phantom knights 04 - deceit in delaware

by Amalie Vantana

  A few days passed before I reached the location that the woman had given me. It was nothing but forest. As I rode further, I came upon a fence. Following the fence, it led to a dirt horse track, and finally to a small cabin and barn beyond. There were no lights inside the cabin or smoke coming from the chimney.

  Tying my horse to the single hitching post, I stepped up to the cabin and knocked upon the door. It rattled and opened against the tapping of my hand. Looking about me, there was no answering call, so I stepped into the cabin. It was cold, smelled musty, and looked as if it had not been lived in for months. Noticing an apple core on the small table, I picked it up. Inspection proved that it could be no older than a day.

  Which meant that someone had been there.

  As the sky was turning gray, I decided to bed down in the barn for the night, hoping to find some hay for my horse and a pump for some water.

  Reaching the barn as the sky opened up and released its explosion of rain and lightning, I pushed open the door and led my horse inside. The barn, unlike the house, had been kept in good order. It was warmer and had fresh hay as well as a stabled gray mare. Considering the horse, there was a moment when I thought that whoever had eaten that apple was still around. How else could the horse be explained? Arnold had not appeared to me as a man with the means to provide for two horses.

  Touching my belt, my hand rested upon the butt of my pistol.

  “AAHHHHHHH!” shrieked a high voice a second before a tiny body came charging toward me, with a knife raised over the head filled with black hair.

  For a stunned moment I did not react. As the little sprite slashed the knife toward my leg, I leapt backward a second before the blade would have stabbed my leg.

  “What the devil!”

  The little sprite swung the knife before him in slashing movements as he charged me. Slapping his arm away as he tried to stab me only caused him to shout louder.

  “Die ewil spiwit!” He raised his arm above his head and then threw it down, trying to stab my stomach.

  Slapping my hand against his head, I held him back. He swung the knife and wriggled against my hand like a little devil. Snatching him up by the back of his britches, I wrested the knife from his hand and then carried him to where a tack was hanging on one of the wooden posts. Hanging him on the tack by his britches, I stepped back to survey him. Even though he was hanging in the air he struggled to be free.

  Moving to my saddle, I removed some flint from my saddle bag, as well as the remainder of the dried beef, stale bread, and berries I had for food.

  Using the flint, I was able to light one of the lanterns. Holding it up before the little sprite, the first thought that struck me was how much he resembled my son Jack. The same black hair and narrow face, but this little wild boy had green eyes.

  As thunder boomed outside the barn and lightning struck across the sky, I paced before the little one, my mind asking a plethora of questions. What could I do with the child now that his father was gone? If there had been a mother surely she would have been there with the child.

  “Where is your mother?” I voiced.

  “Dead,” the little boy replied with a defiant tone in his voice.

  That shot my first idea. Surely there had to be relatives somewhere, or I could turn him over to the nearest constable.

  As I surveyed him from his face to his wriggling body, a completely different thought struck me. As fire filled as this little boy was, I knew that he would be a fierce fighter, if given the proper training. He could learn much with proper instruction. Nell could do wonders with such a little sprite, but I could not force him upon her. Such a thing was unthinkable.

  Or was it…

  It would take some deeper thought, and I would have to speak with Pierre about the idea, but this boy, this Levi, could be the first of many such children. No one would ever expect a child of being a spy.

  After unsaddling my horse, brushing him down, and placing him in a stall with fresh hay, I placed a small crate a few feet before the boy. Seating myself, I decided to be candid with him.

  “Your father, I regret to tell you, has died. A few days ago in a tavern fight.”

  “You lie!”

  “Unfortunately I do not. Arnold asked me to tell you. He also told me that your name is Levi. Is that so?”

  Levi looked mulish as he stared anywhere but at me. A defiant streak that could cause trouble, but Pierre could twist the defiance into something manageable.

  “You will answer me when I speak to you,” I barked out, causing the little boy to jolt.

  He met my gaze without restraint or fear. “I speak not to ewil spiwits.”

  Laughing, I shook my head. “I am not an evil spirit. My name is William Martin.” Stepping toward him, I held out my hand.

  He flinched, and my laughter died. Someone had struck this child before.

  “Who beat you, Levi?”

  Slowly opening his eyes, he crossed his arms over his chest and looked away from me. At first I did not believe that he would respond, but then he stuck out his chin.

  “Ain’t got no coin fo grandpa, he whoops ya.”

  Unsuspecting anger resonated in me. “Where can I find your grandfather?” So that I could teach him what happened when a man beat a child.

  “His gwave.”

  “Do you have any other family?”

  After a moment of silence, he shook his head, and then I noticed moisture in his eyes. He swiped at both eyes with the backs of his hands, but he never surrendered to the grief that he had to be feeling.

  Seeing such a heroic display by a child only four years of age settled my resolve. Levi would come home with me.

  Nell could teach him how to speak as a proper gentleman should, as well as how to read and write. He could have playmates in Bess and Jack, and he could learn how to fight from Pierre. He would be the first of my creations.

  Moving toward him, he braced himself for whatever he thought was going to happen. All that I did was lift him from the tack and lower him to the ground.

  With his knife safely tucked into my belt, I did not fear that he would try to kill me again. As I released him, he slid down the beam on which he had been hanging. Tucking himself against his raised knees, he buried his head in his hands. I sat upon the crate and spread my food out upon my clean handkerchief. I ate a bit of the dried beef before I noticed him watching me through a crack between his fingers.

  Placing the remainder of the beef and berries before him on the handkerchief, I ate the stale bread in silence.

  As I went for my canteen, I saw him gobble up the food in haste. Bringing my canteen with me to the crate, I drank some and then wiped the canteen mouth and offered it to him. After a speculative moment, he accepted it and took his own long drink. When he was through, he wiped the mouth on his dirty shirt before handing the canteen back to me.

  “Now that we have feasted, I have a proposition for you, Levi.”

  He watched me through untrusting eyes. He was an intelligent little fellow.

  “Being that you have no family, I am prepared to offer you a place in my home. I have a wife who will try to coddle you, and a daughter and son who will be your friends.”

  “They old?” His question was accompanied by a raised brow. A difficult fete for most adults, this child of four had mastered a single raised eyebrow.

  “Bess is ten and Jack is nine.”

  “You wife like ta wod?”

  Rod? Good heavens, who had this child been surrounded by? “Not even a switch. Should you require discipline, she will spank you as any good mother would. You should know that if you are to join my family, you will be expected to be kind, courteous, and follow orders. Now, would you like to join my family?”

  Levi shook his head vehemently. “Ain’t asepting no charty.”

  Hiding my chuckle behind my hand, I rubbed my hand across my mouth and then my jaw. “That is well, because I am offering you no charity. If you join my family, you will earn your keep. You will
be expected to assist with the milking of the cow, and the collecting of eggs from the chicken. Also, you will exercise the horses, and you will surrender to school lessons given to you by my wife.”

  With each new requirement that I stated, his eyes widened, until I did not believe they could stretch further.

  Rising, I went to my saddlebag and pulled a small carved bird from inside. Walking back to him, he watched each step that I took. Kneeling down a space from him, I held out my hand. He eyed the bird, and then me.

  “Allow this to signify our bargain, if you are agreeable to my terms.”

  I waited for him to make a move. When his little hand reached out and took the bird, I smiled.

  So it was that young Levi became a Martin.

  CHAPTER 14

  When I brought Levi home with me Nell had reacted as I had expected. As soon as she saw his face she took to him.

  Bess and Jack had accepted him into the family without question.

  After stuffing the boy with food and seeing him to bed, Nell had asked me where I had found him. Telling her about his father’s death brought tears to her eyes. She thought that I had adopted the boy out of the goodness of my heart. Pierre knew different. During his first training lesson with Levi, he had discovered what I had. A fire inside the boy that could be guided into a fierce fighter.

  With Pierre’s assistance, training had increased to a daily routine. For two years, after the children had completed their household chores, we spent time training them in weapons, disguise, horseback riding, and acting lessons. Nell took upon herself to teach them etiquette, numbers, letters, reading and writing, as well as language, dance, and the running of a household.

  We never spoke of our life in Lutania, but Jack and Levi often tried to question Pierre about his life in France. He never spoke of his family so they did not know that he had spent much of his life in England, or that he had a wife, daughter, and brother living in America.

  With the prospering of the farm, guided by Nell’s expert hand, and the income from our small shipping company, we had gained enough income to hire people to run the farm for us. Pierre began to travel with me for a few months at a time. He would go to Charleston to visit with his family, but I traveled from New York to Savannah over the last two years, searching for the perfect people to join me in my creation.

  Pierre had thought that my idea to turn children into spies could be prosperous, if we chose the right children. He said that not just any children could do such work, even if trained by us. They would have to be dependent upon me, trust me with their life, and not want to disappoint me. Orphans without family who we could take into our home and give them a chance at a secure future.

  As I traveled along the coast, I searched for such children, but none that I had met suited such a future as I had prepared for them.

  It was during my first trip to Savannah in Georgia that I met by chance a man who could assist me in my endeavors. George Crawford was his name, and not only did he possess a head for politics, but he owned one of the largest plantations in Charleston. He traveled to Savannah often to visit with his mother and it was while attending dinner at her house that I met him. Telling him a little of my travels had led to him telling me about his friend, James Monroe, who was currently in Britain, but had plans to return by the end of the year. He spoke of James’s extensive travel. George and James had attended college together.

  Knowing that it would not be wise to tell any man about my plans upon such a short acquaintance, I remained in Savannah, spending time with George. After a month, I knew that he was just the man that I required. Not only could he be the financial support for my plan, but he knew two of the original spies who had aided General Washington during the Revolution, and had helped to lead the country to victory. When I discovered that George’s own father had been one of them, my resolve was made.

  Sharing with George my passion for the protection of the country against another such attack as America had endured during the Revolution, he agreed wholeheartedly. He said that it was a shame for our boys to be captured by British forces and pressed to switch from our military to theirs. He wanted to know what we could do to assist in the protection of our great country. That was when I told him about my past as a spy, and the training that I was giving my children. It took some time to convince George that children could be spies, but in the end I won him over to my way of thinking. He agreed that it had the element of surprise. No man would ever suspect a child of being a spy. Women, too, George said, could be spies, but I rejected that suggestion at once. There were few women that I believed could achieve the goals that we would require without becoming emotional. If trained from a young age, children would not be emotional. Neither would they be noticed. A woman among an army of hungry men would be as a succulent piece of raw meat before a pack of wolves.

  Hearing that I had been training my own children for the position, George asked me how I could consider sacrificing my children’s safety in such a way.

  My answer was swift. “They are my children. They possess my cool head and swift understanding. If anyone can achieve greatness it will be my children.”

  We made plans for who would be best suited to join us in our venture. George agreed to be the financial backer to our organization. He thought that I should be the leader since it had been my idea and I was training the children. He suggested that we enlist James Monroe as the political standing for the group. He said that such a brilliant idea as ours could one day be a sought after force. If we were successful, we could branch out. We could have groups of spies in every city in America. I toned him down at that point, suggesting that we begin small. One group would be enough to begin, but George proved adamant. He wanted four groups. New York, Philadelphia, Washington, and Charleston.

  I told him that I could not lead four groups at once. That was when he suggested that we have four founders, and each would lead a group. He wanted Charleston, and said that he had children in mind who could do the deed. His nephew Samuel was the first name, and then a boy named Abraham. Seeing his plans expanding, I quickly reined in his excitement, telling him that we should focus upon finding the other two founders before we ran ahead. He was certain that James would want to be the political founder. As to the fourth, George had an idea, but he said that he would have to see.

  As he was about to depart in search of the fourth founder, he told me that I should buy a plantation. He said that the other founders would be more apt to accept me if I had some standing in a community. He suggested Savannah, and so that was what I did.

  Asking around the town, I learned that there were no plantations to be purchased, not that I could have afforded one even if I sold my farm, which Nell would never agree to.

  It was by chance that I happened upon the perfect situation for me.

  George had taken me along with him a few times to some card parties, and so I had made some acquaintances who thought me a respectable gentleman to invite into their circle of friends. When one of these new friends invited me to a card party at his plantation, I had gone without much intention of playing. It was more to watch and listen to how plantation owners spoke and acted. If I was to one day join their ranks, I wanted to know how to adapt to the situation.

  The drink was flowing and the play was deep, too deep for some. The room was lit by several candles, and two tables had been placed in the library. One for dicing and one for cards. After losing a hand at cards and winning twice at the dice, I retired to the corner of the room with a book.

  Three of the four walls were lined with books, while the fourth had a wall of windows overlooking the fresh green grass at the front of the brick plantation house.

  Having encountered slavery much in Britain, I thought I had seen it all, until I came to America. Slaves were treated lower than dogs, and a few of the plantation owners beat their slaves daily. Not for any reason beyond they thought it would keep them in order. Keep them in fear is what I knew that they meant.

  It
was different here than in Lutania, where there were servants, but no men were slaves. It was my private belief that no man should have the power to own another man. After witnessing a beating where the whip had shards of glass embedded into the leather that tore the dark man’s skin from his body, I had made a pledge never to own a slave.

  Watching the play unfolding at the tables, a man by the name of Albany Adams began throwing good money after bad, to the point where he was writing out vowels to cover his losses. There was a glaze in his eyes as he lost one hand after another. When his vowels were no longer accepted, and it appeared that he would have to retire from the gaming table, he refused, saying that he had more to his name. Shouting for paper and ink, he then wrote out the deed to his plantation.

  As others began shouting for him not to be foolish, to retire while he still had some means to his name, I began to formulate a plan. It was neither respectable nor the way of a gentleman, but it would serve my purpose.

  When no one would accept his wager, he became angry, cursing everyone and throwing his glass into the empty fireplace. Picking up a dice box from the deserted table, I placed it in my pocket. I had seen his luck with dice to the point where no one would play with him so he had moved on to cards.

  “I will accept your wager,” I said, causing every man in the room to look at me. Walking forward, they parted to allow me room to reach the table. “Will it be dice or cards?” I asked it even though I knew what he would choose, for I had watched him closely all evening.

  Albany eyed me speculatively. “What have you of worth?” He looked at his friends. “You do not appear to me to be worth much.”

  Those words strengthened my resolve and drove the guilt from my mind.

  “I own a prosperous shipping company that I am prepared to wager,” I said, though not entirely truthful. I made it sound as if I owned a fleet of ships instead of just the one.

  “Where is your shipping company?” one of Albany’s friends asked.

  From the greed in Albany’s eyes, I knew that I already had him hooked, but I answered anyway.