The Metropolitans

by Carol Goodman

  “You’re right, Kiku. I should know, but when I made the book, I used gold dust given to me by a fairy, and fairy dust is as unstable as the creatures who made it. I’m afraid its effects on certain people are rather unpredictable.”

  “Then let me try on my own,” Joe said, reaching again for the tag. “I don’t want anyone else hurt by Mordred.”

  “No,” Kiku said, grabbing his hand. “I won’t let you do it alone.”

  “Me neither,” Madge said, taking Kiku’s hand. “Like you said, Walt, All for one . . .”

  “One for all,” Walt finished, taking hold of Madge’s hand. “We do this together or not at all.”

  They stood in a linked chain—like a tug-of-war team, Joe thought—with him at one end. He didn’t know, though, if they would be able to hold him back from the yawning gulf that might open up when he touched Mordred’s writing—or what would happen to them if he pulled them into that abyss. He didn’t want anyone else to get hurt, but he also knew that he wasn’t going to talk them out of doing it with him. The truth was he was glad he didn’t have to face Mordred alone.

  He reached out and touched the tag with two fingers just as Madge was saying, “Hey, maybe it’s just some poor sucker’s initials. . . .” But then the words stuck in her throat. They all heard the voice at once. At first it was impossible to even tell what it was saying because it was so horrible. All the pain and anger Mordred had ever felt was in it, and with that pain and anger came a probing hatred that clawed at each of their minds, looking for a way in like water looking for a crack to flow through. It looked for what it knew.

  In Madge’s mind it found the guilt that her last words to her mother had been unkind, and the anger that she had been taken from her.

  In Walt’s it found the shame of his cowardice in hiding from the Nazis and his fear that he would always be a coward.

  In Kiku’s it found the embarrassment of always being stared and pointed at and the resentment of never being seen for who she really was.

  But where it found the deepest well of anger was in Joe. Eight years in the Mush Hole, of being treated like an animal, of having his mouth washed out with soap if he spoke his own language, of being beaten for speaking up when another child was hurt, of going to bed hungry because he’d given his portion of gruel to another, and then the final outrage of seeing Jeanette struck by the principal—

  Who could blame you for hating the whole world? Mordred whispered. Join me in destroying it and you will have your revenge.

  This is how he makes people do what he wants, the other voice in his head countered. He controls them through their worst fears. Don’t let him do it to you.

  “But I don’t hate the whole world,” Joe answered aloud. “I have found friends who care about me in this city. I won’t let you destroy it.”

  And then, squeezing Kiku’s hand, who in turn squeezed Madge’s, who gripped Walt’s so hard he yelped, Joe fisted his hand around the luggage tag and pushed. They all felt a resistance as Mordred summoned all his hatred and anger into a fiery barricade. Pushing against that anger felt like letting in all the bad things that had ever happened, like standing under a waterfall of pain.

  Joe didn’t think he could bear it one second longer, but then he felt Kiku and Madge and Walt standing by him. He saw and felt all the bad things that had happened to them: Kiku’s classmates jeering at her and strangers on the street staring at her; Madge’s mother falling in the kitchen and her father sitting down in a rocking chair that fell to pieces. Through Walt’s eyes he saw a Nazi officer gun down an old man in the street and heard a hundred children crying on a train for their parents. And then he saw the things that had happened to him: the teachers washing his mouth out with soap, the look on his Tóta’s face when he could not remember his own name, the principal striking Jeanette.

  But he wasn’t alone. His friends were there now beside him, witnessing all that had happened to him just as he had seen all their sad and terrible moments. The pain and anger were still there, but they didn’t tear him apart. Instead they made him—and all of them—stronger. Strong enough to push through the fiery wall until it gave way and crumbled into ashes and dust.

  In its wake they all saw a building standing by the river with steam coming out of a smokestack, and they heard the words Burling Slip. They saw other buildings like it in other parts of the city, and then they saw men with terribly vacant looks in their eyes slipping metal canisters into satchels and lunch pails.

  See what good it does you! Mordred cried, laughing. And then he was gone.

  Joe let go of the luggage tag and Kiku’s hand at the same time. “It’s meant for a place called Burling Slip,” Joe said.

  “That’s a steam plant,” Walt shouted. “My class went there on a—”

  “Field trip,” Madge finished for her. “Sheesh! I wish I went to your school.”

  “They’re going to put this poison in the steam system,” Kiku said. “But will that be enough to poison the steam?”

  Mr. Akiyama, who had been staring at the canister, suddenly grabbed it and wrenched the lid open. Kiku screamed and Madge covered her nose and mouth, but they all peered into the can. Amidst the white pellets were flecks of gold.

  “The devil!” Miss Lake cried.

  “You’d better close that, Kenji,” Dr. Bean said, laying his hand on his friend’s shoulder.

  “What does it mean?” Madge demanded as Mr. Akiyama replaced the lid.

  “He’s added gold fairy dust to the cyanide pellets,” Miss Lake said. “It will make the poison a hundred times more powerful. If that gets into the steam system, then all the steam in New York will become instantly deadly.”

  “Why, half the buildings in New York are heated by steam!” Kiku said.

  “Including Pennsylvania Station and Grand Central Terminal,” Dr. Bean said.

  “All those soldiers shipping out!” Madge cried.

  “There are steam vents on the streets,” Mr. Akiyama added.

  “It will kill thousands . . . millions, even!” Joe said.

  “There are five more plants in the city,” Mr. Akiyama said. “He’ll be sending operatives to each one. They might be doing it as we speak.”

  “No,” Kiku said, “remember what the message said—the attack will take place on the tenth—that’s tomorrow.”

  “Not really,” Miss Lake said, holding up her watch. The time read 3:10. How had it gotten so late in the night? Joe wondered. How long had he been holding the luggage tag, battling Mordred’s mind?

  “We have time,” Dr. Bean said, “but not much. We must alert the FBI and the police right away.”

  “I don’t think we’ll have any trouble finding the police,” Madge said. She had moved to the window and was looking out. They all crowded around the window beside her.

  “What is it?” Joe asked, unable to see past them.

  Miss Lake and Dr. Bean stood aside so he could look down. At first he was confused by all the lights, but then he saw a uniformed man get out of one of the cars and hold up a bullhorn. “Come out with your hands up,” he boomed. “You’re surrounded.”

  28

  SURRENDER

  WALT STARED DOWN at the moving searchlights and uniformed officers. There were dogs, too, barking and straining at their leashes. For a moment he was back in Germany, watching from his apartment window as the Nazis patrolled the streets. He heard breaking glass and remembered the night that gangs ran through the street shattering the windows of synagogues and Jewish-owned businesses. Kristallnacht, they called it, a pretty name for a nightmare.

  “It will be all right,” Dr. Bean said, putting his hand on Walt’s shoulder. “I’ll explain who we are and what we’ve been doing.”

  “Sure, Doc,” Madge said. “You try explaining to a couple of New York’s finest that we stole a box from the Cloisters because it had a magical book inside
and I’ll be seeing you in the funny papers.” Her voice was light and casual, but she’d come to stand close to Walt. Looking around, he saw that Joe and Kiku looked scared too. Joe was wanted by the police, and Kiku and her father might still be detained at Ellis Island. They had more to lose here than he did. He turned to Miss Lake. She had found him in the park after his run-in with Mordred and given him a chance to turn his fear into a way to be brave. But she wasn’t looking at him now.

  “We’ll have to surrender.” She took a white handkerchief from her coat pocket and waved it out the window. Walt caught a scent of perfume and watched as Boris flew out the window. Even he was abandoning them. “We’re coming down,” Miss Lake called in a fluting voice that carried on the wind. “And we’re unarmed.”

  “It will be all right,” Walt told Madge as they made their way down the stairs, trying to reassure himself by reassuring her. “We know where the attack is planned. They’ll have to listen to us.”

  “Will they?” Madge asked. “A dotty old museum curator, his assistant, an ‘enemy alien,’ and four kids—one of whom stole a priceless medieval box from the Cloisters in broad daylight?”

  “Was that you?” Walt asked, impressed, and when she nodded, “Holy smokes! How’d you do it?”

  “I just broke the glass and grabbed it,” she said, unable to stop herself from grinning. “It felt like it belonged to me. Then I high-tailed it out the door and over the wall. I haven’t run so fast since the Sorensen twins were chasing me and Frankie for breaking my team out from jail in ring-a-levio.”

  “I wish I could’ve been there to see that,” Walt said, shaking his head in admiration.

  “Me too,” Madge said, turning to look at him at the bottom of the stairs. “But I’m glad you’re here now. I-I never wanted to believe—”

  “It’s okay,” Walt said, squeezing her hand. “This whole thing is almost over and then . . .”

  Whatever would happen then would have to wait. The police were shouting at them to put their hands up and get down on their knees. “Like we’re Bonnie and Clyde,” Madge muttered. “Hey,” she whispered to Walt. “You could deck one of them with your superstrength and get away.”

  Walt shook his head. “It wouldn’t help the rest of you. And I don’t want to be on my own anymore.” As he said it, he knew it was true. And suddenly he didn’t feel so afraid anymore. Whatever happened now, they were all together.

  They all got down to their knees except for Dr. Bean, who addressed the police officer who approached them. “My dear man, I am Dr. Dashwood Bean of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. We have information of grave importance to impart to your superiors. Please contact Hilary Chester at the FBI immediately and the mayor as well. Fiorello will want to know about this.”

  “Sure, Doc, shall I get FDR and Winston Churchill on the horn while I’m at it?”

  “Well, I don’t know about Winston. . . . I’m sure he’s awfully busy with the Blitz. But, yes, Franklin will want to know,” Dr. Bean said, waving his arms in the air. The police officer caught his right hand and wrenched it behind his back.

  “Sure, Doc, and then I’ll send a wire to the King of Siam and the Queen of Sheba.” He cuffed Dr. Bean and pushed him against the squad car. Dr. Bean let out a surprised yelp.

  “Hey,” Madge cried. “Whatcha doing, bullying an old man?”

  “Look, Harvey, we got a real spitfire. Better watch out before—”

  But Madge had already landed a kick on the shin of the officer manhandling Dr. Bean. She was promptly restrained and cuffed. How dare they handle Madge like that! Walt ran toward the officer, face red, fists curled, but Madge shouted at him, “Don’t do it, Walt, you might really hurt one of them and then you’ll be in real trouble.”

  “Yeah,” Officer Harvey said, laughing, “like I’m real scared of the scrawny kid!”

  “Those are children you’re mistreating,” Miss Lake said authoritatively while putting a restraining hand on Walt’s shoulder.

  “Thieves and runaways,” Officer Harvey said, sneering at Joe. “This kid matches a description of an Indian runaway wanted for putting his principal in the hospital.” And then, eyeing Kiku and Mr. Akiyama, “And enemy aliens. I’m takin’ the lot of youse down to police headquarters.”

  They were thrown into a paddy wagon. When the van pulled out, they were jostled to and fro against the walls. Miss Lake helped Dr. Bean onto a narrow wooden bench while Kiku brushed Madge’s hair out of her eyes and used her handkerchief to wipe her face.

  “Thanks,” Madge whispered. “I’m just mad at that big goon for treating the doc that way.”

  “Of course you are,” Kiku said. “We all are.”

  Walt sat stone-faced, clenching his hands. What good was it to have superstrength if he couldn’t use it? “They’ll be sorry when they learn who the doc is,” Walt said.

  “If they believe us,” Kiku said. “You heard that officer. He said he had orders to take us all down to police headquarters. Who do you think gave those orders? And how do they know about Joe?”

  “I’m afraid it means that Mordred has infiltrated the city government. He was always very good at insinuating himself into the halls of power,” Miss Lake said. “He’s able to control weak-minded people using the book. Remember when he sweet-talked that Viking chieftain into siding against us, Dash?”

  “Have you really been fighting him all these years?” Walt asked.

  “Yes,” Miss Lake answered. “Sometimes he vanishes for a century or two, but he always resurfaces. Dash and I knew he was back when we saw Hitler rise to power.”

  “But can’t you ever defeat him for good?” Walt asked. “After all, the two of you are . . . well . . . legendary.”

  “All our power went into making the Kelmsbury books,” said Dr. Bean, who, with his glasses askew and hair standing on end, looked small and flustered rather than legendary. “We saw that our day—the day of dragons and unicorns, wizards and sorceresses—was coming to an end. Our magic was no longer able to change the world of men and women. So we poured the last of it into the books so that they would call the best of you forward to take up the fight when needed.”

  “But then why does Mr. January—Mordred—use the Kelmsbury as a cipher with his spies?” Joe asked.

  Dr. Bean looked at Miss Lake, and she nodded. “Tell them, Dash.”

  “We made the books so that only the true of heart could use them, and only when they were united. We wove a spell into each one that made it dangerous to any who tried to use it for evil purposes or who tried to use it alone. It drives that person insane. We thought we were only safeguarding its power, but it had an unintended consequence.”

  “Mordred found one of the books and learned how to use it to corrupt men. You may have noticed how you started hearing voices when you read the book.”

  They all nodded.

  “I think it’s Morgaine’s voice I hear,” Kiku said.

  “And I hear Lancelot’s,” Joe said.

  “I’m not sure who I’m hearing,” Madge said. “I guess it must be Guinevere.”

  “I started hearing Mordred’s voice after I met him in the park,” Walt said. “And then Miss Lake showed me how to turn off all the voices. But you never explained how the book makes us hear those voices.”

  “As I told you, when I painted the pictures in the book, I used fairy gold. When Arthur, Guinevere, Lancelot, and Morgaine found their way to the Maiden Castle, I had each of them touch the books so their spirits would be infused into the paint and carried through time to the new knights. But what I didn’t realize was that Mordred had already found his way into the mind of one of them, and in that way he found his way into the book too. That’s why he gives it to his spies. Over the years he’s collected four of the books and used them to recruit spies. When his spies use the book as a cipher, they become malleable to his power and eventually go insane.” />
  “What if he’s got the whole city under his sway?” Madge asked.

  “He can only influence a handful using the book,” Dr. Bean said. “Which is why he goes for weak-minded men he can use as tools or for men in powerful positions. We’ll have to find a way to get in touch with my friend at the FBI to intervene.”

  “I’m afraid we haven’t ingratiated ourselves with these officers,” Miss Lake said.

  “I have an idea,” Mr. Akiyama said. He’d been quiet for most of the trip, but now he sat up straight and addressed the rest of them. “I know how to get your friend at the FBI down to the station.”

  * * *

  Mr. Akiyama told them his idea as the paddy wagon sped downtown. It was a long way from the High Bridge Water Tower to police headquarters—practically the whole length of Manhattan—and Walt, looking down at his watch, was nervous to see the time passing. It was after four a.m. by the time they reached police headquarters, and they were still arguing when the wagon drove down the ramp into the bowels of the building.

  “You can’t tell them that,” Kiku cried “They’ll execute you for treason!”

  “Dashwood’s friend Agent Chester will make everything right afterward,” he told his daughter.

  “But what if it doesn’t work?”

  Mr. Akiyama turned to his daughter and took both her hands in his. “Then what will it matter what happens to me? I will have died trying to help my friends and my country just as you have fought valiantly beside your friends. I was wrong before when I scolded you for trying to help. I didn’t really see you. You have become a strong, brave young woman. I am proud to have you as my daughter. And now I hope to make you proud to have me as your father.”

  Kiku burst into tears and tried to hold her father back as the doors were opened, but Mr. Akiyama removed himself from her arms and walked to the back of the van so he would be the first out. Kiku cried out, but Joe put his arm around her to hold her back.