League of American Traitors

by Matthew Landis

  Jasper’s hand went to his neck. Reed.

  “You all right?” Colton asked.

  “Everything’s just sinking in.”

  “How’d you get them marks on your neck?”

  “Leave it,” Rufus said.

  Jasper caught his eye in the rearview mirror. Had Cyrus told them about the ambush? Trust no one. “You guys used to be a part of the … Libertines?”

  “I wouldn’t call us participants exactly,” Colton said, “but yeah, we was members till a couple years ago.”

  “What happened?”

  Colton looked at his dad.

  “Libertines never did think we had enough bite,” said Rufus.

  “Our kin don’t duel,” Colton said. “Ironic as it is, being that Jackson was pretty famous for that sorta thing.”

  “So the True Sons—” Jasper started.

  “Libertines.”

  “Right—Libertines—they make all their members duel?”

  “More or less,” Rufus said. “Part of their honor culture.”

  “Did you guys?” Jasper asked.

  “Jackson did enough damage—his Native American policies, and all,” Colton said. “My daddy and his brothers figured why spill more blood? No honor in that, ’specially not in killing somebody’s grandbaby that we ain’t ever even met.”

  Jasper bobbed his head. “That’s what I told Cyrus. This whole thing is insane.”

  “One man’s crazy is another man’s justified,” Rufus said. “They got guns, and they got their Code. Plenty of resources to hunt down your kind when y’all run away, too.” He let out a big sigh. “When them True Sons pushed us out, seemed only natural to lend a hand and even the field.”

  They crossed into Vermont and the shadowy hills turned to mountains—the Green Mountains, Colton said. Nothing like his Great Smokies apparently, but tall enough. The forest got thicker and blazed fall orange. The trucks climbed steep switchbacks that could barely be called roads—potholes, mostly, with asphalt and dirt. Jasper kept waiting for Colton to say, “Be there soon” but then the trucks descended a ridgeline and started climbing again. Jasper could have sworn they were going in circles.

  Three hours in, Rufus almost rear-ended the lead truck when it skidded to a halt. Jasper held his breath as men fanned out in a giant oval around the trucks, scanning the mountainside.

  “Downed tree,” the walkie crackled.

  Rufus got out and supervised the removal.

  “Easy now,” Colton said. “Never seen a Libertine this close to campus. Even they ain’t that stupid.”

  Jasper noticed Colton still held Lacy ready.

  An hour later, the caravan crested a ridge. The road turned straight as an arrow and smooth underneath. Ahead, Jasper spotted an old iron gate with ten-foot brick walls fanning into the forest on either side. A faded placard on the brick read JUNIPER HILL ACADEMY, EST. 1935. Ten guys in jeans and flannel shirts opened the gate and let the trucks through. A couple carried assault rifles. Two held back barking German shepherds.

  Trees lined the lane like a colonnade, half of them dead or dying. The front and rear trucks peeled off toward some crumbling cottages, but Rufus stayed straight, aiming for a big, square building at the end. Jasper counted twenty dormers jutting out along the second story, most missing shutters. The white stucco had black streaks like it had barely survived a fire. Overgrown walkways cut through overrun hedges, all of it covered by a foot of dead leaves. The place looked abandoned, like fifty years ago the school had closed and let the forest take over.

  Rufus pulled around the front loop and shut off the truck. A girl with brown, curly hair and a billion freckles waited on the walkway dressed in jeans and a faded hoodie. Not skinny or fat, and pretty in the kind of way you’d say your sister was.

  Colton stowed his shotgun and jumped out. “Hey Lace—”

  She walked right past him and threw her arms around Jasper.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The hug lasted long enough to get awkward. Jasper kind of just stood there holding his suitcase. The girl was almost his height.

  “Uh …”

  She pulled back and looked him over.

  Then she hugged him again.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” she said.

  “Okay.”

  “I’m Lacy.”

  “Jasper.”

  She laughed. “Yeah, I know.”

  Colton glared. Jasper coughed awkwardly. He was definitely in the middle of something here.

  “The headmistress sent me to get you,” Lacy said. “Let’s go.”

  Jasper waved to Colton and Rufus. “Thanks.”

  Colton got back in the truck and slammed the door. He continued glaring at Jasper as the truck pulled away.

  “How was the drive?” Lacy asked.

  “Good, I guess.”

  “Did you meet her?”

  “Who?”

  “Lacy. His shotgun.”

  “Yeah.”

  The girl rolled her eyes. “It was one date. And he took me deer hunting. Seriously.”

  Lacy led Jasper into a dingy foyer that smelled like a retirement home. Furniture from another century dotted the waiting area. Lacy pressed a call box near the door marked Administration. “He’s here, Headmistress.”

  “Send him in,” the box squawked back.

  “I’ll take you to your room when she’s done with the induction stuff. Dinner’s at five thirty.” Jasper thought Lacy might hug him again. “Everyone’s really excited to meet you.”

  And then Jasper endured another hug that he still wasn’t quite sure how to return since he’d known this girl for all of three minutes.

  Jasper walked into a tiny office. It was dark and empty.

  “In here, Mr. Mansfield.”

  Jasper pushed open a door that connected to a larger office. The headmistress stood ramrod straight by the window reading some papers, glasses perched on her nose. Her short, frosted hair matched her voice exactly. Her gray pantsuit told Jasper she was one hundred percent business.

  “Sit.” She pointed to a chair in front of her desk. Jasper did as he was told.

  She continued reading by the window.

  Finally, she settled down in her chair and stared at him across the desk. “I am Miriam Chillingsworth, headmistress of this school. You will address me as Headmistress, or Headmistress Chillingsworth. Any variation or supposedly clever pun will result in a demerit. Accrue five demerits, and you will find yourself in the adjacent office working as my secretary after class. Is that clear?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, what?”

  “Yes, Headmistress.”

  “Here is your schedule.” She handed him a sheet of paper. “I have reviewed your grades from your previous school and find them adequate.”

  Jasper scanned the list. The classes were pretty much identical to his old school, except one.

  Dueling, Advanced. He wondered if Chillingsworth could hear him swallow.

  “We do not usually admit students after the start of the semester, so consider yourself lucky.” Her gray eyes bored into him. Jasper felt like confessing something just so she’d let up. “Counselor Barnes requested more than half my security detail to escort you from the train station. When I did not approve it, he went over my head to the League’s Directors.”

  Jasper wasn’t sure if that was a question, so he just nodded.

  “You will not receive any more special treatment, Mr. Mansfield; I have more than a hundred students under my charge. I do not care about your past or your current circumstances. Only your future is my concern. You will follow my rules, you will keep your grades up, and you will learn to defend yourself. Is that clear?”

  Jasper took a second too long to reply, “Yes, Headmistress.”

  “Is there a problem?”

  “My schedule says I’m in advanced dueling.”

  “And?”

  “I’ve never even seen a real gun until yesterday.”

  “Then I hop
e you’re a fast learner.”

  The headmistress threw more paperwork at him—class syllabi, dorm rules, cafeteria hours, student lounge policies—and then had him sign a contract saying he would follow all of them, or else. Most of the punishments involved being her personal assistant for a varying numbers of hours, based on the infraction.

  “Do you have any questions?”

  Jasper shook his head no.

  “Verbal questions require verbal answers.”

  “No, Headmistress.”

  “Then you may go.”

  When Jasper reached the door she said, “This is my school, Mr. Mansfield. Do not forget that.”

  Jasper looked her dead in the eye. Trust no one. “Yes, Headmistress.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Lacy put a finger to her lips.

  She guided Jasper down the hall, side-stepping a patch of torn carpet. The overhead light flickered. “I can’t prove it, but I think she keeps the com open to eavesdrop on us,” Lacy said. “How was it?”

  “She’s kind of intense.”

  “That’s one word for it.”

  “Does she really make kids who break her rules work as her secretary?”

  “Chilligraphy.”

  “What?”

  “She makes you handwrite all her teacher memos in cursive, and then deliver them. Chilligraphy. It’s really painful because who learns cursive anymore? It ends up being hours and hours of writing, your hand cramping, until she decides your handwriting’s good enough to copy her memos.”

  They hit a stairwell and went up to the second floor to another long hallway with a sign that said NO FEMALES ALLOWED.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Lacy said. “I’m on her good side. My dad’s a Director.”

  “That’s cool.” Jasper’s suitcase wheel caught a patch of torn carpet and flipped over. “Actually I don’t know if that’s cool. I’m just tired of asking questions that make me sound like an idiot.”

  “My dad’s one of the League’s five board members. Permanent ‘Get Out of Chilligraphy Free’ card.”

  Lacy stopped at a door opened halfway. The room was small with a ceiling that slanted toward a single window on the back wall. A narrow bed was pushed against each side wall, and closets were built in on either side of the door. Clothes were tossed everywhere.

  “I told him to clean up,” Lacy said.

  “It’s fine.”

  “They moved everybody out of the singles last year when the pipes burst in the east wing, so it’s a little cramped.”

  Jasper picked the bed that looked least slept in and put his suitcase on it. “My other house was actually my car, so really, this is great.”

  Footsteps pounded outside. A short, thick kid with buzzed hair shoved Lacy out of the way. “You.” He pointed at Jasper. “You!”

  “Uh—”

  “Are about to get bear hugged. Don’t fight it.” The kid wrapped his arms around Jasper and picked him up off the ground. “We’re airborne, people.”

  “This is Sheldon,” Lacy said. “Your roommate.”

  “One-handed.” Sheldon spun Jasper around and waved his free hand. “I am Atlas. Bow before me.”

  Another kid lurked in the door. He had wild red hair and some acne, was tallish and lumpy, and was rocking a tuxedo T-shirt. A giant pair of headphones were slung around his neck.

  “Tucker, this is Jasper,” Lacy said.

  “Hello.” Deadpan voice, almost robotic. He was mostly staring at his phone, which was one of those giant ones that was basically a tablet.

  “Dude, you weigh like a hundred pounds,” Sheldon said. “Tuck, feel how light he is.”

  Tucker didn’t look up from his giant phone.

  “Body slam.” Sheldon threw Jasper on a pile of sweatshirts. Some pretzels crackled underneath. Sheldon pulled him up, again. “Broseph.” He pointed to Jasper’s neck. “Elsbeth jacked you up pretty good. Please tell me Larkin punched her in the face. I’m begging you to say Larkin punched that witch in the face.”

  “How do you—how do you know about that?” Jasper asked.

  “Cyrus gave us the rundown,” Lacy replied.

  “So now, give us the face-punching details,” Sheldon said.

  Three people, Jasper thought. Not much of a team.

  But better than none.

  “He pistol-whipped her,” Jasper said.

  “Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa—”

  Sheldon went on like that for a while.

  “When the angel of death is busy, God gives the assignment to Larkin, and the earth trembles,” he finally said, after he’d got himself together.

  “He bromances hard and fast,” Lacy told Jasper. “Just a heads up.”

  Sheldon moved Jasper’s suitcase to the other bed. “Okay, so the heater on that side is broken. You can have my bed. I generate a ton of heat on my own. That’s why I sleep naked. Are you cool with that?”

  “Uh … yeah.” Jasper nodded slowly.

  “I’m messing with you,” Sheldon said.

  Tucker reached a hand into his pocket and threw Jasper some orange earplugs. “You’re gonna want these.”

  “I live heavy and I sleep heavy,” Sheldon said. “Sue me.”

  “He sounds like a tractor-trailer changing gears,” Tucker said.

  Lacy kicked an empty soda bottle. “I told you to clean up before Jasper got here.”

  Sheldon looked around. “I did.”

  “Study lounge,” Tucker said. He walked out without waiting for anyone to object.

  On the main floor, they headed down another wing with bare patches of floor where the carpet was just gone. Lacy cut through an abandoned classroom that turned out to be a side entrance to the library. Half the shelves were empty. They climbed a wrought iron circular staircase near the back and filed into one of the dozen study rooms along the catwalk. The space was triple the size of Jasper’s dorm room and definitely smelled better.

  “Welcome to the least crappy place in this total craphole.” Sheldon shoved Jasper onto the couch and then sat next to him. “Red Hot Chilly Pepper has an annual budget of zero dollars for anything but security, so we have to bring in our own stuff.”

  Lacy grabbed a notebook and pulled over a chair from one of the two computer cubbies. Tucker sat crisscross on the floor and sipped a soda. He was still glued to his phone.

  “I call this meeting to order,” Lacy said.

  Sheldon bounced up and down. “Let the record show I am ready to piss myself from excitement.”

  “Stricken,” Lacy said.

  “And let the record show Jasper looks like he just got back from a wedding.”

  “Also stricken.” She peeked up from her notes at Jasper. “But if you need clothes, Sheldon and Tucker can help.”

  “All of my sweatpants are now your sweatpants,” Sheldon said.

  “I don’t wash my clothes a lot,” said Tucker. “But you can have whatever you want. Except my Whitesnake T-shirt.”

  “Thanks.” Jasper waited a beat. “What’s Whitesnake?”

  Tucker looked up—straight at Jasper—and stared at him for a full five seconds. “The greatest metal band of the 1980s.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  “Tucker’s favorite thing—other than Whitesnake,” Sheldon interrupted, “is knowing weird stuff and then making you feel like a total idiot for not knowing it, too.”

  “The correct order of planets in our solar system isn’t weird,” Tucker said.

  “Yeah, but you know the hydrogen levels of their atmospheres, too. Bro, that is weird.”

  Lacy was actually writing this down. “Okay. In attendance are: Lacy Church, Tucker Paine, Sheldon Burr, and Jasper Arnold.”

  “It’s Mansfield,” Jasper said.

  “Everybody goes by the ancestor who put him here,” Sheldon explained. “It just makes things easier.”

  Jasper didn’t like that at all. It felt like he was legitimizing all this insanity—saying that it was okay.

  “Note that Jasper’
s obviously weirded out by this policy,” Sheldon told Lacy.

  “Noted. Introductions. Go.”

  “Sheldon Burr.” He flexed. “As in Aaron Burr, the guy who shot Hamilton in a duel. You know about the musical. Also, of the maybe-plot to create an independent nation in Mexico. Charged with treason, found not guilty. Still ruined his career. Which the killing Hamilton thing kind of already had.”

  “Tuck.”

  “Thomas Paine was born in Norfolk, England in—”

  “Cut it down, man,” Sheldon said.

  Tucker sighed and put down his phone. “You probably know Paine because he wrote Common Sense, an essay that convinced British colonists in America to declare independence from England.”

  “Yeah,” Jasper said. “He was—he was like the man, wasn’t he?”

  “Before and during the Revolutionary War, yeah,” Tucker said. “But a couple years later he wrote an essay that accused Washington, who was president then, of being a power-hungry dictator and military fraud. That turned America against him.”

  Tucker went back to his phone.

  Lacy finished drawing a bullet point. “And I’m a descendant of Dr. Benjamin Church, the Boston physician caught trading secrets to the British. The only actual traitor in this group, until you showed up.”

  “The White Whale.” Sheldon mimed reeling in a fish. “You’re up.”

  “Right,” Jasper said. “Okay. So, according to what I remember from AP American, plus what I glanced over on the train ride up here, Benedict Arnold switched sides during the Revolutionary War. He tried to sell West Point, this military fort in New York, to the British, but the deal went south.”

  Sheldon patted Jasper’s shoulder. “It’s a safe room. Let it out.”

  “I think that’s it.”

  “Not even close,” said Tucker. “Arnold became a British officer and led attacks against the Patriots. Like when he raided the port city of New London, Connecticut, just a couple miles from where he was born.”

  “Probably killed some childhood friends,” Sheldon said. “Cold-blooded mofo.”

  Jasper let that soak in. “No wonder that Reed woman hates me so much.”

  “She probably hates you so much because her ancestor called Arnold out for being a Loyalist lover, which he definitely turned out to be,” Lacy said. “And that brings us to your dad’s research.”