“Stranger, I asked you where you come from and what your name might be.” The speaker was the one on the right, a small man with a trim goatee, losing his hair on top.
Hal realized gravy was dribbling down his chin. He had nothing but his sleeve to wipe it off, so that was what he did before he replied. “I’m Hal Christianson,” he said.
“That answers half my question,” said the man with the goatee. “Where are you from, Mr. Christianson?”
“Out west. Across the Delaware,” Hal said.
That answer did not please either of the men across the table. The frown on the face of the man with the goatee almost brought his eyebrows together. “You listen to William Quincy,” he said. “I sit on the Council of Merchants and am Captain of the Citizens’ Watch of Nassau City. We have law and order in this city and we expect traders to obey our laws, and generally they do. We won’t tolerate a woodsey thief coming here to steal, not the least chance of it, so if that’s what you’ve got on your mind, you make sure you keep your hands in your pockets and out of ours.”
Hal was dumbfounded at being called a thief. Not only had he never stolen anything in his life, he had paid for his room and meal in advance. Then, he recalled how Slade had reacted to the first sight of Bel and ten Eyck, and realized his threadbare uniform might mark him the same way. “I am not a thief,” he said when he found his voice.
“That remains to be proven,” said Quincy. “Be warned, you will be watched, and we punish thieves harshly. If you are smart, you’ll leave town. Tonight, if possible.”
“God damn you.” Hal kept his voice down, but anger showed in his tone regardless. “I told you I’m no thief!”
Hal came to his feet as he spoke, but that was a mistake. Quincy and his partner were just as fast, and Quincy whipped out his rapier, aiming its point just in front of Hal’s throat. Hal found his breath coming in short, rapid gulps. The sheath at his side held no weapon. Even if it had, Hal would have had no chance to draw it without being skewered.
“Scared now, aren’t you, Woodsey?” Our town is open to all honest, God-fearing men but we show nothing but steel to a blaspheming thief. You’re not so cocky when an honest man holds a blade.”
Quincy’s rapier was now tracing a tiny circle in the air just in front of Hal’s left eye. His eyes magnified that point and the steel shaft behind it until it looked huge, a shaft as big around as Hal’s face coming to a needle point, too sharp to even see the tip properly. Quincy and the rest of the room were blurs behind it. He saw nothing but that steel and its needle point. Don’t cry, he told himself.
He knew he should beg for mercy, but nothing came out of his mouth. The seat he had chosen was in the corner by the fireplace and against the wall. Between the table and the walls, there was almost no room to move. All Quincy had to do was thrust, just a little. There would be no chance to dodge. He thought of calling for his mother.
Suddenly, there was a howl of pain and the rapier’s point vanished from in front of Hal’s face. When Hal refocused his eyes, he saw that a hand had clamped around Quincy’s wrist and had forced the blade up vertically. The hand was attached to a man maybe five foot nine in height, seemingly that wide also through the shoulders, and even wider through the belly, with a bushy black beard.
Quincy struggled frantically and hopelessly to move his sword arm. For all the effort gained him, the arm might have been encased in stone. “Damn your ranjy-blanjy soul!” yelled Quincy. “Let go of my arm!”
“Drawing on an unarmed man doesn’t impress me, Quincy.” The voice of Hal’s savior was a deep bass. “I’m tempted to stick a few holes in you with this. Make you truly holier than others.”
“Dammit, Oort, let go of me.”
“Tsk, tsk,” said the man called Oort. “I thought this was a God-fearing community, but that sounds pretty blasphemous to me.” Oort smiled. Then he squeezed tighter. Quincy let out a little shriek and his blade clattered on the table. That seemed to be enough for Oort. He released Quincy’s wrist as soon as the rapier was loose. Quincy sagged back onto his bench, holding his injured wrist with his good hand.
“You go too far, Oort,” said Quincy. “I’m on the Council of Merchants and Captain of the Citizens’ Watch.”
“I know that, Quincy, even if I didn’t hear you announce it a minute ago. Actually, I know exactly what you are, so I think everyone in here would appreciate it if you would put your toy away and go home.” Oort picked up the rapier and dropped it into Quincy’s sheath.
Quincy stood up again, pink splotches showing over his cheeks. His mouth worked, but no words came out. He was more verbal when he turned to his companion. “Much help you were,” he snapped. Then he stalked out, trailed by his companion.
Once the two of them had left the room, Oort put his hand out to Hal, who took it with one that was visibly shaking. Oort’s hand was massive, a large rectangular block that closed around Hal’s hand like a warm vise. When he released his grip, Hal sat down more abruptly than he wanted to. Fortunately, the bench was under him.
“You all right, lad?” Oort asked.
Hal nodded.
“You mind if I join you?”
Hal shook his head. “Thanks.” Getting one word out in a level tone required a great deal of effort.
“My pleasure,” Oort replied. “William Quincy is rich, he is pompous and, right now, he is trying to cover how scared he is.”
“What?” If anyone had been scared, it had been Hal. He was still scared, just thinking about it. He had seen no sign of fear in Quincy’s face and could not believe anyone in the room had seen differently.
Oort only smiled. “You heard him twice, I’m sure, proclaim himself Captain of the Citizens’ Watch. Well, he is.” Oort laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Most towns of any size formed Citizens’ Watches during the revolt, when the troops were too busy fighting each other to worry about criminals or bandits in the woods. I don’t think Nassau City was ever tested, then, too big, too central. Today, though, you have bandits all through the woods, rumor says right down to the East–West Road. There is the army, of course, but they don’t seem to do much good. So, people are jittery and they look to the Watch, same as during the war. And now we’ve heard the news about that New Swedish merchant who got cut up real good just outside of Nieuwmarkt. Sure, that’s way west of here, but an armed column like that has never been attacked before. Quincy and his men should be out patrolling, guarding the farms and the roads, but he’s scared of what he might run into. Instead, he’d rather guard the Governor’s Guard and draw on a lad with an empty sheath.”
There was only one Swedish merchant Oort could be referring to. As soon as Oort stopped for breath, Hal broke in. “Is Gustavus all right? And what about his daughter? Was Johanna hurt?”
Oort’s eyes narrowed, as though he now wondered if he had misjudged Hal. “The news of the attack we have all heard here, but how is it that you know those names?”
“I was with them.”
That converted Oort’s expression to a frown. “I thought I heard you say you were from west of the Delaware. And, I’ve met plenty of Swedes. Your accent is nothing like theirs.”
“All of that is correct.” It dawned on Hal that what he had said could mark him as a deserter or even a bandit, himself. He pushed his words out quickly before that impression could take hold. “I hired on to Gustavus’ company in Gap. I was there when the woodsrangers attacked us near Nieuwmarkt.” He parted the hair on the side of his head where the blow had leveled him. His fingers told him that after-effects of the wound were still visible.
Oort leaned over to examine it more closely. “Left for dead, were you? Might easily be dead with that wound. That explains the empty sheath, too, no doubt. And then Quincy chooses you to demonstrate his military prowess. Hah!”
Hal began to breathe more easily, although he still worried about accounting for his trip from Nieuwmarkt to Nassau City. He was spared the need when the girl arrived with two mugs of beer.
“To your luck and your health!” Oort hoisted his mug.
Hal’s worry about fabricating a story for his trip was replaced by another worry. “I really can’t afford to buy more beer.”
“That’s all right, you’re not paying for this one. I come here to tend to business, but it takes me away from my wife and family and leaves me glad of a beer and company to drink it with.”
“Thank you again, Mr. Oort.”
“That would be Meneer Oort—I’m Dutch—but everyone just calls me Black John. For obvious reasons.” He pushed one hand into the bushy beard that covered almost all of his cheeks.
Hal stared at him. The beard was coal black, but the skin of his face was almost that black, too. “You’re Dutch?” Then he regretted saying it.
Oort just laughed. “Came from the Indies as a young man,” he said. “Nieuw Amsterdam’s a freer place, or was. Since the revolt, though, anyone not English is Dutch, no matter what you really are. Manhattan, except for the fort area, the old towns east on the island and north along the Hudson are mostly Dutch. West of the Hudson, they’re English like our friend Quincy, even if it’s called Nassau Province.”
“Well, thank you anyway, and not just for the beer.” Hal took a couple of sips, then a larger gulp. It burned its way down his throat, relaxing him before any possible effect of the alcohol could have occurred. “Aren’t you afraid Quincy might try to attack you from behind or something like that, I mean?”
“No.” Black John paused to stare at his beer. “Oh, you might be right that he would want to, but he’d only try if he could be absolutely certain of killing me without harm to himself. I have business in Nassau City several times a year and the Governor’s Guard is where everybody comes from dockside. This isn’t the first time I’ve crossed him.”
“And you’re sure he wouldn’t try?”
“He’ll never be sure enough to try,” Oort said. “I’m a Watch Captain myself from Haarlem, north of Nieuw Amsterdam. We had plenty of fighting there toward the end of the war. First, the governor’s army occupied the town and they stole anything they could move. Then the Provis won and came in and stole everything but the dirt. In between, they fought with us in the middle. Neither side cared what happened to the town. It takes more than Quincy to scare me.”
“Well, I guess he scared me.” Yes, I was scared, Hal thought. Afraid. That’s what I do when I don’t have something I must do. Like protecting Johanna. By myself, I’m just afraid.
Oort seemed to realize what Hal was thinking. “Look,” he said, “I didn’t mean that there is anything wrong with you. If you had been armed, he never would have tried it.”
Hal decided he didn’t want to talk anymore about himself or Quincy or being scared. “You mentioned the Swedish merchant, but you never said how they are. Do you know?”
“Ah, yes, you did ask about them. Well, the merchant, Gustavus, as you named him, is well. So is his daughter. I saw both of them in this very room the first night I was in Nassau City. I can’t really say about his men, but word is he lost nearly half in the fight. Some of the ones who got here were wounded and I can’t say how many of them will live. If you want your job back, I imagine he’ll be grateful when you show up.” He drained his beer with a long swallow. “Have another? I’ll pay.”
Hal accepted. Black John enjoyed spinning a story and clearly appreciated having an audience for it. He told his stories well, too. Hal could almost feel what it had been like to be in Haarlem during the last battles of the war. It reminded him of listening to ten Eyck, although Black John lacked the sadness Hal had heard in the voice of the older man. Eventually, though, Oort finished the last of a series of mugs and declared that it was time for him to get some sleep.
“You remember, though, Hal,” he said, “if you are ever in Haarlem, you ask for Black John, the Watch Captain. If you’ve been paid, well, you can buy the beer and, if not, well, I suppose I can afford to buy a few more.”
Hal thanked Oort again and was left to climb the stairs on unsteady legs to reach his room. There he lay on the bed with images of Quincy spinning, along with the ceiling, in front of his eyes. He kept thinking of how big the rapier had seemed, how sharp the needle of its point was, how scared he had felt. He thought about what he had done, or not done, or should have done. Mostly, he thought about being scared. He had been scared at Nieuwmarkt, too. Yes, he had fought at Nieuwmarkt, but he had been scared. He had been scared in the woods in the Water Gap. He remembered crying. Real men were not scared like that. Men who were scared, who cried, they were . . . cowards.
18
Reclaiming a Job
THE FERRY TO Nieuw Amsterdam left at nine o’clock the next morning with Hal on board. It took only a few minutes for him to wish he had stayed behind. Black John Oort’s beer had left him with a pounding in his head and a twisting in his stomach that the choppy water of the Hudson made worse. Within fifteen minutes he was heaving the contents of his stomach over the side of the ferry to the accompaniment of laughter from the captain, the crew and the other passengers. He did not care about the laughter. He just wanted to die.
It was only when the ship was sliding toward its berth on the Nieuw Amsterdam side that Hal began to take a renewed interest in living.
Nieuw Amsterdam was the first true city Hal had seen since that night in October when he’d gone to the party, even if it did not come close to matching the New York in his memory. Most of the buildings were brick, many of five or more stories. The massive stone-and-brick structure at the southern point of the island was even taller. Even after the ferry docked and nearby buildings blocked most of the view, Hal could see the top of the tower with its orange, white and blue pennant above it proclaiming that Nieuw Netherlands ruled the city. The tower looked a little like a castle, with its gunports and cannon. North of the ferry dock was a stone wall, fifteen feet high in most places, with troops visible atop it. Hal found the wall curious because, rather than enclosing the city, it divided it. Buildings spread north of the wall, almost as far as they went south. From the river, Hal saw no obvious differences between buildings north of the wall and those south of it.
As soon as the ship was tied to the dock piling, Hal ran down the ramp. The dock was a larger version of the one in Nassau City. Men were moving goods onto or off of ships and into or out of wagons; others were repairing ships, sails or nets. And a steady stream of people went by, all intent on their business. No one stopped Hal to demand identification, or asked why he was in Nieuw Amsterdam. A cart driver who eyed him with suspicion, perhaps because of his worn clothes, was the only one who paid any attention to him. Take it easy, I’m not going to steal anything out of your cart.
As soon as he walked away from the dockside, Hal was lost. All the streets were the same: paved, with sides that sloped slightly to the center to form a gutter. Even in the cold of a winter’s day, it stank. The narrow streets, wide enough for two carts and no more, were made all the more claustrophobic by buildings jammed next to one another and set almost at the curb. The streets curved and twisted, with more streets branching off at apparently random intervals and in random directions.
Where the fuck am I? Hal had no idea. He was not even sure which direction led back to the dock. Why had he just assumed there would be a map at the dock that showed him the street plan? Never mind that, this is where I’m supposed to find someone who knows about Magicals. Someone who can tell me how to get home. Back to where people drive cars, use computers, talk on wireless phones. Back to where I don’t have to watch for horseshit in the street.
But how was he to find help here? Most of the signs seemed to be in Dutch. For all Hal could tell, the next shop could be the right one, or there could be two such on the next block, or ten on the branching street. Or none. Tom Pyke had said that Nieuw Amsterdam would be the place to find someone who knew about Magicals, but Tom was dead. Had he said there would be someone in Nieuw Amsterdam or only that if there was such a person, he would be found here? I d
on’t know what I remember anymore. I can’t just ask someone if they know about Magicals, but maybe I don’t have a choice. Pyke had said city folk were less likely to think of Magicals as agents of the Devil, but “less likely” was not a guarantee it would be safe to mention them.
The thought struck him, almost like a physical blow, that any time he had needed to find out about something, about anything, he had just typed the question into his phone or computer. There were no computers! How would he even find a library and, if he did, would the books even be in English? He cursed himself for a fool for not having planned better.
His hand closed on his money pouch. His fingers could feel the outline of every coin remaining. His money might last a couple of days, if he was careful, but he doubted that it would last even one week. The thought of money made his stomach realize that it had recovered from the crossing and wanted to be fed. He had to do something. Black John had said that Gustavus would give him his job back if he showed up to ask for it and working for Gustavus would take care of money and food. That made it urgent to find Gustavus. Of course, finding Gustavus would also bring him to Johanna.
A Magical expert would have to wait another day. Or two.
• • •
Deciding to find Gustavus was one thing, finding him was another. Nieuw Amsterdam’s close-set buildings and crazily intersecting streets were daunting for someone without a map or a guide. To make it worse, Hal could not understand the language he heard around him. He tried to stop people on the street to ask for directions, but he was met with either a shrug or a terse, “No English.” Finally he heard a shopkeeper shift into English to speak with a customer, then back into the other language to speak to his assistant. Yet when Hal approached and asked for help, the shopkeeper only shook his head and said, “No English.”
Accidental Warrior: The Unlikely Tale of Bloody Hal Page 19