Free Angel's Flight by Juliet Waldron

a half penny inside her pocket.
    “Wait, mistress!” There was desperation in that voice, the kind of desperation that says no supper. “Wait! I can do better.”
    Angelica turned. The rag picker’s tongue worked wildly back and forth across her lips.
    “Then, do so.”
    “One penny.”
    Spending so much in this way is foolish, she schooled herself— but—she had to have it!
    “A hard bargain, m’lady. A hard bargain...”
     
    ***
     
    Walking arm in arm with Jack among enormous hogsheads of salted fish and flour, Angelica recognized the sloop at the last quay.
    “Look!” she exclaimed. “The Judik! The captain has but one leg. His name is...ah...Vanderzee! Every year he takes corn and whiskey to the city for my Uncle Jacob.”
    “At his ease down here, it’s a good bet he’s gone to the king’s side,” Jack observed. “But it’s worth a try. Otherwise we’ll have to ride north, and from the tales I’ve been hearing down on the quay, that sounds like a risk with your skin I’m not about to take.”
    Squeezing her fingers warmly, he added, “I intend to get you home safe.”
    A portly man in clothes of an ancient style stood at the head of the quay watching the loading and smoking a long- stemmed clay pipe.
    Clad in a skirted jacket, full, patched pantaloons, and with a sword tucked into a wide belt, he was the perfect image of a Dutch sailor of a generation earlier. The wood of the peg leg was elaborately carved.
    “It’s Vanderzee,” Angelica whispered. “Perhaps, even if he has changed sides, he’ll help us.”
    She started forward so confidently Jack was forced to follow. As Angelica approached, the captain’s bulldog face acquired a look of surprise. He even made a bow.
    “Good day, Captain Vanderzee.” Angelica spoke in Dutch.
    “It is, young ma’am,” he replied, his watery blue eyes traveling from Angelica to Jack and back again. “And how may I help you?” “My—my—cousin and I are seeking passage north. As far as you can go.”
    “Hmm.” He regarded them from beneath a jutting tangle of grayish eyebrows. “Perhaps.”
    Taking Jack’s measure in one swift glance, he switched to English. “Will you be taking yo
ur
n horse?”
    “Yes, captain,” said Jack. To Angelica’s surprise, he ignored the English and made his reply in Dutch. “We’ll need him later.”
    “Crossing the lines, are you?”
    “Yes, I have a pass. I am just out from England and have some property up by Kingston.”
    “That’s rebel territory—Mister—what was it?”
    “Livingston. Jack Livingston, sir.” Jack bowed. “And this is my cousin, Miss Schuyler.”
    Vanderzee inclined his shaggy head. “The Albany Schuylers?” he inquired.
    “My father’s farm is on Schohaire Creek.”
    “A damned dangerous place,” the old man said thoughtfully. His grizzled head nodded slowly, as if what she’d just said confirmed his thoughts about her. “Your father must shoot straight and sleep light.” Angelica nodded. That was how it had been there.
    “A man ought to have his feet on his property during a war, don’t you think?” Jack continued.
    “A brave course, sir. Or a foolhardy one. But suit yourself,” the old Dutchman replied. “‘Tis for certain, if you’ve got those damned Scots or Irish among your tenants, you’re nourishing a nest of rebel vipers. Maybe, though—” He squinted at Jack. “—you’re lucky enough to have Dutch or Germans, or some commonsensical ex-military men.”  “A few of each kind, captain,” Angelica put in. What he’d described was the situation on her Uncle Ten
B
b roeck’s land. “We shall put our faith in God.”
    “All we can do, ma’am.”
    “Indeed, sir.”
    “Well—” Vanderzee turned brusque. “—have ye passage money?”
    Jack pressed a coin into his hand.
    “Hmm.” The captain gave Jack another measuring look. “British silver. That will do for starters, sir, if I’ve caught your drift aright.”
    “Of course. It shall