Accidental Warrior: The Unlikely Tale of Bloody Hal

by Colin Alexander

  “That he was,” she answered. “We have our books and know our history. Wycliff fancies himself a great commander even though, by the time he had his command, the governor’s troops would no longer put up a fight. Anyway, he names his horses after great generals. This is Belisarius.” She patted the horse’s neck. “He always won, despite inadequate support, not enough troops, impossible odds. That’s why I use the name.”

  “Excuse me? You named yourself after the horse?”

  “After the general,” she corrected him, “although the horse gave me the idea.”

  “I always thought your name was short for Isabel, or something like that, but Bel hasn’t always been your name. It’s not part of your given name.”

  “Of course not,” Bel said.

  “Then, what’s your real name?”

  “Bel is my real name. The other girl doesn’t exist anymore, just like her sister and her parents. I’m just Bel. That’s all.”

  17

  Coward?

  THEY RODE NORTH for another day, or possibly northeast, given Hal’s rudimentary ability to tell direction. During that time, they did not see a town, or even an isolated homestead, or even another person. It bothered Hal, whose mind kept trying to match the landscape to his memories of the area. There should be suburbs, highways, cars, shopping malls—not just one tree after another. At one point, while he was riding with Bel, away from the group, he remarked on the apparent lack of civilization in the area. That earned him an odd look. Of course the area was civilized, she told him. The towns were scattered, though, in the woods north and west of Nieuw Amsterdam, and it was not in their interest to come near any towns just then anyway. What did he expect?

  Hal had no answer to that. He was not sure, any longer, what he should expect.

  The weather stayed mild, for which Hal was grateful. Camping outside in the cold did not seem to bother the woodsrangers but Hal knew he would never like it, even if he got used to it. At least he was no longer stiff and sore when he woke. For that matter, he would probably never like horses either, but his legs did not seem to hurt much from riding anymore.

  The morning of the following day, Hal awoke to find a conference going on in the camp among a large group of woodsrangers. More woodsrangers must have joined them while he slept. They were too far away for him to make out the words, but he could see the discussion was intense. Bel was at the edge of the group, pacing back and forth, plainly unhappy. The men stepped away if she came too close. Ten Eyck was off to the side and appeared to be having his own argument with another man, who had his back to Hal. That man’s height and broad shoulders made him a close match for ten Eyck. The argument ended when the man swung his right fist into his open left palm with a loud smack and a curse. Then, back still to Hal, he strode off into the trees.

  Hal went cold inside and jumped to his feet. That curse coincided with the end of the discussion among the woodsrangers, although there was no evident connection. Some left the group and walked into the trees, following the one who had argued with ten Eyck. As Hal walked over the remaining men ignored him, as usual. Bel had already turned away and was striding off to where Belisarius was tethered. He was watching Bel’s retreating figure, trying to decide if he should shout for her, when a hand closed on his shoulder. The grip was so unexpected that he jumped a foot in the air.

  He spun around to find that it was ten Eyck’s hand.

  “Sorry I startled you, Hal. I wasn’t trying to sneak up on you.” Ten Eyck’s craggy face held no sign of menace. “We’ve come to a decision here. Now you need to make your choice.”

  “What kind of choice?” Hal was happy that his voice did not quaver. Ten Eyck might look benign, but Hal was uneasy.

  “Our group will be splitting up,” ten Eyck said. “Bel and I will attend to our business in Nieuw Amsterdam; the others will be continuing north. You said that you wanted to go to Nieuw Amsterdam. If so, you are welcome to ride with us, at least until we near the city. Or you may wish to leave our company now.”

  “Bel didn’t seem too pleased with whatever you decided. There must be more to it than just who goes to Nieuw Amsterdam.” Hal decided against mentioning the man ten Eyck had argued with.

  Ten Eyck shrugged, then kicked some dirt onto the remains of the fire. “There’s some truth to that, and some of it has to do with your presence and what you already know. None of it need have any bearing on your choice.”

  Which meant, plain as day, that ten Eyck was not going to tell him the woodsrangers’ business. “I’ll ride with you as far as you’ll have me,” Hal said. “I still need to reach Nieuw Amsterdam.”

  “Good. Get prepared, then. Today we ride hard.”

  Ten Eyck was not exaggerating. Where before, they had ridden at a leisurely pace with plenty of time for breaks, now the three of them moved southeast at the fastest rate their horses could maintain. Meals were eaten in the saddle. Even the fall of night did not stop them. The moon was full and shed enough light to continue on their way. At last they stopped for a brief break. There was no campfire, just a few hours rolled in blankets on the ground. Then they were on their way again. The route was not a straight line; that was clear even to Hal. He assumed that the detours were designed to skirt settled areas and stay in the woods.

  A second day went the same way until midday, when ten Eyck held up his hand and brought the trio to a stop. He and Bel exchanged a glance, then he galloped off.

  “Is something wrong?” Hal asked Bel.

  “No.”

  Ten Eyck was back soon. “The road to the Hudson is just ahead. If you turn east on that road, you should reach the Manhattan ferry without difficulty. It’s no more than fifteen miles from here. Bel and I have business, as we have told you, and it is different than yours. It would be best if we separated now.” Ten Eyck pulled out a leather pouch and tossed it to Hal. The weight and clink when he caught it told Hal the contents. “This is the money you were carrying at the battle. Everything is still in there. Is all of this agreeable?”

  The question was rhetorical. Hal had imagined that they would go into Nieuw Amsterdam together, but he did not think he was in a position to argue with ten Eyck. “I suppose so.”

  “Good.” Ten Eyck paused. “I’ll ask you to dismount. The horse is ours and we can’t have you ride off to Nieuw Amsterdam with it. I promise, the way is not difficult, even on foot. This part of Nassau Province is thickly settled.”

  “It’s not a problem,” Hal said. He was happy to be off the horse anyway. Having to hike fifteen miles was a small price to pay, even if it would take most of the remaining daylight to do it. He pulled the small pack that held his few belongings off the horse.

  “One thing you should know,” Bel said, leaning forward on Belisarius. “As of now, all debts are paid. If we should meet again as enemies, do not expect mercy.”

  “Yes, Fons told me that already. I understand. I’m just grateful you saved me once. Anyway, I really doubt we’ll be meeting again.” They wouldn’t, if he found the right person in Nieuw Amsterdam.

  “You never know,” Bel said. “Farewell, Hal.”

  “Goodbye.”

  • • •

  They did not wait for Hal to walk away, but instead turned and rode back the way they had come, toward the cover of the woods, with Bel leading the riderless horse behind her. Hal stood alone. Off to his right was a distant building, probably the farmhouse that went with the fields he was standing in. Not too long ago, being alone like this would have thrown him into a panic. Now he felt only regret at parting from Bel and ten Eyck. He had no eagerness to join their revolution. Justified, yes, he would concede that. He would never forget the sight of Bel’s back. He could even hope that they succeeded. But he had his own needs to worry about first. Maybe there was a way home and, as long as there was a chance, he was going to take it. Also, Johanna was somewhere in Nieuw Amsterdam. Johanna, who was the most beautiful woman Hal had ever seen and who had become even more beautiful in his memory. He
could understand that she would not pay attention to a tavern boy or a common soldier. But a soldier who had saved her from death or worse? That would be different.

  The countryside looked a little like that around Gap. Farmland stretched away on all sides, the fields were snow-covered, deserted of people. Smoke curled up into the air, a marker for numerous chimneys. Inside: that was where the people were, where anyone with sense was in the middle of winter. A large collection of buildings was visible maybe half a mile down the road, the first town of any size Hal had seen since he left Gap.

  The trees thinned out rapidly as he walked east. The midday sun was welcome on his back. Soon there were only farms on both sides; all the fields cleared of trees. The houses were more substantial, the barns larger, the outbuildings more numerous than around Gap. On a hillside north of the road, Hal saw a town whose buildings covered the entire slope.

  Fifteen miles had not sounded like too much when ten Eyck had said it. Fifteen miles did not seem like much when he first saw the open road, melted free of snow in the middle and with buildings on either side. Unfortunately, the warm spell that had melted the snow had left the road a muddy bog. Hal’s boots squished into the mud and it sucked at his heels as he tried to pull his feet free. It did not take too much of that to make him think it would be better to walk at the side of the road, where the snow still remained. The ground was firmer there, but his footing in the wet snow was poor. He trudged on, exhausted, certain he would never make it to the ferry before dark, when, quite suddenly, the road was paved with stone. There was no apparent reason why the pavement began at that point. Perhaps that spot was as far as the road crew had reached before the weather turned, and they would begin again in the spring, or maybe that was where they had reached when the Provi revolt began years ago, and they would never go farther. Whatever the reason, Hal greeted it like a long-lost friend. The solid surface gave his legs the relief they needed to keep going.

  Traffic on the now-solid road built up: horses or mules pulling wagons, men on horseback or on foot, children running out of houses and across the pavement. Town followed on town, with fewer farms in between. Hal was far from the only man in shabby clothing. If passersby looked at him at all, it was at the faded blue and yellow of Nya Sverige that he still wore. Even then, he never received more than a glance.

  Finally, with the sun dipping low in the west, he came around a turn, walked past a three-story building of brick and stone, and saw the Hudson River in front of him, just down a short hill.

  The sight stopped him in his tracks. There was no mistaking that broad estuary for anything but the Hudson. The basalt columns of the Palisades were visible upriver to his left. Therefore, he must be facing the island of Manhattan. However, it was not the view he thought he should see. There should be tall towers across the river, Manhattan covered with buildings from tip to top, bridges spanning the waterway. None of that was there. Oh, there was an island out in the river all right, but most of it was covered with trees. Only the southern part of Manhattan, maybe a quarter of it, was built up, covered with buildings of brick and stone, none of them reaching for the sky.

  The southernmost tip was girt with stone walls, with fortifications rising at intervals above the walls. A giant flag, with three longitudinal stripes of orange, white and blue, flew atop a huge fort where the western seawall met the wall running across the island. Within the city, another wall bisected the island farther north. Beyond the city buildings, smoke spiraled into the sky in many places, telling him that there were towns screened by the trees. Not a single bridge crossed the Hudson. This was not the Manhattan of his memories.

  “I am not crazy,” he told himself. “There has to be an explanation for why Manhattan looks like this, why everything looks like it does. I am going to find it. Pyke must have known what he was talking about when he said there would be people here who would know about Magicals. I just need to figure out how to find them.” He wished he could ask Pyke, but Pyke was dead.

  He shifted his sack to the other shoulder and marched ahead at the fastest pace he had managed all day. The traffic increased as the road ran down to the river; he was surrounded by people carrying bags and bundles. Multiple boats were tied up at the docks, everything from rowboats to a tall ship with three masts. Hal let himself be swept along by the crowd, figuring that when he reached the dockside it would not be too difficult to find the ferry.

  The docks were even more crowded than the road. Food sellers hawked everything from fish to unidentifiable meat on a stick, a magician did tricks but needed better magic, children darted in and out occasionally swiping items from passersby, merchants came or went onto the docks, and people just like Hal stood there, perhaps thinking the other side of the river would be better than the one they were on.

  He asked questions and was pointed to a long pier where a large, wooden tub of a ferry swung at anchor. A wagon had been driven onto the pier and men were unloading crates from the wagon and carrying them onto the ferry. By the wagon stood a scruffy-looking man with a clipboard. He wore a long leather coat, open at the chest to reveal a brown woolen shirt whose color was unable to hide all the stains. A ragged cloth with the orange and white stripes of the Provisional Government was tied at his right bicep.

  “Can you tell me about this ferry?” Hal asked.

  “If I can’t, this boat’s got an incompetent captain.” The voice was hoarse.

  Hal flushed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know who you were.”

  “Now you do. Just tell me what you want.” The man’s attention remained on the paper attached to his board.

  “I want to get to Nieuw Amsterdam. That is it over there, isn’t it?” Hal pointed across the river.

  That made the man look up from his paper. “Yeah, that’s it. Where are you from?”

  “West. Across the Delaware.”

  “Hnnh. Why didn’t you stay there?”

  From the tone, the question was not a joke. Hal decided to ignore it. “Can I get across on this ferry?”

  “Can you pay as cash?”

  “Yes.” As he said it, Hal pushed a hand under his shirt to where he had secured the money pouch. The touch reassured him. “When do you go?”

  “Tomorrow. If I feel like it.”

  “Not until tomorrow?” Now that he was within sight of Nieuw Amsterdam, Hal did not want to wait another day.

  “You could swim. Or hire someone to row you across. Or you could buy a rowboat and row it yourself. Otherwise, you wait ’til tomorrow.”

  Hal bit his lip. The city would still be there in the morning. “Is there any place close by I can stay the night?”

  “The Governor’s Guard is the place you’ll want to stay,” the captain said. “Turn right on High Street where it joins the West Road. People just call it the Guard. If you have money, they’ll put you up. The merchants stay there, too. The food won’t kill you, the beds don’t have bedbugs, usually, and they won’t rob you at night. Be back here at nine o’clock. We sail then, if I decide to go.”

  Regardless of the ferry captain’s attitude, his directions were good. Five minutes’ walk from the turn, Hal saw a large wooden sign hanging over the street. It was decorated with a painting of five swordsmen in black coats under the name, the Governor’s Guard. Someone had clumsily painted the white stripes of the Provisionals across the sleeves of the coats. Inside, a man stood behind a long desk. A row of keys dangled from hooks on a board behind him.

  “What do you want?” the man asked before Hal even reached the desk.

  “A room for the night and dinner would be fine.”

  The man’s eye took in Hal’s worn and travel-stained clothes, the empty sheath on his belt, and the smallness of the sack he carried. “Pay as cash only.” He pushed a board forward that listed the prices. “You can read, can’t you?”

  Hal looked at the list with mixed emotions. He could afford the food and lodging, so that made this night simple. However, if the prices were typical of what he would find
in Nieuw Amsterdam, his funds were not going to last very long. He stood there thinking about it for long enough that the proprietor put his finger by the first line and began to read it aloud.

  “I can read it,” Hal said brusquely, “and I can pay.” He fished the purse out and laid the coins on the desk.

  That surprised the proprietor. He covered it by turning around and pulling a key off the board. “Top floor, last room on the left. Don’t expect much heat. Leave the key here whenever you go out.”

  Hal picked up the key. “That’s fine. When do you serve dinner?”

  The man gave a derisive snort. “This is a regular inn, not some woodsey roadhouse like I guess you’re used to. The dining room is through that hall.” He pointed to Hal’s left. “Go in and order. We serve until ten o’clock.”

  The dining room was much larger than the common room at Slade’s English Inn. Instead of a long table down the center, there were many smaller ones spread throughout the room. A fire roared in a big open hearth, enough of a fire to heat the entire room. There were only a few people inside, so Hal picked a corner table near the fire and sat down. He sat there quietly for a few minutes, just letting the heat from the fire soak into him. It made him feel relaxed and sleepy. He had almost forgotten about eating when a girl came over to the table. She was young and pretty, despite a shapeless tunic and floor-length skirt. Hal wondered if she was indentured like Mary had been, then decided he did not care to know. He ordered some of the pot pie and a mug of beer. When his order came, there was ample food and it was tasty, if not quite up the standards of Mrs. Slade. Hal gave the meal his full attention.

  The dining room began to fill up while he ate. People took seats as they came in without regard to finding an empty table, with the tables closest to the fire being the most desirable and filling up first. That was how Hal found himself sharing his table with two other men. They sat down across from Hal, engrossed in their own conversation. Hal glanced up at them. Both were dressed in shirts of fine black cloth and wore heavily embroidered surcoats. The clothing was too impractical for the road, so Hal decided they must be from the town. They ignored him, so he returned his attention to the pot pie and kept it there until the outside world forcibly intervened.