Timewatch by Linda Grant Page A

clattering of carriages driving at breakneck speed. We had to constantly make shift to dodge these conveyances.
    After some time of walking in this fashion, we halted in front of an imposing residence, which Jacob informed me was the property of a certain wealthy merchant who owned a sugarcane refinery, the raw sugar being brought from a faraway place called the West Indies.
    The merchant himself, a certain Nicholas Coolhaas, a rotund gentleman, greeted us at the door and embraced us after the fashion of the Dutch. He bade us enter and introduced us to the Scotsman, a man lean to the point of emaciation and dressed in breeches and coat, which had seen much wear.
    Bowing deeply to us, McCorrister muttered a few words of greeting made virtually incomprehensible by his thick Scots dialect. He set to work immediately with his experiment. Pouring what I recognized to be quicksilver into a crucible with sulphur and other ingredients—the names of which he refused to tell us—he began stirring them together. Coolhaas, fairly quivering with eagerness, bent close to the alchemist, who then began heating the mixture. Jacob, too, stared fixedly at the bubbling crucible.
    And I? Something about the entire matter made me uneasy. If McCorrister had ready access to such quantities of gold as he might wish to make, why were his boots worn and his clothes of an indifferent cut and cloth?
    â€œLook, ’tis gold,” whispered Coolhaas, pointing in awe at a yellow lump congealing in the crucible.
    His weathered face breaking into a grin revealing a missing front tooth, the Scotsman boasted, “Did I not promise to make you a fortune?”
    â€œI would like to examine your equipment,” I said boldly.
    Fixing me with a malevolent look, McCorrister said, “You doubt that gold lies there in front of you?”
    â€œNot at all,” I replied, “but I have some doubts as to how it got there.”
    â€œThen I’ll be off. There be others who will be overjoyed to partake of my secrets.”
    â€œNot so fast,” said Jacob. “Tell us your suspicions, Jeremy.”
    â€œI would like to examine this,” I said, seizing the stirring rod.
    The Scotsman yelled and lunged at me. Moving surprisingly fast for a man of such heft, Coolhaas stepped between the man and me. “In my house, mynheer, you will behave like a gentleman or be thrown out.”
    Speaking fast, for I sensed that the Scotsman would not long be still, I explained, “I have read of some charlatans who stuff gold into hollow rods. When they stir their mixtures, the gold falls into the crucible, making the unwary think that a miracle has been performed.”
    â€œAnd this rod?” inquired Coolhaas, looking very grim.
    â€œIs hollow, sir.”
    â€œThat proves nothing!” yelled McCorrister, cursing me roundly.
    Jacob glanced significantly at Coolhaas. Abruptly, the two of them laid hands upon the rogue, who, possessed of surprising strength for so small a man, kicked and yelled as he was dragged from the house and thrown out into the street.
    Upon returning, Coolhaas shook my hand solemnly and declared, “I am in your debt, mynheer, for saving me from the loss of a goodly amount of guilders. The rascal was trying to get me to buy some rare ingredients, which he said were necessary to make gold. It was a scheme that would have filled only his pockets.” Looking at me earnestly, he added, “It would be my great pleasure if ever I could be of service to you.”
    It was a matter of the space of only a few weeks before I had occasion to benefit from the Dutchman’s good offices. In the meantime, we became fast friends. Over dinners spent with him and Jacob, the merchant took me into his confidence, telling me of his extensive business interests: his ships that carried sugarcane from the Indies to Amsterdam and his sugar works that rendered the cane into sugar.
    His colorful stories of a virgin wilderness