Sleepy Hollow: Children of the Revolution

by Keith R. A. DeCandido

  “I believe I may be excused a certain disorientation upon arrival in your century, Lieutenant. In any event, I was, you will recall, a soldier. The craft of war is one of many falsehoods. Spycraft was developed in order to make fighting a war more efficient, and I’m only a bit proud to say that I was an excellent spy. In fact, General Washington was one of the greatest mendicants in the colonial army.”

  “Which is funny, since one of the stories people tell about him is that he couldn’t tell a lie.”

  “Even leaving aside the many falsehoods he had to perpetrate to keep the truth of the daemonic war he and I and others fought alongside the human one from the people, Washington’s strategies were often based on deception. He was far from the greatest tactician the world has ever known, but he made up for it with guile. Often, he would convince the regulars that he was better equipped, better manned, better armed than he actually was. Deception is the heart of war, Lieutenant.”

  “I guess when you put it that way, sure.” Mills sighed. “Unfortunately, we couldn’t convince the people that run the fort to let us have the cross, but they are hiding it away and reporting it missing. We know Serilda’s minions need one more, and they probably think we have the one that was in the fort. If we can keep the one in Sleepy Hollow away from them, we might be able to keep them from doing whatever the hell it is they’re doing.”

  “We can but hope.”

  Crane manipulated the levers on the side of the car’s passenger chair that enabled it to recline—a miraculous function that Crane was amazed to see everyone take for granted—and he fell asleep. Though unlike the lieutenant, he had slept through the previous night, he’d found the day’s duties exhausting. Not so much being forced to inflict bodily harm on another. He regretted being forced into that action, but the witch herself had proven to have no regard for life, and the power to marry that lack of regard to fatal action. He doubted that he, the lieutenant, and the other constable would have survived the encounter had he not taken the drastic action.

  No, what fatigued him was the bureaucratic nonsense, which had grown by leaps and bounds in the past two centuries.

  He was awakened by the sound of the lieutenant’s cell phone making a noise. At this point, they were only an hour or so from their destination. She took advantage of Crane’s newly wakened state and her desire to see what telephonic communication she’d received to pull into one of the many restaurants that were operated by the McDonald family.

  After she stopped the car, Mills stared at her phone. “Czierniewski. Great.” As they went into the restaurant, Mills entered the code that would connect her to the barrister in question. “Hey, Phil. Yes, I know the trial’s tomorrow. Yes, I’m out of town today, it’s called police business. You’ll be shocked to learn that I have other things on my plate besides a B-and-E from 2012. Don’t worry, I’ll be there at ten a.m. sharp.” She ended the call as they approached the ordering table. “Bad enough I had to drive to Ticonderoga and back; tomorrow I get to put on my best suit and head to White Plains to testify in the Ippolito case.”

  “Ah, yes, part of the trial by jury. I might be interested in viewing this proceeding, to see how jurisprudence has evolved in the past two and a half centuries.”

  Mills grinned. “Well, for starters, nobody wears powdered wigs anymore.”

  “Thank heaven for that.”

  After their repast, they continued down the thoroughfare known as the New York State Thruway until they crossed the Tappan Zee Bridge.

  “Someday, Lieutenant, you must inform me who precisely thought it wise to build a bridge across one of the widest expanses of the Hudson River. Might it not have been more sensible to construct it over one of the narrower passages?”

  “Had nothing to do with how wide the river is, but where it is. They needed to build a bridge as close to New York City as possible, but it had to be north of the New Jersey border.”

  “Whyever for?”

  “Politics. Any bridge between New York and New Jersey is controlled by the Port Authority, which is administered by both states. They tried, but they couldn’t get the bridge done, so New York built the Tappan Zee here.”

  Crane was disgusted. “During the war, without interstate cooperation, we would never have won. Fort Carillon, to give an example from the location we just left—we would never have taken it were it not for the cooperation of a Massachusetts regiment and the Green Mountain Boys from Vermont. Yet now, the states of New York and New Jersey cannot cooperate on a simple bridge?”

  “Won’t get any argument from me. Though it isn’t ‘now,’ it was sixty years ago.” She shook her head. “Unfortunately, the damn bridge is falling apart.”

  Crane found himself squirming in the seat. “Is it safe to traverse it?”

  “Not too many alternatives. Going down to the GWB’s a bit much.”

  Neither sure what Mills meant by those initials, nor entirely sure he wished to know, he fell silent. They were almost back at Sleepy Hollow in any event.

  Both Miss Jenny and Captain Irving were waiting for them at the armory. The latter regarded both of them with concern. “You two look like hell.”

  Mills burst out laughing. “You don’t look so hot yourself, there, Captain.”

  “Yeah, well, you spend your day filing reports on cop-killings after being up all night.”

  Crane took a seat by the computing device. “That is, in fact, a fairly accurate précis of our day’s toils as well, Captain.”

  “Though in our case, the cop was just wounded.” Mills sat in the other chair.

  The captain folded his arms. “At least you kept the cross out of the bad guys’ hands. But we still don’t know what they need it for.”

  “At least now we know who,” Miss Jenny said.

  “Serilda of Abaddon,” Crane said solemnly. “She was responsible for a great deal of death and destruction.”

  “That was the Furth murder and that break-in, right?” Irving asked.

  Mills nodded. “Crane encountered her back in the day, and her coven tried to resurrect her, but we put the kibosh on it.”

  Unbidden, the settlement near Albany that Serilda massacred came to the fore of Crane’s mind. He recalled the sight of the smoky ruins of the tents, the smell of burnt flesh and rotten food—and the sound most of all because there was so little of it. The bodies were so badly burned that insects wouldn’t even go near them, and the birdsong was unusually muted as well. He remembered standing there with General Washington and several others, and Washington commenting that he’d been expecting this since Trenton.

  And then, suddenly, Crane rose to his feet. “Of course!”

  “What?” Mills asked.

  “The vision I received from Katrina. In addition to her verbal request for me to find my Congressional Cross, she showed me several visions from my past—including Serilda’s massacre at Albany.”

  “Can I make a suggestion?” Miss Jenny asked the question while holding up a hand and pointing her index finger upward.

  “By all means.” Crane retook his seat.

  “I think we need to look at the entire vision. It might help us figure out what the next step is, beyond making sure that the cross at the library doesn’t get taken.”

  “About that,” Irving said, “patrols and guards have reported nothing unusual. It’s really quiet at the library this time of year anyhow, since it’s between semesters.”

  Mills nodded. “That’s good news, at least.”

  Crane closed his eyes for a moment, and recalled the vision he’d received in Patriots Park.

  “First I was in a forest at night. There was a full moon. Then I found myself in different locations and times. The first was the van Brunt sitting room, where I was sharing a drink with Abraham.”

  Mills nodded. “He was one of the recipients of the medal, so that makes sense.”

  “Next was the Albany massacre by Serilda.”

  “The person responsible for this mess,” Irving said.

/>   “Not exactly,” Mills said. “Like I said, we destroyed her bones. She’s dead, and she can’t come back. This is her followers with something up their sleeve.”

  “After that,” Crane said, “I was in the Masonic cell where we captured Death and the late Lieutenant Brooks spoke as his voice.”

  “That was a fun night,” Miss Jenny muttered.

  Captain Irving said, “I’m not sure what that has to do with this.”

  “More hints, probably.” Mills was rubbing her chin thoughtfully. “Remember, Brooks was the one who got the ball rolling on Serilda’s attempt at resurrection, and van Brunt was Death.”

  Shuddering, the captain said, “I hope that’s all it is. I really don’t want to deal with that guy again.”

  “Nor I, Captain.” Crane took a breath. “Next was the carnival where I was forced to kill the golem who was guarding my son.”

  Mills winced. “That doesn’t seem to have anything to do with this.”

  Crane was about to agree when he recalled what the golem had done just before they found him. “Yes, it does. It is another hint regarding Serilda. During the war, it was Katrina’s coven who cast the spell that weakened Serilda enough that she might be vulnerable to mortal attacks. She was burned at the stake, which only worked because of the coven’s efforts.”

  Nodding, Mills said, “And before you killed the golem, the golem wiped out the remainder of the coven. All four of them.”

  “The point being that we will be unable to rely upon their assistance with this latest difficulty regarding Serilda’s followers.”

  “So we’re on our own.” Mills shrugged. “What else is new?”

  “What’s the next vision you saw?” Irving asked. “And can I just say that ‘what’s the next vision you saw’ is just about the last question I ever expected to be asking anyone ever?”

  Mills chuckled. “You and me both.”

  “We are all of us out of our depth, Captain,” Crane said. “Prior to my first encounter with one of Moloch’s minions when I was still in the service of the Crown, I too believed daemons and witches and spellcraft to be the stuff of legends and poetry. Yet here we are, encountering all three with alarming regularity. I believe that the time for astonishment is far in the past.”

  “Oh, trust me, I’m well aware of what we’re dealing with and how real it is.” Irving shook his head. “Just every once in a while I like to remind myself that this? Is crazy.”

  “Amen.” Mills gave a brief bit of applause before turning to Crane. “So what was next?”

  Crane shook his head. He didn’t understand the value of such utterances as what Mills and Irving were indulging in. The reality of their lives was established. It was foolish to try to decry its sanity.

  But he knew better than to try to argue with them on the subject. Besides, they had more pressing matters to contend with.

  “The next vision was of Fort Carillon in Ticonderoga, a meeting that was held among myself, Caleb Whitcombe, and Henry Knox.” He smirked. “I believe the lieutenant’s and my recent journey to that town is all the explanation required for that particular experience.”

  Mills nodded. “Yeah. What was next?”

  “The last vision before Katrina spoke to me was Marinus Willett leading a meeting of the Sons of Liberty in New York.”

  Irving frowned. “So we got Willett, Knox, van Brunt, and Whitcombe. But not Cortlandt or Tilghman. Why not?”

  “The most simple explanation, Captain, is that I never met either gentleman in my travails during the war. Every one of the visions Katrina provided came from my own memory, after all.”

  “So what happened after that?” Mills asked.

  Crane frowned. “I was back in the forest. Katrina appeared to me, spoke the words, ‘You must retrieve the medal you were awarded!’ ”

  “And the forest was the same as it was?”

  “Yes, a darkened clearing surrounded by gnarled trees, and illuminated by the …” He trailed off. Everything Katrina had shown him in the vision had significance to what they were to accomplish against Serilda’s coven. How much that was so had not really impinged on his consciousness until this conversation.

  Which was why he didn’t recall one particular detail until now. “At the start of the dream, the moon was full. But after the various visions concluded, and I was returned to the forest, it was a half-moon. And then right after Katrina’s urging, there were eight half-moons.”

  “What?” That was Miss Jenny, who had been unusually quiet. Looking over, he saw that she was sitting in a corner of the room, a thick book with a cracked binding in her lap. “Eight half-moons? You sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure. Why?”

  Jenny got up, walked over to the table, and placed the book down. A considerable amount of dust flew into the air from the impact.

  “Been reading up on this Serilda bitch. She led a cult that worshipped the demon Abaddon. Based on Corbin’s notes, the cult’s still active in Sleepy Hollow, which I guess you guys got a firsthand look at.”

  “Indeed,” Crane said.

  “Yeah,” Mills added. “Go on.”

  “Well, the cult got really major around Christmas 1776.”

  Irving frowned. “Wasn’t that when Washington crossed the Delaware?”

  Crane nodded. “After being defeated in New York, the general led his troops to attack a Hessian regiment that occupied Trenton. It was a great victory.”

  Mills’s eyes went wide. “Hessians? Those guys weren’t just German mercs, though, they were Moloch’s henchmen.”

  “Yes.” Crane shook his head. “I didn’t think much of it at the time, but I do recall Washington saying in Albany, when we found the victims of Serilda’s power, that he’d been afraid of such a happening since Trenton. His exact words were ‘We both won and lost that day.’ ”

  Jenny looked up at him. “My guess is that the Hessians at Trenton did something to make Serilda more than an average cult leader, and Washington didn’t stop it in time.”

  “That would fit the pattern.”

  “But that’s not the interesting part. Look at this.” Jenny pointed at a passage in the book she’d placed on the table.

  Crane bent over to peruse the page. “ ‘The Witch Who is of Abaddon may be Destroyed, but fear not, for her Personage may be Resurrected at two times four the number of Half Moons following her Destruction.’ ” He looked up. “Eight half-moons.”

  “Oh crap.” Mills was now holding her phone.

  “What is it, Lieutenant?”

  “I got a phases-of-the-moon app for my phone after the last time we went up against Serilda. I figured, given what we’re dealing with, it’s something I need to be up on.”

  Crane nodded. “It’s true, magic is heavily influenced by lunar cycles.”

  “Right, so I just checked when the next half-moon is. It’s tomorrow night—and tomorrow’s half-moon is the eighth one since the blood moon on the night we destroyed Serilda’s bones.”

  “Oh crap,” Jenny said, echoing her sister’s words. Crane wondered if it was a deliberate mocking of her sibling, or a signal of how alike the two were. “From what Al told me at the library, six of the Independence Crosses were used by Washington to stop Serilda’s coven from killing his wife. I’m guessing that the runes that Mercier put on the side are a kind of—” Jenny faltered, struggling to find a word.

  Crane ventured a term he’d learned in his all-too-brief experiences with the supernatural. “Necromancy? That is the study of death magic.”

  Jenny’s mouth twisted a bit. “Not exactly. More like anti-necromancy. This stops death magic. Al said they were like spells of reinforcement or protection.”

  Irving put his hands on his hips. “So this is good, right?”

  “Good, how?” Mills asked, sounding incredulous.

  “They likely need six crosses. They’ve only got four, and after tomorrow night, they won’t be any use to them anyhow.”

  “Assuming,” Crane said, “th
at we are correct in our supposition.”

  Mills sighed. “Yeah, but it does fit the evidence, including what Stacy said before she died.”

  “We also cannot assume,” Crane added, “that they only have four of the crosses. There are three unaccounted for by any means we have been able to track, but Serilda’s coven has means beyond what we might imagine. They may have one of the three remaining crosses—including, quite possibly, my own.”

  Jenny said, “They may even have all three.”

  Mills shook her head. “No, if they did, they wouldn’t have bothered going for the one in Ticonderoga. They need at least one more—and the only one left is sitting on Chestnut Street.”

  Crane moved toward the door. “Then I will hie myself there immediately, augment the protection you have so graciously provided, Captain, and perhaps question this Al to see if he can provide more enlightenment. Or, at the very least, provide me with more research materials.”

  “Good plan. I need to go home and get some sleep—remember, I got a ten a.m. court date.”

  Irving frowned. “Ippolito?”

  Mills nodded. “After two four-hour drives in two days—not to mention that medieval torture device in the motel—I need eight hours in my own bed if I’m gonna be any good for Phil Czierniewski tomorrow.”

  “Of course. Sleep well, Lieutenant.”

  Irving joined them in their exodus toward the door. “I didn’t even get anything as good as a medieval torture device. We’ll confab in the morning.”

  They all stopped and turned back when they realized that Jenny hadn’t joined them.

  The younger Mills sister was smiling. “Well, I got a great night’s sleep last night, and I didn’t get up till ten, so I’m not even a little tired, and I’m gonna see if I can find anything else in Corbin’s files. Now that I’ve got better info, I might be able to track more down.”

  “Excellent. Swift journeys, Miss Jenny,” Crane said with a bow.

  He departed, along with Irving and Mills. The two constables went to their vehicles. Crane walked, the crisp night air searing his lungs pleasantly. True, the cold was bitter, but it was nothing compared to the brutality of the conditions on the road from Ticonderoga to Boston. In addition, Crane didn’t have to deal with the logistics of sixty pounds of cannon.