The Silver Bullet (24 page)

Mrs. Skinner folded her arms and suggested that perhaps the sheriff would have another opinion when he returned home. Van Clynne quickly adopted a new gambit.

“
Alas, we have urgent business on the road,” he said. “But before I leave, I would like to purchase a bottle of your elixir.”

“
I never sell that! I give it to friends for free.”

“
Well, I though from the way you were carrying on –“

“
You should be ashamed of yourself, Claus van Clynne. Implying that we are less than friends. My great-grandparents came to America with your great-grandparents.”

Van Clynne put on a contrite look – and winked at Jake as Mrs. Skinner disappeared into the back. She returned presently with a small, milky-white-colored bottle. Van Clynne immediately began singing her praises.

“
You do not often find women such as Willa Skinner!” he declared. “Even the wilden trek to her door.”

“
We haven’t had Indians on this land for ten years,” said the housewife. “And if I saw one, I’d shoot him.”

“
My friend is an apothecary,” van Clynne told her. He spoke in a stage whisper Jake was obviously supposed to overhear. “Let us see if perhaps we can work an arrangement that will make you rich.”

The freckles in her face turned white with the suggestion. “Oh no, no, my cures are never for sale. This is not a cure, only an aid,” she told Jake. “My grandmother passed down the recipe. And educated man will think it superstition.”

“
It is just the thing for indigestion,” said van Clynne, tapping his belly. “And I’m an expert on the subject.” He turned to Jake. “I tell you, sir, you could make a fortune by selling this. A Dutchwoman’s cures, call it.”

The timely passing of their quarry on the road cut off further debate. Jake motioned to van Clynne, who immediately rose from the table, hiking his breeches.

William Herstraw was riding his large black mare quite lazily, though Jake noted that he had one of his flintlock pistols slung in a harness in front of his right leg; undoubtedly its holster was loose enough to swivel upward easily.

Herstraw, too far to see more than shadows inside the house, gave a generic node from his saddle but kept going.

“
Let him get a little head,” said Jake. “And then we can catch up.”

Mrs. Skinner looked first to Jake and then to van Clynne for an explanation.

“
A certain business deal that has to be perfected,” said van Clynne.

“
The man has the look of a Tory,” said the housewife. “He should be shot straightaway.”

“
Let’s go,” said Jake.

“
If I find you are doing business with turncoats,” Mrs. Skinner called out behind them, “I will apply the tar bath myself.”

Jake and van Clynne had gone only a few yards on the road – and around a curve that hid the house from view – when the Dutchman stopped and took the bottle of stomach cure from his pocket.

“
You feel sick?”

“
No, I’m pouring this into the dust.”

“
Why?”

“
It’s rot and poison,” said van Clynne. “I wouldn’t feed it to a dog. The woman is a shrill at business, and her potions are the only way to get on her good side.”

“
Speaking ill of a Dutch housewife?”

“
They are great at everything,” said van Clynne, “except cures. Especially those they claim to have gotten from their grandmothers.” He turned his nose and kicked the horse as he upturned the medicine, which splattered across the ground. “Her ale – now that is another story completely.”

-Chapter Twenty-

Wherein, the plan to exchange bullets meets with unexpected reversals.

J
ake’s plan was
relatively simple – change the bullets when Herstraw wasn’t looking. Everything else was just a matter of logistics.

But logistics are critical in war. Jake still hadn’t seen the other bullet; he did not yet know if Herstraw had covered it with grease or some other disguise, and patience were no required, as well as diversion. Herstraw would naturally be suspicious of a man arrests as a spy and then released.

Jake would have to protest his innocence in such a way that convinced Herstraw he was indeed guilty but had succeeded in fooling the Americans. Assuming he was like the rest of his brethren, the British officer would think the American authorities naturally deficient, and would thus be inclined to believe any example of their incompetence, as long as the example could be given subtly.

“
It will be best if I do the talking,” Jake told van Clynne as they drew close. “You know nothing, except that I came upon you along the road as we’re doing to him. Remember, let me do the talking.”

I shall be my natural, reticent self,” declared van Clynne.

Which, of course, was like King George III declaring himself a democrat.

“
Look who I found!” shouted van Clynne as they drew near Herstraw. “Our good friend the traitor!”

Jake consoled himself with the thought that, should he find it necessary to shoot Herstraw, it was quite likely that van Clynne would find himself in the cross fire.

“
I’m sure I don’t want to associate with a Tory spy,” said Herstraw haughtily.

“
Come sir, I think I’m as good a judge of character as any man,” said Jake.

“
And what do you mean by that?”

“
Simply that we are both traveling in the same direction.” Jake gently signaled his horse to move ahead. Now was a dangerous moment – the British messenger could easily swing up his gun and shoot him in the back of the head.

But the moment passed, and Jake soon heard Herstraw’s horse trotting alongside. He turned to see the pistol pointed squarely at his face.

“
I don’t trust you, Tory,” said Herstraw.

Jake softly pulled back on his reins.

“
Let’s approach this calmly,” suggested van Clynne. “I’m sure the traitor has a good explanation.”

“
Perhaps he will give it to St. Peter, then,” said Herstraw, cocking his weapon.

“
I will tell you what I told them at Fort Ticonderoga,” Jake said in a steady voice. He was most impressed by Herstraw’s act – had he not seen him leaving Carleton’s office, he might almost believe he was a real patriot. “My brother, who lived in Canada, was killed during an Indian attack this past fall. By the time word of this reached me, it was January and the roads were impassable. I traveled to Montreal to ascertain whether the stories I had heard were true, and now I have the unfortunate task of relaying the information to our mother.”

“
Why didn’t you say this when we spoke in the tavern, then? Or to the soldiers when you were arrested?”

“
I wouldn’t think of burdening a stranger with my troubles,” said Jake. He knew from experience that his stiff and formal tone made his lie all the more believable to British ears. “As for the soldiers, had they not acted so hastily, I would readily have explained. I have a note from the militia’s commanding officer exonerating me, if you care to see it.”

“
That won’t be necessary,” said Herstraw coldly. He lowered his weapon.

Good thing, too, since Jake had no such letter. He told the story so convincingly, however, that even van Clynne seemed moved and had trouble answering when Herstraw asked why he was traveling south.

“
Business,” said the Dutchman finally. “Always business. If there’s a shilling to be made – ”

“
And how are you going to make this shilling?”

“
Yes,” put in Jake, “that is what I would like to know.”

“
I have a consignment for certain pewter pieces,” said van Clynne smoothly. “And I am going to White Plains to see a man there about selling them.”

Herstraw frowned, but pressed no further. He could not object too strenuously to their joining him without risking his own suspicions, dangerous to do so far behind enemy lines. Travelers who met on the road were expected to journey together, for protection as well as fellowship. And undoubtedly he regarded Jake as a Tory deserter riding to New York City. As such, Herstraw would think he might be useful in an emergency.

“
You don’t mind that we ride with you?” Jake asked innocently, rubbing it in.

“
I do mind, indeed.”

“
Now, now, be more congenial to your fellow travelers,” said Van Clynne. “You never know when you might need a friend. We may meet up with shady fellows along the way.”

“
I already have.”

“
He’s going to White Plaines, as we are,” van Clynne told Jake. “He has a brother there who owes him money, and he’s going to collect it. A fool’s mission, if you ask me. Never lend money to a relative; the best that can happen is they will forget to pay you back.”

Jake ignored the Dutchman. “I recall you telling me your relatives lived there,” he told Herstraw. “Did you buy that farmer’s horse in Rhinebeck?”

“
Twenty pounds,” answered van Clynne. “Can you imagine?”

“
A good buy,” answered Jake, trying to signal with his eyes that van Clynne should shut his mouth.

“
Oh, no. If I were arranging it, believe me, I could have gotten it for half. Yes, it’s a fine horse, but mares are always worth less.”

A small patrol from the garrison that commanded the pass in the hills below the village stopped them and briefly asked their business. The soldiers were quickly satisfied and the travelers resumed their journey. Jake let Herstraw accelerate at first, gaining a bit of a lead, then prodded his mount to catch up. The horse seemed glad – the animal was positively a wonder, made to run very fast and undoubtedly for days on end. It did not like to proceed at anything less than full gallop, and was constantly urging its master on.

Surveying the British messenger, Jake concluded that the silver bullet was probably sitting in the bottom of the hunting bag Herstraw had slung over his shoulder. IT would be a simple matter to wait for an unguarded moment, take the bag and exchange the bullet. All he had to do now was wait.

And wait and wait, as Herstraw neither stopped nor dropped his guard while they rode south as a moderate pace. Van Clynne filled the time by haranguing them with a theory that the water in this area made for a very good ale, if boiled and then allowed to sit overnight in a tin tub.

“
You’re wondering why tin, no doubt?” said van Clynne.

“
I’m not wondering about anything,” said Herstraw. “Except how to survive your prattle.”

“
Tut tut,” said van Clynne generously, proceeding to explain the relation of “flavor noodles” in the otherwise pure water and the magnetism of the metal vessel.

The land here was in American hands, being still many miles north of the British lines at New York City, but that hardly made it safe from attack. Their superiority on water gave the British a mobility that was difficult to combat.

The Americans had undertaken a massive defensive measure to block off the Hudson River to British ships, stretching a long chain across the Hudson at a bend just north of Peekskill. An assaulting army would have not only the chain to contend with, but a series of forts and artillery batteries that would make the narrows treacherous going.

Nonetheless, Jake’s tactical eye saw many gaps in the defenses. And while the fact that no patrol challenged them on the road southeast of Peekskill meant their cover stories wouldn’t be put to a test, it also meant that British spies and rangers would have an easy time getting in and out of the area.

Peekskill had, in fact, been attacked twice this past year, once in February and again in March; both assaults had done real damage. The British had occupied the village during the last raid, and there were some who said the redcoats’ retreat was due to whim, not fear. The HMS Dependence was lurking offshore somewhere, and farther south, Dobbs Ferry was an effective British stronghold.

One thing Jake had to admit, the British messenger had gall as well as courage. He was living up to his boast to Burgoyne, traveling right through the heart of patriot country. Jake watched him carefully, half expecting a sudden bolt towards Dobbs Ferry for a rendezvous.

“
You’re always brooding, sir, just staring into space,” van Clynne said to Herstraw as they rode. “Why are you so moody?”

“
I’m not,” he said, his response so gloomy that it contradicted itself

But Jake realized the man wasn’t staring into space; instead, he was examining the defenses. Now here was a messenger with ambition – he would have a full report for General Howe once he arrived in New York. No wonder he went toward White Plains instead of seeking a safer route along the river.

Jake’s apothecary studied had taught him about the root of a certain tree that could induce amnesia. Such a potion would come in handy now – he could slip it into Herstraw’s drink and wipe out his knowledge of the American defenses.

Of course, there was no way to get the root cure here, as it grew only on a small island south of the Cape of Good Hope in Africa. But thinking of it led Jake to settle on a potion that would help him accomplish his more immediate and important aim of switching bullets – sleeping powder. He could mix a particularly potent version from some simple ingredients, assuming he could find an apothecary shop along the way, as well as a reason to go into it.