'I assume this singing is some strategy of yours, meant to scare off the English,' Daltoons said, meeting the two purveyors of this song at the back door with a sharp halberd as they concluded the verse. He had to retreat a step, so thick was the stench of beer from them.
'Just so, sir, just so,' declared van Clynne, putting his finger to the point of the weapon. 'We have pretended to be drunken revelers to put off the patrols. We are not, of course, though I daresay such accomplished tones have not been heard on these streets in many years.'
'Thank God.'
'Allow me to introduce my friend and fellow kinsman, Mr. Egans, a worthy Dutchman of the finest stock, and a fine tenor, all told.
Daltoons's head tilted forward incredulously as he examined the man before him. He did have white features, and they might perhaps be Dutch, but they were sheathed in garb that was so obviously Indian as to chase any other nationality far away.
The man greeted the young lieutenant's inspection of his tattoos and scalp lock with a prodigious and very beery burp.
'Inside, quickly, both of you,' ordered Daltoons. 'Drunken fools.'
At this, van Clynne's dander stood up.
'We are neither drunk nor fools, sir,' declared the squire, who was in fact a far distance from being inebriated, no matter how off-key his singing had been.
'Speak for yourself,' said Egans. 'I am drunker than a cat in an herb garden.'
And with that, he fell forward into Daltoons's arms.
'Being Dutch, I naturally assumed he could hold his beer,' said van Clynne after he and the lieutenant had delivered the man to a bed upstairs. 'But perhaps the strain of the night has been too much on his humors.'
'I don't know if we should trust him.'
'You can trust him,' said van Clynne. 'And he will be a valuable agent to you. He is, after all, Dutch.'
'You have admitted yourself he was raised by the Iroquois and served the British.'
'The latter was due to a profound misunderstanding, which I have rectified,' declared van Clynne. 'As for the former, the federation is a powerful one, but varied in its nature. Many of its nations are indeed on our side. The Oneida are very much inclined toward us.'
This was not so much a lie as a slight shading of the notion of neutrality.
'We'll see what Culper has to say about it,' said Daltoons finally. 'In the meantime, Jake is still missing.'
'Tut, tut, he will arrive as appointed,' said the Dutchman, walking toward the chair where he had spent the previous night. Having done a full day of work, he decided he would reward himself with a good nap. 'And undoubtedly he will insist on carrying on with his plan, though I have already solved the problem. Be sure to wake me on the morrow.'
'Wake yourself,' said Daltoons. 'I have details to see to. There are barely three hours till dawn. We will have to kidnap Bauer ourselves if Jake does not show up. I half hope he will not come easily.'
'Always with the fisticuffs,' complained van Clynne, drifting off. 'You youngsters must learn the great Dutch art of finesse.'
Chapter Thirty-six
For a man who knew he was likely to die in twelve short hours, Jake walked toward the Brooklyn shoreline with an easy step indeed. Granted, the knowledge that he would rise soon after being hit by the bullet added to his confidence, but he might nonetheless be taken as proof of the old proverb construing peace on those who face their demise mightily. The smile on his face was due to the thoughts of how he would fool Bauer when he was revived; there is little so amusing as making a complete ass of your enemy with the aid of a child's pretend game.
'It's colder than last night,' said Alison, turning around just as they reached the road that led down to the ferry. 'Why are the nights so cold when the days are hot?'
'Ssshh,' said Jake, whose mood suddenly turned as heavy as the bag he was carrying. 'Those are Loyalist rangers.'
'How do you know? They have no uniforms.'
'It's not much of a guess. Who else would be armed here? Pretend you are helping tie this bag.'
Alison did as she was told. The road they were on led down into the cluster of buildings near the ferry landing, which was still a few turns away. If there were rangers here, it was a good bet there would be many more guards at the ferry itself.
Why? Yesterday's escapees would be leaving New York, not trying to sneak back into it. Was something else going on, or was the patrol merely the result of an overanxious subaltern, bored with his normal assignment?
'We need to do a little reconnaissance,' Jake told Alison as he pulled her to one side to allow a man leading two sheep to pass by. 'Do you think you could walk around the quay?'
'If you mean spying, I have been waiting all day for some chance at adventure.'
He took hold of her arm. 'This is deadly serious, Alison. They'll kill us if they find out who we are.'
'I'm not a child.'
The strong glance from her eyes shone with something he had not detected there before, a look that did not retreat. It was more than bravery. Jake wondered if, in changing her dress, Alison had made the transformation from girl to woman.
'We will stop, as if for supper,' he told her. 'While I talk up the customers in these taverns, you go down to the ferry and assess the guard. Try to discover why there are so many, but do not make yourself conspicuous.'
'Do you think they are after us?'
'Probably not,' said Jake. 'They would have no reason to look here. Still, it's best not to take chances — even if they would be looking for a young ruffian, not a pretty young woman.'
Her answer was a slight but definite blush on her cheek.
'The danger is not that they will recognize you,' Jake warned, 'but that they will try to take advantage of you. Stay as far from the guards as practical; ask the women and children what is going on.'
'It's you who should be careful,' said Alison.
'Well, now I know you've grown up, if you're starting to worry about me. Meet me in the Peacock there.'
Jake pointed at the tavern down a small side street. 'If anything happens to me — '
'I'll go straight to Lieutenant Daltoons.' Jake had intended on telling her to go back to the farm, but her reply was so confident — and exactly what an agent should do, in her position — that he let it pass. 'Take no more than a half hour.'
'I will be back before you can sneeze,' she promised.
By now, the reader must be tiring of the description of every tavern and ordinary we stop at along the way. Truly, these are all of a common class, the same as any of us meet upon our daily travels. But it can only be emphasized that each has its peculiarities. The Peacock, for example, is a most curious mix of the modern and the ancient. The floor is packed dirt; one has the impression upon entering that cows recently trod there. The front room, however, is large and mounted by a balcony dressed in polished oak. At the center of the ceiling — so far overhead it must rival several European opera houses for its height — is a grand chandelier, with glass baubles pyramiding down in a style reminiscent of the finest French palace. Yet the tables below are rough-hewn from common pine, hardly squared and as level as the average mountain path. The wicker announcing the bar is wrought
