"Agreed," said van Clynne, fanning the bills. "I wonder where I might find her."
"What are you up to, Claus?"
While the sum in van Clynne's hand was significant, it would not have been enough under any circumstance for the keeper to betray a trust. Van Clynne recognized this, and so he dropped a hint concerning the wishes of General Washington being involved. This only made Fraunces more suspicious.
"What have you to do with His Excellency?"
"I am on a mission for him."
"He wishes to see the girl?"
"She is but an attending player in a much grander scheme," said the Dutchman. "I assure you, no harm will come to her."
Fraunces frowned and turned his eyes to the bills. "Considering that I know your politics well, I suppose it would do no harm. The family took her north of Delancy's farm, past the encampments, to make sure she did not fall victim to Howe's depredations again. You would think one mistress would be enough."
"You do not get to be a gentleman by limiting your assignations," noted van Clynne with some distraction.
It was not nearly enough distraction to prevent him from whisking away his fist — and the notes-as Fraunces grabbed for them.
"I would be very obliged if you could find me a horse, on temporary loan. Some hatchets, too."
"What will you ask for next, a hat as well?"
"Tut, tut, Samuel, you are becoming quite excited," said van Clynne. "I am prepared to pay the lease in advance."
"In that case, I would be willing to lend you my wife's handsome black pony, barely in its third year, along with a fine cart that will match your exalted social standing," said Fraunces without noticeable irony. "At ten shillings an hour, then, I believe we could reach an arrangement."
"I will not be robbed in broad daylight, no matter who controls the city."
The hemming and hawing that followed was lengthy and resulted in a considerable price reduction. As a faithful reproduction would fill near thirty pages, suffice to say that van Clynne was found within the hour heading north at the bench of a two-wheeled, oak-paneled phaeton pulled by a short though not un-vigorous pony. His armament now included a pair of axes, and he sported a black beaver hat that had been thrown in on good faith to seal the deal. The hatchets were a bit dull and the hat a size too big even for the Dutchman's prodigious skull, but at least it provided the Dutchman with something to doff when he was confronted by an English officer mounted on a white horse just south of Delancy's farm.
"Good morrow, major," called van Clynne cheerfully. "And what can I do for you?"
"You can call me colonel, for one," said the man icily. "You will state your business and reason for being here."
Van Clynne grumbled to himself. It was difficult to keep up with the British army's habit of continually promoting its officers despite their incompetence. In the Dutch forces, this man would never have advanced above the rank of captain, obviously being far too nosey for his own good.
"Sir Colonel, I meant no offense. As for my mission, it is routine in the extreme. I am after some vegetables."
"You do not look like a farmer to me."
"Of course not, sir. I am a man of business. In fact, General Howe himself has asked me to look after this vegetable factor. It appears the soldiers are in great need of vegetative energy for their coming campaign."
"If you are working for Sir William, honor me with a letter from him."
"I will not, sir," said the Dutchman haughtily.
His new hat slipped to one side, ruining the effect. Deciding to change tactics," he grabbed it from his head and held it in his hands, hoping to strike a contrite pose. Though he looked the model of a penitent, the officer did not acknowledge the likeness.
"Stand down and present yourself for arrest. You are very much like the description of one of the prisoners said to have escaped yesterday from the city jail."
The colonel pulled his sword from the scabbard with a great deal of pompous flash. It was a most ornate device, with hand-crafted silver embellishments about the handle and considerable scrolling up and down the blade.
"You did not let me finish," said the Dutchman quickly. "I am under strict orders not to communicate my mission with anyone."
"Piffle."
"Well, I suppose I must make an exception, given your rank," said van Clynne, reaching beneath his hat toward his coat, then letting his fingers take a detour to the floor, where they found his hatchet. In the next instant, the Briton flew backwards as blood burst like a geyser from his skull, the ax having found its mark.
Van Clynne started to rise from the bench to retrieve the hatchet, but was interrupted by a shout from nearby in the woods. A half-dozen British soldiers appeared from their bivouac as van Clynne grabbed for his reins. The little pony Fraunces had lent him strained for everything he was worth as the soldiers let their muskets get some exercise.
The bullets did a nice job engraving their marks in the rear of the wagon. The Dutchman was, nonetheless, unscathed, as was his hat, which remarkably remained on his head despite the pace. But as he began congratulating his fortune and thinking if some way might be found to make the hat shrink a size, van Clynne realized one of the soldiers had appropriated the colonel's horse and was chasing him up the road.
"Come now, little one," the Dutchman told the pony. "Let us see if we cannot reach yonder bend before this galloping horseman. We may effect an ambush if we do. I have often thought a small pony more worthwhile in a pinch than a dozen large stallions."
The pony's ears bloated with the flattery as it strained its legs and pushed its shoulders forward in a manner that would have done fabled Pegasus proud. Alas, the animal was not used to such exertion, and quickly began to tire. When they were still several dozen yards before the turn, van Clynne realized they would not beat the redcoat there.
The soldier had taken the colonel's sword as well as his horse. He began waving it above his head, momentum building as he leaned over his horse menacingly. Van Clynne reached below the seat and retrieved his pistol, endeavoring to pull back the lock into the firing position while all the while urging his little pony forward. The space between the horseman and the cart fell rapidly; van Clynne managed to point the gun and fire just as the swordsman took a swipe at his head. The blade missed. Alas, the same was true of van Clynne's bullet. The pony, exhausted, gave up his attempt at a gallop and fell into a strained trot, his body heaving with exhaustion. The redcoat pulled back on his reins, trying to gain a good angle for attack. Van Clynne threw down his pistol and reached for his remaining hatchet.
He nearly lost it as the pony jerked to the side to avoid the soldier's swipe. Van Clynne just managed to thrust the handle up as the redcoat slashed violently toward his neck. Sword and ax crashed together with a clang so loud anyone in the neighborhood would have thought he was being called to church.
Three times the weapons came together, and each time the Dutchman shuddered with the blow. The redcoat was a strong man born in northern Scotland and raised on red oats; he had ridden much as a youngster and by every right should have been at least a corporal, if not sergeant, except for some troubles he'd had as a young recruit.
But van Clynne was in no position to inquire after his personal history. He pulled back the hatchet, only to see it fly from his grasp, propelled by a quicker-than-expected blow. The redcoat, sensing that victory was but a moment away, pulled back his sword and took a deep breath, savoring his moment of glory.
"Well now," said van Clynne, doffing his hat as if in salute, "I am glad to finally be on even terms with you."
"Even terms?" said the Scotsman with a tongue so thick his words sounded more like