The Traitor's Stain (wattys 2019)

Chapter Two - Norwalk, Connecticut

Benjamin Tallmadge stood in front of his mirror, frowning as he adjusted his uniform. He didn't know who'd volunteered Washington's Army for Mr. Franklin's experiments, but... well, not to be extreme, but they needed to be shot. The night's fallacy were the damned uniforms made with Franklin's automated sewing machine. "Gone are the days of bending over fabric and cutting and sewing by hand," Franklin had said, as if he were acutely aware of the arduous work of the average woman in America. "With my automated system, you'll be able to make a new set of clothing with a snap of your fingers!"

And if Franklin were as good at inventing as he was at selling to poor saps like Ben, his new uniform jacket might've fit right.

The 1-inch margin of error Franklin had boasted about had seemed impressive at the time, but now, Ben was starting to realize that 1 inch with clothing could make all the difference. And it left him frustrated, but mostly with himself. Why had he volunteered himself for this one? Why couldn't he have just ordered a new uniform from a tailor like a normal person? Like a person who knew full well that Franklin's inventions rarely worked correctly?

"You look like shite, Benny boy."

Ben sighed and looked up at the ceiling. He knew that voice. What he didn't know was what he'd done to deserve getting plagued by him right then. Right before going to a banquet where the most important men in the army would be. Including General Washington. All while wearing that stupid mistake of Franklin's.

"Caleb," Ben said slowly, knowing full well that he would lose it if he didn't talk like that. "How many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me-" he turned and realized the bastard was holding a uniform jacket. One that looked suspiciously familiar. "Is that my uniform jacket?"

"Well, it was," Caleb huffed. What the hell was that smell? Ben didn't hear the rest of Caleb's rant: he was too busy trying to figure out what that God-awful stench was and why it was so familiar...

"Have you been whaling?" Ben interrupted.

Caleb frowned and squinted at him. Well, one eye did: his glass one rolled downwards at an odd, almost grotesque angle. It might have been comical, if Ben weren't so horrified by the realization of where Caleb had been. "Maybe; what's it to ya?"

Ben swiped the uniform jacket out of Caleb's hand and put it up to his nose. Thank God, it didn't smell of whale guts, like Caleb. In fact, it almost smelled as if...

Ben looked up at Caleb. "Did you have this laundered? It smells like you had it laundered."

"Just because you didn't know better about Franklin's automated sewing contraption doesn't mean I didn't know any better," Caleb said as Ben changed jackets. "Sarah sends her love, by the way. And she wants to know when you're going to court her, but I'm fairly certain she didn't want me to tell you that."

"Your deductive abilities are truly incredible," Ben said, rolling his eyes.

Caleb was quiet as Ben quickly buttoned up his jacket. A little too quiet, for his tastes.

And so, Ben looked up at him to make sure he hadn't simply keeled over.

He hadn't, of course: Ben wasn't nearly that lucky. He was just giving him a weird look, as if expecting him to say something.

Ben frowned. "What's that stupid look on your face for?"

"Oh, you know damned well what," Caleb snorted. "Are you going to court the girl or not?"

Ben's cheeks began to burn red, flustered. "S-sarah? No: I'm not going to court her."

"Oh, come on," Caleb said, playfully punching him in the arm. "You would be her knight in shining armor." He sighed. "I can see it, now." He put a hand on his heart and looked up dreamily. "Oh, Ben," he said, his voice raised in an awful falsetto, "all I want to do is sit on the back of your pretty white horse and ride off into the sunset with my hair in the breeze and make fifty babies with you!"