The Golden Flask (19 page)

"Here," said Jake when they finally reached the cof
feehouse door. "No matter what happens, you are to keep your mouth quiet."

"But — "

"No matter what happens! The British will hang me,
and you as well, if we are caught. You are to wait here
exactly a minute, then come in. If it appears that I am in trouble, stay far away from me. There is a man named Bebeef with an apothecary shop in the First Ward. If I am captured, you are to seek him out and say I am your friend. He is a druggist and a philosopher and a great friend of mine; he will shelter you.
Stay out of Canvas Town, no matter what anyone tells
you. And under no circumstances — none — are you to
follow me to jail. Do you understand?"

The girl nodded soberly.

Jake took a full breath. He never knew whether he
would be recognized or not here, and what the conse
quences might be.

"Take care of yourself," he said solemnly, patting Alison's shoulder as if it might be the last time he saw
her. Then he pasted a smile on his face and plunged inside.

Chapter Seventeen

Wherein, fake is accused of being a deadbeat, then
asked about his German.

R
ivington, as any reader
of our country's journals will know, is the notorious editor of the lying rag proclaiming King George Ill's vicious slanders against his former subjects. He is the same printer who published the infamous notes from the Westchester farmer at the beginning of hostilities, and a man who has done much to proclaim the word of tyranny throughout the continent. While it will be admitted that Rivington has also printed the occasional reply from the patriot party — including one penned by Alexander Hamilton — there are few in America and none in England who doubt his loyalty to the king.

Yet how to explain that, in opening the coffeehouse,
he has entered into a partnership with Culper? How to
explain that it is one of the best gathering places for
the patriot spy network, and that even as Jake entered, three different pairs of patriot eyes noted his presence?

Some questions are better left unanswered, at least
for now. Suffice to say that Jake quickly found himself
approached not by a mere waiter, but by Culper him
self. The spymaster wore a reddened mask of gouty
displeasure, and sailed at Jake as a crusader descending on the Saracens.

"You, sir," he announced in a voice that scattered the pigeons nestling on the roof outside, "out of
establishment this instant! We will serve none of your
kind here!"

"I always pay my bill promptly," sniffed Jake in re
turn, not sure entirely what way the game was to be
played.

"Not so readily as you claim. Out — and take the ser
vants' entrance. I wouldn't want people of repute to see you."

"I resent the insult."

"Do you deny that you owe me past ten pounds?"

Jake glanced past Culper and saw Mark Daltoons
standing near the side of the back hall. Daltoons, a
young officer assigned to assist the city spies, was un
doubtedly waiting to conduct him to a safer place.

"Perhaps we could make an arrangement," Jake offered, glancing around the room. "I am to come into
money soon."

His glance had the effect of warning off a few of the
more easily embarrassed patrons. "I must take the boy
with me," said Jake in a whisper. "The lad in the tan vest without a hat just now coming through the door."

"I will retrieve him," promised Culper beneath his breath. "If you have coins," he said loud enough for the room to hear, “you may meet me in the kitchen. If
not, do not darken my hallway any longer."

Jake was already heading for Daltoons. Tall and thin,
with stained apron and unsmiling countenance, the
fake waiter gave the most discreet of nods before disappearing into the back. Jake followed moodily; inside
the hallway, he discovered an open panel and slipped
through, landing uneasily on a twisting staircase.

Closing the door behind him meant enshrouding
himself in a thick, dank darkness. He descended slowly,
and counted five steps when he was suddenly grabbed
from behind.

Just as he was ducking to flip his assailant over his
back, he realized it was Daltoons.

"We have installed a new passage," said the young
man. "Come quickly.”

When they had last worked together, Daltoons had confessed to Jake that he had lied about his age when enlisting in his Massachusetts company two years be
fore. At the time, he was barely fifteen, though he said
he was nineteen. The fiction was carried off so perfectly that the others in his group elected him their
officer. In their defense, it must be said that Daltoons
generally carried himself as a man in his late twenties or early thirties, possessed of a bravery that knew no
age limit. Barely seventeen when General Howe's army
advanced on New York the previous fall, he had volun
teered to remain in the city and help establish the spy
network.

Jake had to duck to proceed through the passage, which burrowed beneath the building in the manner of
a Roman catacomb. It narrowed so severely that at one
point he and Daltoons turned and walked sideways.

"Quite a snug little nest we've made under the Brit
ish, no?" Daltoons said as he reached a large chamber.
"Wait now and we will have a little light."

A lamp filled with whale oil lay near the entrance.
Daltoons took it up, and with some trouble succeeded in getting it lit. The walls and ceiling of this dug-out room had been boarded over with wide pine boards, but it could not in any sense be called comfortable; many a dungeon seemed more handsome.

"The British have turned their screw wheels tighter
of late," said Daltoons as Jake took a seat on an empty
barrel. "The Tory bastard Elliot has been given broad
powers, and anyone so much as criticizing the king is
subject to arrest."

"An exaggeration, surely."

"Not at all," said Daltoons. "The British put a good
price on your head after your last sojourn. Fortunately,
they seem to have come up with a very faulty descrip
tion."

The young man reached to a nearby chest and picked through some papers. He handed Jake a sheaf of circulars offering 100 pounds for the apprehension
of "one of His Majesty's most pernicious subjects, Jake
Gibson. Standing five-foot-three, with dark black hair
and a scar above his nose, he has a French accent
gained from his years of service in the maritime, where
he lost partial use of his leg."

Jake's laugh shook the ceiling boards. "This is me?"

"I know a dozen men who would swear it."

The men's laughter stopped abruptly as they heard a
noise above. The lieutenant took his pistol from his
belt and steadied it at the narrow doorway, lowering it
only when Culper pushed through with a grunt.

"You took a great chance meeting me here," said Culper gruffly.

"I asked for you at the governor's palace, but you
weren't at home," returned Jake.

"There's a price on your head. It's fortunate we have
friends willing to describe you so minutely, or half the
company upstairs would have fallen on you."

Jake was just about to tell Culper why he had come
when Alison burst through the opening with the joy of a newborn colt.

"Father!" she cried.

"It's all right, Alison, we're among friends," said Jake, holding her at bay.

She gave him a strange look.

"Father? Why are you calling me Alison? Do you think I've suddenly changed into a girl?"

"If you want, I'll let our friend Daltoons examine you." Jake ignored her scowl and turned to Culper.
"Her father helped me find an easy passage to the city,
but was killed by marines. We only just survived by
swimming the river."

"You swam?" asked Daltoons incredulously.

"Not by design," said Jake.

As was her habit, Alison had adopted her own view of the situation. "I've come to New York to join the Sons of Liberty," she told Culper. "And to help General Washington.

Culper frowned. "You can't help him here. Where is
your mother?"

"I have none. And no relatives either. I am a fresh
recruit, without strings."

Culper was already shaking his head by the time Jake suggested a place might be found for Alison at the coffeehouse.

"She cooks very well," said Jake.

"I don't want a job as a cook or servant," said Alison. "I want to join the army — or be a spy like you."

"Alison, I think perhaps you should go and get something to eat. And get changed," said Jake.

"I want to stay here."

"No," he said firmly. "Lieutenant Daltoons will help
you."

"Gladly," said Daltoons. Not only could he now see
through the disguise, he was beginning to see more than a bit beyond it.

"Take her to Miss Tennison's," said Culper.

Daltoons started to object, but his commander would hear none of it.

"Tennison's. You could probably use a good supper
yourself. Meet us at the infirmary when you are done."

Daltoons appeared nearly as reluctant as Alison now
that the destination was given, but nodded and led her
out through an entrance that led up the stairs of an adjoining house.

"Can we trust her?" Culper asked Jake.

"Without doubt, though she's the most rambunctious
girl I've ever met. But give her her due: she just helped
me lie my way off Clayton Bauer's estate."

"Bauer? He captured you?"

"No. I had the bad luck to wash up on his shore. Alison passed herself off as a boy there, and talked Bauer's sister-in-law into helping us."

At last Culper was impressed. "How old is she?"

"I believe fifteen, perhaps a year more."

"I don't know that we can keep her here. Things are
far too dangerous now. The entire city is turned against
us."

"General Washington was afraid' you might be dead."

"Not yet. But many of our people have been forced
into hiding — or jail."

"The general needs to know Howe's plans," said
Jake. "He has intercepted a message that claims he's
attacking Boston."