Spirits in the Park

by Scott Mebus

  “It’s here! The cave! The ruby icefall. All of it! There must have been an avalanche that sealed it off during that blizzard Granddad talked about. Come on, the cave’s warm inside!”

  Bridget lifted Tucket into her arms and carried him over the rubble. On the other side, a beautiful sight greeted her. The entire wall along the path glittered ruby red, like a dazzling gemstone. She realized that the red came from the stone, but the glittering came from the ice that encased it. Behind the ice, water trickled down the stone in a steady stream. The effect was of a magical curtain giving her a glimpse into another world. She passed by in silence, the ruby icefall stealing her voice away.

  Farther down the path she came upon the cave, which loomed before her like an open airplane hangar. As she entered, she realized from the mess that the bear had been living in it. She wondered what it had done to whatever secrets Kieft had left there.

  But the cave was empty, save for some bones in the corner and giant mounds of manure everywhere. Finn, however, had already found a way farther inside, and he led them to the thin crack in the far wall.

  “This is it,” Finn said, smiling from excitement. “The old man never found it, but I did.”

  Soka smiled, though her eyes seemed tired. She glanced down at Tucket and Hans. “But was it worth the fight?” she wondered.

  “Can I take Tucket in first?” Bridget asked. “He deserves to see the secret before anyone else. I’ll even close my eyes.”

  Finn hesitated, but Soka nodded gently.

  “After you,” she said. Bridget stepped forward with Tucket in her arms, her eyes screwed shut. Finally, she stopped.

  “Impressed, Tucket?” she asked. “Can I look now?” With that, she opened her eyes.

  She felt like weeping. The room was empty.

  But it hadn’t always been so. There were clues to what had once filled the cave—Finn found a single gold piece, which he bit into and pronounced real, and Soka discovered a single piece of parchment.

  “This is a Munsee spell,” she said. “My mother always thought Kieft was stealing Munsee magic. Who knows how many of these parchments Kieft stored in here? All of our knowledge . . . we’ve lost so much of it since we’ve been trapped! Think of what we’d regain!”

  “Well, it’s gone now,” Finn said, kicking a pebble in frustration. “Someone must have moved it all.”

  “What about Abigail’s token?” Bridget asked. “That’s what we’re here for, right?”

  “If it was wrapped up in Kieft’s treasure, then it’s probably gone, too,” Hans said sourly. Discouraged, Bridget sat against the wall with Tucket in her arms. Soka knelt down beside her.

  “It’s okay,” she began, taking Bridget’s hand, but she stopped midsentence, her eyes puzzled. She lifted Bridget’s arm. “Your wrist is so hot it’s practically on fire, Bridget.”

  “What?” Bridget wished she could feel something through her paper skin. She looked down at her wrist, noticing the purple wampum melted into the bark. “The bracelet! There must be wampum near me!”

  Soka nodded hopefully. She took Bridget’s wrist and began passing it over the floor. Finally, she stopped over a flat rock set flush with the dirt on the cave floor, indistinguishable from the rest of the cave. “Here it is, whatever it is.” Soka quickly lifted up the rock. Underneath lay a dirty brown pouch, cracked with age. Pulling it open, Soka upended it over her palm—and out dropped half of a single purple wampum bead.

  “I can feel it,” Soka exclaimed, face flushed with excitement. “It’s calling us south! She left a final arrow pointing to her. If we follow it, we find her!”

  “Well, we better get going,” Bridget said, standing up. “We don’t want to be any later than we already are!”

  24

  REVELATIONS

  The Adventure Galley flew through the mist, moving blindly at a ridiculous speed powered by the stories in Wampage’s bead. Rory wondered what would happen if they hit something, and from the look on Kidd’s face, the pirate captain was worried, too.

  Hours passed tensely, with only the words pouring forth from the wampum breaking the wall of wind that surrounded them. Though he didn’t speak the language, Rory found himself understanding many of the tales—they bypassed his ears and went directly into his memory. Glancing around, he noticed not only his friends, but many of the sailors as well, listening intently. Some of the stories Rory picked up were familiar; he guessed that Wampage had told him those tales when he was a baby. A few of them flew by him before he could hear them. But most of them caught inside, and he would remember them always. It felt like a bigger gift than the escape, though he couldn’t explain why. He promised himself that he would pass these stories on, not only to the Munsees, but to anyone who would listen. That would be his way of thanking Wampage for his sacrifice.

  Finally, the words sputtered out as the last tale flew up into the sails and the ship began to slow. By now, the normal wind had picked up and they began sailing under natural power. Wampage put the bead of wampum into a pouch at his waist, his face stone. Rory stepped up to him.

  “I’m so sorry.” Rory didn’t know if he could touch Wampage’s arm, so he just stood there awkwardly at the Munsee’s side. “This is all my fault. I was too stubborn . . .”

  Wampage sighed. “Perhaps Kishelamakank meant for his stories to be let loose among all these strangers. Perhaps they will take root with them and spread through the city when we return, binding my people to yours. Either way, there is nothing we can do now but sail on.”

  “Something’s ahead, Captain!” The cry came down from the crow’s nest, interrupting them. Rory ran to the bow, peering intently through the fog. Suddenly a dark shape formed out of the mist, its indistinct features sharpening as they approached. It was a ship. Rory’s heart leaped. Could it be? As they sailed closer, he could make out more details: the rotting hull, the tattered sails . . . it was the Half Moon all right. Rory could hardly breathe as he realized that this was it. Alexa stepped up beside him, shaking her head in disbelief.

  “You are a lucky guy, Rory,” she said. “We’re all pretty lucky today.”

  They sailed up alongside the listing ship. Rory wondered how the thing ever sailed in such awful condition. He was nervous to set foot on the thing. But he would.

  A shout carried across the water.

  “Ahoy!” the voice cried. “Do not come aboard! We’ll come to you!”

  A pair of men were climbing down the hull into a small skiff. The little boat pushed off, and the men inside rowed the short distance between the ships. They bounced into the Adventure Galley with a clang and one of them called up.

  “Permission to come aboard?”

  “Granted,” Kidd yelled back, though he motioned to his men to pull their pistols and cutlasses in case of an attack. The two men climbed up the ladder and stepped onto the deck. And there he was, striding up to Kidd, not a day older than in his picture. Rory’s father, in the flesh.

  Alexa’s hand tightened on Rory’s shoulder. Should he walk up? He knew he should, but instead he held back. He didn’t know what to say to the man. Rory’s father was clearly in charge, stepping up to Captain Kidd to shake his hand.

  “I don’t know if you remember me, Captain,” Mr. Hennessy was saying. “My name is Ronald Flint. I was one of Tew’s Boys, if you recall.” Kidd glanced sharply at Rory; the captain had recognized Rory’s father right away. “My associate and I are the only ones who could come over to your vessel. The rest are damned souls, sad to say, and they can’t leave the ship.”

  “What are you doing sailing on a ghost ship, anyway?” Kidd asked.

  “It’s a bit mournful at times, I won’t lie to you,” Mr. Hennessy admitted. “But since the Half Moon is a cursed ship, no one in their right mind would ever try to sail alongside and board her. So if you can take the depression of hanging out with cursed people with their constant moaning and the like, there are certain perks to joining the crew, especially if you don’t want to be found.
If you get my drift.”

  Kidd nodded, one marked man to another.

  “Now, however, a big storm is coming and the Half Moon is about to head homeward yet again to warn the city of its impending doom,” Mr. Hennessy continued. “She will show up right before the storm, which means those of us who aren’t damned won’t get much of a chance to reach shore before we’re battered to pieces. So if you wouldn’t mind, we’d like to sail the rest of the way with you. We’d rather not get torn apart by what’s coming—at least not yet.”

  Kidd nodded. He laid out the terms of service, which they agreed to, then welcomed them aboard. Kidd left them to Hendrick, and walked over to Rory.

  “Are you going to talk to him or just stand there?” he asked.

  Rory shrugged, hanging back. He had no idea what to say. His father wasn’t a real person. He was a picture, a memory, a legend. What do you say to someone like that? Rory held back and watched, unable to decide what to do.

  Wampage, however, was creeping forward, a confused look on his face. At first, Rory thought his friend was headed toward Mr. Hennessy, but instead Wampage circled toward his father’s companion. A tall fellow in a wide hat that covered his face in shadow, the man wasn’t looking their way. But Wampage seemed to be fascinated hy him. He stepped closer and finally the other man heard him, turning toward the sound. Wampage fell back, shocked.

  “You . . .”

  The man took off his hat to reveal wide, awed eyes. His cheeks bore tattoos of snarling dogs, the twins of Tammand’s. Rory knew that face; he had seen it before . . .

  “You’re out!” the man cried. “Are they free? Are our people free?” Wampage couldn’t reply, having difficulty finding his voice.

  “What’s going on?” Simon whispered to Rory. “Who is that guy?”

  “I don’t believe it,” Alexa said, understanding blossoming across her face. Rory turned to Simon, who was still a step behind.

  “His name is Buckongahelas,” he said, wonder creeping into his voice. “And he’s supposed to be dead.”

  Kidd invited Mr. Hennessy and Buckongahelas, who insisted they call him Buck, into his dining room, where Rory, Alexa, Simon, Fritz, and Wampage joined them. Mr. Hennessy kept shooting glances at Rory, obviously wondering why he looked familiar, but Rory did not introduce himself. He still didn’t know what he should say to his long-absent dad, so he settled on staring a hole into the man.

  Mr. Hennessy nodded at Wampage. “Hey, you. Long time no see. How you stayed out of the Trap is one story I’d like to hear.”

  “Later, Harry Meester,” Wampage said curtly.

  “Harry Meester.” Mr. Hennessy rolled the name around on his tongue. “Been a long time since I’ve been called that. A long time.”

  “Is that your real name?” Alexa asked.

  “Of course not.” Mr. Hennessy winked at her. “Names are like jackets. They’re something for people to grab onto when you’re running. That’s so easy to wiggle out of. The perfect thing to leave dangling uselessly in their hand as you hightail it down the road. People think names pin you down, but it’s the other way around. Your name pins them down and no mistake.”

  “Sounds like years of experience talking,” Kidd said drily.

  “More than you know,” Mr. Hennessy replied, giving him a faint smile. He shrugged at Wampage, who stared, stone-faced, at him. “You never liked me, did you, Wampage. Didn’t trust me.”

  “I was right not to,” Wampage replied. “You are a liar.”

  “But not a murderer.” Mr. Hennessy pointed to Buck, who was sitting uncomfortably at his side. “That counts for something, right?”

  “What happened?” Alexa asked. “Witnesses watched you shoot Buck in cold blood!”

  “Yeah, well . . .” Now Mr. Hennessy looked uncomfortable. “Why is this kid burning a hole in my head?” He pointed right at Rory, who looked away. “You look a little familiar. Do I know your mother or something?”

  “Something like that,” Rory replied. Mr. Hennessy gave him a sharp look.

  Buck spoke up. “I didn’t know you were free, Wampage. I am sorry. I would have sought you out. I have done everything wrong.” His face ached with sadness.

  “Start at the beginning,” Wampage instructed him, his eyes softening for his old friend.

  “Well, like most things, it began with Kieft,” Mr. Hennessy jumped in. “I don’t mind telling you that because if that old goat ever catches up with me, this particular story will be way down on the list of secrets he’ll make me wish I never knew. Not that I don’t wish that already. Anyway, Kieft wanted to get rid of the Munsees. He’d hated them for a long, long time, and he knew that having them around was a threat to his power. They had access to magic he couldn’t match, at least not then. So he dreamed up the Trap, with some help, of course.”

  “Did you help?” Wampage asked, his voice dangerously soft.

  “No, no, that was far beyond me,” Mr. Hennessy quickly assured him. “I had nothing to do with it. But when it came to putting his plan to action . . . Kieft always had a way of making certain I play along with his games. No matter how I might want to throw in my chips and go home, he’d always make sure I was in for the next hand. And that time was no different.”

  Rory’s stomach twisted as he listened. Alexa put her hand over his, flashing him an empathetic smile. What does she know, Rory thought. Her dad had been one of the good guys, the good guy. His dad . . . he wanted to cry.

  “How long had you worked for Kieft?” Fritz wanted to know. Mr. Hennessy shot him a look.

  “It’s better for all of us if you don’t know the answer to that question. Not meaning to be rude, but there it is. Anyway, Kieft had this great plan to gather up all the Munsees in Central Park and trap them there. There was just one problem: he needed the Mayor’s help. And Mayor Hamilton loved the Munsees. He was good friends with Tackapausha himself. They’d often let their children play together. Which blinded both of them to what was going on between Buck here and sweet little Abigail.”

  Mr. Hennessy’s eyes grew soft.

  “She was the brightest little kid,” he said, smiling. Buck stared down at his hands, not looking at anyone. “She did not deserve any of what I did to her. I am truly sorry for any pain I caused that poor child. It will haunt me till the end of my long days.”

  “What did you do to her, exactly?” Fritz asked.

  “Well, Hamilton and Tackapausha may have been blind to their children’s growing love for each other, but Kieft wasn’t. And there lay his chance. So he instructed me to help the two of them fan the embers of their love into a flame. Which I did, not that it took much.”

  “I loved her the minute I met her,” Buck said, his voice overflowing with sadness. “There were no barriers to our love among my people, especially since Hamilton was such a friend to us. But Abigail knew that her father would not approve. She was his joy, and he would not give her over to a savage, no matter how many meals he shared with my father.”

  “Now, you don’t know that, Buck,” Mr. Hennessy said. “Alexander really liked you. Who knows what may have happened without Kieft. As it was, Kieft forced me to tell Hamilton tall tales of how barbaric the mating rituals were among the savages, and on and on. Awful things that no right-thinking man would ever believe. But Hamilton was blinded by his worries for his daughter. I went back and forth, planting ideas in both Buck and Abigail that their fathers would never let them live together. He had me tell Abigail that her father was ready to lock her up rather than let her marry a savage. So she ran to the Munsees.

  “Then I went with Kieft to see the Mayor and told him a bald-faced lie. I said that Abigail was renouncing him as her father. She was being adopted by Tackapausha and would be one of the Munsees, throwing away her past. She wanted to be Munsee only, forever. I told him lie after lie after lie—how Tackapausha urged Abigail to curse her father’s name, how Buck had three other wives—things no one else would ever believe. But Hamilton was already despondent, so he swa
llowed them all. Mayor Hamilton turned to Kieft and authorized the Trap right then and there.”

  “We should have known,” Buck said. “We should have wondered why he was so upset that his own daughter had come to live with us. But my father believed that one had nothing to do with the other. Hamilton was still a good man, decent, and he wouldn’t turn against us.”

  “By this point, I was hurtin’,” Mr. Hennessy said. “I liked both these kids and I knew what was coming. I wanted to warn them, but I was so scared of what Kieft would do to me. He’s done awful things before, to me and mine, and I couldn’t bear it. I was weak, and that shame will stay with me always.

  “But when the day of the Trap arrived, I hatched a little plan of my own. I knew I couldn’t stop the Trap, but I wanted to save Buck and Abigail. So I convinced Buck to travel to City Hall and plead with the Mayor to reconsider his opposition to the marriage—just to get the boy out of the park. Hamilton was already taking care of his own—he’d sent men to take Abigail from the Munsee camp the night before to bring her back home. But things didn’t work out that way. For one thing, Abigail was nowhere to be found when the Mayor’s man arrived at the Munsee camp.”

  Rory glanced at Alexa, who nodded back. That was the night Abigail had followed Kieft. If not for that, she would have been carried off before the Trap was sprung and everything would have been different.

  “And Buck . . .” Mr. Hennessy was saying.

  “It did not go well with the Mayor,” Buck finished, his face dark. “He had no forgiveness in his heart.”

  “But I knew that,” Mr. Hennessy said. “I just wanted Buck out of the park. But Kieft, who was there with Hamilton as usual in those days, made it a point to tell Buck about the Trap, just to make certain he ran back to his people. Kieft didn’t want a happily married Buck and Abigail bouncing around the island, reminding everyone that maybe the Munsees weren’t so unlike us after all.

  “Then Kieft pulled me aside and told me to go after the boy and kill him, in front of the Munsees. To make certain no one ever forgives, he said. And it was here I reached my limit. I had done so many things for Kieft, things I would never tell a soul. And as the years passed, the burden grew heavier and heavier. But this . . . ? Murdering a friend, a boy I watched grow up? I couldn’t do it. So I followed Buck back to his people, and just as the Trap was being sprung, I shot him in the back, to wound him while making him appear dead.”