The Golden Flask Read Free Page A

listening than speaking.
    Ordinarily, van Clynne would use any meeting with a close confidant of the commanding general of the Northern Department to press his claims for the return of his ancestral lands, stolen from the family by English interlopers. But it happened that a month earlier the squire had been engaged by the colonel to sell a variety of items, including a very fine carriage.
    "What a coincidence. I was planning to work on that transaction tomorrow," said van Clynne.
    "That would be very good — I could use the thirty crowns, believe me."
    Van Clynne ignored the note of sarcasm in the colo nel's voice. In actual fact, the wagon had fetched forty crowns at Half Moon some weeks before, just before the Dutchman ventured north to assist Jake in his deal ings with the Mohawk. But such a large interval had transpired in the meantime that his memory of the de tails of the business had faded.
    Or so he would claim if pressed. For the moment he frowned, allowing as how there was a great shortage of money and an oversupply of wagons, which made achieving a favorable price difficult. Perhaps, he hinted, his usual broker’s fees could be boosted as an incentive to a deal.
    "I doubt that," said Flanagan. "We have a contract. Your word is your bond, you said."
    "As it remains, stronger than any rope. Indeed, stronger than the chain across the Hudson — which I saved, by the by, and which I am due to, er, inspect directly."
    Flanagan caught van Clynne's cuff as he attempted to retreat. "I saw a carriage that looked very similar to mine in town just the other day. Another coincidence?"
    "As I said, there is quite an oversupply." Van Clynne looked eagerly for a diversion. He saw one in the per son of a servant who entered the room carrying a tray of Port. "Here we are, Colonel. Something to drink?"
    "No."
    "Of course, you are a beer man. As am I, in fact. Indeed, I had set out in search of some ale when you bumped into me. Here . . ." He called over to the ser vant. "Two cups of your finest ale. Wait — better make it porter; my friend and I have just been discussing some stout business."
    "Excuse me, sir, but I am serving the wine."
    "Just so," said van Clynne, "but it is a venial offense and I won't hold it against you. Hurry now; the colonel is a military man and has many important things to attend to."
    As the waiter retreated, van Clynne took a step to follow.
    "Hold it, Claus." Flanagan extended an arm and hooked his finger in a buttonhole on the Dutchman's vest.
    "I promise to give the carriage my top priority."
    "There is another matter I'd like to discuss. General Schuyler told me you have recently been among the Mohawk. I would like to know their strength and plans."
    "Yes, the Maquas." Van Clynne frowned, running his eye up and down Flanagan's dark blue uniform. Un doubtedly, Flanagan was merely making a pretext, planning a return to the obnoxious topic of his wagon as soon as possible. "My friend Mr. Gibbs would do better to fill you in. He was gathering intelligence, while I served primarily as facilitator and interpreter. The interviews were not all together pleasant, as I'm sure he will tell you with his usual flair."
    "Jake left a short while ago," said Flanagan. "And you're here now."
    "Where did he go?" demanded Sarah Thomas, who had been silently observing their conversation.
    "I'm sorry, Miss Thomas, but I saw him leave the room a short while ago," said Flanagan.
    Tears welled in Sarah's eyes as anger flushed her cheeks. "He's gone to see Betsy I'll bet. She claimed to have a headache and went upstairs."
    Flanagan had a daughter about Sarah's age and well understood her consternation. "I saw him go outside with another officer," he explained. "Not with Betsy."
    "Colonel Hamilton?"
    The words were scarcely out of Sarah's mouth when van Clynne began to bluster. "Hamilton?" he demanded. "Alexander Hamilton? Are we speaking of the young officer who handles much of His Excellency General Washington's