Accidental Warrior: The Unlikely Tale of Bloody Hal

by Colin Alexander

  The Pincher led him north, through the gate in the main city wall, then through the warren of streets on the north side. It was different from the route they had taken to Anna’s, Hal was sure of that. He wondered if he was being led into an ambush. There might be a lookout the Pincher could signal. He told the boy that the first sound from his lips would be his last, and hoped the threat was credible.

  It was mid-afternoon when the Pincher finally stopped in front of a three-story tall, seedy inn. The wooden sign over the door proclaimed it the Grand Estate of Manhattan, but the name was the only thing grand about it. The walls needed paint and the sign itself was so faded that the picture under the lettering was indeterminate.

  “She’s here today,” the Pincher said. “Not tomorrow, only today. Pay me and let me go.”

  “When I see her. Let’s go in and remember, not a word. If anything happens, you’re the first person it will happen to.”

  Hal pushed the door open, then pulled the Pincher in along with him. The front room held a small dining area with poorly-finished wooden tables and a filthy floor. The innkeeper behind the counter gave Hal an unfriendly glare. Only a few patrons sat there. They were dirty and bearded, and, in Hal’s mind, shot menacing looks at him. Were any of them lookouts for Bel?

  The Pincher led him to a staircase on the far side of the room. The stairs were narrow and steeply pitched so he had to let the Pincher go ahead of him, struggling to keep both his balance and his grip on the Pincher.

  “Here?” Hal asked when they reached the first landing. The Pincher shook his head, and they continued up the stairs, which ended at the next landing. Hal pictured the Pincher leading him to a room full of armed rebels who would chop his head off and hang it from the balcony.

  Hal could only hope that Bel was in at that moment, that she was alone and would let him speak before her sword came out. The Pincher stopped in front of the third door down the hall and nodded. Suddenly, Hal was uncertain. Now what? Knock on the door?

  The Pincher took advantage of Hal’s indecision to yell out, “Run! It’s soldiers! They made me come!”

  “Shit!” The shout tore out of Hal’s throat right on the heels of the Pincher’s. He did not think about what he did next: one booted foot swung up and smashed into the door next to the handle with all of his considerable weight behind it. The flimsy latch burst and the door flew open into the room. He took it in with a glance: narrow cot along one wall, rough table and bench by the window with a few papers spread out, the window so dirty it might have been part of the wall. Bel stood in the narrow space between the cot and the bench, her sword already drawn. Hal flung the Pincher at Bel as though the boy was nothing more than a stone. Bel swept him to the side with her left hand so that he fell against the bed. That brief instant saved Hal because she was unable to lunge at him. But her sword point did not waver. It remained fixed on a line that ended at the hollow of Hal’s throat. In that same instant, she recognized who was wearing the badges of Nya Sverige and Gustavus.

  “Hal Christianson.” Bel’s voice sounded no more pleased than her face looked. “I told you that the debt is long since paid. You should not expect to be received as a friend.” The sword point was still aimed at his throat, but she didn’t lunge.

  Hal’s mouth was so dry he was not sure he could talk. Fear rose from his belly up to his throat. He remembered Quincy’s rapier in Nassau City. He remembered what Fons had told him of Bel, that she killed without hesitation, without feeling. Please don’t shake, he told himself. With great effort, he forced words out, surprised that his voice sounded steady. “I’m not your enemy, Bel. You can do whatever you like. I won’t draw.” He managed to fold his arms across his chest. Of course, even if he had a mind to draw his own sword, it would have been a suicidal move.

  “Why did you come?” Still, her sword did not move.

  “Not with him here.” Hal nodded at the Pincher, who had curled himself into the smallest possible ball on the cot, where it fit into the corner of the room.

  Bel glanced over as well. At that, the boy came off the bed like a released spring. “Not me!” he shouted. “I didn’t want to bring him. I’d never do it again!” Even while he shouted, he bounced from the floor to the tabletop by the window, then flung the window open and went through it. Scrabbling sounds were audible as the Pincher used the rough exterior of the inn for handholds in his descent to the ground.

  “I should have killed him when I had the chance,” Bel said, “but then I would have been open to you.”

  “Killed him?” Hal was shocked. “He’s just a boy.”

  “Who has betrayed me once,” Bel finished. “If he has done it once, he will do it again, be sure of it. It is only a question of when. However, it is too late to do anything about that now. Why are you here?”

  “You are already betrayed. Harmsworth knows about the revolt.”

  Her expression didn’t change. “And how do you know about this?”

  “I was there when Harmsworth told Gustavus about it. He knows the date. He knows how you’re going to bring your people into the city. He knows exactly how he’s going to deal with it. He’s going to give you all to Wycliff at the end, all of you who are left.”

  “You heard the date? What is it?”

  “March seventh.” Hal said it without hesitation.

  The scars stood out white against a face grimmer than Hal had ever seen. Her sword went back into the sheath. “How did he learn this? Who is the betrayer?”

  Hal shook his head. “I don’t know that.”

  Bel seemed to accept that. “So, you came to warn me. Why?”

  “Why?” Hal repeated. “I couldn’t let him . . . I mean, what you told me . . .” Hal swallowed, then started again. “You can get away.”

  “Close the door, please.” Bel let out a sigh and turned to sit down on the bench. She deliberately turned her back on him as she did so. It was a demonstration of trust.

  Once Hal had closed the door, she continued. “You are a soldier with a good position. Believe me, I know about you, where you stand with Gustavus. What sort of man would risk that to help a woodsranger girl, and not even a pretty one at that? Certainly, not so pretty as the beautiful Johanna you squire around, not even so pretty as Johanna’s maid, whose adventures with you have been entertaining the Fort Stuyvesant servants.” She glanced up at him. “You are a strange man, Hal Christianson.”

  Hal’s ears burned. Was there nothing he did or thought that remained private? Had he not been so embarrassed he might have wondered why, in the midst of fomenting a revolution, Bel had paid such close attention to his activities.

  “Why is it so strange?” he demanded. “You saved me, remember? I can’t let this happen to you. Leave now; you’ll be safe.”

  “You can’t believe that I would run away and leave the others to failure and death. You know me better than that, Hal Christianson.”

  Hal sighed. He did know better. “What are you going to do, then? I can’t believe you’re going to let Harmsworth round you up.”

  A twisted grin imposed itself on her twisted face. “Of course not. If our dear Governor Harmsworth knows our plans, then we will just have to change them.” Her voice hardened. “I need to know something, Hal. Once before, you were asked to join us and you refused. What about now? You cannot continue to play both sides, not for long. Governor Harmsworth would consider what you have just done treason; the uniform of New Sweden will not save you, believe me. Will you join us?”

  Hal did not stop to consider the logic of what Bel said. The intensity in her voice, in her face, was enough to spur him to say “Yes” and mean it. It was only after the word was out of his mouth that he realized what he had said and what the implications were. He had just joined the ranks of the rebels. He would be one of those that Harmsworth handed to Wycliff if the revolt failed. He would lose Johanna. He would lose any chance to go home. He might well lose his life.

  It was too late to change his mind, though. Not after he h
ad said it to Bel and saw the wan smile on her face. Oddly, he found that he did not want to. “What are we going to do?” he asked,

  “I don’t know. I do not make the decisions, not these sorts of decisions, although I can well guess what they must be. Even if I did, I would not say. The fewer who know what we are going to do, the better. We must have a traitor high up; to know that date he can only be one of a few men. But which one? I will not give Harmsworth the satisfaction of watching us destroy our own leaders.”

  “That makes sense.” In truth, Hal did not want to know. What he did not know, he could not inadvertently give away. “What do you want me to do? I can’t just disappear from Gustavus’ troops.”

  “I don’t want you to leave them at all,” Bel said. “For now, just go back as though nothing unusual happened today. Be the same with Johanna. And with your little maid,” she added in a different tone. “When we need your help, we’ll get in touch with you.”

  That startled Hal. Go back and pretend nothing had changed? If his actions became known he would be branded a traitor, and he could guess how that would end. “How long until I hear from you? And what will you want me to do?”

  “I don’t know yet.” Bel stood up from the bench. “Maybe you will hear something more from Gustavus. Maybe we will need you to do something. When you hear from us, you will know it is from me. But now you should go.”

  • • •

  It was a long walk back to the fort, with many wrong turns now that he did not have the Pincher to show him the way. Hal’s mind dwelt on all the things that could go wrong now. What would Bel want him to do? She thought of him as a good fighter, so likely it would be a dangerous assignment. What form of idiocy had gotten him into this predicament? Part of him wanted to run away from Nieuw Amsterdam entirely. But that might cost him his chance – small as it now seemed – to find out about Magicals. He could lose his chance to go home as surely as if he were caught in a failed revolt.

  But, was it worth staying to try to find out about Magicals at the risk of being killed? He wasn’t sure. If he left, though, Bel would know he had run out on her. Maybe she did need his help. He could not let her be given back to Wycliff.

  24

  A Thrust in the Dark

  HAL FOUND IT hard to meet Gustavus’ eyes when he went to pick up Johanna, even though he had done nothing against Gustavus. He walked around the fort with the feeling that that some agent of Harmsworth was walking up behind him; there would be a tap on the shoulder and he would be arrested for having warned Bel. When one of the Provis did brush past him from behind in a hallway, it was all he could do not to leap into the air. It was a few minutes before he could catch his breath, calm his nerves and continue on his way.

  The problem of Annelise was a different order of magnitude. She was telling stories! He could guess how she was ‘entertaining’ the other servants, and that made him not want to show his face anywhere. Had Johanna heard any of them? Would she say so if she had? Would she care? Or was he actually more upset at the idea that she had heard the stories but did not care? It was not as though he could ask.

  At night, when Annelise knocked on his door, he held his breath and kept completely still until he heard her footsteps receding back down the hall.

  A week of this apprehension left him irritable and sleep-deprived. Again, shortly after he went to bed, there came the familiar knock on the door. Hal groaned. Was the woman incapable of taking a hint? After a minute, she knocked again.

  “Enough, already!” he shouted. “Can’t you just go away?”

  The knock came again, much harder. “Open up, you idiot!” The furious whisper was followed by another knock.

  “Dammit!” Hal pulled the covers off and got out of his bed. “Are you going to leave me alone?”

  “No! Open the door, you fool, before someone sees me.”

  Hal gave up and did as he was told. Annelise darted in as soon as the opening was wide enough. Once inside, she pushed the door closed with her back and leaned against it to look up at Hal. It took only that first look for him to know that this was not one of her ordinary nighttime visits. Her hands trembled where they were clasped across her breasts, her face looked drawn, and strands of hair had escaped her white cap to hang across her face. She was scared.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. All I know is that I was told to give you this.” She unclenched her hands, revealing a much-folded piece of paper and an envelope, equally folded over. She held them out to Hal.

  The paper was light brown, heavy and of poor quality. It was closed with an unbroken wax seal. The envelope was of much better quality, also closed with an unbroken seal. Hal turned them both over, but there was nothing written on either side.

  “Who gave you this?”

  “I can’t say.”

  “What do you mean, you can’t say? You don’t know?”

  A wild look came into Annelise’s eyes. “I can’t tell you! Don’t ask me again! I don’t dare. I was told that you’re to read the brown paper. If that seal was broken, or if I said anything else—” She broke off suddenly.

  Who would hand Annelise a secret message and leave her too afraid to name the person? The Provis could certainly frighten her, but they would have no need to use her to pass a message. They would also use the good paper on both pieces. Hal shrugged. It was simpler to open the message and answer the question than to guess at it. He broke the seal on the brown paper and unfolded it. The message was brief, the writing a tight, precise hand.

  Trust this message, not the messenger. Go to the small bastion at the eastern end of the Wall. There is a postern gate opening on a path to the river. It is not guarded. Give the envelope to the man who says he is Prometheus. He will give you money, thinking you will take it to pay another man. Take it. Say nothing.

  It was signed, Bel’s Horse.

  Hal smiled at the signature. Bel’s Horse. In a way no one else would understand, that told him Bel had written the note. The letter was authentic.

  “What’s happening, Hal?” Annelise asked. “What’s this all about?” Her apparent fright was real. Bel frightened hardened woodsrangers; he could believe that she’d put the fear of God into Annelise.

  Don’t trust the messenger. “It’s nothing to do with you, Annelise. It only concerns me.” That statement was probably true. “You’d best go away now and forget that this ever happened. Remember what the person who gave you the papers said.” For once, Annelise showed no hesitation in departing.

  So, what should he do now, Hal wondered? The instructions were clear. Take the envelope, go to the eastern end of the wall, meet a man outside the gate. It would not be Bel, that was also clear. So, the only question was, did he do this or not? What were the risks? It would not be a trap, not with Bel having written the note, but maybe the gate would be guarded by Provis.

  It didn’t matter. He had said he would help. He had to do it. How did he keep getting into these situations? He really should learn to watch his mouth. He dressed quickly, made sure to buckle on the sword, then pulled the heavy greatcoat over top. The night would be cold.

  No one questioned him leaving the fort. Even at night, the Nya Sverige uniform was his pass. Besides, he was going out, not in. The streets were deserted due to the hour and the frigid temperature. Oil lamps spaced at irregular intervals, and a half-moon riding low in the night sky, gave enough light to show him the path to the main city gate. Once there, he did not go close to the guardhouse but turned east toward the river. Wall Street, as they called it, ran right next to the wall and due east, with occasional zigs and zags for buildings that got in the way. Buildings set right up against the wall ran most of the length of the street. Shops of various kinds took up the ground floors. Most had one or two stories above the shops where the shopkeepers or their tenants lived. Most of the windows were dark. Those that showed light had curtains screening the windows from the street. Hal saw no one looking out as he hurried east.

&nb
sp; The street, the buildings and the wall ran down a short slope to the river and came to an end. No light showed anywhere here. The shore across the river was dark as well. To Hal’s left loomed a squat, cylindrical bastion that dominated the eastern end of the wall. The gate at the southern end was open. Hal saw no guards.

  Heart in his mouth, he walked into the bastion gate. Oil lamps inside cast a dim light on brick walls and stone floor. Voices echoed from above: the sentries at the top cursing the cold. Hal tried to keep his footsteps silent on the stone paving blocks while he searched for the right path. A passage ran off to the right, east toward the end of the wall. A lone oil lamp twenty yards farther on showed the path. Hal’s breath misted white in front of him as he walked in that direction. Just ten feet past the lamp, a wooden door was set into the brick and stone of the north-facing wall. The postern gate of Bel’s note!

  The door had only a simple wooden bar set into the wall to keep it shut. Hal pulled that out with no difficulty. However, the door itself was stuck in its frame. God only knew how long it had been since it was last opened. Hal braced his feet against the paving stones and shoved. The door opened with a shriek of hinges that pierced his ears. It seemed impossible that no one had heard but, after a few breathless minutes waiting for the sound of boots, he concluded that if it had been heard, it had been ignored. He stepped through the door and flattened himself against the wall on the other side.

  Rank bushes and high grass grew out from the wall all the way down to the river and for some distance west into the northern part of the city. They hid the gate quite effectively. Here the buildings stood no closer than a hundred feet from the wall, and they looked more like shacks than the substantial brick or wood structures west toward the main gate. They looked deserted in the moonlight.

  Okay, so where would he find this Prometheus? Hal picked his way through the brambles toward the nearest houses. Thorns sheathed in ice stuck in his greatcoat as he went. After pulling free from the last of the bushes, he found himself on a street between two rows of houses. No lamps shone in windows nor on poles along the narrow street, little better than an alley. The moon, too, was hidden and the darkness near absolute. Trash was strewn across the street, so that every step he took seemed to knock some object aside. He feared he would slip or trip and raise an alarm.