Time Travelers Never Die - Jack McDevitt [84]
A larger, heavier man appeared in the doorway behind him. He bestowed a disapproving look on Paine but kept his voice level: “Maybe your friends would like to come in, and join us for a drink.”
“Of course,” said Shel. “We’d love to, wouldn’t we, Dave?”
Dave had a bad feeling. But the door swung wide. Paine and Shel went inside, into a parlor. When Dave hesitated, he found himself looking at a musket. “Really,” said the big man, “I insist.”
Shel glanced back, and the weapon swung in a short arc to include him, too. His jaw dropped.
Paine also seemed surprised. “You think they’re spies, Joe?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” He waved Dave into the parlor. It was a pleasant room, paneled with oak. Three thick linen-covered armchairs and a couch were arranged around the walls. A table, complete with three cups, stood in front of the couch. The woman who had answered the door had backed well out of the line of fire. “It’s all right, love,” Joe said. “These gentlemen are friends. Aren’t you?”
“You bet,” said Dave.
Shel tried to look indignant. “What would spies want with Bordentown?”
It might have been the wrong thing to say. “Bordentown isn’t very popular with the redcoats,” Joe said. “Or with the traitors who support them. Especially when Mr. Paine is in town.” He signaled them to sit down. On the sofa. He looked at Paine. “Tom, who knew you were coming here?”
“Nobody, Joe.”
He swung back to Shel. “Why don’t you tell us how you found out he was here?”
Shel couldn’t very well say he’d googled it. “It’s common knowledge.”
“I don’t think so.” Joe stayed on his feet. “I assume you know what happens to spies?”
“We’re not spies,” said Shel.
“Good. Tell us who you are.”
“My name’s Adrian Shelborne. This is David Dryden. We’re both from Philadelphia. We made the trip here specifically to see Mr. Paine.”
“Why?”
“Because we wanted to meet him. Because he’s made a major contribution to the Revolution. That’s the truth.”
“Okay,” said Paine. “I’d like to accept your story. But it is a little hard to believe. So why don’t you tell me how you knew where to find me?”
Shel was straining for an answer.
Dave kept his hand close to the converter so he could clear out on short notice. “Let me, Shel,” he said. “All right, we promised we wouldn’t say anything. We had a hard time persuading him to tell us, and he was afraid we’d show up here and take a lot of your time.”
Joe’s eyes got hard. “Who?”
“John Kearsley.”
“Dr. Kearsley?” said Paine. “You know him?”
“We’re old friends.”
“How did he know where I was?”
“He didn’t say. Probably through Dr. Franklin. I was talking with him, telling him how much I admired your work, and he let it slip that you were going to be here.”
Paine thought it over. “It’s possible.” He looked over at Joe. “When I was coming in from England, three years ago, I came down with typhus. On the ship.” His eyes looked momentarily far away. “I don’t think we’ll need the musket, Joe.”
“Who’s Dr. Kearsley?” asked the woman.
“A friend of Ben’s. When I was sick, he took care of me. Took me into his home for several weeks.”
“Is that generally known?” asked Joe.
“I don’t think so. Ben knew.” Paine shrugged. “Anyhow, I don’t think we need be concerned. These men don’t look dangerous to me.”
Joe lowered the weapon, placed it inside a cabinet, and closed the door. Then he sat down, and Paine introduced his hosts, Melissa and Joseph Kirkbride. Melissa was an attractive woman, with light brown hair wrapped in a bun, and expressive blue eyes. Whenever they turned toward Paine, they shone with pride.
Joe never did quite warm up to Shel and Dave. He watched them carefully and looked ready to challenge them at a moment’s notice.
But Shel paid no attention. And a conversation that Dave thought would last four or five minutes stretched out for an hour. Mrs. Kirkbride produced blueberry muffins and tea, and they discussed the condition of the Continental Army, and the difficulties facing the British in putting down a rebellion that was becoming more widespread every day. Paine,