Infinite Loss (Infinite Series, Book 3)

by L. E. Waters

  “He is not yet in command.” He paces the cherry wood floor. “Write Mrs. Arnold back and encourage her to do whatever she needs to obtain command for him. And send one of these rings along with your letter for Arnold to wear. Tell him an identical ring will be worn by someone we send into Washington’s camp to meet with him. I want to be sure that it is indeed Arnold we are speaking with.”

  “Whom shall we send in to be his contact?”

  “How about your man Smith? He’s in Washington’s camp, isn’t he?”

  “As far as I know.”

  “Well, send him the update and ring as well.”

  I write the letters and drop them with a ring tied inside each one into a deep tree hole that is Obadiah’s pick-up spot. The next day, I reach in for them and find they’re already gone.

  As Clinton and I are in his parlor discussing events over tea a week later, I almost drop my cup as a familiar form enters briskly, without knocking.

  Clinton’s temper flares, but before he can open his mouth, I say, “Smith, I would like to introduce you to General Clinton.”

  Clinton settles back down but, yanking his coattail out from under him with a grunt, says, “Even a spy must knock on a General’s door.”

  Smith, looking tanned and rugged, bows slightly. “Someone was coming down the hall, sir.”

  I welcome him with a smile, and invite him to sit with us. He perches in the carver chair across from Clinton and shakes his head as I try to pass him a cup. I ask, “What has happened to cause you to come in person?”

  “I wore the ring, like you said, but never met with Arnold.”

  “He wasn’t there?” Clinton immediately looks as though his fears are supported.

  “No, he was there, was with us all week, but he wore no ring.”

  Clinton and I quiet, trying to process what this all means. Clinton begins, “I had good word that Arnold has been liquidating his entire estate for gold. That seems to me a man preparing to switch sides, so I will not think the worst.”

  Smith lets out a frustrated breath. “Don’t you see? The letters are being intercepted. It’s why I had to come in person at immense risk to myself. Somewhere, communications aren’t getting through.”

  I give Clinton a look, and he nods in silent response. “Anything you saw in the camp then?”

  Smith says, “Quite hysterical, actually.” He kicks his boots up on the pie-crust edging of Clinton’s tea table, not noticing Clinton’s clear disdain for such disrespect. “It seems that Washington was unsure of appointing him to West Point and, rather, wanted Arnold to join him in the field if he were not so fatigued. And it was the darnedest thing!” Smith slaps his thigh with a guffaw. “Suddenly, Arnold was lamenting the wretched pain in his leg the very moment he had an audience. I rode alongside Washington, who brought Arnold all the way up to the heights of Stony Point, where we looked out on the Continental army crossing the Hudson in barges, and Arnold ventured to ask, ‘If the general had thought of anything for him?’”

  Smith begins to laugh. “Washington replied, ‘Yes, yes,’ smiling so that Arnold beamed in his anticipated answer. ‘You are to lead the left wing of the Continental army.’”

  Clinton studies Smith’s performance with his thin lips puckered and brows furrowed.

  “Oh, you should have seen his face!” Smith holds his sides. “I could hardly control my reaction, and I had to look off, pretending to cough so that I didn’t give myself away.”

  Clinton leans in. “Well, what did Arnold reply? And get your feet off my desk.”

  Smith keeps laughing as he pulls the limbs in question back in, catlike. “He didn’t hide his dissatisfaction and said nothing, to the great displeasure of Washington. Washington ordered him back to camp.”

  I jump in. “I see that this is amusing to you, Smith, but this is terrible news if Arnold is to command the left wing. He will be right under Washington’s thumb, rendering himself completely useless to us after all we have sacrificed. All you have sacrificed.”

  He lazily brings his head around to stare at me. “Untie your bows and lace a bit there, André.” He looks back to Clinton. “Your boy Arnold didn’t disappoint. He went some ways down the slope and, with great drama, fell off his horse onto the side of his good leg, rolled, and cried out in great anguish. We rushed down to find the miserable faker grabbing his bad leg, swearing and shouting at Washington that ‘he was useless on horseback now, that his constant pain has broken his spirit, and his only chance was the granny position at West Point.’”

  “Well,” Clinton says slowly after Smith pauses. “What did Washington say?”

  Smith starts to laugh again. “He said he’d think on it and, even when Arnold kept up his antics of cursing and hobbling around, Washington announced he felt it would lift his spirits to appoint him to command the left wing.”

  Clinton slams his fist down on the leather tabletop, and shouts, with spittle flying, “God damn you, Smith! Stop your cackling and get out of my office!”

  Smith leaps to his feet, with his arms held out. “With respect, you have to be dead not to see the humor in all this, General.” He puts his hat on, giving me a look, as I keep my face stone-still. “Or British, I guess.”

  Clinton shouts, “You are excused!”

  As he closes the door, he says, with a smirk, “And I was just getting to Washington giving Arnold West Point.”

  Clinton and I both jump up to throw the door open again. Smith stands in the corridor with a grin on his face.

  “Stab my vitals!” Clinton fumes. “Out with it, and stop these games!”

  Smith steps back into the room but then halts. “Oh, I thought I’d been excused.”

  Clinton turns to me. “André, my blood is boiling! I can’t take this idiot. Make him speak.” He goes back and collapses in his chair.

  I reproach Smith with a glare, and he submits. “Soon afterwards, Washington received news from a trusted source,”—he points to himself—“that the British had abandoned their attack on Rhode Island and returned to New York. With the city thus reinforced, the rebels would not be able to carry out their attack on New York. Not needing Arnold in the fight, Washington relented and gave Arnold what he wanted.”

  Clinton takes out his hankie and wipes the beads of sweat off his reddened, thickly lined forehead. “That almost killed me, Smith,” he says, but with a smile.

  “You can thank the idiot later then.” He walks back out the door.

  Clinton turns to me after the door closes. “He’s quite a quiz. Useful, but still a quiz.”

  I apologize for his behavior but then remembered Peggy and her request. I open the door to run down the hall, but someone grabs me and spins me around against the wall.

  “What’s this I hear of Peggy seducing Livingston to attain West Point for her cripple?” Smith’s indigo eyes simmer deep and dangerous, so close to mine, and now I understand his strange mood.

  “She is doing everything she can to help us, Smith.” I say, noticing how much taller and bigger than me he is.

  “One man is enough. Stop using her like this. I agreed to one!” He puts his strong finger right in front of my face, and behind the rigid digit, his whole body shakes.

  I simply nod. “You have my word.”

  Then, with a peculiar smile, he unties my neckcloth, pats my chest and turns to walk away.

  “Peggy has been sending her love, Smith.” He stops and only turns one ear to me. “She has been desperate for word from you.”

  He moves again. “Tell her, it will all be over soon.”

  He springs over the stair rail and hops down to the landing below.

  Chapter 15

  Clinton sends me to fetch a new coat from the tailor. When I get into the carriage after taking delivery of it, I cut open the button with my penknife, as instructed.

  The first sliver of paper—written in tiny letters—reveals:

  I have earned the command at the garrison and poor Madam A fainted dead away when new
s came of my appointment to the left wing. She is recovering nicely with the more recent news. I regret to inform you—

  I fumble to open another button:

  that a mutual confidence betwixt us is wanting. I have only now received the letter with your ring and see it was but a month delayed. I remember the gentleman wearing the ring and know that he resides here in Stony Point.

  Another button:

  I will seek him out on my own since I feel our next step, once I take the garrison, is to meet in person. Due to the great stress this has caused both me and the Madam,—

  The last button:

  I am now insisting on ten thousand pounds sterling with five hundred pounds annual stipend and twenty thousand pounds for the West Point.

  Mr. Gustavous

  I write back to Peggy with our terms, include Smith’s message, and leave it for Obadiah.

  ∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

  Weeks later, Smith comes barging into my small room. “What is your reply? I have been hand-holding that crippled buffoon for a week now! What say you?”

  “I sent a reply through Obadiah at once.”

  He shakes his head back and forth. “There has been no sighting of Obadiah. Arnold is anxiously awaiting the negotiation, and is so suspicious of the team, he has been talking with Washington, trying to get the names of Lafayette’s informants.”

  “Has he obtained any?” I leap on the great idea.

  “Washington says Lafayette has not disclosed his greatest spies even to him.”

  “A shame. That would have made things more enjoyable.”

  “He is convinced there is a double agent in our chain, and I agree. I have reason to believe it to be Obadiah.”

  “I have my distrust also.”

  “I have been keeping track of all the missing, delayed letters, and they all have one constant—Obadiah.”

  “I will speak to Clinton on it, but there are many hands in the chain and possibly it is someone Obadiah trusts instead.” He seems to consider it. “Well, here is another copy of the letter I sent with Obadiah. I trust it will get there much faster with you.”

  ∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

  With all the excitement in the air, I decide to publish a poem about a recent battle we won in the loyalist newspaper, The Royal Gazette.

  The Cow Chase

  To drive the Kine, one summer’s morn

  The Tanner took his way,—

  The calf shall rue, that is unborn,

  The jumbling of the day.

  And Wayne-descending steers shall know

  And tauntingly deride;

  And call to mind, in every low,

  The tanning of his hide.

  For well you know, the latter is

  The serious operation:

  And fighting with the Refugees

  Is only—demonstration.

  His daring words from all the crowd

  Such great applause did gain,

  That every man declared aloud

  For serious work—with Wayne.

  But here—the muse has not a strain

  Befitting such great deeds,

  Huzza, they cried. Huzza for Wayne!

  And shouting—did their needs.

  But, ah, Thadaeus Posset, why

  Should thy poor soul elope?

  And why should Titus Hooper die,

  And die—without a rope?

  And now I’ve closed my epic strain,

  I tremble as I show it,

  Lest this same warrio-drover Wayne

  Should ever catch the poet.”

  Everywhere I go that day I receive pats on the back for my poem. It seems to lift the spirit of the men. Clinton waves me over to him in the parlor and laughs heartily. “You are a man of many talents, Major André.”

  “Major, sir?”

  “I have arranged for you to be promoted to my Adjunct General. You have risen faster than anyone before. I fear you will have my rank soon.”

  I laugh. “I think I am very happy with Major. Sir, thank you.” I sit down near him in an adjacent chair.

  Clinton opens up his velvet waistcoat, revealing Rosey sleeping soundly inside on his belly, and removes a letter. He now steals into my room to nab Rosey when I’m absent.

  “Obadiah, I presume, left this for me. It is from Arnold.”

  I have just returned from King’s Ferry after waiting hours, staring in the direction of Philadelphia, in the hope that I might see Peggy arriving at last. I have imagined a thousand fancied disasters that might have befallen her and have now sent a dragoon as far as New Brunswick to ask if anyone had seen her on the road. Anxiety has overtaken me and I find it hard to concentrate on the pressing matter of the particulars of our meeting. I think it is best for all parties involved for ‘John Anderson’ meet me in disguise at the end of the week.

  Mr. Gustavous

  “What would you have me respond?” I ask, my mind on Peggy.

  “Oh, this is from a week ago. I have already sent one off telling him under no condition will I send you under disguise. It would have to be under a flag of truce.”

  “I wonder how he will respond to that.” I cross my legs as he smirks and dramatically pulls out another letter from his waistcoat.

  You must be sensible. My situation will not permit my meeting or having any private intercourse with such an officer. I assure you, if you reach our lines by stealth, I will engage you shall be perfectly safe here.

  Mr. Gustavous

  Clinton immediately shoves the letter back into his pocket roughly, causing his coat to bulge distractingly as he fumes. “There is no way I shall send my best agent to swing from the gallows just because it makes him more comfortable. You send word back to Arnold you intend to come to him at Dobb’s Ferry under a flag of truce, in uniform, at dusk on September 20th. Until then, John Anderson.”

  “So, I presume, I am John Anderson?”

  “Of course. That is the name you will be meeting him under.”

  ∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

  A week later, we receive word again:

  Peggy has arrived and put my mind at ease. She has instructed me to comply with your demands and I am determined to go as far as Dobb’s Ferry to meet the flag. There are a thousand men presently at the garrison, but I might collect fifteen hundred in the next few days. Time is of the essence. Mrs. A assures her love.

  Mr. Gustavous

  Chapter 16

  I gaze across choppy water as the wind picks up and threatens to lift my hat. An eerie chill is in the air, and I sense something approach across the water. Many pointed fins, hundreds, start appearing in the churned sea before me. Shark fins I suspect but, as they draw nearer with curving motions, I identify them—dolphins. A man emerges on the nearest dolphin’s back, and the dolphin carries him close. This old man stands up with no effort and calls out toward me, “Lazrina, you must go, and you must go alone. You must accept your fate.”

  I wake up in the darkness of my bunk, yet the sea-glass eyed man’s voice still echoes in my ears.

  ∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

  It’s an extremely hot September. No wind at all, which makes the stagnant water appear oily in the brutal haze. I pace back and forth on the salty deck of the Vulture, searching for the flag to come for me. The stars are just appearing in the faint dusk when I hear the rhythmic splashing of a few rowers. I can’t contain my excitement; there is a charge in the thick, hot air.

  Smith’s unshaven face appears over the deck rail. “Hurry up, Anderson. I’m hanging onto this damn cargo net.”

  Some men go running on deck to inform Clinton the ferry has come.

  “I am supposed to wait for Obadiah.”

  “No way. He’s not a part of this. You don’t come now, I’m leaving.”

  I have thrown my leg over the side to follow him down when General Clinton appears and pulls on the back of my coat. “Forgetting something?”

  Obadiah’s amber eyes
leer at me.

  Smith pops his head back up and, with great strain from clinging to the ropes, says, “I will allow only those I am sure of.”

  Clinton throws his arms up. “And who are you? Nobody. A common spy. You think you can call the shots here?”

  “I may be a common spy, but it’s my boat, my directions for the meeting place, and my damn neck, sir!”

  Obadiah and I stand there, frozen, as they debate our fates.

  Clinton takes a step back, frustrated, and tries again. “I demand a handler with Obadiah’s field experience to go with André.”

  Smith pries his white fist off the ropes and clings on to the more forgiving rail. He says with great agitation. “If you favor dear André as much as you imply, than you would be wise to keep Obadiah far away from him.”

  Obadiah pinches his lips together in fury, then shouts, “You little patriot maggot. Better scamper up here and face me with pistols. Right here!”

  He points on the deck, but Clinton puts both hands up to try to calm him. “Obadiah, I order you to stay on deck.”

  “Sir, that is blatant slander. I won’t have it!”

  Clinton turns to me and says, “Get on, Major.”

  Obadiah shoves his pistol back in his belt and goes under decks. As I go back to the railing, Clinton, with one eye closed and one wide, says “Now you listen to me, and do as I say. Number one: Under no circumstances are you to change out of your uniform for any other costume. Do you hear me? No circumstances! Two: You are to meet under a flag of truce. Three: You are not, you hear me, not to enter an enemy post. And four: You are not to carry any incriminating papers with you, nothing! Do you understand?”

  I have never seen him like this. I say, “I will follow your orders to the best of my ability, sir.”

  All of the yelling causes Rosey to climb out of his coat and up to his shoulder. I stroke her along her slinky back. “Take care of Rosey for me if anything should happen, sir.”

  He takes her off his shoulder and cradles her in his two shaking hands. “Of course I will, but she will be here, safe and sound, when you return.”