Jim DeFelice - The Golden Flask

"Where are my sister and her husband?"

"They believe you dead," said Daltoons. "They have gone to General Howe, to seek his help recovering your body. Rumor has it you were buried in the Jerseys."

"Buried?"

"Circumstances did not permit our enlightening them. They left to seek Howe shortly after you were shot, before this business. You seemed dead, at first."

Van Clynne sniffed. "I should have been consulted immediately. I have had cases like this before. Such cures are child's play for a scientist such as myself."

"Bacon is after you for killing his man. He seems to sense that you are still alive. I hesitated approaching General Howe, as I feared Bacon would find out. I myself do not have much influence, though perhaps if you sent word yourself, that would be a different matter."

Bauer, still obviously disoriented, struggled to prop himself on his elbows. "My mansion. ."

Daltoons shook his head. "General Bacon has it watched night and day."

"Why are you hiding me?"

"As a matter of honor, nothing more. I hope your second would have done the same for my friend." Daltoons straightened. "Some men still have a sense of honor."

Bauer did not respond. Daltoons, trying not to show his disappointment, pushed on with the script. "There are not many troops left in the city. I doubt we'll be able to defend it."

"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?" van 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.

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.