What the hell? Hal raced out of that shop and caught up with the English-speaking customer halfway down the block. “Hello, can you give me directions?” he asked. The man shook his head and walked on.
So, some of the people in the area could speak English, just not to him. Was it because he was an outsider? His clothes were in bad shape and his accent was peculiar. Maybe that was enough to put them off. Or maybe it had nothing to do with being an outsider. Maybe they just needed to be approached in what Hal assumed was Dutch. But Hal had not learned enough Dutch even for that. If no one would talk to him, no one would help him.
Fuck this, he thought. The fort flying the flag had to be where the government was, and the Provis would at least speak English. He would go there to ask about Gustavus. All he had to do was walk south and eventually, he would be at the fort. As long as he could keep sight of the fort’s flag, he could be sure of the direction.
In fact, as he went south, he began to hear English in the streets. It happened quite suddenly, almost as quickly as crossing from one street to another, although when he thought about it, he could not be sure which street that had been.
His path to the fort was blocked ultimately by another stone wall that ran across the island as far as he could see, separating the area around the fort from the rest of the city. Beyond this wall, the massive structure of the fort dominated the southwestern side of the island. Now that he was closer, Hal could see that the stonework of one of the towers was damaged. Loose brick clung to the tower wall and, in places, looked ready to drop.
He walked along the wall until he reached a gate manned by soldiers in the orange and white stripes of the Provis. Two of them stepped forward to block his path.
“Your business?” demanded one.
Hal swallowed hard, then decided that hesitation would only reinforce the guards’ obvious doubt that his business was legitimate. “My name is Hal Christianson,” he declared loudly enough for anyone within fifteen feet to hear. “I’m serving with the company of Gustavus Jonsson of Nya Sverige, but I was separated from them when we were attacked outside Nieuwmarkt. I’m told that he reached Nieuw Amsterdam and I’m looking for information on his whereabouts.”
The guard’s eyes narrowed. “Why should I believe that?”
Hal cast an uneasy eye at the guards’ swords. There were men up on the wall, too, he noticed. Why had he not seen them before? Well, it was too late to chicken out now. “You don’t have to believe me. Gustavus or any of his men will know me when I find them. All I asked was if you could tell me where they are.”
The second guard growled at that and reached for his sword, but the first one put a hand out to stay him. “Gustavus is in the fort, along with his men, as I would expect one of his men to know. But I’ll not let a woodsey piece of trash like you go wandering around the fort. I will send for one of his men. If he doesn’t know you, then you’ll wish I’d let Hugh draw that sword. Now, wait there, by the wall, where I can see you, unless you’d like to run for it now.”
“Waiting will be fine.” Hal was not nearly as calm as he tried to sound. What would happen if the man who showed up did not recognize him? Why had he not had the presence of mind to ask for Anderson or Captain Hayry? The knot in his stomach now had nothing to do with hunger.
Hal stood there for at least an hour. After the first ten minutes, neither guard paid any attention to him. Probably even they had to realize that his quiet patience meant he was telling the truth. There was nothing for him to do except to try to read the front pages of the newspapers nailed to wooden facings on the wall. Some were in English, some in Dutch. One listed the girls who would be presented at the New Year’s Ball—and their dressmakers!—along with a description of what their fathers’ did. Why was that worthy of the front page of a newspaper? The others he could read seemed also to cover local gossip. None of it mattered to Hal.
It was Anderson who showed up. He took one look at Hal, then shook his head and spat onto the paving stones.
“Well, Woodsey, I’ll be damned. You looked pretty damned dead stretched out on the ground back there, although, I’ve got to admit, I’ve seen corpses look better than you do now.”
“This is one of yours, then?” the guard asked.
“Yeah, he is,” Anderson replied, “and fought a hell of a lot better at Nieuwmarkt than either of you would have.”
Hal startled at the compliment but the guards’ response was to glare at Anderson, so they didn’t notice his reaction. After a moment of that, they silently waved Hal and Anderson through the gate. Beyond lay streets with large houses built of the same brick as the ones to the north with gardens in between them. Stained glass filled some of the windows, and ornate carvings or metal work adorned the doors. Anderson’s gaze followed Hal’s.
“The old governor’s relatives and his officials lived here,” Anderson said. “The grand patroons and rich merchants had houses here, too. Provis have them now, those that run the government, and the merchants who supply the Provis.”
“What happened to the other people?”
Anderson drew a finger across his throat.
“All of them?”
Anderson shrugged. “The ones who were here when Fort Stuyvesant fell, sure. I heard that a few made it to the French in Montreal. It doesn’t matter much anymore.”
The streets ended at the fort. Its stone wall, twenty feet high, ran completely across the lower tip of the island. Men and cannon were visible on the ramparts. The guards at the entrance eyed Hal warily, but passed him in with Anderson. Beyond the entrance was a wide courtyard, with another wall behind that.
“Are you impressed?” Anderson asked.
Hal wasn’t, not really, not when he thought of the city he remembered. But Anderson would expect him to be. “I think so.”
“Bah! Fort Stuyvesant in Nieuw Amsterdam is supposed to be the strongest fortification north of the Indies. Hah! No fort anywhere will hold if the men in it won’t stand and fight. The old governor found that out the hard way. Fort Stuyvesant fell in a day and most of the bloodshed happened afterward. And just remember, these fancy stone walls won’t stand up to the new artillery shells.”
“I’ll remember that,” Hal said.
“Good. Come on then. We’re quartered in the barracks, as you’d expect, but Gustavus will want to see you first. He hasn’t forgotten how you fought either.”
Sure, I fought. After I froze. But apparently, none of Gustavus’ men had seen how scared he had been when the woodsrangers sprang their ambush at Nieuwmarkt.
The inside of the fort reminded Hal of an old castle, with corridors of stone that were dim even in daylight. Iron chandeliers holding oil lamps hung at intervals to fight the gloom. Those stone walls felt almost as cool as the outside air.
They climbed three flights of stairs to reach corridors with windows that let in more light. At the end of the hallway, Anderson stopped in front of a wooden door. He knocked twice, then at the sound of Gustavus’ voice, opened it. Anderson ushered Hal in and withdrew, closing the door behind him.
Gustavus’ apartment was on the river side of the fort. The Hudson’s water, bright and shimmering with reflected sunlight, was visible through the large windows from where Hal stood. No gloom existed in that apartment. There was no cold either; a fire leaped high in a hearth set into the outer wall, and the floor was completely covered with thick rugs. Gustavus sat by the fire in a velvet-covered chair. At Hal’s entry, he rose.
“Hal, my lad! I am glad to see you alive. Truly, I am.” He grasped Hal by both biceps and looked him up and down. “You look whole, if not entirely well, although I’d wager that a full meal and a clean uniform will go far to fix that. Damn, but I saw you fall covering Johanna’s escape! I owe you thanks, not only as a commander but as a father.”
The emotion in Gustavus’ voice took Hal by surprise. The merchant had always seemed friendly to him, but at a distance. Well, I did help save his daughter.
Gustavus gave a final sque
eze and let his hands fall. “What can I do for you in return?”
How to answer the question? For all this good will, asking for help in finding out about Magicals did not seem like a good idea.
“I was wondering,” Hal said, “if, perhaps, I could have my job back?”
Gustavus put his head back and laughed, more of a roar, really. “Is that all? I think if I refused that, I would not only be crazy but unfit to command a nursery. I’ll tell you what. You will be reinstated with full pay from the date you signed on in Gap, none of this probationary nonsense. I’ll pay you a bonus as well, if you decide to extend your enlistment when we leave for Nya Sverige. Is that fair?”
“More than fair,” Hal said. With a possible catch, though. “Ah, when are you leaving for Nya Sverige?” Please, he thought, do not say tomorrow.
“Not before March,” Gustavus said. “I have a business here, and a manager that can use some attention.” He turned his head at an angle then, and added, “You know, Hal, if your business here involves a girl and a child, I may be able to help.”
Hal blinked. “It’s nothing like that,” he managed to say.
Gustavus shrugged. “Well, I won’t pry further. Let’s speak of your duties. As you know, I brought Johanna along so that she could be formally introduced. Nieuw Amsterdam society is, of course, vastly changed from what it was under the old governors, but it is still a very important city. A woman of Johanna’s station must have a proper escort. Normally Captain Hayry would do this, but I’m afraid that’s no longer possible. I think you would make a good escort for my daughter, even if you are not an officer. What do you say? It’s better duty than the usual clean, shovel and polish.”
What did he say? What could be better? But what had happened to Hayry that Gustavus needed a different escort for Johanna?
Gustavus answered the question before Hal could ask it. “Captain Hayry was badly wounded at Nieuwmarkt. We were able to get him here, but the doctors tell me that he won’t live long no matter what they do. I go to see him about this time each day. If you like, you can come with me.”
Hal nodded mutely. Hearing what had befallen Hayry took away much of his pleasure in being assigned as Johanna’s escort.
They went out of the apartment and down the hallway, and Gustavus led the way up another three flights to reach the top floor of the fort. He stopped at the first door of the corridor, opened it, and gestured Hal to come in with him.
When he entered, Hal had to fight to keep from coughing and gagging. The stench went beyond human sweat and bodily functions. It reeked of decay. The room was dark, too, with heavy curtains blocking the windows. In the dim light from two flickering oil lamps, Hal could make out a bed heaped with blankets. Then he saw a head on the pillows and an arm on top of the covers. The figure did not move while Gustavus walked over to the bed.
Hal wanted to hang back by the door or, better yet, step out into the corridor, but instead, he trailed Gustavus to the bed, all the while feeling like he was being dragged by an invisible force. When he reached it he wanted to vomit. The man lying there was Hayry all right, but all the flesh seemed to have melted from his face, leaving the skin stretched as tight and dry as parchment over the bones. That skin and his eyes were tinted yellow, and not just from the lamplight. When Hayry tried to raise his arm, his hand shook uncontrollably.
“How is it today?” Gustavus asked.
“It will be soon, old friend, very soon.” Hayry’s voice was somewhere between a whisper and a croak, barely audible. “Strange, here at the end, how my mouth wants to speak English.”
“Your mother was an English girl from Jamestown, down Virginia way,” Gustavus reminded him. “You spoke English first. This is not so strange.”
“I will see her soon,” Hayry said.
“She will be proud of her son,” Gustavus told him.
“And my father?”
“You will see him as well.”
“Will he be proud of his English-speaking son?”
“Of course he will. Speaking English is not a disgrace. Of course he will be proud.”
“My wife,” Hayry said.
“As I have promised,” Gustavus replied. “She will be provided for and will live in comfort.”
“My son.”
“Also as I have said. I will see to his education and training.”
“Not only that!” Suddenly there was force in Hayry’s voice. He grabbed for Gustavus’ arm, but had neither the strength nor the coordination to complete the motion and his hand flopped back on the covers. Gustavus reached down and took Hayry’s hand in his.
“What is it, my friend?”
“I am a soldier!” The words came out with a wheeze. “My father was a soldier before me and my grandfather before him. Don’t let my son be a soldier. God, Gustavus, he’s only six years old.”
“I will raise him as though he is my own son,” Gustavus said softly. “The son of a merchant house.”
Hal couldn’t tell if Hayry heard that promise. His head fell back on the pillow, his eyes almost closed, his breathing rapid and shallow. Gustavus placed Hayry’s flaccid hand on the blanket and motioned Hal to follow.
They stepped back into the hallway and Hal breathed deeply. “I’ve known him since we were both boys,” Gustavus said. “Not for much longer, though, I’m afraid.”
There was silence as they descended the stairs, Gustavus grim, Hal fighting with opposing emotions all surging to the surface at once. He remembered Hayry as confident, dominating, capable. To see him reduced to a fevered shell, muscles wasted, smelling of decomposition, aroused a horror and a hatred of those who had done it. Except that Hal knew who those people were: Fons ten Eyck and Bel and the band they led.
Also, he thought of the anger, yes the hatred, directed at him for the casualties he had caused among them. Who was right, when both sides seemed right and wrong at the same time? Maybe Hayry was right when he pleaded with Gustavus not to allow his son to be a soldier.
By the time they reached Gustavus’ apartment, the merchant must have forgotten Hal was with him. He looked up with a start when Hal reached for the door. “Eh? No, thank you, Hal. I’d rather be alone right now.” Then he paused at the open door. “You are awfully quiet. What are you thinking?”
“I don’t know.”
“Odd.”
“What?”
“That’s an odd answer, for a soldier anyway. Most veterans will shrug and say that it happens. But you’re young and, in spite of your skills, you weren’t a soldier before you joined my company.”
“I wasn’t. I never said I was.”
“I remember. My mind wandered for a minute. I’m a merchant, not a soldier, for all that fighting is part of the trade. I suspect Hayry’s son will be a soldier regardless of what I do. It’s in their blood.” Gustavus shook his head, then looked at Hal as if seeing him for the first time. “Well, you need to be ready for your duties. See Sergeant Anderson at the barracks and have him outfit you. Tell him also that you are to be properly drilled with the rest of the company. A better soldier lives longer. Sometimes.”
Gustavus closed the door between them without telling Hal where the barracks were or what sort of outfit or drill he had in mind. Considering the melancholy that had gripped the merchant since their visit to Hayry’s sickroom, Hal did not want to pursue him for an answer. He would find his own way to the barracks.
Captain Carol Hayry died the next day.
19
The Escort
THE BARRACKS WERE several long brick buildings set near the river on the east, separated from each other by gaps of a few feet. A section of one of them had been set aside for Gustavus’ company. A doorway in the center of that building opened into a long single room, much bigger than the company would have needed even at full strength. Neatly made beds were set at equal intervals along both walls. At the foot of some of the beds, equipment was stacked on top of lockers.
Anderson was there. “If you’re going to be squir
ing pretty Johanna around,” he said, “you’re going to have to look a damned sight better than you do now.”
He handed Hal a bundle of clothes: a clean, white linen shirt and a blue coat with yellow facing, just like Anderson’s own uniform. That coat was a good deal heavier than Hal anticipated—heavier and stiffer. The collar, in fact, might have been made of wood for all that it yielded. The coat was not new. Hal saw a mended rent under the left arm, the cloth discolored around the repair. He did not think much of that, at first, until he saw a substantial brownish stain on the inside at that spot. The explanation was obvious, both for why the stain was there and why Anderson had spare clothing available.
Examining the coat, Hal almost missed Anderson’s comment that the armband sewn to the right sleeve identified him as one of Gustavus’ company rather than a soldier of Nya Sverige. Grayish pants of heavy wool and black boots completed the uniform. Anderson watched with a skeptical frown while Hal climbed into it. The fit was fair: the coat a bit short, the boots a little tight.
“It will do,” Anderson said, “as if there’s any choice. You’re a big lad, which is fine for work and fighting, but not so good for fitting a uniform. Buckle the sword like this, so it won’t get caught in the coat. You need a new sword, too, but I can manage that easier than I can a uniform for someone your size.” Anderson disappeared through a door at the end of the room and returned with a weapon. “Try this.”
Hal took the sword and made a few passes with it. The blade was light and well-balanced. “It’s fine.”
“Good. Now, listen to me, Woodsey, before you start getting ideas because I’ve seen you use one. We’re guests here and you’re Johanna’s escort. The sword is just for show. You don’t draw a blade here. Understood?”
Accidental Warrior: The Unlikely Tale of Bloody Hal Page 20