The Traitor's Stain (wattys 2019)

Chapter Eight: Norwalk, Connecticut

It seemed like the insane duo that was Caleb Brewster and Alexander Hamilton were thrusting more people at Ben every passing hour.

The boy that ended up in front of him that day was a young, skinny boy, one that looked like he could be sent sprawling with the slightest of breezes. He had messy, red hair, and the freckles on his face looked like someone had taken a paint brush with brown paint on it and flicked it at his face. He looked uncomfortable, as if Caleb and Alexander had brought him into Ben's tent against his will.

Frankly, it didn't surprise Ben: most gave Alexander a wide berth, those days, and Caleb might as well have been an angel of death with how much people avoided him.

"Son, do you want to be here?" Ben asked the boy as he came in, escorted by Caleb and Alexander.

The boy shook his head fervently. "N-no, sir. I-I'd rather be with my Ma: it's been hard on her, not having my Da around, these days."

"And where do you call home?" Ben asked.

The boy looked down at his feet. "Westbrook."

Ben looked at Caleb. "Why did you drag this poor kid all the way here, Caleb? You do remember that part of the reason we're fighting against the royal army is because of impressment, don't you?"

"For the record, this one came to Norwalk of his own accord," Caleb said. "The only reason he's so damned nervous is because he was going to chicken out, until I stopped him, told him that a man honors his commitments. Even if he hasn't officially made said commitments, yet."

"After that, he was more than happy to come with us," Alexander said, giving the boy one of his famous hearty slaps on the back. "Weren't you?"

The boy whimpered in response.

"Caleb, Alexander: you want to step out so I can talk to this kid?" Ben asked. "Something tells me that he'll never explain the situation to me if his captors are here."

"What part of 'we didn't kidnap him' do you not understand?" Caleb demanded, until Alex pulled him out of the tent.

"He's not going to believe us no matter what you say," Alexander counseled him as they left. "The more you try and argue with him, the worse it's going to get."

Just like that, the two of them were gone.

Well, that solves one problem, I suppose, Ben thought to himself as he motioned to the chair in front of his desk. "Please, sit down. I... have the feeling that the two of us need to have a conversation."

The boy obeyed.

"Now, what was your name, again?" Ben asked. "I don't think I quite caught it."

The boy swallowed. "J-jacob. Jacob Bushnell, sir."

Bushnell? Where had Ben heard that name, before?

"Who's your father, Jacob?" Ben asked. "Your name just sounds really familiar, to me."

"David Bushnell, sir," Jacob said. "He was the first commander of Washington's engineer core, until he got... captured."

"I'm sorry, Jacob," Ben said. "What are you doing all the way over here in Norwalk, then? Your mother must be worried sick about you back in Westbrook."

Jacob got a scared look on his face. He hadn't considered that, apparently. "I... yeah. She probably is." He ran a hand through his hair. "God, this was a stupid idea!"

"And what idea was that, exactly?" Ben prodded.

Jacob got a sheepish look on his face, then began to rub the back of his neck. "Well, sir, do you remember the turtle? It was one of my father's inventions."