'Stay right here,' said Jake to Alison. 'Do not move. And do not go into that tavern. It is owned by a friend, but the sailors will have you aboard their ship before he spots you.'
'I am not afraid of them.'
'But I am,' warned Jake.
He reached inside his vest pocket and retrieved a narrow, wedge-shaped piece of metal which he wielded like a skeleton key. In a second, he pushed the door inwards and slipped inside.
'Bebeef, are you awake?' he asked, walking toward the back. 'Professor Bebeef?'
The only answer was a soft thud from the back room. Jake stepped gingerly along the wide, painted pine planks; the floor was littered with glass jars, boxes, and canvas bags. Only half contained what one might call the customary wares of an apothecary.
Nominally a druggist, the proprietor had a severe weakness for oddities and machines of all kinds. If the truth be told, he was a soft touch for any inventor or salesman who wandered in. On the floor and shelves were such items as an authentic Egyptian spyglass, a steel spring said to cure consumption better than Bebeef’s own potions, and a large, winged contraption with which, under the proper circumstances, a man could fly. That such circumstances had not yet been discovered did not prevent the gray-haired chemist, philosopher, and veritable wizard from cheerfully trying to sell the device to anyone who strayed into his store.
'Bebeef?'
Jake knocked at the door to the rear room, where the proprietor customarily slept.
'Professor?'
There was a sound inside, louder than before. Jake pushed the door open, then fell flat against the jam as a large white ball exploded toward him.
The cat, Mister Spooky.
'I am being assaulted by all sorts of animals today,” Jake complained to himself. His self-deprecating laugh was interrupted by a gentle but nonetheless obvious poke at his ribs.
'Do not move or this sword will pierce your flesh,' said an unfamiliar voice. 'It is tipped with a poison that will kill you only after the most painful seizures imaginable.'
Chapter Twenty-nine
I have no desire to be poisoned,' said Jake softly. In the dim light of the shop, he couldn't tell who might be holding the sword on him. It certainly wasn't Bebeef.
'Walk slowly with me, to the door. Too quickly, and I will plunge the sword in your side. Remember, I need only prick the skin for the poison to take effect.'
'I need to see Professor Bebeef,' said Jake, who realized the voice and shadow belonged to a boy, not a man, and thus dismissed his original theory that he had been surprised by a British soldier guarding the confiscated stores. Still, he was in no position to relax. 'I am a friend of his.'
'Move this way or you will die.'
The question was not so much whether the blade was truly covered with poison, but which poison it might be; the nearby shelves contained quite a variety.
'You're not the apprentice who was here six weeks ago,' said Jake. 'You would remember that I borrowed a noise bomb.'
'The apprentice is now a guest of the English, much against his will, and my uncle's,' replied the shadow. 'Your own path is clear: you are to leave immediately.'
'Ah,' said Jake, 'you must be Timothy. I am Jake Gibbs. Surely your uncle has told you about me.'
Before the lad could answer, he was interrupted by a loud crash at the door. 'Step away from Jake, or you will be filled with more lead than the weight of the clock in the governor's palace.'
'I thought I told you to wait outside,' said Jake indignantly as Alison waved her gun in the shadows.
'An ungrateful attitude,' she replied. 'But then, I have come to expect it, having saved your life so many times before.'
'You've spent too much time with van Clynne,' said Jake. 'You're starting to sound like him.' He turned back toward Bebeef s nephew. 'We are all on the same side here. Light a candle and I will show you a sign your uncle would recognize.'
'Why should I trust you?' said the lad, still holding his sword at Jake's side. 'Anyone could claim to be his friend, and Mr. Gibbs is well known in several circles. His father's firm supplies many of the items in this very shop.'
'Your uncle has a scar over his left eye that he got while escaping a Turkish prince who held him for ransom in his youth,' replied Jake. 'If you have not heard that story ten thousand times, you are not related to the professor.'
'Everyone living in the province of New York has heard that story ten thousand times,' answered the nephew. Nonetheless, he lowered his sword and retreated to light a candle.
Jake reached under his clothes and undid the money belt at his waist. The back of the belt was stamped with a Masonic symbol that the nephew quickly recognized. The symbol was shared by all members of the Secret Service, but the esoteric marks above it were a mnemonic Bebeef himself used as the abbreviation for a remedy for the Portuguese ailment-a disease King George was reputed to suffer from. The formula connecting the king with the disease and the cure with the Revolution was among the old professor's favorite if somewhat obscure jokes.
'I am sorry,' said the nephew, who recognized the marks immediately. 'I am Timothy Hulter, as you surmised. The Tories and British are envious of my uncle's potions, and there have been several attempts at break- ins.'
'Where is he? I need his help urgently. There is a potion only he can concoct.'
'With my mother in Brooklyn,' said the lad. 'He won't see anyone. He won't talk, not even to her. He seems to have fallen into a deep spell, sitting day and night in the back garden, staring at a madstone.'
'A madstone?' Jake squinted, as if suddenly presented with the unlikely object. Many people — including, it must be admitted, a few scientists — believed the special rocks able to cure fever and madness. Despite this, Bebeef had long dismissed such stones as mere superstitions.
'It is, sir, a rock such as one has never seen before. Until now, I thought such things were superstition. But there is much in this shop that I would not believe except for my uncle's demonstrations.'
Jake was just wondering whether he might alter his plan for dealing with Bauer when the young man suddenly took hold of his arm. 'Please, sir, come with me to the farm. You must find a cure for the spell that has taken him.'
'I don't know,' said Jake. 'I have pressing matters to attend to. And I know nothing of magic.'
'Nor does my uncle. There must be science to it. There is no such thing as magic, only formulas yet to be discovered, as my uncle puts it. He has spoken of you before this illness; surely he would help you if the places were turned.'
Jake owed Bebeef much. Not only had his concoctions rescued him from many difficult situations, but the professor had sheltered him in the dark days of the British invasion. If it were not for him, Jake might well have suffered the same fate as Nathan Hale.
But the journey to Long Island was fraught with danger. Nor would it directly assist his mission; unless, of course, he was able to cure the professor. In that case, it would be more like an investment toward the solution, and not a delay at all.
'Tell me more about this ailment,' said Jake. 'No, wait — tell it to me on the way to the ferry.'
'I have a small boat that is much safer,' said the lad, starting toward the door.
'Alison, you go back to Daltoons,' Jake ordered, 'and tell him I will return in time for the duel.'
But before she could go or open her mouth to argue, a pair of shadows passed by the front window. Jake grabbed both Alison and Timothy and threw them to the floor.
The figures who had cast the shadows were members of the Black Watch, too intent on the tavern across the
