by Scott Mebus
As the god spoke, Bridget felt something tug at her heart (or the space where her heart used to be). She could feel the pain of all those lost wonders, everything that had once been great but was now gone forever. Tears came to her eyes just thinking about everything that had once been wonderful but that would never be wonderful again. Glancing at her brother, she saw his cheeks were wet, too. So much was lost….
“And the way they treated those Munsees,” Stuyvesant continued. “That was horrendous. I knew Tackapausha from our mortal days; I signed the first treaty with him. We both wanted to repair the damage Kieft’s bloodthirsty ways had wreaked upon all of us. He was a good man for a savage, a good sachem. And they betrayed him and his father. Everything, downhill! It’s enough to make you cry!”
“So do something about it!” Nicholas cried, exasperated.
“You don’t know anything, boy, and you never did!” Stuyvesant said. “Running around playing your little tricks on people with your bad-apple friends. You could learn some manners from this fine young girl. Keep her around, and maybe you’ll see how to speak to your elders who gave you life and put a roof over your head and didn’t throw you in the river when you wouldn’t stop bawling as a baby, though, believe me, he wanted to!”
Behind Nicholas, Mother Stuyvesant rolled her eyes.
“So can we stay?” Bridget asked.
“I might be persuaded. If Nicholas says he’s sorry.”
After the most forced apology in the history of forced apologies, Nicholas led them up the stairs to the guest rooms for some much-needed rest while they waited for word on Hex’s whereabouts. He left them to sleep in a rustic bedroom overlooking the lawn, promising to wake them when he had news.
Gazing around the charming room, Bridget wished she could live in this country estate in the middle of the city. She’d love to wake up in the morning in an oversize four-poster bed and lazily head down for a big breakfast like they do in the movies. Rory dropped off immediately into an exhausted sleep, but she couldn’t rest. The pushing feeling inside her wouldn’t allow it. After a few minutes of lying in bed staring at the wooden beams above, she hopped to her feet and went back downstairs.
She wandered through the big country kitchen with its huge fireplace burning merrily. Coming upon the front entrance, she pushed open the door and tried to walk outside, forgetting about how the door was put together.
“Ow!” she cried, mostly in surprise since she couldn’t feel the pain.
“Careful there, Bridget. Open the bottom half, too, or you’ll break a kneecap.”
Mother Stuyvesant sat on the porch swing, sipping lemonade and looking out across the city. Bridget opened the bottom half of the door and sat down in the chair next to her.
“Nicholas has gone after his friends,” Mother Stuyvesant said. “He should be back soon. That boy will worry me away to nothing, I swear.”
“Where’s…um…his highness?”
Mother Stuyvesant laughed.
“Peter? He’s out surveying the fields, trying to cool down. You can see him over in the peas.”
She gestured across the street. Sure enough, up on the roof of the brownstone lay a large field of green stalks waving in the breeze, a familiar form making its way through them, limping on his peg leg. In fact, all of the buildings had fields on their roofs, which Mother Stuyvesant pointed out to Bridget as she rocked.
“Over there is corn, which won’t be harvested until fall. And there are the pumpkins and squashes, also late summer, early fall. Over there across Third Avenue are the tomatoes and string beans. The carrots are down on 10th Street, above the Ethiopian restaurant—which make them taste a little funny, if you ask me. You can see the servants’ quarters over on Second Avenue, up above the theater.”
“This is all your farm?”
“The city built up and pushed us up with it. But Peter would never give up his farm. So now we’re on top of everything. I like it, especially since I made him build me this beautiful porch. We didn’t have such luxuries as porches in my mortal days. I find it so restful to sit here and take in the river breezes while I watch the beans and corn grow, don’t you?”
Bridget did indeed. The sight of all those crops atop the city buildings made her smile and eased her heart.
“Does your husband always talk like that, about the old days? It made me realize how much has changed. So many good things are gone!”
Mother Stuyvesant laughed.
“That’s what talking to a god will do to you. And Peter is the God of Things Were Better in the Old Days. It’s his job to go around whispering in people’s ears about how much better things used to be. They don’t see him, but they hear him in their hearts. Unfortunately, Peter has spent more time walking the fields lately than walking the streets. Every year he stays closer and closer to home. I try to push him. The mortals need him! Without Peter, they forget the wonders of the past and focus only on the future. There is value to the past. If only he and Nicholas could find common ground and stop this eternal arguing, perhaps Peter could find the strength to do his job once again.”
“How long have he and Nicholas been fighting?”
Mother Stuyvesant’s face darkened.
“They are so alike. So stubborn. Peter didn’t always make the right choices. But he cared deeply about this city, still does. He was quite powerful in his day, and he did a lot of good. But when they kicked him out of City Hall after the election all those years ago, it broke his heart. I think he lost his will to fight. Nicholas is so young; nothing has ever beaten him like that. He can’t understand. Peter is hard on him because he wanted to protect him. I’m left in the middle, hoping my husband regains the strength that made him great, and praying my son survives to see it.”
“That sounds hard,” Bridget said.
“Love always is.”
They lapsed into silence as they looked out over the fields, breathing in the air off the water while watching the sun cross the sky.
25
DECISIONS
Rory dreamed of Wampage.
The Indian stood before him on a tree-lined woodland path, blocking his way. Though glad to see the warrior, Rory knew he had to get to the end of the trail. He tried to brush by Wampage, only to be pushed back gently.
“You must turn back from this path, Rory,” Wampage said. “You do not know what you do.”
“I need to save my sister,” he answered, puzzled. “I have to do this.”
“No,” Wampage pleaded. “For the sake of my people, you must not turn the key.”
This made no sense to Rory at all.
“But you want your people free, don’t you? If my family were trapped, I would do anything to help them escape.”
“Not if setting them free meant their deaths.”
“What are you talking about? You’re not making any sense. I need to save my sister, now.” Rory tried to push past Wampage, who refused to budge.
“I have spoken with an old friend through the invisible wall of the Trap. She has told me that affairs among my people are not as I left them. Our great sachem, Penhawitz, has been deposed by his own son, Tackapausha. My old friend has changed. He is no longer the diplomat, the dreamer of peace. His heart has turned to hate against the Mayor, and that is all he thinks about.”
“Can you blame him?” Rory said. “The Mayor did a horrible thing.”
“I do not blame him,” Wampage said. “Once, I would have fallen prey to the same hate, the same need to hurt those who hurt me and my people. But living alone these many years has taught me differently. I hated your gods; I wished them dead. I thought of attacking your Mayor, even though I would be destroyed in the process. At least I would have my revenge. But what would that have accomplished? The last of the Munsees would have been dead, that is all. My death would have profited no one, least of all my people. If all you do is hate, it does not matter how righteous your cause—it will end in darkness. And all Tackapausha can do now is hate. He has drawn some of the str
ongest of my people to his side, dedicating them to warfare. Our people used to be peaceful, but now he and his guard do nothing but train in battle toward the day that the Trap will fall and they can exact their revenge.
“They will attack your gods, bringing war to Mannahatta. Both sides will suffer. Our people have all gone away. So we will die, consumed by revenge. Those that survive the first battle will be hunted down and exterminated. There will be no last of the Munsees this time.”
“Why don’t you talk to your friend?” Rory asked, searching desperately for a solution. “Tell her to warn them. Get her to convince them that this will only hurt everybody.”
“She has fallen out of favor. Many of my people do not wish to fight. They only wish to be free to go where they will. But they are not strong enough to stand up to Tackapausha. He exiled his own father from the tribe. He sways those who are uncertain with his powerful desire for vengeance. My friend is his sister, and even she cannot hold him back.”
“Then you do it!” Rory shouted. “You be there when the Trap comes down, and you convince them. When they find out that they’ll all die, they’ll have to run away.”
“Rory,” Wampage said, “you cannot rip the bandage off before the wound is healed. We must find a way to get to my people and make them see their danger before we release them. Only then will we be able to save them. We must wait to—”
“No! This isn’t fair! You want me to sacrifice my own sister, my family, for you. Bridget is my only friend! She and my mom are the only ones who haven’t walked out or let me down! And she’s in this mess because of me! I’m sorry, Wampage, but I’m sure you’ll figure out how to save your people. You can talk with them, make them see how dumb they’re being. But I have to look after my own family. If I don’t, no one else will.”
He pushed past Wampage and ran down the path.
Behind him, he thought he heard the Indian whisper, “My people, I am destined to fail you….”
Rory woke with a start. The dream remained vivid in his mind. He lay still for a moment, wondering if the dream had been real. It felt real. But…he didn’t want it to be real. And the more he thought about it, the more he decided it was only a dream. He didn’t have time to waste on stupid nightmares. He had to save his sister. Turning to his side to check on her, he saw that he was alone on the bed. He sat up quickly, calling out for Bridget. He heard footsteps, and soon Bridget’s head popped in.
“You’re up, sleepyhead! They’re all downstairs waiting for you!”
“Why didn’t you wake me up!” he said as he leaped to his feet.
“Because you look so cute when you’re sleeping,” she answered with an evil grin. “I thought maybe you were dreaming of Indian princesses or something.”
He felt a twinge of guilt at the mention of dreams, but he pushed it down. Instead he grabbed a pillow to throw at her, chasing her from the room with a laugh.
They hurried downstairs, and Bridget led her brother into the back to Nicholas’s room. Inside waited Nicholas with Albert Fish, as well as three unfamiliar kids. Nicholas smiled.
“There he is. This is Rory, everybody. Rory, everybody.”
Albert winked at him, and Rory nodded back with a grin.
“Wow, this is the Light?” said a boy in a bright green-and-pink shirt with huge ruffles who introduced himself as Simon Astor. “I thought he’d be taller. I guess I owe the Lincoln a fiver!”
A tall brown-skinned boy with eager eyes, introduced as Lincoln, gave him a small salute from the corner. The final Rattle Watch member, a girl named Alexa who seemed no-nonsense in her brown dress and pulled-back hair, stepped up to give him a hug.
“It’s great to finally meet you,” she said warmly. “It was quite a shock to discover you weren’t still blind.”
“I wish I were still ‘blind,’ as you call it,” Rory said bitterly. “Then all of this wouldn’t have happened.”
“There’s more happening than you know,” she said. “You’d be needed even if you were still blind.”
“What do you mean?”
“She means that we need you, Rory,” Nicholas said.
“What are you talking about?” Rory asked.
“We’ve got new information,” Nicholas continued.
“That’s me!” Simon cried. “That’s my information!”
“According to a conversation they overheard between Astor and some Dead Rabbits, the assassin is being moved to a safe house today,” Nicholas explained. “They’ll be meeting up at the Fulton Fish Market downtown. So now we’re figuring out a plan to go down there and flush the killer out. And I want you to come with us, Rory.”
“Whoa! Now hold on,” Rory said. “I don’t know why you’re listening to a bunch of dead bunnies, but I am not going anywhere until I know where Hex is hiding. Then I’m going to get my sister’s body back. That’s all I’m doing.”
Nicholas leaned forward earnestly. “But you have to do this. Only you can bring the truth to light, and the truth is going to be downtown in an hour. You have to come. We’ll go after Hex the minute we’ve got the assassin in our hands.”
“Rory, it’s okay,” Bridget said. “We can go save the day and then you can help me—”
“No,” Rory said, crossing his arms. “I’m tired of people telling me what I should and shouldn’t do. Bridget comes first.”
“We don’t need this kid,” Lincoln said. “We can take these guys. We’ll surprise the assassin and whip him good!”
“I don’t know,” Albert said. “Doesn’t it seem convenient that we learn the whereabouts of this assassin, and he’ll be practically alone?”
“Hey, you’re just sore that I found this out!” Simon cried. “You’re trying to bring me down!”
Nicholas put up his hands, quieting the din. “We can’t let this opportunity pass. This is too lucky a break. I also understand why you don’t want to go, Rory. But the fact is, we don’t even know where this Hex is—”
“Yes, we do,” a new voice broke in.
Fritz rode into the room, followed by Liv. Rory dropped down to one knee in excitement.
“Where is he? How did you find him so quickly?”
“He was in the first place we looked,” Fritz answered. “His office on Raisin Street. He’s got his invisible trick working, but Liv spotted a cup of coffee floating through midair.”
“He’s not trying to hide from you, Rory,” Liv said. “I think he saw us and was signaling where he could be found.”
“Then let’s go,” Rory cried.
“But—” Nicholas began. Alexa stepped up and put a hand on his shoulder, interrupting him.
“I think we should let him go,” she said. “We’re not the ones who are supposed to be making the choices here. He is. We should be helping him do what he has to do.”
Nicholas looked away, thinking. Finally, he turned back.
“We’ll do both.”
Nicholas brought them out of the back of the house to the stables, and as they walked he talked through his plan.
“The minute you’re done, you come and find us, all right?” Nicholas was saying to Rory and Bridget. “Alexa will be with you and she’ll know where we are. Maybe you’ll catch up and we can kill two birds with one stone today.”
Nicholas pushed through the back door. Rory stepped outside and cocked his head, confused. Between the back of the house and the stables was a familiar sight.
“Is that a basketball hoop?” he asked in wonderment. Bridget shrugged, just as taken aback. Nicholas turned and smiled.
“Everyone plays basketball here in Mannahatta,” he said. “It’s the new craze. I’m not half bad. Maybe we’ll play sometime.”
“Okay,” Rory said, still not believing what he was seeing.
“I just can’t picture him in sweatpants,” Bridget said, making him smile.
Nicholas led them into the stable, where five horses were stomping in their stalls. He nodded to one, a large white stallion.
“Why don
’t you take mine, Alexa? He’s strong enough for three.”
“What’s he called?” Bridget asked, reaching up to pet the nose of the white stallion.
“Revolution,” said Nicholas, slightly embarrassed.
Bridget snorted and whispered to Rory. “I wonder what he calls his socks, Truth and Justice?”
Rory smiled. He liked seeing his sister act more like her normal self. Just one more step and it will all be like it was. After the horses were saddled, Alexa mounted Revolution, pulling Rory and Bridget up to sit in front of her. The roaches and their rats climbed into the saddlebags, ready to ride. Albert rode over beside Rory.
“Don’t worry, kiddo,” he said. “You’ll do great. I know you will.”
Rory smiled his thanks, trying not to get choked up at the older boy’s vote of confidence. Albert urged his horse forward to ride beside Nicholas. As they trotted out into the yard, Nicholas waved from the back of his brown mare.
“Good luck! Be careful.”
Rory turned to Alexa, confused.
“Don’t we have to get down to the street? How many ramps does he have?”
“Ramps?” Alexa looked innocent. “What ramps?”
With that she flipped the reins and urged the white horse to the edge of the roof, where it took a mighty leap into the empty sky before them.
“AGGHHHHHHH!”
“Rory, it’s okay!” Bridget shouted in his ear. Sure enough, they weren’t falling; they were floating. After a few minutes, they landed softly on the pavement, unharmed. Rory looked back up the seven stories to the roof and felt queasy. Bridget laughed.
“This is what I call a pony! Now you know what to get me for Christmas!”
The white horse burst forward, galloping down the sidewalk toward the Old Village and Hex.
26
TURNING THE KEY
Revolution galloped through the city at breakneck speed, weaving around the cars and crowds as he made his way across town. Bridget held on tightly to her brother as they quickly crossed avenue after avenue, the white horse never even breaking a sweat. It wasn’t long before they slowed down to a trot deep within Greenwich Village, coming up on Raisin Street. Alexa spoke quietly over their shoulders.