1776: The Washington Divergence (Infinity Engines: Missions) by Andrew Hastie

Author:Andrew Hastie [Hastie, Andrew]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Here Be Dragons Ltd
Published: 2018-10-21T16:00:00+00:00

16

HMS Jersey

[Wallabout Bay, New York]

There was nowhere to sit below decks. The stench of a thousand men crammed into the old hulk of the ship was enough to make anyone gag. Most of the prisoners were naked, the heat was so intense in the cramped conditions that it made clothes unbearable. As Anderson was dragged past them he could hear the moans of the sick and dying, as well as the prayers of those who knew they were never getting out of this place alive.

He’d spent the last day aboard HMS Eagle, being questioned by Colonel Rogers and a British officer called De Lancey. They’d wanted to know who’d made the fire bomb, parts of which were scattered across the table in front of him.

After hours of relentlessly repeating the same set of questions, De Lancey changed tack and started asking him where he was from and what he was doing with such a fancy watch. When he refused to tell them, the interrogation got physical. Rogers was a big man, and his fists were like hammers. Anderson passed out a couple of times before De Lancey persuaded him to stop.

‘We know there are more patriot spies in New York,’ De Lancey said to the Rogers. ‘Your job is simply to find them, mine is to decide what happens to them next.’

‘Hang him and be done with it!’ spat the ranger, putting the tachyon in his pocket. ‘I’ll be on my way.’

Compared to the ranger, De Lancey looked the epitome of a British officer. His uniform was spotless, the gold buttons glistened on his red jacket, and his white waistcoat and breeches showed no sign of battle. But there was something behind his eyes that told Anderson he was more dangerous than Rogers.

‘You know we hang spies,’ De Lancey said, examining the remnants of the incendiary device. ‘Arsonists, however, could be argued to be more of a civil case. My guess is that you are nothing more than a delivery boy, a small link in the chain. Whoever started the fire last night had planned it very well. Multiple incendiaries, no alarm bells and a complete lack of usable firefighting equipment has left us with the west half of Broadway burned to the ground. Washington denies it of course, so what I need from you is simply the name of the man who gave this to you.’

Anderson ran his tongue along his teeth, some of them were loose and he could taste blood. He racked his memory for a character from the stories his father used to tell when he was a kid, and then it came to him.

‘My name is John Anderson, I’m a clerk to Hercules Mulligan.’

De Lancey looked astonished. ‘The tailor?’

Anderson nodded.

‘He’s a good man, finest stitching I’ve ever seen.’ He pulled down the sleeves on his jacket as if to show off the work in a better light.

‘I was just given the package to take to the tavern. I had no idea what it was for.’

‘By Mulligan?’

‘No.

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