hear you.”

“Good Scot,” I said, and shoved him into the room. There was a key to that room on the inside lock in the door. I removed it and locked him in. I suppose he could have still done harm, banging upon the floor or some such thing, but I believed we’d scared him sufficiently.

I turned to Lavien. “Far better than murder, don’t you think?”

“It took too long,” he muttered, and then gestured forward with his head. I was to scout the stairway. I crept down and faced the front door. There was a sitting room forward and to my right, and behind that a private room of some sort, and behind that the kitchens. I heard voices emerging from the back of the house.

I returned to Lavien with this intelligence. He nodded. “Once we make it out of the house, we head around the left to the stables. I’ve seen no sign of servants-perhaps Pearson can no longer afford any-so we should be able to get horses. Then we need only ride hard to Philadelphia.”

“How are you going to make it to Philadelphia on a broken leg?”

“I can only do my best. If the pain should make me lose consciousness, however, you will have to finish the task yourself.”

I studied him. His face was utterly placid, but for an instant I recognized it was a mask he wore to disguise the agony he felt. “You are a frightening man,” I said.

The trek to the bottom of the stairs was terrifying, for we were most vulnerable, but we made it with good speed and little noise. Lavien rested against the banister while I went to the door. The adjacent sitting room’s windows faced west, and there were no windows at all in this room, so the foyer, with its dark wallpaper and uncovered floors, was gloomy. Even so, once I took out the key the Scot had given me, I did not even have to try it to realize it was far too big for the lock. Its thick brass glinted like a winking eye in the dark room. He’d tricked us.

“It looks like the devil wins this one,” said Lavien.

“Better to kill everyone in case they turn out to be not nice. It’s not as fast as a key, but I can try to pick the lock.”

I stooped down, preparing to remove my boot and retrieve my picking tool when I saw a presence from the corner of my eye.

“Oh, why trouble yourself,” said a voice, vaguely familiar, and even before I could identify it, a thrill of terror ran through me. Somewhere, at the base of my consciousness, I knew that things had taken another turn, become more dangerous and more unpredictable. For a fleeting instant I kept myself from looking, as though I could prevent this encounter simply by not seeing it, but the instant passed and my head turned. There upon the top of the stairs was Jacob Pearson. He stood with his wife directly before him, however. Lavien, were he so inclined, could not toss his knife to eliminate him. He had one arm around her waist, held in that tight grip I had experienced myself, the other against her back, and her eyes were wide and moist and, even from a great distance I could see they were red from crying. He did not have to tell me for me to know there was a gun pressed to her.

Cynthia met my gaze, and I could see in her all the hope, all the expectation she placed in me. I would get her out of this. I would protect her. I had no idea how, but I would make it happen.

“No doubt you thought yourself too clever, but I’ve bested you before and will do so now,” he said.

“You would bring your wife and children into the middle of this violence?” I said. “You are more of a wretch than I thought.”

“The children are safe,” he said. “They’re with my sister. My wife-well, she deserves no special consideration. You’ll be pleased to know she’s tried to run away several times. No doubt to go to you, so the two of you can live in adulterous poverty and turn my children into an object of scandal. I think it’s safe to say that Cynthia does not know what is best for her.”

She smiled a sad smile at me. I knew what it meant. She was trying to be brave, to be ready should some chance present itself. I intended that it would.

“After you escaped from the prison under the pier,” said Pearson, “I was prepared to kill you when I had the opportunity, but now I won’t have to. I believe the big Irishman will take care of it for me when he sees what you’ve done to his man. I wish you’d killed the other, but one will have to do. That bitch of a widow made us all swear this way and that not to harm you unless our lives were in the balance, but I don’t believe Dalton will honor her word now. Ho! Dalton! Irishman, come here quick!”

I heard footsteps running toward us, and I glared at Lavien. If he were to take his chances with Pearson, it would be now, but I met his eye. “Stay your hand,” I said. “If you hurt her, I’ll kill you myself.”

He did not react, but I had not expected him to.

Now Leonidas came into the foyer, squinting as his eyes adjusted from the well-lit rooms of the back of the house to the gloom of the front. “What is this?” he demanded.

“I called for the Irishman, not the nigger, though there is little enough difference,” said Pearson. “Get the Irishman. They’ve killed Richmond. I believe Dalton will want his revenge.”

Leonidas looked as though he’d just learned of the death of a parent. His eyes grew wide with horror. “Oh, Ethan, why have you done it? Dalton’s a good man, but he won’t let this go.”

I would not defend myself, not even to say that this time it was not Ethan Saunders who took a bad situation and made it worse. Things would sort themselves out or I would die, but I would not allow my final words to be a speech of equivocation.

Mrs. Maycott walked into the foyer, followed closely behind by Dalton. The space was now crowded. Five of us stood where two or three might comfortably remain. Pearson led Cynthia halfway down the stairs but then stopped, remaining distant.

Dalton looked us over and shook his head, not bothering to hide his amusement. “They’re determined, I’ll say that for them. Now, back to their rooms. Where’s Skye and Jericho? We’ll need their help.”

“Skye’s been locked in a bedroom.” Pearson spat. “They’ve killed Richmond. Murdered him in cold blood.”

Dalton’s face turned pale and his lips, instantly bloodless, quivered as though he were a little child. Then, in an instant, his face turned cold and hard and frightening in its cruelty. He underwent a second metamorphosis, to something ugly and fierce, something that wanted vengeance. He stepped forward, then stopped. He swallowed. “Is it true?” he asked quietly. Then, when he received no response, he screamed the same words. “Is it true?” It was loud, ringing, like the roar of a deranged lion, and from his coat he pulled two pistols, primed. He held them aloft, not quite sure what to do next, and then he turned on us.

Joan said, “No, Dalton,” and stepped before him, but he pressed a hand hard to her breasts and shoved, and she staggered down the hall, losing her balance, falling upon her knees.

Leonidas took out his own pistol and pointed it at Dalton. “Fire your weapon, and you’re a dead man,” he said.

“For God’s sake, Leonidas, if you’re going to kill him, do it before he shoots me, not after. But I beg that no one shoot anyone. Look you, if you have eyes. That man there on the staircase, holding a gun to the back of his wife. He is the one who tells you we hurt your friend. We did not. It’s true we locked away your man Skye, but we did not hurt him, and he will tell you so himself.” I tossed Joan the key to Skye’s room. “Go unlock him and ask. Why should we kill one man and let another live? We would not. If this man, this known liar and thief, says your friend is dead, I doubt not it is because he did the killing himself.”

I did not know if they believed it, but it would buy us time, which was the best we could hope for at the moment.

Put away the knife, I mouthed to Lavien. To my astonishment, he obeyed, though I had no doubt he could have it out again in a matter of seconds, should he so desire. For now, however, he would give me my chance to take the devil’s soul after all.

I reached down and helped Lavien to his feet-to his foot. Whatever pain he had suffered, he appeared no more disabled than he had been before. I handed him his weapon, and I believe he made a good show of himself by using it as a crutch and doing nothing more.

“I don’t deny we wish to escape,” I said to Joan, “but that is how the game is played. You make your move, and we make ours. That is all. But that man,” I said, pointing to Pearson, “would hold a woman hostage-his own wife-which is as base a thing as a man can do. He killed your friend for no other reason than to lay the blame upon us.”

Lavien turned to Dalton and pulled his knife from his belt. It meant that he would be the target of the first fire, for a man cannot aim at two enemies at once. I had not a moment to spare, so I thrust out my leg into Lavien’s one good one, and he slipped out from under himself, landing upon his broken limb. I cannot imagine the pain, but he made not a noise, though his face twisted in agony, or perhaps shock. Or perhaps relief, for as he landed, Dalton’s pistol fired, unleashing its thunder crack and black smoke and sharp scent into the little space. The ball passed through the air where Lavien would have stood, blasting instead into the front door. There was a second blast-just an instant after the first-and wood splintered and sunlight shot into the gloomy foyer as the door swung open on its hinges. That, at least, was a bit of good luck, if we lived to take advantage of it.

I thought back to that night in Helltown, that night that now seemed so long ago, when I had been prepared to let Dorland kill me. I had stood in the cold and the filth of the Helltown alley and considered that I might yet talk my way into living, but I held my tongue.

I would not stay quiet this time. The air smelled of powder and my eyes stung with smoke. Just behind me, a door lay open, and sunlight seeped into our little gathering storm of violence. This would likely end in more deaths. There were far too many people in the room for whom I cared-maybe the only people on earth for whom I cared-and I would not let it go that way. I had been built from my foundation with a capacity to deceive, and here, if ever there was one, was a time for deception.

“Hold!” I cried. “Hold! Let there be no more violence.”

Dalton pointed his other pistol to Lavien, who lay prostrate upon the ground, and I stood directly in his path.

All this time Cynthia had stood a mute statue; I had hardly dared to look upon her. A weapon had already been fired, and there was like to be more. I would not have my own resolve softened by her fear. But now Cynthia spoke up, and her voice, though wavering, had a kind of clarity that surprised me. “It’s true. My God, it is true. I knew he was cruel, but I never thought he could kill a man in cold blood. He walked up to him, and your man-he suspected nothing.”

Was ever anyone so in love as I at that moment? Did ever man, since the fall of Eve, so rejoice in the lies of woman?

“Shut up,” Pearson hissed at her. “It’s not true,” he said to the others, but if Cynthia had just spoken the most convincing of lies, her husband had the misfortune of sounding entirely false while speaking truth.

Leonidas trained his gun upon Pearson. “Let the lady go.”

“But they lie,” he said.

“You make a better case,” Leonidas said, “if you are not holding a gun to a woman.”

“She is my wife. I may use her as I wish.”

“Let the lady go,” Joan said, and her voice was hard and angry. Somehow Cynthia, held upon the stairs by her husband, a gun to her back, had become the most important thing to everyone in the room-not the dead man upstairs, not the two prisoners who had gotten free, not the open door to freedom that lay behind us.

He released his grip and Cynthia ran down the stairs and toward me. Our eyes met and she, for but a fleeting instant, nodded at me, and I knew that this was the moment when she must prove herself. She must be the woman she had always wished to be, or she would fail me. I dared to hold her eyes for a long important moment, and I hoped it would be enough for her to understand.

“You stupid bitch,” I snapped. “This is all your fault.”

She took a step back, the hurt on her face so real-or so seemingly real-it nearly broke my heart. “Ethan, I am sorry.”

“I told you no one gets hurt. I told you that.”

She shook her head. “I could not stop him,” she said. Tears began to well up in her eyes. “I tried to stop him, Ethan, but I could not. I tried. You should have been there for me, but you weren’t, and I could not do it alone.”

“Oh, shut up,” I said. “I never should have trusted you.”

Dalton had heard enough. He turned now on Pearson. While, in general, I do not care to see unarmed men viciously assaulted, here was a case in which I could make an exception. Dalton darted up the stairs, grabbed Pearson under his armpits, and lifted him high in the air as if he weighed no more than a baby. Dalton then locked his elbows and hurled Pearson-whose mouth was open in terror too primal for noise-through the air and hard against the wall separating the foyer from the sitting room. He struck with a sharp agonizing crack, spun slightly, and then landed with his feet against a narrow chair, his head toward us, though it was cocked at the most unnatural of angles.

Cynthia let out a moan and covered her mouth. Leonidas whispered something under his breath. Dalton took a moment to admire his work and then ran up two flights of stairs. Above, I heard him wail.

I turned to Joan. “I am sorry it ended thus. Yours are good people, with your own sense of honor, and I do not doubt you’ve been wronged. I wish we were never opposed.”

She shook her head. “So much bloodshed.”

I stepped to her. “It never ought to have been like this. Joan, you are better than this. You are so much better. Imagine what you might have done had you only tried your hand at creating rather than destroying.” I touched her face. “Imagine what we could do together. Joan, you and I must be together.”

Cynthia rushed forward. “Ethan, are you mad? You promised it would be me. You swore you loved me.”

“You silly woman,” I said with a laugh. “How could I love someone like you?”

Leonidas let out a throaty laugh and began to clap his hands. “I must say, I am remarkably impressed. You cannot have practiced this, and yet it is so easy and natural.”

Joan turned to him. “What do you mean?”

Leonidas laughed again. “I have seen it a hundred times, though never when the stakes were so high. It is Ethan Saunders being Ethan Saunders, when lies and false notions and absurd claims roll off his tongue; we all watched him. But now I look up and see his point. Even I, who ought not to have been fooled, was caught up. Do you not notice someone is missing?”

And indeed he was. I could not say when Lavien had slipped away. I had made a point not to look at him myself, hoping that if he was invisible to me he might be invisible to all. Joan Maycott now rushed to the door and looked out into the morning light. I moved behind her, prepared to place my hand over her mouth should she try to call to Dalton, but she made no effort. She stood there in confused silence. Far away, upon the distant King’s Highway, appeared a single awkward figure upon a gray horse, riding hard and fast like Paul Revere, to save a country that was not even his own native land. I did not believe that there would ever be ballads sung of this ride, but oh, how worthy, how glorious, it was. And it had been made possible by my actions, which I could not but like.

C ynthia once more collapsed into my arms. She trembled, and I could not be surprised. She had witnessed more violence in a few minutes than most women see in a lifetime. Her husband, however foul a man, had been killed before her eyes, killed upon false pretenses and owing to her own machinations. It would not be easy for her in the days to come, but I meant to help her all I could.

For her part, Joan Maycott looked hardly less stunned. “I underestimated you, Captain Saunders. You too, Cynthia. I thought you were but a victim, but you are clever enough to deserve the captain.” She took out a watch and studied it. “Your friend may yet save the bank.”

“You appear less distraught than I would have thought,” I said.

“Even if Hamilton can save the bank, Duer’s ruin is accomplished and cannot be undone, and his fall will be a terrible blow. There will be panic and chaos, and the Hamiltonian plan may not be utterly demolished, but it will be discredited. I had four goals, Captain Saunders: to destroy the bank, destroy Hamilton, destroy Duer, and enrich myself. Even if the bank survives, Hamilton’s career will end, and with the collapse of the market for overvalued six percent securities, I will profit handsomely on my own four percents, whose value will rise. By the way, Mrs. Pearson, you husband was a principal owner. I advise you to sell them the moment they rise above par. They won’t stay there long.”

“She is good in defeat,” I said to Leonidas.

“And what are you like in victory?” she asked. “Do you think to apprehend me and my men?”

“No,” I answered. “Lavien may have felt otherwise, but he is gone, and I don’t believe Leonidas would permit it. For my own part, I do not want to see you plotting more against the nation, but I would not see you in prison.”

She nodded. “You and Cynthia may take horses from the stables, but I beg you get gone.”

“It is Mrs. Pearson’s house,” I said.

“Perhaps this is not the time to stand upon ceremony,” said Leonidas.

Joan Maycott’s man was dead upstairs, and there were five more dead on the King’s Highway. She would learn of it soon enough, and I would not be there. “Right. We shall get gone and allow you to make your escape.”

Cynthia, ashen and trembling, clung to me as we made our way from the house. We did not look back to wonder what Leonidas or Joan or Dalton would do next. We went to the stables, found beasts to our liking, and rode hard to overtake the rather sluggish Lavien, who struggled mightily with his leg. I left Cynthia to ride with him, and I went on ahead to Philadelphia to deliver the news to Hamilton, that he might act swiftly and with great skill to save the nation. Thanks to me.