Jack Absolute (9 page)

Jack turned. In the doorway stood the man he’d last seen
on a snowy Hounslow Heath. The Count von Schlaben’s grey eyes returned his gaze. Jack couldn’t read them. He didn’t need to.
He knew what was written there: the same sense of foreboding caught earlier on the deck, in memories, in the scent of familiar
trees, in the light green of a dress.

Jack’s first thought was of a weapon. Swords had been left in cabins, cutlery cleared away. So he righted the decanter he’d
upset and stepped away from the table, clutching it by the neck. It was of lead crystal, heavy. He didn’t think it would shatter
well and give him a fistful of glass to thrust. But it was eminently throwable.

Jack’s pick-up was not obvious, his move away from the table covered by the general squeak of chairs slid back, of men rising
from their places to be introduced. But he saw the man in the doorway glance briefly down at his now full hand. Jack was beginning
to learn that the Count von Schlaben missed nothing.

‘General Burgoyne, a thousand apologies for this late intrusion. A boatmen’s dispute on the dockside left me stranded. These
Canadians seem very prickly about their prerogatives.’

Von Schlaben’s English was near accentless, far better than the interpreter’s.

‘My dear Count.’ Burgoyne came forward, hand outstretched. The German took it, bowed over it. ‘Alas, we have finished the
eating part of our meal. But can I get my cook to bring you a plate?’

‘Indeed, General, I would be grateful only for … is that Bishop I smell? Yet another thing we Germans have to envy
the English – their limitless invention when it comes to drinks. Who but they would have thought to roast an orange and drop
it into port?’

At a nod from Burgoyne, Pellew filled a spare bumper. The German raised it. ‘To the enduring amity between our nations.’

Glasses were raised, drained, Jack drinking left-handed, still keeping the decanter in his right. Only when the toast was
finished did he place it, deliberately, on the table before Von Schlaben. The grey eyes swivelled to him.

‘Ah, Captain Absolute, delighted to see you again. And under somewhat more pleasant circumstances.’

‘Oh, I don’t know, Count. I rather enjoyed our last encounter.’

The German smiled faintly, then trod around the table, introduced by his host as he went. Once he’d shaken hands, Simon Fraser
moved to Jack’s side.

‘Is that the man, Absolute?’ The tale of Drury Lane and Hounslow Heath had been retold by Burgoyne many times on the voyage
across, gilded and transformed into an epic, sparing neither detail nor Jack’s blushes – even if the suspected motives for
the duel were left out.

‘It is, sir.’

‘We have a wee saying in the Highlands: “Fiddlers, dogs, and flies come to a feast uncalled.”’ Fraser pointed his chin to
where Von Schlaben was bending over Mrs Skene’s hand. ‘And he doenae look like he can play a fiddle.’

Jack suppressed a snort of laughter, turning it into a cough. A servant entered discreetly to clear up the spilled port. Noticing
him moving among the ‘map’ of his campaign, Burgoyne raised his voice above the continuing pleasantries.

‘May I suggest some air while the servants make all ready for the entertainment?’ He turned to the Count. ‘You may have missed
supper, dear sir, but you will be able to sit in on
the theatricals. I venture you will be impressed. To alleviate our boredom we have been indulging ourselves all the way across
the Atlantic. We have attained, I may say, a standard that would not disgrace many a stage in England. But five weeks is a
long time and we know each other’s better tricks by now. Perhaps you have something new that the company would enjoy?’

Von Schlaben shook his head. ‘I fear I am no actor, sir.’

Burgoyne’s reply was almost inaudible. Almost.

‘Not what I heard.’ Then he went on, more loudly, ‘Ladies, gentlemen, to the deck and let us rendezvous back here in … half
an hour?’ As the company began to file out, he added, ‘Captain Absolute, a word?’

Von Schlaben was just passing Jack when he spoke. ‘By the way, Captain, I bring greetings to you from our young friend, Tarleton.’

‘I am surprised he is not with you. I thought you inseparable.’

‘Alas, your Native friend’s blow had him confined to a bed for a time and my ship awaited. But he wishes you to know that
he looks forward to renewing your acquaintance.’

‘Will he serve in this campaign?’

‘He is bound for New York, I believe, and General Howe’s command. Still,’ the German gave what passed for his smile, ‘I am
certain your paths will cross again.’

Jack nodded. ‘Can’t wait.’ Then he gestured to the doorway, and the Count, with the slightest of bows, went through it.

The room was empty at last. Burgoyne came to stand beside Jack and together they listened to the laughter, as the gentlemen
helped the ladies climb the steep stairs. When the last voice had faded into the night, Burgoyne murmured, ‘“Yon’d Cassius
has a lean and hungry look …”’

‘… “Such men are dangerous”.’ Completing the couplet,
Jack stepped back into the cabin, reached for a decanter, poured two glasses. Handing one to Burgoyne, he continued, ‘Is he
a danger you would have me remove?’

The older man sipped, smiled. ‘Why, Captain Absolute! Are you proposing, perhaps, a dagger in an alley? How does that square
with the Cornish sense of a fair fight?’

‘I’d kill a mad dog in Cornwall, same as anywhere. Especially one that has already tried to kill me.’

‘The Count, mad? I think not. Dangerous, I will concede. We already have the proof of that with his design upon you in London.’

Burgoyne moved back to his place at the head of the table. There, he reached into a leathern case that hung from the back
of his chair, withdrew some small object. He continued, ‘But are we certain – certain now, Jack, not just assuming – that
the Count sought to eliminate you because of my proclaimed patronage and need of you? No, we are not. You were caught, in
flagrante, and the Count was young Tarle-ton’s friend before I even knew of your return to London.’

‘But, sir—’

Burgoyne held up a hand. ‘Furthermore, we still do not understand why these Illuminati concern themselves with our affairs.
We believe that they seek to profit from the disorder in this land, the chance to build on ashes. But what is it they seek
to build? And why? That’s what we must discover. And until we do we shall follow the advice of the Hebrew: Keep mine friend
close and mine enemy closer. Agreed?’

‘Sir.’ Jack could see that his Commander would not be moved. Were it a private matter – and he knew Burgoyne did not believe
the affair in London to be merely about the love of an actress any more than he did – Jack would not hesitate to strike before
he was struck again. But he had to grudgingly admit that to kill Von Schlaben now would be a mistake. The Illuminati, like
any secret society, would have as many heads
as the Hydra. To cut off this visible one would merely leave them exposed to another they could not see.

Burgoyne now lobbed what he’d been passing between his hands across the cabin. It sparkled as it flew through the lamplight.
Jack let it drop into one palm, then raised it to his gaze.

It was a musket ball. Yet its dull surface had been scored across and a brighter hue shone through.

Jack tossed it into the air, caught it again. ‘Silver. And light. Hollow.’

‘Yes.’ Burgoyne was reaching once more into his case. ‘The ball was found on – or should I say “in” – a merchant from Connecticut,
a proclaimed Loyalist, come to trade in Quebec. He was observed in some dubious company and, when taken, was seen to swallow
that ball. He then had it disgorged from his guts with a dose of emetic tartar so severe that it cost the unfortunate fellow
his life – it’s all right, Jack, it’s been thoroughly cleaned – and this was found within.’

Burgoyne was carefully spreading a small piece of paper out on the table before him. ‘Governor Carleton only received this
intelligence a few days since. So far, none of his officers here in Quebec have been able to decipher it. So we were wondering,
Jack, if you …’

Jack moved a lamp closer. The page held five lines of numbers, cramped yet legible enough. It was gobbledegook; but even a
swift glance told him it was gobbledegook with a pattern.

‘Can you give me answer to this riddle, Jack?’

‘It will take me a little time, sir. Longer if it is in French.’

‘Which you speak even better than I do. But then you have French blood, do you not?’

Jack shook his head. ‘A long way back, General. Yet it’s a tradition in the Absolute family that the sons always have the
same French middle name.’

‘And that is?’

‘Rombaud. There’s a legend connected with it too. Fanciful beyond belief.’

Burgoyne smiled. ‘I love legends. You must recount it when we have more time.’

‘Certainly, sir.’ Jack squinted at the tiny piece of paper. ‘Do you know if there is a list of the merchant’s possessions?’

Burgoyne pushed across a page. Jack studied it. ‘No books or notebooks, I see.’

‘Do you think Washington would be so kind as to send his spies out with both his secret messages and the means to decode them?’

Jack smiled. ‘It’s been known. It could be an innocuous novel that sender and recipient both possess and the numbers here
could correspond to the words on a single page. That would be the crib. Without the book, the message would be hard to discover.’

‘Is this a code of that sort?’

‘I think not. I can see patterns here, repeated numbers. Do we know who this was meant for?’

Burgoyne shook his head. ‘Sadly not. The fatal consequence of the disgorging deprived us of any further information. But …’
He hesitated, then reached into another bag. ‘I do not wish you to read too much into this. But something else was found among
the merchant’s possessions. Don’t look for it on the list, it’s not there.’

He pulled out a set of keys on a hoop. They were standard ones for various-sized locks. There was also a metal fob, about
the size of a thumb. It was in the shape of a pyramid. Just beneath its apex was an eye.

‘Yes, I grant,’ the General sighed when Jack looked up at him, ‘it is Masonic. Unusual – but my own lodge uses similar symbols
as do lodges here in the Colonies. Masons fight on both sides of this cause. I know of seven for certain among
Washington’s commanders. So this,’ he took the fob and dangled it in the lamplight, ‘need not imply anything sinister. The
recipient, though a spy, could just be an ordinary member of an ordinary lodge. He need not be—’

‘Illuminati?’

‘No.’ The General looked as discomfited as Jack had ever seen him. Jack had always refused any offers, Burgoyne’s among them,
to be initiated into the Brotherhood of Freemasonry. ‘The bad apple of these Illuminati does not taint the barrel of the whole
Order, Captain. Remember that. And we cannot presume that the ball was destined for the Count, for example.’

‘We should presume nothing, sir.’ He handed the keys back. ‘Would you like me to begin on this now?’

‘Indeed not. We have our theatricals to perform. The morning will be quite soon enough.’

Jack carefully folded up the paper and placed it into his waistcoat pocket. ‘Shall I fetch the players?’

‘Do. And on the way, send in the servants to prepare the stage.’

When Jack reached the doorway, he paused, looked back. ‘Sir, I am not boasting of my skill. But if Von Schlaben
was
the intended recipient, this seems an odd sort of cipher to send to a man of his intellect. Not as complicated as I am sure
he would want it to be. That could, of course, mean that the sender was not as gifted. Or—’

‘Or that it was destined for someone else. As I said.’ Burgoyne smiled. ‘No, the good Count cannot be our only suspect. He
may, perhaps, lead us to another though, eh? So … no dagger in the alley for the moment, Captain Absolute.’

‘General.’

Jack walked slowly up the stairs, the patterns of numbers he’d briefly studied swirling before his eyes. These patterns so
held him that when he reached the deck, it took a moment for them to clear. A moment to realize that the figures a dozen foot
from him, silhouetted against the night sky of Quebec Town, were Louisa and the Count. A moment more to focus on the way his
hand was gripped on to her elbow. Even as he watched, she jerked it away and moved to the railing. Then Balcarras and Pellew
approached and, taking an arm each, walked Louisa up the deck, out of sight. As their laughter was caught and lost in the
wind, Jack looked back for the Count. But the German had gone.

Jack loathed acting. In his brief dalliance with the theatre crowd in London seven years before, he had always preferred the
writer’s role, seeing his imaginings rendered into flesh by others. But that was in the profession. In private company, a
gentleman was expected to perform.

The audience cheered and applauded each good line and piece of business as if they were at Drury Lane. Balcarras declaimed,
with great feeling, Gray’s ‘Elegy’. Pellew attempted, rather less successfully, some sonnets by Pope, his tongue thickened
by further bouts with the Bishop. General Fraser, to the delight of the company, displayed a surprisingly light and pleasant
baritone to render, ‘My Dear Hieland Laddie’ and Burgoyne had been flattered into producing extracts from his own dramatic
works. He, Jack and Louisa took the main roles in these. And when the General spoke the closing words from his London success
Maid of the Oaks
, ‘I love an old oak at my heart and can’t sit under its shade till I dream of Crecy and Agincourt,’ the company rose as one
with a toast to those glorious victories of the past, huzzahs to the glorious ones to come.

The cabin was packed. More had joined after dinner and included fourteen officers, some wives, the Skenes, and two other prominent
Loyalists. In the swirl, Jack lost sight of
Louisa. It took him half a dozen turns about the room, a number of brief conversations, before he realized she was no longer
there.