by Matthew Cody
“But the ogres did,” said Emilie.
“Well, that’s no surprise,” said Lukas.
“No, but the rats know about it,” said Paul. “I’ve seen tracks there plenty of times, even if they try to hide them. And this morning we passed a little pond a ways back—remember?”
Lukas did remember. He hated any body of water bigger than a drinking glass, so he’d urged them to steer clear of it. Crossing the Great River had been bad enough, but things lived in dark ponds in the forests, things that didn’t care for children.
“I know that pond because…” And for some reason, Paul began turning red again as he spoke. “Well, I know a nixie there. I mean, we’ve chatted. Couple of times. Maybe.”
“Maybe?” asked Emilie, her proud smile vanishing all at once.
“Anyway,” said Paul, carefully avoiding Emilie’s gaze. “I know that pond, and I know that it’s here.”
He pointed to a new spot on his map, one that was much farther west than the ropewood tree he’d marked before. Lukas took a step back and studied the dirt. Paul had been right. The ogres were generally moving westward, but not in a straight line, and not in the way that would take them north toward the mountains. At least, not by any easy route. It could be explained away perhaps by the ogres’ poor sense of direction, but rats wouldn’t have made such a mistake. They were ignoring all the trails, but they weren’t wandering lost. They had a destination in mind; it just wasn’t the one the children had assumed.
“They’re not heading north,” said Lukas. “They’re not going to the rat king’s nest after all.”
Lukas held up his own map, the one he’d made from memory of the entire Summer Isle. Maps can lie, Paul had said. They weren’t as far north as they’d thought; if Paul was right, then the ogres were heading due west, which would take them through the Shimmering Forest and beyond that…
Paul followed Lukas’s finger as he traced the path. “New Hamelin,” he said.
Lukas pictured the boys of the village Watch patrolling walls, thirty feet high and solid. Those walls were proof against any rat attack. Rats, yes, but what about ogres? What could just two of those hulking monsters do to that wall, much less four of them?
“I’m so stupid,” said Lukas. “Those ogres aren’t going to talk to the rat king about a possible alliance, because they’re already working together! Whoever this new rat king is, he’s a lot smarter than Marrow was. He’s already figured out that the rats’ same old strategies just kept failing, and somehow, he’s gotten the ogres on his side.”
“Well, maybe only those four,” offered Emilie.
“Four could be enough. Four could tear down the wall, or smash through the front gate.”
“We have to warn them,” said Emilie.
“Get packed up,” said Lukas. “We’re not stopping tonight for camp; we need to make it to New Hamelin before they do. Paul, can you find the shortest way through the forest without running straight through those ogres?”
“As sure as spit I can,” said Paul.
“Then let’s go,” said Lukas. “We have to reach the village before those ogres do. We have to warn them that New Hamelin is under attack.”
Because of the thick fog, it was impossible to tell how close Vodnik had gotten. He’d been gaining on them steadily, despite the Leviathan’s steam engine running on full power. There was unnatural speed and strength in the magician’s ghostly crew.
Then the fog rolled in, and Max worried at first that it was a part of Vodnik’s magic, but the captain reassured her that the heavy fog would work to their advantage.
“We’re following a weirding way now,” said the captain. “We sail by instinct.”
“We’re sailing into New York?”
“New York, sure,” said Captain Hob. “But you won’t find the Winter Children in New York. You’ll find them off to the side and underfoot and just out of view, hidden from the eyes of normal folk. You see, it’s magic that hides them, the strongest magic left on earth. To find them you have to know the way in, the way that will take you to the city beneath the city. But it’s treacherous if you don’t know how to sail it, and dangerous to walk if you leave the path.”
As they continued on, Harold and Mrs. Amsel joined Max on deck while the captain barked commands to his men. Max could feel the tension on board. The sailors were quiet, and stole fearful glances at the mist.
“I’ve seen fog like this before,” said Max. She almost said on the Summer Isle, but she stopped herself. The captain had been true to his word up until now, but people reacted in unpredictable ways once they learned Max had actually been to the lost land of magic.
“Was the place haunted?” asked the captain.
“Actually, yeah, it was,” said Max. Shades Harbor on the Summer Isle was literally a ghost town.
The captain nodded. “Fog like this and you know that another world is nearby, whether it’s the afterlife or something in between. Either way, the walls of this world get thinner when magic is close by. But the door is still locked.”
The captain fixed his stare on Max. “That’s what you’re looking for, isn’t it? The door to the Summer Isle? For your trollish friend there, perhaps? Few more years and he won’t be able to pass among normal folk, but maybe there’s a place where he wouldn’t have to hide. Better life to be sure than hiding in a ship’s cabin all your days. Only coming out when you’re well clear of land, of people in general.”
After just a day at sea, Max had grown accustomed to the captain’s appearance, though she doubted that others would be so forgiving. “Why haven’t you tried the doorway yourself?” asked Max. “If you don’t mind me asking.”
“The door is locked,” said the captain. “Don’t see the point.”
“But if you knew someone who had the key,” said Max. “And if that someone offered…”
For a moment, the captain said nothing, then he broke out into a large grin. At least, Max thought it was a grin. Hard to tell on a face like that. “So that’s why the magician pursues you. Well, you are surprising.”
“We can take you with us, if you want to go.”
“I appreciate the offer, but I’m captain of my own boat, and my future. Don’t want anything more.”
“Well, thanks for everything,” said Max.
“Don’t thank me yet,” said the captain. “Vodnik’s still out there. But I know a fellow who can guide you the rest of the way. He will be waiting for us when we make port.”
“Port” turned out to be a lone dock jutting out into the bay, all that was left of a much larger pier that had fallen into disuse until it was little more than a few wooden pylons slowly rotting away. It was visible only by the light of a single lamp dangling from a post, and at the end of the dock a set of well-worn steps climbed up a rocky shore before disappearing into the mist.
Beyond, Manhattan was barely visible. Though this city was Max’s home, it looked alien in the fog.
As the Leviathan pulled up alongside the dock, a little man in a yellow raincoat and hood stepped gingerly across the rickety old boards until he reached the boat. “What’s your business?” he called.
“Three passengers disembarking, Cornelius,” answered the captain. “Looking for the Children.”
The little man in the raincoat shook his head. “Aren’t they always? Follow me, then, those who’re getting off.”
With that, the little man turned and started back along the dock toward shore. Max and her friends had to scramble to catch up, and the dock creaked precariously under Harold’s weight. The mist had turned into a steady drizzle, and Max pulled up the hood of her sweatshirt as she waved goodbye to the captain and crew of the Leviathan. But the ship was already pulling away from the dock. So much for goodbyes.
“Keep right,” warned the little man. “ ’Less you want to take a quick bath. Everything here’s falling apart and no one’s around to fix things.”
Harold helped Mrs. Amsel onto shore, where the little man waited. Max tri
ed to get a good look at him under that raincoat of his. He looked normal enough, if on the small side.
“Ah,” said Mrs. Amsel. “After that horrible goblin boat, it is such a relief to see a friendly face.”
The little man gave a gruff smirk. “I don’t remember us ever being friends.”
“He’s not much friendlier than the captain,” whispered Harold, and Max had to agree.
It was strange to be so close to home and yet feel so different. Max had hoped that they might be able to go uptown to her family’s apartment before starting their search for the Winter Children. They all could’ve used a hot shower and a meal, and Max even fantasized that she’d get to her door and her mom would be there to greet her. And that she’d smell smoke from her father’s pipe drifting into the hallway. But Vodnik was somewhere close behind, and there was no time for fantasies. Their quest had turned into a race.
“Come on!” their guide called. “We have to time this just right if you want to find the Children. You’re in luck—the weather’s perfect!”
Max glanced at the dark clouds overhead, at the raindrops growing bigger all around them. Perfect for what?
They followed the little man through the winding streets of lower Manhattan. This part of the city was a mix of cobblestone streets hundreds of years old and towering skyscrapers of glass and metal. Max had always loved that about this part of the city—that it was history and future all tangled together—but today it just added to her feeling of unease. Like they were walking in between worlds.
They were in a rush, but that didn’t prevent their guide from stopping off at a bakery to buy himself an enormous bag of baguettes and bagels.
“Like bread, huh?” asked Max. The little man had enough to last him a month, if it didn’t go stale first, and he even loaded Harold up with a few extra bags. He scowled at her and pointed to an inconspicuous green awning across the street, barely visible in the fog.
“There,” he said.
“That’s it?” asked Max. She hadn’t expected the Winter Children to have a storefront.
“No, no,” said the little man. “Soon, though. Follow me.” He swung open the door and scurried inside, and they had no choice but to follow. Max was hit at once by the smell of roasted coffee beans and the sound of espresso machines spraying foam. Someone was calling out orders to a crowd of people in business suits typing away on their phones. “Half-caf, soy chai! Extra-shot double latte!”
“Hey,” said Max, tapping on their guide’s shoulder. “Why are we stopping here?”
The little man ignored her as he stepped up to the barista. “I’ll have a large dark-roast soy latte.”
“That’ll be four ninety-five,” replied the girl.
He stepped back and looked at Max expectantly. “Spent all my money on bread,” he explained.
Max threw up her hands. “I thought you were taking us to the Winter Children! Not out for coffee.”
“Can’t quite yet,” said the man. “Gotta wait on the weather.”
“You mean for it to clear?” asked Harold.
“Nope,” said the man. “Gotta wait for it to get worse.”
The barista let out a bored sigh. “Is someone gonna pay for this or what?”
In the end, Mrs. Amsel bought three coffees, plus a hot chocolate for Harold, and the four of them huddled around a standing table near the window (there weren’t any chairs at all in this coffee shop, which seemed designed to discourage comfort). Harold ignored the stares of several nosy businessmen who pointed at him and whispered. Max gave them the evil eye until they turned around.
All the while, their little guide sipped his soy latte and looked out the window. Finally, Max couldn’t take it any longer. She wondered how many other epic quests stopped for a coffee break.
“So,” she said. “The captain called you Cornelius?”
“That’s right,” he answered.
“Well, Cornelius, I’m Max, and this is Mrs. Amsel and Harold.”
“You can call me Gerta,” said Mrs. Amsel, but Cornelius just shrugged.
“So, you guide people to the Winter Children?” asked Max. “I mean, like professionally?”
“Yep.”
“Okay, so what did you mean when you said we were waiting for the weather to get worse?”
Cornelius peeked up at her from under the hood of his yellow rain slicker. Max saw bushy gray eyebrows and an overly large nose. The hood hid his ears, which Max suspected would be as pointed as Mrs. Amsel’s. “You’ve heard tales of travelers who’ve gotten themselves lost in the woods or in a terrible storm, and ended up wandering into someplace magical. Ended up having supper with gnomes or running from goblins or something like that. You’ve heard those stories?”
Max nodded. Gulliver. Rip Van Winkle. Her father had told her all of them.
“The key to finding the Winter Children,” said Cornelius, leaning close, “is you have to get lost to find your way! How’s that for an irritating bit of nonsense? Sounds like a fortune cookie, I know, but that’s magic for you.”
“How long do we have to wait?” asked Harold, setting down his cup. It looked doll-sized in his massive hand.
“Not much longer,” said the man. “Time enough to finish our drinks, I think.”
“Then you’ll take us to find the Winter Children?”
“I will,” said Cornelius. “But the question I have for you is, do you really want me to?”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve guided a lot of people like you,” said the little man. “More than I care to count. But each time I make them stop, maybe have a cup of coffee and think real hard about what they’re about to do.”
“We came all this way!” said Mrs. Amsel. “We traveled with those horrible sailors and more you don’t even know.”
“Just think about it,” said Cornelius, lowering his voice. “You, me, even the troll boy there, we all have magic in our veins, but we’re also part human. Those goblinfolk smugglers, Hob and his crew, they’re mostly human, too, even if they don’t act like it most of the time.”
That’s when Max realized that Cornelius must have assumed she was an elfling, too. With her sweatshirt hood up, her ears were hidden, and she was small enough. She didn’t think now was the time to correct him.
Cornelius started to whisper something, but Max couldn’t hear above the sound of the espresso machine piping in the background.
“You can speak up,” she said. “No one in here’s going to care what you’re saying.” The businesspeople had stopped talking and were too busy checking their phones to listen.
“I’m not worried about them,” answered Cornelius. “My point is, if you go looking for the Winter Children, you’re giving all that up. The human side of you. Turning your back on this world for another. Think about it.”
“We’ll take our chances.” And that was all Max said.
“You’re all the same,” said Cornelius with a sigh. “Fine, it’s nearly time anyway.”
The fog outside had indeed gotten much thicker, and the rain coming down now made it that much worse. The buildings, cars and even her friends standing just a few feet away were barely visible.
“Right,” called their guide, struggling to be heard over the pummeling rain. “Stay close and follow me. We’re going to get lost.”
Max and her friends did as Cornelius asked, and he led them through the curving streets, and down alleyways that seemed to wrap back around on themselves. Most of Manhattan’s streets were built in a simple-to-follow grid, but not so downtown. It was easy to get turned around there, even without the storm. After a few minutes, Cornelius called back, “Anyone have any idea where we are? No? Good, then that means we’re getting close.”
Max had begun to wonder if the little man wasn’t just walking them around in circles in the rain for the fun of it, when he suddenly stopped at a doorway. It was set into a brick building beside a graveyard with a wrought iron fence—Max could see that much through the fog. A c
hurch perhaps.
“And a port appears in the storm,” said their guide. “This’ll be it.”
“You’re sure?” asked Max. “Looks like any old door to me.”
“But it doesn’t lead to just anywhere,” said the man. “Come on.”
The door, as it turned out, was unlocked, and it opened onto a flight of stairs leading down, beneath street level. A lantern hanging on a sconce illuminated the steps for some thirty feet or so. Beyond that was darkness. Their guide took the lamp and started down the steps. “Keep close,” he said. “And shut the door behind you. Don’t want anyone else getting lost and wandering in here. Humans aren’t welcome.”
Max saw Mrs. Amsel glance worriedly at her, but Max didn’t give the housekeeper time to say anything. She pushed past her and began following the little man down the stairs. If humans weren’t allowed down here, it was just too bad. There was a first time for everything.
The stone steps spiraled down a long shaft into the darkness beneath Manhattan. Just when Max thought they couldn’t travel any deeper, she saw a distant glow that signaled there might be an actual bottom to the stairway. The light was dim, even compared to Cornelius’s weak little lamp, but it might as well have been a star shining in the inky darkness.
“There,” said Cornelius. “Not much farther.”
Max and her friends picked up their pace to follow him, when the stairs beneath their feet began to shake as the quiet was broken by a loud rumble.
“What’s that?” asked Harold worriedly. “Earthquake?”
“They say there’s a dragon chained up somewhere down here and that sound is his mighty snore,” said Cornelius.
Max, however, thought she recognized the sound. “Or it’s the subway. We’ve got to be under the tunnels by now.”
Cornelius shrugged. “Dragon, subway…whatever. Let’s keep moving.”