Chains by Laurie Halse Anderson Page B

scratched away on a piece of paper, his work lit by a half-dozen candle stubs that would soon burn out.
    The soldier drew himself up to his full height. “This girl has a message, sir. Claims it must be delivered in person.”
    The man lifted a hand in the air and continued with what he was writing. I tried to make out what it was, but his scribble was dreadful bad. Finally, he laid down his quill, moved his spectacles high on his nose, and peered through them at me.
    â€œWhat is it?” he rasped. His voice sounded raw, like it had been run against a grater. An onion poultice was tied around his neck.
    I dropped in a polite curtsy. “I have information for Colonel Regan.”
    â€œWho sent you? Who is your master?”
    â€œI cannot say.”
    â€œThen who will vouch for you?”
    â€œAh, I vouch for myself, sir. I am new in the city and know only a boy named Curzon.”
    One caterpillar eyebrow lifted above the glasses as he recognized the name. “Bellingham’s Curzon?” He coughed loudly and sprayed drops of spittle on the page. “He’s all bluster.” He dipped his quill in the ink pot and continued to write. “Take her away, sergeant. I am too busy for this.”
    My escort grabbed hold of my arm. “Come now.”
    I tried to break free. “Please hear me out.” I shook my arm and twisted. “They want to kill him.”
    I pulled with all my might and lost my footing. Both the sergeant and me stumbled against the table. The ink bottle overturned and poured across the table and papers. The sick man jumped up with a mighty curse and several ugly statements about my character.
    â€œThey want to kill the general!” I finally pulled free of the sergeant’s grasp. “I have proof.”
    The man was concerned only with rescuing his papers from the spreading pool of ink. “Sergeant, remove this bird-wit!”
    â€œDo not touch her.” The commanding voice came from the center of the room.
    The sergeant stood at attention. The man with inky hands did too, swallowing hard and wincing at the pain in his throat. A figure rose from the high-backed chair that stood in front of the hearth. He wore the dark blue coat of an officer, with buttons and buckles that reflected the firelight. His features stayed in the shadows, but I could see a book in his left hand, his finger marking the page.
    â€œLeave us,” he ordered.
    â€œYes, sir,” the sergeant said.
    â€œAs you wish, Colonel Regan, sir,” said the man whose clothes were stained blue by the papers he clutched to his chest.
    When the door was pulled behind them, Colonel Regan returned to his seat. “Come here,” he told me. “Show me what you’ve brought and tell your story, but keep your voice low. The walls have ears.”
    â€œYes, sir.” My voice strangulated a bit.
    The colonel tugged at his coat as he sat down. He was not wearing a wig as did most gentlemen. His own hair was dark, pulled back into a neat queue, and tied with string. His eyes were sunk deep into his face, with dark hollows underneath them.
    â€œWell?” He set the book on his lap, finger still marking the place he left off reading.
    I weighed my words before I spoke. “I am in a position to trade with you, sir.”
    â€œWhat kind of trade?”
    â€œMy sister and I were wrongfully taken from Rhode Island. I mean to get us back there.”
    â€œYou want passage home in exchange for what you know.”
    â€œYes,” I said, lifting my chin a little. “Sir.”
    He nodded gravely. “If your information is as useful as you think it is, I shall personally look into your case, miss.”
    That was far from a berth on a swift ship, but I had little choice.
    â€œThey plan to kill General Washington.”
    He closed the book, set it on the floor, and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “Tell me all.”
    I handed him the list and quickly