'Admiral Lord Howe will be pleased to discover your high opinion of yourself,' said van Clynne in a withering voice. 'Dump the salt overboard!'
Captain Gidoin was an able seafarer and a competent captain, but when van Clynne was in the middle of a streak like this, no mere mortal could resist him. The references to Black Dick Howe, the navy commander whom Gidoin answered to, were particularly potent. The captain grimaced and belayed the latest command, waving two men to help hoist the barrels aboard.
'You thought you saw the last of me, I warrant,' said van Clynne, addressing Jake. 'Thought you'd escape me by giving yourself up here. Ha, I say. You'll not get away so easily.'
'We were just about to hang him,' said one of Gidoin's lieutenants, Justin McRae. 'Not set him free.'
'Oh, surely you jest. Excuse me, sir, but hanging is the least of his worries now. Hanging would be pleasurable. Come, take him to my boat. He must be punished suitably — hanging will follow his being burned at the stake, which itself will come after his being drawn and quartered. The only question is when he will be shot.'
Gidoin put his arm up and the two marines who had taken Jake's arms halted. 'Do you have any proof that you are who you say you are?' 'What sort of proof do you require?' 'Some insignia of rank or paper.' 'A spy who carries proof that he is a spy? Let me ask you, sir — have you been at this business very long?' 'It is difficult to believe that a Dutchman could be employed in His Majesty's service,' said McRae. 'Excuse me, but what is the name of the river we are floating in?' demanded van Clynne. The officer looked at him as if he were a simpleton. 'The North River.' 'Is it not called the Hudson as well?' 'What's your point?'
Van Clynne accented his dignity by puffing his belly- an awesome sight. 'My point, sir, is that this Hudson fellow belonged to which country?' 'He was an Englishman.' 'Precisely. In the service of which country?' 'And what do we have here, an exchange program?' asked Gidoin.
'Well, sir, if that is the tone you're to take with me, I'll be off. Joseph,' he said to Martin, 'see to the prisoner for me. Find some coat for him; I wouldn't want him catching cold in this drizzle.'
'Excuse me,' said Gidoin, 'but you won't be taking him anywhere until he's been hanged properly as a traitor and a spy. And you'd best provide yourself with some proof of your identification, or you'll suffer the same fate.'
'Well, now, there's a complication,' answered van Clynne, thoughtfully rubbing his cheek and placing his hand into his pocket. He retrieved a pass from Admiral Howe, another from his brother General Sir William Howe, and a long Dutch pipe. 'Would anyone have a match?' he asked after handing over the papers.
One of the sailors fetched a light for him. The rain was not yet coming down hard enough to extinguish the flame, but the Dutchman was careful to shelter the bowl and take no chances. After a pair of puffs, he offered it to the captain but Gidoin declined.
'Now, as I understand it, you want me to take a dead man back to General Bacon for interrogation,' said van Clynne, snatching his documents back. 'Well now, I fear he would not be overly enthusiastic about that.'
Gidoin frowned.
'Perhaps you know the general better than I,' said van Clynne. 'I will give him your regards.'
The Dutchman's bold step toward the edge of the ship was arrested by Gidoin himself, taking hold of his arm. During all of this time, Jake had kept quietly to himself — not difficult to do, considering that he was bound and gagged and had a rope around his neck. His hopes of rescue had alternately soared and soured. Was this all van Clynne had planned, a simple bluff?
Fortunately, the rag in Jake's mouth was thick enough to choke his curses.
'Wait,' said Gidoin, his hand on the Dutchman's coat. 'Perhaps I'm being too hasty.'
There was no need for van Clynne to conceal a smile at this late victory — the view of the pitching waves had quite vanquished any trace of optimism from his face. In fact, he was starting to feel a little woozy — Dutch courage could only travel so far.
'Are you all right?' the captain asked.
'Yes, yes,' said van Clynne, sinking against the barrels.
The sailors recognized the problem and started smirking among themselves. Gidoin tapped his foot impatiently, wondering how England would ever conquer the damn colonies with men such as the fat Dutchman in its employ. Jake did nothing, though this was not precisely his wish. 'I wonder,' van Clynne asked, 'would it be possible to get something to wet my thirst?' 'Seaman — a cup of water,' said the captain. 'No, not water. Anything but water,' answered van Clynne. 'Not used to being on a ship, are you?' said McRae, glad that the Dutchman's weakness had been so easily discovered. 'The sea is a dreadful place.' 'We were discussing who would have custody of this prisoner,' said Gidoin. 'You can have him,' said van Clynne. 'What?' 'Take him, he's yours.'
Jake's reaction could not be properly chronicled if we had eight hundred pages. Gidoin's was somewhat less severe, though the word 'shocked' does not quite convey the half of it. But as he was about to question the Dutchman further, he was interrupted by miscellaneous shouts and whistles and piping and perhaps even an orchestra of drums welcoming a new man aboard ship — Major Dr. Harland Keen.
Chapter Thirty-seven
Was the prodigal greeted with such shouts of joy as van Clynne received from Keen? Did Columbus respond with greater happiness as the king and queen of Spain met him at the dock?
Without question. Nor did van Clynne seem willing to put a single metaphor to the test. His body drooped, his arms hung down as he leaned back, practically draping over the nearest salt keg.
Jake's fury simmered. He did not know that van Clynne and the doctor were previously acquainted, and could conjure no explanation for the Dutchman's sudden and obvious — though as yet unstated — capitulation. Nor could he see, from his vantage, that van Clynne's pipe was not quite dangling aimlessly. For the good Dutchman had indeed come aboard with a plan that involved more than mere bluff — he'd fashioned a bomb inside the salt barrel where he was sitting, and was endeavoring to light it.
'Well, is not this my old acquaintance Squire van Clynne?' said Keen. 'What a coincidence!'
'Yes, yes,' said the Dutchman, fumbling to light the fuse without being detected. Why was nothing ever where it was supposed to be?
'You're looking quite pale, my friend. I hope you've recovered from my blood treatment.'
'Superbly,' said van Clynne. Worried that Keen would see what he was doing, he turned his head up to attend to him — and silently cursed as the pipe slipped from his hand.
'What are these barrels?' asked the doctor, pointing the eagle-handle of his walking stick. He had not replaced his hat, but otherwise looked as fine and fresh as the day he strode off the ship into the New World.
'I found my salt.'
'Ah, very good, very good,' said Keen. To this point, the British agent had ignored all the others, playing his moment of triumph for all the drama he could squeeze from it. In truth, the doctor had a thespian streak that would have impressed even Mr. Jonson.
'You are Gidoin, I assume,' said Keen when he finally turned to the captain. The doctor knocked his stick once on the deck for emphasis, and then consulted one of his watches, as if concerned about the time.
If Gidoin had taken an immediate dislike to van Clynne, his feelings toward Keen were even worse. 'My name is Captain John Lewis Gidoin, master of this ship,' he replied tightly. 'And whom have I had the pleasure to meet?'
Keen reached into his vest and retrieved his ruby-hilted knife — and with a sharp flick of his wrist, sent it sailing to the deck between the captain's feet. 'You will do precisely as I order you to.'
Gidoin froze. While he did not know all that the blade implied, he realized from conversations with his father, a former admiral, that it was a signifier for the Secret Department attached directly to the king, and that its bearers were not to be jostled with. In the least.
Reacting to the knife, two of Gidoin's marines took a menacing step toward Keen. The captain immediately commanded them to stop — though the withering glare from the doctor might have accomplished the same on its own.
