Jim DeFelice - The Golden Flask

"This bastard is employed by the British as a messenger," Jake told the others as they ran up. "He tried to take me prisoner and sell me in New York."

"He's on our side," said van Clynne, huffing forward to intercede. "He has converted. He came with me, and was standing lookout in the woods, as he and I arranged. Come now, sir, you'll ruin what little hair he has left."

Jake looked at Egans doubtfully as the Dutchman told the full story. Despite his faith in van Clynne, he let his prisoner free with some reluctance.

Egans had not uttered a word in his defense, and did not do so now. "Two boats landed further north," he said instead. "Splitting off from the two approaching the landing below."

"Quickly," said Daltoons. "This way through the woods."

"I know of a better path to Smith's," boasted van Clynne. "We have only to follow a small detour this way. ." He pushed back a tree branch to reveal a narrow and barely noticeable deer path beyond a small if strongly running creek. "… and we will arrive inside an hour. My path has the benefit of being nearly undetectable from the road," he added as the company veered to follow.

"Remarkable," said Daltoons.

"Smith is a fine brewer of beer, no doubt," suggested Jake.

"Top-fermented ale, to be exact," said van Clynne, with his customary air of superiority.

The placing of the bandage covering Clayton Bauer's chest was done smartly, but in fact, it was not secured well enough to prevent the few drops of water that splashed up from the creek as the men crossed from finding their way into the wound. Thus, unknown to Jake and the others, the Tory leader gained consciousness as he was driven through the woods in the wagon. Disoriented and confused, he did not grasp at first what had happened to him; he knew that he had been shot, but surprisingly felt no pain. For some moments he thought truly that he had died. But the voices around him gave sufficient hint that he had not, and Bauer was wise enough not to cry out. Some sixth sense warned him that the red uniforms that surrounded his wagon were not worn by true friends of the crown, and when he heard Jake's voice giving directions, he realized a trick had been perpetrated.

For all the patriot rhetoric against him, Clayton Bauer was a brave man. He had sworn that he would continue to serve his king until the moment of his death, and it was an oath he meant to keep.

"I tell you, sir, that I will not play the role of devil in your pageant. Play acting, sir; it is beneath me." Van Clynne protested even as Daltoons's sergeant took his measurements and began cutting a piece of red cloth for his suit. "I don't know if we have enough to cover him with," complained the man, whose talents as a tailor were being put to considerable test.

"You told me not twenty minutes ago that it was your acting that convinced everyone I was dead."

"That is a different thing, sir; then I was playing myself. Now I am the devil."

"You're not pretending to be the devil, Claus, just a British doctor."

"In the service of the king. It is the same thing. No Dutchman in his proper mind would deign to take up such a role. Never, sir, never."

"If you can give me another way to find out where Howe is going, I will take it."

"I have already told you: he asked his wig-maker for wigs in the fashion of Philadelphia. What more do you need?"

"Remember which package is which. The salts are harmless; mix them in the water to make it seem as if it is a cure. The sleeping powder will only work if it is loose in the air. Be careful; it is very potent."

"I should prefer a good knock on the head to one of your powders," countered van Clynne. "Perhaps we can pretend he has been sent to Hell, and make him confess the plans to Lucifer himself."

"What if this doesn't work, Jake?" asked Daltoons.

"Then we'll pull his arms and legs apart until he talks."

"We should try that first," suggested Egans.

"People are too susceptible to suggestion under torture," said Jake. "We do it my way."

The back room of the Smith farmhouse had been transformed from a humble closet for potatoes and onions to a well-appointed bedroom. The curtains at the window would not bear close examination, but the fine furniture at bedside, the white dressing table and fine mirror, along with the books casually strewn about, had all come from an abandoned and half-burned mansion not far away. It would not be difficult to convince the groggy patient he had been transported back to New York. But van Clynne and Daltoons must do better — they must pretend that weeks, not hours, had passed since Bauer fell on the field of honor.

Van Clynne, chafing under the burden of his red uniform, set a satchel at the foot of the bed, dismissed the others, and signaled to the sentry at the door that he was ready to begin.

"English, indeed," he muttered beneath his breath, before applying the antidote.

But Jake had not chosen van Clynne to play the role of doctor merely because he was unknown to the Tory. In the seconds before Clayton Bauer revived, the Dutchman's body underwent a vast transition, rivaled only by the changes that came upon his voice. His accent, as his patient opened his eyes, perfectly mimicked that of a native Londoner. If the squire was not an actor by trade, he was an accomplished man of business — nearly the same thing.

"It is about time," he told the revived man. "I feared you would resist this cure as well. Six weeks I have been trying to revive you."

Bauer started to push himself up, but van Clynne restrained him easily.

"Gently, my good man. Your constitution is at a very delicate stage, though your wounds have healed."

"Who are you?"

"Doctor Henry van Castle," answered van Clynne.

"You are Dutch?"

"Flemish. Actually, I have lived in England since I was nine, until coming to this cursed land three months ago. It is a mistake I regret every day."

"Where am I?"

"You, sir, are in the home of a British officer who rescued you from certain death. No other man in the colonies could have ministered to you as I have, day after day, night after night, for twelve, er, six long weeks. At great personal risk, I might add. To aid a dueling victim is a crime that can be punished by hanging, you know."

Bauer made a face. "Since when? Where are my sister and her husband?"

"His lordship is with General Howe," said van Clynne loudly, as this was a cue to Daltoons, waiting outside the door. "Or so I am told. We are making preparations to abandon New York, and I haven't a clue as to where anyone is at the moment, not even my wife. Frankly, I will be only too glad to leave this diseased vale; the very air we breathe swarms with pestilence."

There was a knock at the door. Van Clynne admitted Daltoons, who had given himself a promotion to major to enhance the illusion that time had passed during Clayton's sleep.

"Thank God!" declared Daltoons as he saw Clayton propped on his pillow, eyes wide open. "I had despaired of your reviving."

"Where am I?"

"In the city. We are safe for the moment," answered Daltoons. "But we will have to move shortly. The rebels have taken King's Bridge and.are marching south as we speak. An entire army of them has appeared. If we cannot hold them at the woods near Harlem, the city will be abandoned." He lowered his voice. "In truth, the order to evacuate non-essentials has already been passed. But do not say so in front of the doctor, or the others."

"What? The rebels on Manhattan?"

Daltoons nodded solemnly. He endeavored to play his role as well as van Clynne.

"What has happened to that idiot Howe?"

Daltoons's only answer was a scoff of contempt.

The plan was that Bauer would supply the answer himself, with a statement such as, "What happened when he reached Boston?" or "Cannot he be ordered from Philadelphia?" But the star of this stage play had not studied his lines in advance as the others had.