The Golden Flask (12 page)

Jake's ribs had long since given up complaining
about the jostling they were taking, settling for a long
and constant groan nagging at the back of his chest.
The horse Eagleheart had sold him was a strong beast,
powerfully winded, but far from the smoothest plat
form to ride on. Jake soon began to believe the horse
understood English: while she would fight the hard pulls of his arms and legs, she moved quickly to the
right and left when directed to do so by voice only. And
when he said "whoa," the horse stopped short before he could pull the reins.

"Aye, trouble ahead," said the keeper, who had spot
ted the figures by the bridgehead the same moment Jake had. "Don't think they'd be on our side."

"You'd best go back," said Jake. "Thank you for your help. I can find the river from here; it won't be far."

"We can't leave him, father," said Alison.

As Jake was starting to assure her he would be fine,
one of the sentries shouted at them. His stiff English
accent made it all too clear whose side he was on.

"Let's go," said Jake, turning his horse to lead the
retreat northwards. But the beast had taken no more
than two steps when shots rang out. From the corner of
his eye, Jake saw Alison's mount fall.

"Keep going!" he shouted to her father. He sailed
around, pulling his pistol and sword out as he jumped
down. He fired as he ran to the girl.

The men on the bridge were part of a detachment of
His Majesty's marines, who had come ashore and
moved a mile inland to prove the general principle that they could go anywhere they wanted. The figures on
horseback were the first rebels — the first people — they'd spotted all evening, and the British advanced
from the bridge with the enthusiasm of a gambler who
has waited for the cocks to appear all night.

Jake's shot caused them to pause briefly and reload
for a fresh volley. Fortunately, it was not concentrated
nor well aimed, and Jake was able to duck it by flinging
himself into the dirt.

The girl had taken cover behind her fallen horse. As Jake crawled toward her, he saw several other figures
heading for the bridge, their shadows thrown forward by a signal fire.

The vanguard meanwhile made sure their bayonets
were fixed and commenced a charge. They covered the
ground quickly enough to make the god Hermes jeal
ous. When the keeper saw them advancing on his daughter, all instinct of prudence and caution flew
from his head. He took his sword and began flailing it like the Grim Reaper as he charged past Jake and Alison. He caught one of the marines straight across the
neck, slicing the man's head clean off. The head flew through the field like a pumpkin kicked from the vine,
while its late body staggered forward a few grotesque
steps before collapsing.

As the keeper regrouped, he felt a sharp prick in his
side. Thinking it no more than a splinter, he steadied his horse in front of Jake and Alison and told them to run while he held off the advancing knot of marines.

The Britons' shouts of attack were drowned out by
the sound of the blunderbuss, which exploded with the deep crackle of a light cannon. Alison had handled her
gun as well as any hard veteran of the Connecticut line,
waiting until the last possible moment and bowling over the tight clump of lobstercoats charging against her father. Four or five figures collapsed in a great tumble of hot death, their thirst for blood quenched forever by their own.

Only one redcoat from the vanguard escaped un
scathed. He had already turned his attention toward the girl, and now charged bayonet-first, aiming to
avenge his fellows. Jake managed to knock him off balance by diving at him with the sword, striking his bayo
net with a sharp crash.

The Briton rolled to the ground but quickly recov
ered, wielding his Brown Bess in time to ward off a
second blow, so expertly that the short sword flew from
Jake's hand.

A quick slash and the silvery blade of the bayonet nicked through the patriot's hunting shirt, catching his
ribs and tickling the recently healed wounds. Jake fell
to the ground with the pain, and the marine kicked him
in the side before heaving the gun back for a fresh thrust.

The marine shouted as he prepared to make his murderous stab. His high note of glee broke into a shocked riff of surprise and pain. Alison had exchanged the discharged blunderbuss for a knife she kept secreted at her waist and sprung on the man like a badger defending her young.

The wound she inflicted was no more than superficial, but its timing was critical. Jake flew to his feet and grabbed the man by the neck, pulling him with such force that the redcoat lost his will to fight as well as his weapon. As Jake pulled his arm around the man's neck, Alison picked up the marine's bayonet-tipped musket and skewered him. He fell to earth with a dying gasp.

War is never a pretty sight, especially at close range. Both Jake and the girl were splashed full with blood. But Alison stomached it as easily as Jake, and had he the leisure, he might have commented on her bravery.

He did not. A new volley sounded over their heads as the reinforcements from beyond the bridge charged into the field to renew the assault. Jake led Alison toward the spot where he had left his mare; the horse stood calmly by, gently nickering that her owner had best get a move on.

Alison's father, in the meantime, had been dashing on horseback to and fro, his sword flashing as he made sure the fallen redcoats would rise no more. Fresh out of opponents, he followed to where Jake was pushing Alison aboard the horse.

By the time he arrived, he was gripping his own mount's neck. He waved them forward, telling them to hurry and escape before the reinforcements caught up.

"Father!" Alison shouted. "What's happened?"

"I'm all right, all right," mumbled Brown. In fact, he was anything but. He fell over from his horse, landing in a heap as his bloody sword dropped nearby.

Chapter Eleven

Wherein, Melancholy shows her tearful face, and Jake confronts a development that will have diverse consequences for our tale.

“
F
ather! Father!"

Alison jumped from the horse and ran to the
stricken figure. Jake followed, scooping up his dented
sword on the way.

Brown rolled out on his back, stretching up to look
square at the moon. The golden orb hung above like a
benign party lantern. An owl, startled by the carnage
before him, crossed before it, his path a compass toward blessed Avalon.

"Papa, Papa."

"It's fine, my dear. I see your mother."

"No!"

The redcoats were charging across the field toward
them, shouting. Oblivious, Alison kneeled down and
held her father's head in her arms.

"Papa, Papa," she told him in a shaking voice. "I need you, Papa."

"Don't worry, child. You have our friend here."
Brown reached up his hand to Jake, who took it gently.
Already the grip was cold and weak. "Take care of her."

"I will, sir," said Jake, his eyes locking on the dying
man's.

"I'm coming, Mary."

"Father!"

* * *

A haphazard volley of shot fired on the run missed Jake and Alison, but caught Jake's mare. The spy yanked Alison to her feet and pulled her with him
toward a row of trees at the edge of the field. The girl
stumbled and fell; Jake ducked back, took her under his arm, and began running again, holding her like a log plucked for the fire.

Only a macabre coincidence kept him from being
speared through the back by the swiftest of their pursu
ers. Just as the redcoat reached out to stab him, the
soldier tripped over the discarded head of his comrade,
the same man Brown had earlier decapitated. The
marine fell forward, and discovering what he had fallen
over, began retching violently.

The two patriots reached the tree line barely ahead of a second lobstercoat. Jake tossed Alison roughly
into a bush, then ducked as the marine charged; he was
able to upend the man and grab a large tree limb as
another soldier reached the woods. A swift slash dis
abled this attacker, and Jake turned his attention back to the first, still sprawled on the ground. A blow from
his boot dispatched him from the active duty rolls; Jake
helped himself to the man's bayoneted weapon and went to the bush where he had thrown Alison.

She wasn't there. He pushed through, stickers grab
bing at his clothes and face. Jake had just yanked a particularly nasty branch from his cheek when his in
jured ribs were creased by a thin but still hurtful tree limb.

"Jesus!"

"I'm sorry," Alison exclaimed. "I didn't know it was
you."

"Come on, before the others find us." Jake pushed
her forward. The woods were just thin enough for them
to run through, and the top cover filtered the moon's light, sheltering them with a veil of darkness. After
they had gone a hundred feet or so, Jake pulled Alison
to a stop, whispered that they should be quiet, and thus
changed their tactic from rapid retreat to organized
withdrawal.

The marines had lit torches and were scouring the field and the edge of the woods. The fight, however,
had been knocked from them. Jake and Alison moved
stealthily to the east, and within a half hour could no
longer hear the English shouts, nor see their lights.

Another half hour of walking brought them to a road. Jake motioned with his hand that they should stop and rest; they were both so tired they flopped down right into the dust.

"I am sorry about your father," Jake told her. "I am
truly sorry."

The girl did not say anything, but began softly weep
ing to herself. Jake knelt and held her in his arms. Back
at the tavern, her body had felt considerably harder,
more muscular, and though there was no mistaking her
sex, he did not doubt her boasts about being stronger
than many boys. Now, she felt as weak and soft as a
tender kitten, stranded after its mother has been snatched away.

"I must go," said Jake. "I'm sorry for you, but my
mission is critical. It will be light in a few hours, and I
must find a way across the river. Hide here until dawn. The soldiers have given up their pursuit and will soon
return to their boats. I'll continue south and find my way across with the light."

"We are barely a mile from the Hudson," said Alison, springing to her feet. "Come on."

"Wait. You can't come with me."

"You need me to show you the way. You can't go
south here. And you will never get down the cliffs by
yourself."

"Wait!"