by Jim DeFelice
"You're welcome," said Jake, returning the favor. He indulged himself a while longer — surely there are rewards no man can ignore.
Van Clynne's harrumphs eventually interrupted him. " I played a role in your rescue as well," he pointed out with great dignity.
Rose, after a nod from sweet Jane, gave the Dutchman a polite buss on the chin, then turned back to Jake, looping her arm in his.
"Robert will be happy to hear you're safe," said Jane. Her voice was not quite pointed, but there was no mistaking her meaning.
"Robert," said Rose, clinging to Jake.
"Yes, Robert," said the patriot, who nonetheless let her cling a little longer before gently freeing his arm. "He's quite lucky to be marrying a brave young woman like you."
"But — "
The patriot spy could not resist silencing her protest with a deep — and, dare we suggest, wistful? — kiss.
Several hours later, the patriot spy and his Dutch companion were once more on the road, the sun urging toward dawn and van Clynne deep into his favorite habit of complaint.
"And so, had his show included some such surprise as flying arrows entering my head, you would have let it continue for your amusement."
"Now, now, Claus, I had to wait until the dragoons were in position. You seemed to have things well under control."
"I should have liked to hear your opinion, were the roles reversed."
"They were on the Richmond. I had a rope around my neck the entire time you were aboard. You claimed I was never in any danger."
"It was an English rope, sir, and they are notoriously inferior. I have seen a man hanged for three hours before finally giving up the ghost."
"There's a consolation."
"I, on the other hand, faced down the most despicable criminal in all of Christendom," said the Dutchman, still working to shape the narrative of his adventures — and much more importantly, the writ to have his property returned. "I did so single-handedly and without fear."
"No fear at all?"
"Sir, the Dutch are different than other races. We are not constitutionally given to fear. Something in our blood prevents it." The Dutchman's horse — the gelding had been retrieved from the inn where van Clynne had first met Keen — gave a whinny, whether in wonderment or agreement, who could say?
"I thought Keen and his leeches took all your blood," said Jake.
"He endeavored to, sir, but he had not counted on the Dutch physique. It is a finely tuned, resourceful engine. The Romans found this out when they tried to take us over in the days before Christ." "Your country was occupied for a thousand years." Van Clynne suddenly stopped his horse dead on the roadway. His face turned white, and his manner sickly. "Claus?" "I have completely forgotten! I have the pox!" "The pox?"
The Dutchman slumped on his horse like a dead man. "My soldiers were infected with it. I must have caught it. I ignored the danger of my disease to fight for my country, and now surely I have caught my death."
"What soldiers were infected?"
"Private Martin and the others. I found them in isolation. Poor sweet Jane will be left a widow, before she has even married! If I didn't infect her at the cottage with my kisses!" "If the soldiers were inoculated, they're not infectious. The germs are too weak. You haven't caught anything." The Dutchman gave his companion a wary look. "I know my business," said Jake, shaking his horse's reins. "I did not spend every day at school whoring."
"I was merely testing your knowledge," said van Clynne, resuming his former posture and urging his mount forward. "There are so many quacks in the world today, one can never be sure of another's credentials. Henceforth, I shall refer to you as Dr. Gibbs."
Jake smiled. Under oath, he would have admitted that the Dutchman had done a fine job these past few days, and played an important role in defeating the Tory plot against the chain. And yet van Clynne's tongue had the effect of a powerful telescopic glass, magnifying his own importance so gravely out of proportion that it was comical.
Almost.
"It was a shame you had to lose your salt. General Putnam's men would have welcomed it."
"I did not lose it all, sir; just a small portion was needed to cover the tops of the barrels. The rest will find a welcome market with the general's quartermaster. Mistress Jane is even now engaged in seeing that small transaction to its proper conclusion."
"I suppose you'll make a profit."
"My investment will be recovered, that is all. Of course, the loss of my paper currency during our difficulties has put a strain on my situation. Fortunately, a proper claim has already been made to General Putnam, who accepted it quite readily."
"As a condition for you to leave off telling your story, no doubt."
Van Clynne smiled to himself, as Jake's guess was correct. Old Put's document could be redeemed at Kingston or Albany with any of several merchants he knew, and would more than compensate for his losses. And as he was once more equipped with his many purses, to say he was well pleased with himself would be to understate the case as surely as the Dutchman overstated his role in any victory.
Lieutenant Colonel Gibbs, battered, bruised, wrapped with many cloths and bandages, was nonetheless also in a light mood. What he had once seen as a brief diversion to while away an hour or so — a game or two of chess — had turned into a three-day adventure, during which he had thwarted not only a group of Tory rangers but the British navy, her marines, and a member of the Secret Department as well. Such sweet victories for the Cause — all the better to have been topped off with some sweet kisses from the remarkable young Rose.
The girl had been left with General Putnam, who promised to dispatch one of his men and arrange a reunion with her husband-to-be. Undoubtedly, the bounty he promised for her efforts would provide an extravagant wedding feast, even with the war. The general had even broadly hinted he would preside at the match — Old Put never lost an opportunity to join a celebration.
The Connecticut men who had proved so useful to the operation had been sent back to their barracks for more rest by Putnam. The commander promised to remember them with a choice assignment as well as leave. Jake feared that might not add up to much for the doughty soldiers, who'd shown their muster against some of Britain's toughest fighters, but that was the lot of the common foot soldier — always doing the dirty work, and never receiving much of the reward.
And Captain John Busch? Perhaps his fortitude and torment when alive had earned him a passage to bliss. Jake hoped this was so, for never had he found so worthy a man, let alone a Tory. Had circumstances been different — but one could just as well wish for two suns to rise instead of one.
The patriot spy had no doubt he would meet Dr. Keen again. At that point he might be able to retrieve his Segallas, stolen by the villain and worth ten times more to Jake than the lost money had been to van Clynne.
There would be time for that in the future. Now he had to ride north as quickly as possible to meet Schuyler.
And then get some sleep. Even his iron constitution needed rest eventually.
They reached a turn in the Post Road and the river suddenly came into sight, illuminated by the light pink of early dawn. From this distance, the Hudson was a peaceful lake, quiet in her majesty, silent and sure. The iron chain rocked against her restraints many miles to the south, protecting the upper reaches of the valley, and the nation.
The British would undoubtedly try again. Jake had seen that there were many vulnerabilities to the local defenses, and even such an accomplished soldier as Old Put might not be able to fix them. Yet this morning he was filled with an optimism that the country would endure no matter what the British did, and that the Revolution would succeed. So beautiful a river could flow only for free men.
"I don't think I've eaten a decent meal since Prisco's,'' declared Jake as the road turned away from the water."Perhaps you can lead us to a good place for breakfast."
"There is a housewife who makes the most excellent cakes you have ever tasted but a short distan
ce away," said van Clynne. "She will be happy to feed us, as long as you compliment her on her garden as soon as you meet her. She will talk nonstop," added the squire, "but it is the price we must pay for her excellent food."
"She's Dutch?"
"Could there be a question?" answered van Clynne, kicking his horse to pick up the pace.
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