Gods of Manhattan

by Scott Mebus

  “Now is not the time for your jokes,” Liv said. “I know how much of this is your fault.”

  She turned to Rory.

  “I want you to understand something, Rory. The M’Garoth clan means everything to me. I am its protector, the clan war leader. I have never approved of how Fritz gets involved with humans, especially a human in your situation. It can’t bode well for my people. Next thing you know we’re mixed up with the very gods we turned our backs on so long ago.”

  “I understand,” said Rory, though he didn’t.

  “We don’t have time to argue, Liv,” Fritz cut in.

  “I know that,” Liv answered, her face softening. “I’m not heartless. I brought what you asked for.”

  She pulled out a folded paper from her rat’s saddlebag, handing it up to Rory. He unfolded it to reveal a picture of Bridget. Unprepared, his eyes filled with tears.

  “Honey, it’s all right,” Liv said, all trace of her anger gone. “What I meant to say is that since we are involved, Fritz and I are going to make sure your sister’s all right. I’ve spoken with Flavio. He’s temperamental even for a papersmith, but I think we can get him to come around. I promise you, as long as it doesn’t hurt the M’Garoths, we’ll do everything we can. And don’t worry about the picture. I took it from your sister’s room; you can give it back to her yourself.”

  Rory wiped his eyes and took another look at the photo, Bridget’s wide smile filling the frame. No one spoke for a moment, until Liv broke the silence.

  “Come with me.”

  A blast of heat blew across Rory’s face as he passed into the next room. He’d stepped into a large forge, with a huge anvil dominating the center of the room. The sooty walls were covered in sheets of paper, big and small. A fire burned in the corner. This was no cozy fireplace, but rather a searing pit of heat and flame crackling under a massive iron cauldron, which bubbled with some unknown white substance. A loud clang brought his attention back to the anvil. Next to it, holding a large heavy hammer, stood a huge dusky figure. His face, free of hair of any kind, was red and blistered. He scowled at Liv as she spoke with him. He looked over at Rory.

  “So you’re the one who’s gone and gotten himself into trouble, eh? Had a bit of a run-in with a madman and a pistol? I don’t know who told you about my mistake fifty years ago, especially since I know I never told anybody, but this is not my problem. I don’t make mistakes twice.”

  “We can pay you,” Liv said.

  “Like that bastard Tom paid me? With bright gold that turned to coal the next morning? I don’t know why I let him talk me into it. It was his flattery. His crocodile tears. Crying over his poor son. His baby boy. So what did I do? Did I think about it, take a moment to look at the whole thing with clear eyes? Of course not. I’m a fool, and I have been since my mother dropped me into the midwife’s hands. So you know what I did, Trouble Boy?”

  Rory shook his head, trying not to get this guy angry.

  “I made my greatest creation. I slaved for hours over the hot anvil, struggling to create a paper being that could move with grace, with life. And I did it! Because I am the best! And the first thing he does is rip out its tongue! I should have stopped it right there, but I was too in love with my fine creation. I wanted to see it walk! I wanted to see its eyes look up at me, its maker, and know me. Pride, Trouble Boy, that’s what that is. Too much pride.

  “So he placed his son’s soul into its mouth and the paper thing became a boy! This wonderful new being looked up at me and opened his mouth, to say what, I will never know. But no sound came out! His tongue was gone, sitting in a pile of discarded paper. Look, it’s still there. I can’t bear to touch it.”

  Rory looked in the corner by a pile of scrap paper and saw it. A small thing, red and torn at the end, left behind on the floor.

  “Fifty years that’s lain on the floor like that. Since the moment he tossed it there like a piece of fat cut off a steak. And then that boy’s new eyes looked up at me and screamed. Have you ever seen eyes scream, Trouble Boy? My ears bled from the sight. But Tom patted that maimed boy on the head and whispered something about how everything would soon be fixed. And then he dropped a bag of gold at my feet and led that poor creature out of my forge and away to God knows where. And I didn’t stop him! That’s my great shame, and I have to tell it if I ever hope to make it right. I let him take that unfinished child away, and the next morning I received the payment I deserved. My gold had melted into coal.”

  Flavio stared at Rory defiantly, daring him to say something. Fritz stepped in.

  “This is your chance, Master Flavio. This is your chance to make it right.”

  Flavio tore his eyes away from Rory and shot a withering glance at Fritz.

  “How? I make playthings. Toys for children. Masks and piñatas.”

  Fritz smiled gently. “They’re not just piñatas, Flavio. They leap around the room like wild animals as the children chase them, laughing. They break only when you want them to break, when you build them with a flaw. And your masks last for centuries. We need you. We need your skill, or this child will die. She is too full of life to let slip away.”

  Flavio’s eyes betrayed the struggle within. He coughed, looking away.

  “Who knows what will turn to coal this time? I cannot chance it. I wouldn’t even know where to begin. Unlike you, I’ve never seen her.”

  Rory pulled out the picture. He walked up to Flavio and held it up for him to see.

  “Here she is. Just make sure she can laugh. She loves to laugh. And to leap around like a crazy person. And the tongue is kind of a requirement. If she found out she couldn’t talk, she’d probably kick you in the butt. Please.”

  Flavio looked down at the picture in Rory’s hand. His lips twitched as he stared down at Bridget’s smiling face.

  “The teeth’ll be the hardest. Look at those monsters. I hate smilers. They need too much detail.”

  Fritz smiled softly at the big man’s ramblings.

  “This will make it right, you know,” Fritz said.

  Flavio didn’t look up.

  “Maybe.”

  He took the picture from Rory, walking back to his anvil. He spoke without turning around.

  “Give me a few hours. Then we’ll just see what we have.”

  With that, he threw a log on the fire and started touching the hanging paper, feeling the worth of each sheet. For the first time since he heard the gunshot, Rory felt a faint flutter of hope. He silently followed the roaches and Nicholas out of the forge, leaving the papersmith behind to do his work.

  23

  FORGING BRIDGET

  Alexa secretly made her way toward the servants’ entrance at the back of the Astor mansion, trying not to be seen. She carried a few of her father’s journals in a bag slung over her shoulder. She liked having his words with her; it made her feel a little less alone, now that he was gone. She stepped up to the door, but before she could quietly knock, it swung open. She jumped a mile.

  Simon stood in the doorway, smiling like a Cheshire cat. He was wearing a particularly loud shirt, with ruffles and bright pink buttons, so she knew this was a true covert operation. “Are the rest of them here?”

  “Nicholas is still not back with the Rory kid,” he said. “And Albert headed down to see what was keeping them.”

  “So it’s just you and Lincoln, then,” she said. She didn’t like meeting without Nicholas and Albert. But events were moving faster and they couldn’t afford to wait around. “What’s this about, then?”

  “Come on, I’ll show you,” he said, eyes twinkling. He led her up the back staircase into a small storage room, where Lincoln was waiting.

  “Don’t you want to know why I called you here?” Simon asked, closing the door behind him. “I think you’ll thank me.”

  “Stop being so mysterious and spill it,” Alexa said peevishly.

  “Ten bucks says he wants to show us a new shirt,” Lincoln said, grinning.

  “This morning my
dad had a visitor in his study—a Dead Rabbit, to be precise.”

  “So what?” Alexa said. “The Dead Rabbits don’t follow anyone anymore. Their gang will work for whoever will pay.”

  “Maybe not,” Lincoln mused. “Some of my buddies in the Daybreak Boys think they’re working for someone on the sly. They’ve got too much dough and too little brains. Why not Kieft?”

  “I don’t know about that,” Alexa said. “That’s a big leap.”

  “Why keep it secret then?” Lincoln continued, getting excited. “It makes sense.”

  “Why was this Dead Rabbit here?” she asked Simon.

  “I’m not sure,” Simon admitted. “But I heard my dad mention a knife they had to move, to keep safe. Pretty interesting, right? Might very well be the knife. Probably is, knowing Daddy. He told this Dead Rabbit to come back in an hour with some friends so he can let them know where to move it. And that was almost an hour ago. I know a little hidey-hole just big enough for us to listen in and find out what’s going on. So who’s the guy saving the day now?”

  He nodded with satisfaction as he pointed to himself.

  “I don’t like this,” Alexa said. “It seems strange. Anyway, the Fortune Teller said that the Light would make the choice, not us.”

  “But this could be our chance to get a jump on them!” Lincoln exclaimed. “We don’t need to wait for this Rory kid. We can follow the bad guys to their lair and take them all out before lunch! I got dibs on the big guy!”

  “What big guy?” Simon asked, confused.

  “There’s always a big guy. And I got dibs on him.”

  Alexa wanted to wait for Nicholas and Albert to return with the Light, but she couldn’t afford to let any lead slip away. But could she trust the source? She guessed she had to; besides, the day Simon Astor pulled one over on her was the day she ate her shoes.

  “I guess it couldn’t hurt to gather a little bit of information. So what do we do?”

  Simon beamed as he laid out his plan. Despite her misgivings, Alexa felt a small thrill race through her as she thought about what they could learn here. This could be the chance for the Rattle Watch to stop the murders and bring down Kieft.

  Rory woke up suddenly, confused. It took him a moment to remember where he was. He must have fallen asleep on Flavio’s couch. Sitting up, he spied Fritz and his wife whispering fiercely in the corner. Neither of them looked too happy. Fritz noticed Rory and broke off his quiet argument.

  “Rory! You’re awake,” he said. He glanced at Liv, who looked like she still had something to say. “Why don’t you go talk with Nicholas? He’s right outside.”

  Rory could tell that Fritz wanted a few minutes alone with his wife, so after casting a quick look at the door to the forge, he slipped between the curtains out into the fair. He patted his pocket, thankful the bullet still felt warm through the material. The girl sitting by the entrance nodded.

  “Your buddy headed that way. He’s a cutie, isn’t he?”

  Rory didn’t want to answer that, so he brushed by her with a murmur of thanks, stepping into the crowd. Peering past the shoppers meandering by, he caught sight of Nicholas on the street corner talking to a new boy. This boy appeared similar in age to Nicholas, though his clothes seemed to come from the turn of the last century, much trendier than Nicholas’s older duds. The boy caught sight of Rory and held out his hand.

  “You must be the famous Rory Hennessy,” he said, smiling genially. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  Rory shook his hand tentatively, looking to Nicholas in confusion.

  “This is my old friend Albert Fish,” Nicholas said. “He is in the Rattle Watch with me.”

  “Poor kid,” Albert said, laughing. “He’s just wrapping his head around meeting you and now he has to meet another old Rattle Watcher. Get used to it, kiddo. Your eyes are open now.”

  “Nice to meet you, Albert,” Rory said.

  Albert winked back. “Pleasure’s all mine.”

  They lapsed into silence as Nicholas stared into the distance. Albert waited patiently by his side, as if he’d seen this before.

  “What are you looking at?” Rory asked finally.

  “See the river?” Nicholas answered, pointing.

  “Sure. I think I can see Brooklyn if I squint.”

  “Brooklyn.” In Nicholas’s mouth it sounded like heaven. “Have you ever been there?”

  “My mom takes me and Bridget to Coney Island a few times a year. It’s kinda fun, but I threw up once on the flume ride. I get seasick really easy.”

  “You like solid ground, huh?”

  “I guess.”

  Nicholas’s eyes grew distant.

  “I have heard stories about Coney Island. But I’ve never been to Brooklyn. Or any of the boroughs. I can’t leave the island. Neither of us can.”

  “Why not? Are you cursed or something?” Not able to leave Manhattan? That sounded horrible. Nicholas smiled sadly.

  “I don’t have the blood. The gods are constrained by their blood, and so are their children.”

  “Our friend Alexa, who you’ll meet later, can travel to the Bronx,” Albert chimed in. “Her father had a farm up there. She can cross that river. But our fathers are held to Manhattan and Manhattan only, and so are we.”

  “That’s horrible!” Rory said.

  “It’s not so bad.” Nicholas smiled. “I love my island. But it does mean that I can’t escape when things go wrong. Good or bad, I can’t run. Our leader, Adriaen, used to say that he wished everyone was forced to remain where they are, just for a while. Maybe they’d make smarter choices if they couldn’t run away afterward.”

  “Will I meet Adriaen?”

  “He was killed in the Bronx a few days ago.” Nicholas’s voice was flat. “You would have liked him. He knew all about you, of course. He kept tabs on you through Fritz, making sure you were all right. He was always looking out for everyone else. He formed the Rattle Watch when none of the gods would listen to him because they were afraid of rocking the boat. He gave me a purpose. He was a great god.”

  Rory was silent for a moment, thinking about this god who had time to worry about a boy from Inwood.

  “What is your purpose?” he asked finally.

  Nicholas shrugged. “To do something. Most of the children of the gods are like spoiled little rich kids. They lounge around all day, go to their stupid little parties, and gossip about one another behind their backs. It’s sickening. We look like teenagers because we act like teenagers. Selfish and unable to grow up. But some of us want to be a part of something bigger. Some of us want to take a stand.”

  Albert nodded in agreement. Nicholas stared across the river for a moment longer before turning away.

  “I need to speak with Fritz about these new deaths you told me about, Albert,” Nicholas said. “Coming?”

  “I’m not going anywhere near Fritz while he’s duking it out with Liv,” Albert said. “She scares me.”

  “Suit yourself,” Nicholas said, rolling his eyes. He walked away, shaking his head. Rory watched him disappear into the tent, then turned back to see Albert regarding him.

  “How are you holding up?” Albert asked.

  “Okay, I guess,” Rory answered.

  “You’re a brave kid, Rory,” he said. “Nicholas told me what you did in the bank. If everyone in the Rattle Watch were more like you, Kieft wouldn’t last ten minutes.”

  Rory felt warm at Albert’s approval.

  “So what do you guys do in the Rattle Watch, exactly?” Rory asked.

  Albert laughed. “My father would say we run around trying to feel important and causing a scene. Nicholas’s father would say the same, or worse. But what else can we do? I can’t even leave the island. Our great leaders are being replaced by small-minded thugs. And now the murders…these are dark times. I could be like my father, I guess, and try to play all sides. Hamilton Fish, God of Connections—he wouldn’t take a side if you put a knife to his throat. He is all about working the
crowd, making sure as many people are happy with him as possible. Except for me. He never really cared if I was happy or not. He wanted me to stay hidden, out of the way. He didn’t want me embarrassing him in front of his peers. Maybe I would, who can tell. But at least I’m trying. At least I have some measure of courage. He would never stand up to Kieft because people might be angry. They might cut him off, shut him out. So he is too weak to act. That is not me. I am not too weak to strive for what I want. We are not our fathers, Rory, remember that. You, me, Nicholas, even your sister. We may have their blood in our veins, but we are not their shadows, doomed to mimic every action they take.”

  “My father would run,” Rory said.

  “Fritz told me about how he left when you were a child.”

  “I don’t want to be anything like him. He ran out and left us to starve. I hate him. I’ll always hate him. I promised myself I wouldn’t even think about him again. And then…this is going to sound crazy.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t even know why I’m telling you this.”

  Albert smiled. “It’s the secret bond of disappointed sons.”

  “I saw a ship yesterday, a ghost ship. The Trumpeter told me it was called the Half Moon.”

  “Of course. Henry Hudson’s old ship. It sails to warn us of great peril. I’m not surprised it’s sailing now.”

  “I caught a good look at the ghost sailors…and I thought I saw my dad’s face! Isn’t that crazy? I guess he’s in my head after all.”

  “Or he was really on that ship,” Albert mused.

  “What? Why would he be on a ghost ship? Does that mean he’s dead?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe there’s more to his story than you know.”

  “But—I couldn’t have seen him! He’s gone. He’s been gone almost my whole life. I don’t want to think about him anymore.”

  “Then don’t,” Albert said. “You’re well rid of him. You haven’t needed him for the past decade, so why worry about him now? That’s one lesson Nicholas never seems to learn. He keeps going back to argue with his dad, hoping to change his mind. Why bother? We don’t need them.”