The Golden Flask (26 page)

Van Clynne's efforts to elicit information about Gen
eral Howe, offered as small bits of conversation as the
man worked, were not nearly as efficient. In fact, they
ended abruptly when the squire asked if the tailor had
seen the general of late.

"Do not mention that damned bastard," exclaimed
Quinton, dabbing the air with his needle. "He owes me twenty pounds since Christmas! Do you know the ma
terial I purchased for him? He looked at it and waved his hand, saying he did not like it now that he saw it. Now that he saw it! Did not like it! I have a near acre of chartreuse cloth. What shall I do with it?"

"A tent, perhaps?"

Further comments indicated that Howe had not been at the shop since midwinter. Van Clynne sank
into his chair and began thinking how he might shave a
half-guilder off his debt and sample some of Quintan's fine beer besides when he happened to glance out the
window. A white-painted carriage with elaborate molding and inlay was just pulling up in front, heading a
procession of mounted redcoat dragoons and a second
carriage.

The squire staggered to his feet, his face white and his strength suddenly sapped.

"What's wrong, Claus?"

"I, er, seem to have something caught in my throat,"
said the squire. "Would you have any water?"

"Not in the shop."

"Well then, let me use your back door."

"My back door?"

"And I'll take my coat. The repairs look quite excel
lent."

"But what about the rip at the sleeve?"

"What is a small tear among friends?"

* * *

Van Clynne's sudden interest in leaving was due entirely to the similarity of the carriage outside with one
owned by Major Dr. Harland Keen, a man known to van Clynne as a rather dubious doctor and member of
the British secret department. At one memorable junc
ture, Keen had subjected him to a full-body bloodletting, covering nearly every inch of his skin with
leeches. The Dutchman liked a sanguinary experience
as much as the next man, but this had been a bit extreme.

Van Clynne had taken Jake's word that Keen had
drowned when he went over the falls. But who then
was the man descending from the coach, his white hair
pressed back, his coattails flaring with typical British
audacity?

"I have a great need of your back door," said van
Clynne, coughing as loudly as he could. "Quickly!"

"Don't choke to death. Come."

Van Clynne just managed to whisk through the door
into the back room as the bell attached to the front
door clanged as it opened. The tailor hesitated, but van
Clynne pushed forward, confident that he would find the way on his own.

He had only just crossed from the back into the side
alley when he realized he had left his gray-toned black
beaver hat behind.

As a general rule, Claus van Clynne was not overly
sentimental. He was, however, especially fond of his
hat, which had accompanied him through considerable travail and was fairly unique in its appearance and con
struction.

Which meant it must surely be recognized by the all-
too-perceptive Keen.

Easing up the side alley, just out of view of the
mounted escort that remained in the street, van Clynne heard his recent host fill the room with honey-coated
praise of his Loyalist and British guests.

"My good Earl Buckmaster," he heard Quinton say,
"your suit, sir, is ready as promised. You see that I have
taken less than a full day. It was an honor to prepare it
for you. I think no tailor in this city so honored. And you will note the handsome stitching.”

To relate more would surely sicken the reader nearly
as much as it did van Clynne. It developed that the
tailor was familiar with Keen, whom he presented with
a shirt ordered several fortnights before, "and preserved, sir, against your return to our shop."

"Yes, well, hurry with it. We have several more stops,
and my sister must see to a dress," said Bauer. He turned and addressed his brother-in-law and Keen. "Even with my man holding our seats, we must arrive at the theater before General Clinton. He creates such
a god-awful scene. With luck, the little fop Alain will
have finished eating before we get to the engineering office. His table manners are enough to turn the stom
ach upside down."

Van Clynne was starting to think the hat might es
cape notice — and be recovered — when he heard the
doctor's distinct voice through the window. It was close
enough to make his heart thump like the broken arm of a windmill smacking against the ground.

"This hat. Whose is it?"

A simple question, surely. But those are always the
most dangerous.

"The h-hat," stuttered Quinton. "Well, some cus
tomer must have left it. Honestly, I am not sure. Would you like it? I can let you have it for a low price — no, let
me give it to you. Yes, take it as a present."

Silence followed. Van Clynne imagined Keen taking
up the beaver and examining it.

"I recently was acquainted with a fellow who had a hat very similar," said the doctor, the restraint in his voice obvious even outside. "Had I not seen him burn in a building, I would swear this was his."

"There are many hats like this," said the tailor ner
vously. "It is a common style."

"The owner was a Dutchman," said Keen. He was
no longer bothering to control his venom; van Clynne
felt his own body fairly warmed by it. "And do not lie to me or your tongue will be tread on by half the British soldiers quartered at King's College.”

"Now that you mention it," answered the tailor, his
voice trembling. "It does seem familiar."

The squire did not tarry to hear himself betrayed. He
swept from the alley, bowed quickly at the mounted
guard, and walked with as much balance as he could
muster southward. He was nearly a block away when
Keen's temper rose in a mighty fit; van Clynne could
hear the sound of crashing tables and glass as he
turned the corner and began running with all his might.

* * *

Van Clynne arrived at the infirmary just as Alison was
trying to persuade Culper that she could serve the
Cause as one of his agents in town instead of "visiting"
a relative of his in Westchester, as he suggested. The
girl had taken a flintlock pistol from the armory in the
medicine closet. Seated at the large pine table that
held the middle of the second floor wardroom, she was demonstrating her knowledge of its working parts by
stripping it with the aid of a very large and pointed knife.

"Blindfold me, if you wish," she told the spymaster,
waving the knife as if it were a harmless twig. "I will do
it again. I can do it behind my back."

"It's a very useful skill," allowed the patriot leader.
"I'm sure we will find great use for it. But first, we will
have to make some arrangements for you."

"I don't want to be sent behind the lines."

"Quickly, there is no time to waste," blustered van Clynne, bursting up the unguarded stairwell so fast he
nearly broke three spokes on the oaken baluster. "Where is Jake?"

"He's gone to the engineer's office," said Culper. "What business is it of yours?"

"A great enemy of ours is loose in the city," said van
Clynne. "Quickly, he must be warned."

"Who is this enemy? What are you talking about?"

"Keen, Doctor Quack Keen, a man given to the
most obnoxious poisons and a disgrace to his profes
sion. He is heading for this Alain fellow, this engineering
lordship. If Keen finds Jake there he will cover his
body with leeches and set him on fire, and then prepare a proper torture."

"Jake told my men Keen was dead."

"Believe me, sir, he is very much alive. And I dis
tinctly heard him mention Lord Alain."

"I've already sent the last men I can spare on other
jobs."

"I'll go!" shouted Alison, starting for the stairs.

Culper grabbed her by the shoulder. "You're not go
ing anywhere."

"You said I could serve the Cause. Here is my chance."

"I intend on warning Jake myself," said van Clynne.
"I will enter the house under other pretense and sneak
into the office to warn him away. I require only swift
transportation, and a map of the place, if possible."

"There are two floors," said Culper hastily, necessity
forcing him to put aside his doubts about the Dutch
man. "Jake was to sneak upstairs into the offices while
Alain was downstairs eating."

"I will warn him."

"How?" asked Alison. "You won't be able to climb up the side of the building."

"I will go in the front door, child, on some simple
pretext," said van Clynne. There were no hatchets
handy, and so he had to settle for the pistol Alison had
just assembled. "There is no need for me to burglarize
the place."

"Then you need an assistant to sneak upstairs," she
said, volunteering. "I can easily slip away on some pre
text."

The Dutchman threw her a doubtful look.

"Please," she said, taking up his hand. "Let me prove myself. I am very brave."

"I cannot dawdle."

"Let's go then," she said, running to the door.

"I will find Daltoons and have him organize reinforcements," said Culper, as van Clynne followed her down the stairs with a series of oaths.

"A girl and a Dutchman," the spymaster added as
they disappeared through the door. "What will Wash
ington send me next?"

Chapter Twenty-three

Wherein, Jake does some impromptu carpentering
.

A
bout roughly the same
time that Claus van Clynne spied the crooked red bricks at the front of the tailor
shop, a carpenter was walking in his oversized smock and apron down the city's east ward. He cut a tangled
path toward the wharf used by the ferry from Brooklyn,
smiling from beneath his broad-brimmed, if somewhat
tattered, felt hat. Whistling a jaunty air — it might be
"British Grenadiers," it might be "Yankee Doodle" —
he headed back up the hill and, just as supper hour
approached, found a large, dilapidated former creamery and set up shop on its rear porch.