by Mike Rich
Henry was now completely lost.
All right, so we’re talking New York streets. Got it. Mulberry and Orange annnnnd three others. So?
“They aren’t just five streets, Babbitt,” Jack uttered, as if he’d heard Henry’s silent question. “You’re from New York, you should know what they are. They’re five points.”
TWENTY-TWO
Five Points
THE TWO DAYS following the discovery of Skavenger’s final clue were incredibly tense. Nearly every moment, Henry and the boys thought about what awaited them in New York.
Mulberry.
Little Water.
Anthony.
Cross.
Orange.
Five Points. The notorious spot in lower Manhattan where Ernie’s parents had confidently gone to spread the word of God and failed to return.
Where they’d been murdered.
Even though it was still difficult for Ernie to talk about, he managed to tell Henry that the intersection of the five streets remained home to the most vicious gangs New York had ever seen.
Crime could be found on almost every corner, which made it clear in Henry’s mind that the final step in Skavenger’s Hunt was simple, yet so, so difficult.
It was a test of courage.
Now, finally, the two days were behind them and they had arrived in New York. It was raining as their horse-drawn carriage—provided by Eiffel himself—pulled away from Castle Garden in the Battery, home to New York’s port of entry.
More than once, Chief had told Henry about the history of this spot. The rugged port had felt the first footsteps taken in America by thousands of arriving men and women, all seeking the hope of a new land.
When Henry saw it, though, it had been a strange sight.
Jack and Ernie, along with almost all of the hopeful immigrants, crowded shoulder to shoulder on the ship’s railing as the southern edge of Manhattan prowled into view.
Henry and Eiffel, however, had chosen to gaze out at a tiny, empty island.
That’s where you’re headin’, Lady Liberty. The young hunter smiled. You’ll be the first thing everyone sees in America. Torch high in the air. Sayin’ hello to all your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearnin’ to breathe free.
Despite the hope provided by that sight, Henry couldn’t help but think about what was ahead of them. Monsieur Eiffel had promised that his New York host would take exceptional care of all of them upon their arrival. And so the awaiting gentleman had, welcoming them outside immigration with the finest of carriages and then accompanying them for the ride into the city.
Now, Eiffel glanced at the three boys sitting across from him in the bouncing coach.
“If you boys wish for someone to go with you,” the great designer suggested, “it’s certainly not too late.”
Henry didn’t reply, waiting to see if Jack or Ernie might. He kept a steady gaze through the rain-specked carriage window.
“Henry?” Eiffel asked again, this time with a growing hint of concern. “Would you like someone to go with you?”
Jack turned to look at him, while Ernie kept his vacant stare on the floor of the carriage.
“No, merci,” Henry answered Eiffel. “We’re supposed to do this alone.”
“So you’ve told me several times.” The visionary nodded. “I just wish to make sure before we bid farewell.”
Henry smiled at Eiffel, then turned to look through the window again. The sight of New York, especially with a bit of unseasonal weather, reminded him of . . .
Christmas Eve.
Snow comin’ down. Mom driving you next to the park. Thinking you were about to start two days of nothing-but-being-inside.
Heck, Jeremy’s prob’ly still watching “The Tick Loves Santa!” I can hear him right now. Hey “H,” what’d you do over break?
Ohhhh, not much. Crossed the Atlantic twice, hitched a train ride to Missouri, snuck inside the Vanderbilt Mansion. Oh yeah, I also met Mark Twain, Gustave Eiffel, and this legendary newspaper publisher who’s kinda sittin’ across from me right now. The guy whose name is still on the biggest writing prizes in the whole entire world. The guy who raised a hundred thousand dollars for the pedestal the Statue of Liberty’s gonna stand on? Y’know . . . that guy.
The publisher with the bushy black mustache and equally thick beard glanced at Henry over the top of his reading glasses. “Don’t forget, we have a deal, yes?” he reminded him. “Should you solve Skavenger’s riddle, I’ll want an exclusive for all of my papers.”
“Well, Mr. Pulitzer,” Henry answered him. “I think maybe we should do the solving part first.”
“Fair enough,” Joseph Pulitzer replied, smiling as he turned the page of the newspaper he was reading. The newspaper he owned. Not just this one, but each and every copy printed in the city.
The patter of late-night rain had started to ease on the carriage roof. Jack straightened his cap and pulled his jacket collar tight. “This is close enough, thanks,” he said.
Pulitzer removed his glasses and immediately struck a worried tone. “You boys want to be dropped in this neighborhood?” he asked.
Henry nodded.
Pulitzer knew nothing of Skavenger’s clue, but the youngest of the three hunters could see he hadn’t expected the edge of the most dangerous neighborhood in New York City to be their destination.
The great publisher tapped the window nearest him and nodded to the streets on that side. “That is the direction you need to take. Or I’m afraid I cannot let you out.”
He then pointed toward the opposite window. “Because if you go that way?” Pulitzer simply shook his head, not needing to say a single word.
Henry could see that the direction in which he’d pointed was nothing more than a gateway into despair. Rickety old buildings—some made of brick, some made of damp and sagging wood—loomed over a host of dark alleyways.
“Which way does the clue take you, Henry?” Eiffel solemnly asked.
Henry had trouble looking him in the eye. “We’ll take the good way, don’t worry,” he quietly lied.
The visionary waited several seconds before nodding. “I want all three of you to remember the words of Aristotle,” he said with a serious tone of voice. “‘Courage is the first of human qualities because it is the quality which guarantees the others.’”
Pulitzer lifted his cane and tapped the roof. The driver above whistled for his two horses to stop, and the lumbering carriage came to a halt. All was silent aside from an impatient snort from one of the two rain-soaked steeds.
“Be careful and safe,” Pulitzer cautioned one last time. “And remember our deal.”
Henry gave one last look toward Eiffel, hoping the Frenchman’s reassuring smile would put him at ease, but finding that it didn’t.
“Bonne chance, Henry,” Gustave told him, his voice thick with concern. “My worthy adventurer.”
They shook hands all around, and Eiffel opened the carriage door. Jack almost had to drag Ernie out, but Henry followed readily. A handful of thumping heartbeats later, the three boys watched as the sanctuary of Joseph Pulitzer’s carriage rolled away.
CLIP CLOP CLIP CLOP clip clop clip clop . . .
Leaving them alone on the outskirts of Five Points.
Jack, of course, was the first to disregard Pulitzer’s warning, heading for the risky edge of Anthony Street the minute the sound of the carriage was gone.
“All right, follow me,” he said to both of them over his shoulder.
Henry took a deep settling breath. “Okay, Ern, you ready to do this?” He stepped forward, right into a puddle he’d missed in the dim twilight.
He stopped. And not because of the puddle or the darkness.
Ernie hadn’t moved.
Ernie wouldn’t move, Henry could tell.
“I can’t, I’m sorry,” Ernie said to him with a ragged tone. His own wet shoes looked firmly anchored to the street.
“Jack! Hey, Jack!” Henry called out, hoping he wasn’t too
loud. Jack turned and was back to the two of them in an instant. Ernie looked stricken when he got there.
“Sorry. I’m sorry. Sorry,” he said to both of them.
“Hey . . . we’ll make it, pal, all right? We’ll be okay.” Jack put a hand on his shoulder, but Ernie shook his head.
“I can’t go in there.” He gulped hard to keep the tears from rolling. “I thought I could. But . . .”
Jack tried one more time. “Nuthin’s gonna happen, Ern. I prom—”
“You can’t promise, Jack,” Ernie cut him off short with a weary smile. “You can’t. People promised my mother, people promised my father. Look what happened to them. They got killed in there!”
The first tear found its way onto his cheek.
“Ernie, we can’t just leave you here,” Henry said. “I mean, what are you gonna do?”
“I’m goin’ to Aunt Hazel’s and Uncle Phil’s, that’s what I’m gonna do.” He answered the question as if he’d decided days ago. “I’ve still got a family, you heard what she said. She said I was welcome anytime.”
“Ernie, wait.” Jack lowered his head so he could look his friend straight in the eye. “You need to finish this first. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”
Ernie smiled and shook his head. “Nah, I’ll regret it if I do, Jack. Think about it. Everything my folks did was just them tryin’ to show I could do somethin’ myself. Make things better. That was a big part of why they walked in there.”
He nodded to the Points and then looked at Henry. “Wouldn’t have figured that out if you hadn’t solved that first clue and dragged me halfway around the world.”
Henry felt a hard pull of emotion.
Can’t argue with that. At least you got somewhere to go.
“You sure about this?” Henry asked, even though he already knew the answer.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m sure. Thanks.”
Ernie had one more thing to say, though.
“Don’t go in there,” he said to both of them. “Aunt Hazel, she’ll take care of all of us. I know she will. It’s like Mark Twain said. All we gotta do is ask.”
The rain had just now broken into a fading shower. The nearest alleyway leading into Five Points beckoned.
“Sorry, I gotta see this through to the end,” Jack told his friend. “Same reason you shouldn’t.”
“I know you do.” Ernie exhaled with a worried look. He cast a hopeful look toward Henry. “You?”
“Yeah,” Henry answered. “I gotta see it through too.”
Ernie sadly nodded, holding out his hand to wish them both luck. “You’ll know where to find me,” he said, making sure to add, “Promise you’ll turn back if it goes bad in there.”
“We will,” Jack promised, though Henry knew better.
Ernie backed away, not wanting to turn quite yet. After a few more steps, he finally gave a wave and turned to head toward the somewhat brighter lights of safety a block away.
Good luck, Ernie. Thanks for everything.
Ernie spun around one last time.
“Hey, Henry!” he shouted and held up his raggedy old journal. “All those days on the train? The ship?” He thumped the cover and tucked it away again. “I was finishin’ writin’ my mother’s book! Turns out it’s not a piece of crap after all!”
A few seconds and another wave later, Ernie Samuels was gone around the corner. Gone for good. Same as Pulitzer’s carriage had been for minutes now. Same as anyone with a sane mind would be if they accidentally found themselves in this neighborhood.
“Well?” Jack said as he turned to Henry. “We’ve got ourselves two Babbitts.” He puffed his cheeks wide. “Better than just one, yeah?”
“I hope so,” Henry answered.
Together, they stepped into the alleyway that led to the Points.
The first match flared three blocks later at the opening of another darkened alley. A thickly browed man, twenty or so very rough years old, sparked half a cigarette before handing the match to someone next to him.
The man took a long pull before grunting to Jack and Henry, “Doubt you’ll wanna be goin’ any farther than right here, lads.”
You got that right. Henry shuddered. Just keep walkin’. Don’t say a thing. Get to Mulberry, get to Orange. Find the door with Skavenger’s name on it.
Both Henry and Jack peered back to see the two men step out from the alley. They were motionless as they watched them, aside from the jumping light coming off their cigarettes. The two men stared for a few seconds more and then cackled, apparently deciding the boys weren’t worth pursuing.
That was the one thing Jack had told Henry could be in their favor—that the two of them would appear worthless to anyone who saw them. Their frayed and drenched coats, cracked shoes, even their expressions seemed to shout that they had nothing of value.
Henry, though, worried that their shabby appearance might not make any difference in Five Points. Too many people had been hurt there. Or in the case of Ernie’s parents, much worse.
The stench of rotten things came and went as they walked deeper in. Even when the smell occasionally eased, it never fully went away. Worse yet, Henry could sometimes see where the reeking smell came from—dead rats bloated and infested with white maggots, rusty metal buckets half-filled with things he didn’t want to get any closer to.
There were no more broken and twisted fire escapes on the sides of the buildings, as there had been the first few blocks. Only high-reaching scorch marks from fires that looked to have been barely fought.
The bleak surroundings seemed to press in on them, and Henry tried swallowing what little moisture he had left in his mouth.
Door with Skavenger’s name on it. Keep looking, keep looking, keep moving.
They kept walking, their shoes squishing into the muddy gravel that served as somewhat of a makeshift sidewalk. Faster, but not too fast, passing another alley opening without so much as a glance.
They heard footsteps. The sound of the footsteps was steady; not growing louder, not growing softer.
“Don’t say anything,” Jack whispered.
“Don’t worry,” Henry answered, unable to resist taking a quick look back. Two men were walking toward them. One wore a tattered dark vest and a cap that shadowed his eyes completely; the other was shrouded in dreary and dirty ill-fitting clothes from head to toe.
The larger of the two men—the one in the tattered vest—spit onto the gravel, then reached down to scoop up a handful of the small stones without breaking his steady, unsettling pace.
“AYY,” the man called out.
The boys ignored him. Still walking, still looking for Skavenger’s door.
“Ayy, you!” the man demanded in a louder voice, punctuating his sentence with a gurgling cough.
“What?” Jack tried growling over his shoulder.
“What? You’re asking me what?” The man lazily tossed a single stone in their direction, and then another.
Plink . . . plink . . . plunk.
The third of the small rocks ricocheted off Henry’s head.
“I’ll tell ya what,” the man said as he reached to the ground for more. With almost every word that followed, he threw another stone. “Why don’t you . . . tell me . . . what the two of ya are doin’ in my neighborhood? Middle of the night.”
A mucky gray rat, very much alive and close to a foot in length, scurried out of a gutter and right between Henry’s feet.
“Aaaaagggh!” Rat! RAAAAT!
“Welcome to the neighborhood,” Jack uttered under his breath. “Just keep walkin’.”
The clockwork-steady footsteps behind them continued. A scream broke the quiet from somewhere up ahead. It was hard to tell whether it had come from a man or a woman, but the one thing that was certain? The scream was not followed by a second.
“HEY.” It was the man from behind again. “I asked the two of ya a question.” He sounded as if he was losing patience.
Jack stayed quiet for a few more strides before yelling ov
er his shoulder, “We’re meetin’ our uncle at Little Water. Johnny Flynn? You know him?”
Johnny Flynn? C’mon, Jack, least you can do is come up with a scarier name.
The man scoffed. “Never heard of no Johnny Flynn at Little Water. You?” he asked his smaller, equally sketchy accomplice.
“Nah.” The smaller man blew snot from his nose. The large man sent another small stone sailing through the air, this one bouncing off Jack’s shoulder. He was smart enough to ignore it.
Henry closed his eyes for a second, hoping that last word might actually be the last word. The steady crunch of gravel behind them, though, gave him his answer.
Crunnnnch crunnnnch crunnnnch crunnnnch . . .
“All right . . . whatta ya say the two of you stop right now,” the larger man finally threatened. “So we can have ourselves a talk.”
Henry’s breathing started to race—loud enough that he knew Jack could hear it.
His great-great-grandfather quietly, yet firmly, said under his own quickening breath, “All right, Babbitt. I got an idea. Here’s what I need you to do. All your bravery, all your courage, I need you to reach down deep for it. It’s there, I know it is. These two guys are a wreck; they can’t hurt us.”
“What do you mean, they can’t hurt us?” Henry asked, still moving ahead. “What are you gonna do?”
But Jack had already wheeled around and was now waiting for the two men to draw closer. Henry zipped back with just enough time to ask him, “What are you doing?”
“Haven’t decided yet,” Jack whispered back. “Remember, though, whatever I do? You do.”
Haven’t decided yet?! C’mon, Jack, look at these guys!
Both were covered in scars and welts of varying age—some new, some not. The smaller man had a ragged pink scar on his upper neck that dried up the last remaining spit in Henry’s mouth. The scroungy, intimidating pair slowed as they drew close to the boys.
“Well, well. See?” The larger man came to a stop. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“Can’t believe you ain’t never heard of Johnny Flynn,” Jack said, trying to lower his voice. He rammed his hands into his coat pockets, as if he were carrying something they should be worried about.