by Scott Mebus
“Hospital ship?” De Vries spat, incredulous. “Is that what you call it? How many good men died on that boat!”
“People die in hospitals,” Howe said innocently,a sneer sliding across his face.
“The Jersey was no hospital ship,” De Vries maintained. “It was a slaughterhouse.”
“We did lose more than our share of agitators, true,” Howe admitted, and he seemed rather pleased at the fact. “But what is war without suffering? Fear is a powerful weapon. Stronger than guns, stronger than armies. And every dead body we dumped over the side was worth a thousand bullets in our war against the rebels.”
“It was an atrocity,” De Vries said. “We in the spirit realm watched in horror.”
“You will be doing more than watching, now,” Howe told him. “You will be rotting.”
Rory’s stomach felt queasy, and Soka and Bridget looked equally green. He forced down his fear–they could not afford to get caught because of a frightened mistake.
They reached the boat, passing under the bow, which had the words HMS JERSEY painted on the old wood, the letters cracked and yellowing. Everything about the ship felt wrong to Rory—old and decaying and full of hate. It seemed to be staring at him malevolently, as if dying to gobble him up. The schooner pulled up alongside the much-larger prison boat, hooking up with a half-rotted rope ladder hanging down the hull. Howe made De Vries and Perewyn climb up first, and then his soldiers followed. Rory, Soka, and Bridget went next, desperately holding on to the slick rope as they pulled themselves up. Howe was the last one off the schooner, climbing onto the deck directly behind Rory, which made Rory distinctly uncomfortable.
“Take a good look around,” Howe told him quietly. “I think Kieft will find this all to his liking. He sends me the prisoners and asks me to dispose of them—this is the best place to keep them. Far from friends who might help them. Just floating in the middle of the ocean, waiting to die.”
Rory suppressed a shudder. The deck of the prison ship didn’t seem too bad. Sailors in striped shirts and colorful sashes climbed over the rigging, much like on the pirate Captain Kidd’s ship, the Adventure Galley. But there were soldiers everywhere, and though they called it a hospital ship, Rory couldn’t see any doctors. Howe’s men passed De Vries and Perewyn over to a pair of ill-favored sailors.
“Take them belowdecks and put them with the others,” Howe ordered them, and just like that, De Vries and Perewyn were taken away. Rory looked around at all the soldiers and sailors and realized he had no idea what to do. A glance at Soka and Bridget showed him that they were equally lost.
“Would you like to see where we keep the prisoners?” Howe asked Rory, still waiting for some clue about what Rory was looking for. But Rory gave nothing away, nodding quickly.
“We’d be happy to. Lead on!”
Howe took Rory and his friends belowdecks, and it was there in the hold that the true horror of the HMS Jersey was revealed to them.
Rory had never seen such human misery. The space was one huge human cage. Hundreds upon hundreds of prisoners were packed together behind a large wall of bars. Most were so covered in filth that Rory could barely recognize them as human. But upon closer inspection, he began to make out all types of spirits, from all walks of life. The only thing they had in common was that they had all spoken out against Kieft.
“You can see that we’re treating our guests as well as they deserve,” Howe told him. “You tell Kieft that. I don’t want him to think I’m soft.”
“He won’t,” Rory muttered. How could he find anyone in this mass of misery? What was he thinking? Their plan now seemed hopelessly naive. But then he spied a familiar face. De Vries was pushing to the front, pulling a short, balding, doughy man in a filthy coat and hose behind him. This must be the hapless Cornelis Melyn, Rory thought. There was something about the man that seemed accident-prone. Maybe it was in his wide, innocent eyes, or in the way he tripped over at least ten people as he tried to follow the smoother De Vries. He radiated goodwill, however, and Adriaen had trusted him, so there must be something special about the man. But how could they talk to him? Howe was watching him like a hawk.
That problem was suddenly solved when a loud crack sounded on the opposite end of the galley.
“What was that?” Howe demanded of a nearby sailor. When the spirit shrugged, as bewildered as the rest of them, Howe sighed angrily. “I must do everything myself!” He hurried over to the source of the small explosion to investigate, followed by his men.
“Well done, Fritz,” Soka muttered at his side, and Rory realized that the battle roach had set off one of his firecrackers. But they had to move quickly—the diversion wouldn’t last long.
They hurried up to the bars, where De Vries waited with Cornelis.
“I’m glad to see you’re all right, Mr. Melyn,” Rory began, but Cornelis backed away.
“Why is this blasted redcoat speaking to us, David?” he said loudly. De Vries tried to hush him, but Cornelis was having none of it. “Stop making that shush sound, it’s irritating. It’s bad enough that I’m in jail, I can do without the weird noises. Now let us move away from these guards before they decide to make an example of us before your friends show up.”
“These are my friends,” De Vries explained impatiently.
“You are friends with the redcoats?” Cornelis asked incredulously.
“They’re not really redcoats! See! Look at the one in the lead. He’s not a redcoat, he’s a mortal. And the one to his left is an Indian, for heaven’s sake!”
“What are you talking about?” Cornelis waved De Vries off as he peered intently at Rory. Suddenly his eyes widened. “By Jove, you’re right! He’s just a boy! And the other one’s a girl! What’s going on, David?”
“That’s what I’d like to know,” Howe’s voice said behind them. Rory felt hands grab his arms, holding him fast. He thought he heard Soka whisper “Run” but it was too late. They were caught.
“What is this?” Howe asked, stepping in front of them, his face furious. “Some black magic? You’re not soldiers. You’re not even both men! A Munsee savage and a callow boy. And to think I was worried what you would tell the First Adviser. You will pay for my momentary discomfort, believe me. So tell me, what are you really doing here?”
Rory didn’t answer. He was too busy looking around as subtly as he could. Where was Bridget? He couldn’t see her anywhere. Maybe she got away. He had to hope so.
“Throw them in the cage!” Howe told his soldiers when Rory and Soka refused to speak. “A few hours in that pit will loosen your tongues. If not, know that I have other, more persuasive methods of coaxing people to talk. Only one of you needs your tongue to speak, after all. Think on that!” He gestured and one of his Hessians threw open the cell door, pointing a musket at the prisoners to keep them at bay while Rory and Soka were thrown in. The Hessian locked the door up again and Howe left, taking most of his soldiers with him. Rory was in shock; he couldn’t believe how fast things had turned.
Cornelis ran up to him, his face devastated. “I am so sorry! I didn’t realize . . . you know, this is just my luck!” Rory didn’t reply, feeling utterly defeated as he glanced around his fellow prisoners. One hope kept him from despairing right then and there: Bridget was free. Hopefully she wouldn’t do anything stupid . . .
Bridget ran through the hallway of the crew’s quarters, feeling horrible about leaving Rory and Soka. But Soka told her to take off, and if she hadn’t, she’d be stuck in that cage, too. She had to find a way to bust them out, now. It was time to Die Hard it, big-time.
“Bridget! In here!” a small voice called out. She skidded to a halt in front of a small door, where at the bottom, a familiar roach shape was beckoning. She slipped into the room, which was some sort of crew quarters, closing the door behind her.
“They’re caught!” she told Fritz, holding back dry sobs as the truth of what just happened washed over her.
“I know,” Fritz replied, hopping up onto a
small table in the middle of the room. “We’ve got to get them out of there. But first, we have to make sure you don’t get caught. You’ve still got the paint on your cheeks, so the magic’s still working. You just need to change your clothes. Here!”
He pointed to a sailor’s striped shirt and white pantaloons, which lay bundled up in the corner. Bridget picked them up gingerly.
“Are you sure these are clean?” she asked, holding the clothes at arm’s length. Fritz snorted.
“You’re made out of bark and paper,” he reminded her impatiently. “I think you can survive a little BO. I’ll turn around.” He turned his back to her, making Clarence turn around, too, until she’d changed into the sailor outfit. It actually fit her far better than the redcoat uniform, and it was almost as cool. She didn’t even have to wear shoes, which was awesome, and the red scarf was an added bonus. Fritz turned back to her and nodded.
“Looking good.”
“So what now?” Bridget asked. “Do we take out all the guards and storm the prison cell?”
“Right now you don’t do anything but stay out of trouble,” Fritz instructed her, wagging his insect hand emphatically. “I mean it. I’m going to sneak back into the prison and check up on everyone. I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere!”
Bridget nodded and Fritz hopped up on Clarence’s back, guiding the rat through a hole in the wall. Bridget sat down, trying to be good, but she got bored after about fifteen minutes. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to just look around, she told herself. They all thought she was a sailor, and it wasn’t as if they were actually sailing anywhere, so no one would expect her to actually do any hoisting or jibbing or whatever sailors do, right? So where was the harm?
She tiptoed down the hallway, finding a small ladder leading up to the deck. She quickly scaled it, climbing up onto the deck with a happy sigh. She was glad to be out of that oppressive hallway. This was much better, under the open sky. She spied a group of soldiers standing near the bow, talking in low murmurs. The sailors didn’t pay her any heed, going about their business. Bridget stepped back, trying to avoid being noticed and asked to do something nautical.
“Watch it!” a voice cried behind her. Spinning, she came face-to-face with a man in an apron and chef’s hat holding a tray with a bottle, a glass, and a large piece of cake. The cook was struggling to keep it all balanced on the tray, and his near collision with Bridget almost pushed it over the edge. The bottle teetered for a moment, and they watched it as it began to fall . . .
Bridget sprang into action, reaching out and catching the bottle before it could break into a thousand pieces on the rough wooden deck. The cook gave her a half smile.
“Nice catch,” he said, letting out a relieved breath. “That wine’s for the admiral, and he would have thrown me overboard if I’d dropped it.”
Bridget cocked her head, a thought popping up. Fritz’s voice rose in her head, telling her to stay out of trouble.
“Sorry, Fritz,” she whispered.
“Sorry?” the cook said, overhearing her.
“I said, do you need any help?” Bridget growled, adopting her patented low British voice. She held up the bottle. “I can carry this to make sure you don’t drop it.”
“You’d do that?” The cook looked pathetically grateful. “Then follow me!” He moved past her, heading for a door to the admiral’s quarters. She followed obediently, all the while promising Fritz in her head that she wouldn’t get into any more trouble. But as they approached the admiral’s quarters, she wondered if that was even possible anymore . . .
16
A FAMILIAR FACE
By Jove, you people are ridiculous!” Teddy Roosevelt exclaimed, pacing back and forth in front of the council. Nicholas had to hide his smile as the council members exchanged scandalized glances. “Our city is torn in two, and you can’t even agree on what to do next! We need action, not words!”
“We can’t just jump into civil war!” Hamilton replied, his face a thundercloud. “Kieft has an army. This isn’t one of your little adventures. This is serious!”
“It’s not about Kieft’s group of disgruntled spirits,” Roosevelt insisted. “It’s about the hearts and minds of this city. We need to grab their imaginations, make them believe in our cause! Kieft has a cause: destroy the Munsees. It’s a horrible, despicable cause, but it is a cause nonetheless. What is our cause? Save the Munsees? Take down Kieft? What?” The members of the council couldn’t meet his eye, uncertain how to answer.
“Come on, dunderheads!” Roosevelt shouted. “We are the good guys! Kieft is trying to tear this city down in his mad quest to destroy the Munsees. He’ll burn our beloved home to the ground! We need to protect it! Kieft is a mad dog. His army is a made up of rabble, of dissidents, and we will stamp it out! It’s as simple as that!”
Nicholas felt inspired by Roosevelt’s words. Even though the council didn’t look happy to hear them, he could feel the spirit of action flow through them. Alexa leaned in to his ear.
“Don’t you think Roosevelt is underestimating Kieft a little bit?” she muttered. “Kieft isn’t just some mad dog. He’s the most powerful god in Mannahatta. This won’t be an easy fight. Blood will flow.”
“At least Roosevelt is doing something,” Nicholas replied. A wave of satisfaction washed over him. He’d found his leader, he was sure of it.
Soka glanced around at the filthy prisoners, shocked at how wan and unhealthy everyone looked. Cornelis explained that there were spirits from all boroughs here, as the prison ship was floating in neutral waters. Some of the prisoners had been tortured, she could tell. She shuddered to think what Howe would do to her and Rory. She glanced at him, and he smiled back, trying to be strong. But she could tell how worried he was. There had to be a way out. They just needed to find it.
“I had your package, son,” Cornelis was telling Rory. “I knew my luck, so I kept it on my person at all times. But the soldiers took it from me when I reached the ship. I’m sure that damned Howe is reading it right now. I never looked, myself. Adriaen asked me not to, and I never break a promise!”
“But there was a chance you could have learned something we could use against Kieft!” De Vries scolded the patroon, giving Soka some insight into why Van der Donck had handed his prize to the clumsy Cornelis rather than the dashing De Vries. Loyalty was a hard thing to come by.
“Soka! There are some friends I’d like you to meet!” Perewyn’s voice came from behind her, and she turned to see the white-haired pau wau leading a group of Indians up to meet her. She greeted them warmly, glad to see the faces of her people again, even if they weren’t Munsees. Perewyn leaned in to speak softly in her ear.
“They tell me they’ve seen another Munsee here in the hold.”
Soka pulled back in surprise. A Munsee, here? Who had they captured? She scanned the hold, searching for a familiar face. She saw no one she knew, but then one of the Raritan pointed.
“There, he just ducked behind those farmers!”
Soka ran forward, circling around until she could see behind a cluster of Quaker farmhand spirits. A man was sitting there, looking away. He spoke without turning.
“I was hoping you would not see me.”
Soka’s heart stopped as the man faced her.
“Tammand . . . ” she whispered.
Indeed, it was her brother, the man who had turned against his own family in his single-minded quest to make the Gods of Manhattan pay for their crimes. He’d even fired an arrow at her, though the act of attacking his sister had broken his spirit. Soka had banished him from her life and her affections, hoping never to see him again. But here he sat.
He looked awful. He’d found a white shirt and pants somewhere, though the white in the shirt had since become a filthy grayish brown—the man who had denounced everything about the newcomers was now dressed like one. His hair was dirty and matted, and his once-proud dog tattoos had retreated to the very edge of his face, like whipped mongrels.
“I am asha
med for you to see me,” Tammand said miserably. “I’ve been hiding since the Trap fell, trying to find my way. It’s been so hard—”
“I don’t care!” Soka said angrily. “This is what you deserve.”
“Tammand? How did you get here?” Rory said as he stepped up beside her.
“Look who it is, the great liberator.” Tammand sneered at Rory. “Caught in the rattrap like the rest of us.”
“Leave him alone,” Soka hissed at her brother. “He freed our people while you almost helped lead them to destruction.” She took Rory’s hand protectively, as if daring her brother to say more.
“So you’ve taken that as well, Sabbeleu,” Tammand spat, eyes narrowing at the sight of Rory holding her hand. “See how the newcomers want everything that is ours, Soka? Their greed is insatiable.”
“Just shut up, Tammand,” Soka yelled at him. “He has earned what I give him. You took my love for granted and threw it away!”
“I am paying for my pride,” Tammand said stiffly. “Rotting in a prison cell with all the people I despise. It is torture, but it is what I deserve. But you, you deserve better than this little boy whose only claim to honor is some gift he was born with. He is not worth a jewel of the Munsees!”
“You . . . you . . . YOU!” Soka sputtered, so angry she could barely think. She wanted to punch something, or blow something up, and her fingertips tingled as she seethed. Suddenly Tammand yelped as his dog tattoos began to growl, leaping at one another across his nose. They snarled and bit at one another as Tammand fell back in alarm.
“What is happening?” he cried, unable to see the fight breaking out on his own face. Someone else gasped and Soka turned to see a nearby prisoner’s hair growing at an alarming rate, pooling in his lap. Against the wall, green shoots began poking out of the ship’s hull, growing inward like ivy.