Read Online The Silver Bullet by Jim DeFelice - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jim DeFelice
Tags: Patriot Spy
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the devil tonight, and send him on his way. Myself and a few of the local Liberty boys.” Blom glanced toward Jake, who pretended to be engrossed in watching Johanna leave the room. “Do you think your friend would come along?”
Van Clynne made a face. “I think not.”
Jake slunk back in his spindled chair and waited for the Dutchman to give him away. He had resigned himself to admitting he was an American agent – and positioned his pocket pistol in case they weren’t ready to believe him – when he heard van Clynne say that Jake was a Quaker and thus could not participate in any warfare.
“ Best to leave him totally in the dark,” added the Dutchman.
“ Have you tested his loyalties?”
“ Oh, I vouch for him,” van Clynne bristled. “But let us not take unnecessary chances. The more people who know of an operation, the more chance for something to go wrong. Some people just can’t keep their mouths shut.”
Even disguised as a Tory deserter, Jake Gibbs couldn’t pass up an opportunity to wreak a little havoc on the British cause, especially if all he was sacrificing were a few hours of sleep and the possibility of fending off the innkeeper’s daughter. Besides, he wanted to make sure van Clynne survived to help him north in the morning.
Jake wasn’t sure what to make of the Dutchman’s lie about his being Quaker. Perhaps he felt obligated by their business deal, or else his demonstration of prowess with the pocket pistol was still fresh in the squire’s mind. In any event, van Clynne didn’t mention his planned sojourn when they were packed off to the upstairs room to sleep.
Unlike many backwoods inns, there were separate beds. Jake didn’t object when van Clynne took the one nearest the door, nor did he let on that he was still awake a half hour later when Blom knocked on the door and whispered that it was time to leave. The Dutchman had fallen asleep – his snores were akin to the doleful soundings of a beached whale – and Jake was treated to a few minutes amusement as Blom tried to wake him. Finally, the innkeeper pulled the Dutchman’s beard, and he bolted upright with a start and a whispered curse.
Jake let the pair get a head start, then snuck out of the darkened house and trailed them up the road. Van Clynne’s grumpy voice carried farther than the light of his torch. He spent much of the short walk complaining about the sudden chill of the night – in the old days, spring came on with reckless abandon, and there was never a need for as much as a jacket once the snow had gone.
Jake saw why Blom had been interested in recruiting him when the pair met four or five men gathered in front of the hamlet’s small church. None of these Liberty boys was younger than sixty. The tiny community had sent all of its young men and a few of the older ones as well to the nearby fort: these old gentlemen were all that remained of the local population.
They were a feisty lot nonetheless, and in the manner of Liberty men across the continent, had prepared a proper tar bath and an effigy to impress the British recruiter with. As they passed a bottle to rally their youth for the coming action, Jake slipped back in the words, as much to stifle a laugh as anything else – these ancients sounded like a squad of nineteen-year-old privates, ready to take on the world. But there was no need to tell one versed in apothecary sciences that age was largely a matter of the mind.
Just as he settled into the darkness, Jake heard someone else moving through the nearby woods. He stood deer-still and watched a small figure emerge from behind the trees, study the gathering, and then retreat. The patriot spy followed along as quickly as he dared, as quietly as possible. The shadow – so short and thin he must be a boy of eight or nine – climbed over a rail fence into a cleared yard and began running; Jake had to let him get a very long lead before he decided it would be safe to pursue.
It was easy enough to
Van Clynne made a face. “I think not.”
Jake slunk back in his spindled chair and waited for the Dutchman to give him away. He had resigned himself to admitting he was an American agent – and positioned his pocket pistol in case they weren’t ready to believe him – when he heard van Clynne say that Jake was a Quaker and thus could not participate in any warfare.
“ Best to leave him totally in the dark,” added the Dutchman.
“ Have you tested his loyalties?”
“ Oh, I vouch for him,” van Clynne bristled. “But let us not take unnecessary chances. The more people who know of an operation, the more chance for something to go wrong. Some people just can’t keep their mouths shut.”
Even disguised as a Tory deserter, Jake Gibbs couldn’t pass up an opportunity to wreak a little havoc on the British cause, especially if all he was sacrificing were a few hours of sleep and the possibility of fending off the innkeeper’s daughter. Besides, he wanted to make sure van Clynne survived to help him north in the morning.
Jake wasn’t sure what to make of the Dutchman’s lie about his being Quaker. Perhaps he felt obligated by their business deal, or else his demonstration of prowess with the pocket pistol was still fresh in the squire’s mind. In any event, van Clynne didn’t mention his planned sojourn when they were packed off to the upstairs room to sleep.
Unlike many backwoods inns, there were separate beds. Jake didn’t object when van Clynne took the one nearest the door, nor did he let on that he was still awake a half hour later when Blom knocked on the door and whispered that it was time to leave. The Dutchman had fallen asleep – his snores were akin to the doleful soundings of a beached whale – and Jake was treated to a few minutes amusement as Blom tried to wake him. Finally, the innkeeper pulled the Dutchman’s beard, and he bolted upright with a start and a whispered curse.
Jake let the pair get a head start, then snuck out of the darkened house and trailed them up the road. Van Clynne’s grumpy voice carried farther than the light of his torch. He spent much of the short walk complaining about the sudden chill of the night – in the old days, spring came on with reckless abandon, and there was never a need for as much as a jacket once the snow had gone.
Jake saw why Blom had been interested in recruiting him when the pair met four or five men gathered in front of the hamlet’s small church. None of these Liberty boys was younger than sixty. The tiny community had sent all of its young men and a few of the older ones as well to the nearby fort: these old gentlemen were all that remained of the local population.
They were a feisty lot nonetheless, and in the manner of Liberty men across the continent, had prepared a proper tar bath and an effigy to impress the British recruiter with. As they passed a bottle to rally their youth for the coming action, Jake slipped back in the words, as much to stifle a laugh as anything else – these ancients sounded like a squad of nineteen-year-old privates, ready to take on the world. But there was no need to tell one versed in apothecary sciences that age was largely a matter of the mind.
Just as he settled into the darkness, Jake heard someone else moving through the nearby woods. He stood deer-still and watched a small figure emerge from behind the trees, study the gathering, and then retreat. The patriot spy followed along as quickly as he dared, as quietly as possible. The shadow – so short and thin he must be a boy of eight or nine – climbed over a rail fence into a cleared yard and began running; Jake had to let him get a very long lead before he decided it would be safe to pursue.
It was easy enough to
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