by Scott Mebus
“Is that a rat?”
Rory froze, slowly turning his head to look down at his sister.
“You can see that?”
“I see a rat and a squirrel. What are they doing? I can’t tell.”
Rory looked back at the elm, where the two rodents were flying at each other, trading punches in midair. Why not?
“They’re fighting.”
He heard Bridget gasp.
“Oh my God. They’re fighting like in those old kung fu movies, but with fur.”
Rory stepped back and stared at his sister in shock. She had her eyes locked on the battle by the elm. Was she making fun of him? She flinched.
“Oh, you shouldn’t kick someone there. Even if he is a rat.”
“You can see it?”
Bridget looked up at her brother, her face wide with excited wonder.
“You bet I can. This is the coolest thing ever! I bet the squirrels at the stupid zoo don’t have black belts.”
“It’s really there?”
“Of course it is. I didn’t really know what I was looking at until you told me, but then I could see them clear as day. It’s amazing.”
Rory wondered if she was fooling herself, pretending to see what he was seeing because she wanted to see it. He turned back to the battle. The rat had climbed halfway up the squirrel’s back and was head-butting it from behind.
“Okay. So what are they doing now?”
Bridget flinched.
“The squirrel just ran backward into the tree with the rat on its back. It’s trying to shake it! Ouch, man. Rodent fights are dirty.”
And sure enough, the squirrel kept barreling backward into the elm, attempting to shake off the rat. Bridget could barely contain her excitement.
“This is amazing. Do you see stuff like this all the time?”
“No. Only since that magic trick yesterday.”
“What have you seen? Give me all the gory details!”
The rat flipped around, head-butting the squirrel. Rory rubbed his forehead in sympathy.
“I saw a gargoyle eat a pigeon, and I saw a cockroach riding a rat.”
“Like that rat?”
“It was a bigger rat. Less…martial artsy. I also saw an Indian, I think.”
“Like Gandhi?”
“No, the American kind. He had feathers and stuff. That kind of Indian.”
Bridget hit him.
“They’re called Native Americans, stupid.”
“Fine, sorry,” Rory said wryly, rubbing his side where Bridget had smacked him.
“This is awesome!” she said. “What does it mean?”
“I have no idea.”
Bridget grabbed his arm as the rat and squirrel rolled around in the dust, each vying for an advantage.
“We gotta find out!”
“There’s nothing to find out. If we just ignore it, maybe it’ll go away.”
“That is just plain stupid, and you know it. Ignore it…there’s a whole world we’ve never seen before! This is the best thing ever!”
Rory pulled his arm away.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. A little kung fu fight and a hungry gargoyle don’t mean there’s some hidden world. There’s probably a good explanation for it.”
“Like what?”
“Nuclear testing.”
“In Central Park?”
“Genetically engineered animals.”
“Who would engineer a cockroach? No one likes cockroaches. Not even Carl from my class, and he eats worms.”
“Look, it’s probably something.”
The rat kicked off the squirrel, knocking it back into the tree, where it slumped to the ground. The rat advanced to finish the job, rearing up with one paw ready to swipe, when it shuddered. Out of nowhere, a long stick with feathers on the end had sprouted from its back. The rat fell forward, facedown in the dirt. Rory and Bridget stopped their argument, looking on in astonishment.
“Is that an arrow?” Bridget whispered.
“I think so.”
“Where did it come from?”
In answer to her question, a shadowy figure loped out of the trees, silently gliding toward the dead rat. A ray of sunlight hit the dark form, giving them a good look at the archer. Rory felt his breath catch as Bridget looked up at him with big, round eyes.
“Is that him? Is that the Indian you saw?”
Rory shook his head no, too taken aback to point out his sister’s use of the word Indian. Tall with long, flowing dark hair twisted up around various brightly colored feathers, this new Indian kneeled down by the rat. His chest was bare, with scars running down his shoulders and around his back. A small quiver of arrows slung easy over one shoulder, while the bow sat ready in his hand. He pulled the arrow from the rat’s back with a quick tug and turned to tend to the squirrel. The small animal began to twitch as it regained consciousness, shaking its head before running up the Indian’s arm to rest on his shoulder. The Indian glanced up to the sky, forcing a gasp from Bridget’s lips.
“Look at his face!”
“Don’t stare, Bridget.”
But she couldn’t look away. Each of the Indian’s cheeks bore a tattoo of a barking dog, teeth bared and ready to bite. The dogs seemed ready to spring from his face and attack. Bridget’s eyes bulged as she took it in.
“That is the coolest thing I’ve ever seen!”
A new voice whispered from beside them, “You should start running now.”
Almost jumping out of his skin at this new voice, Rory spun around to see a young Indian girl leaning against a tree. She wore a simple leather shirt and wraparound skirt and her feet were bare. She smoothed her long braid of hair as she smiled at them.
“He will see you soon if you don’t,” she said matter-off-actly.
Bridget stepped toward her.
“Are you a squaw?” she asked, wonder filling her voice.
The girl gave her a disgusted look.
“Please do not insult me. I’m trying to give you a head start.”
“What are you talking about?” Rory asked as Bridget fell back, stung.
“He is hotheaded and does stupid things. I am levelheaded,” the Indian girl said, her eyes twinkling. “That is why I will be a great leader one day and lead my people back to the land. He likes to run around and shoot for sport. He does not care for thought. It hurts his head. Shooting is so much simpler. I think life would be easier if I followed his path. Which path do you follow?”
Her pretty smile made Rory feel like a clumsy idiot.
“I’m…I’m levelheaded, too, I guess,” he stammered.
She laughed.
“Everyone thinks they are. You have a nice nose. But you really should think about running.”
Uncertain what was going on, Rory glanced back at the tattooed Indian, who was checking the body of the squirrel for injury. Suddenly, the warrior swiveled his head to stare right at them. His eyes lit up in an unpleasant way as he quickly stood up.
“Rory,” Bridget whispered, “I think we should go.”
“Who is he?” Rory asked the Indian girl.
“He is my brother, of course,” she answered. “I really would start running now.”
The tattooed Indian reached behind him toward his quiver and that was all the Hennessy children needed. They spun and took off as the girl’s voice followed them.
“Good luck! Maybe he will only wound you!”
They had no breath to reply as they burned down the path toward 59th Street. It had never seemed so far away. Bridget turned quickly to look behind them.
“He’s gaining, Rory! He’s pulled out an arrow! Do you really think he’ll shoot?”
“Do we really want to find out? Faster, Bridget! Come on!”
They raced around the people strolling under the trees enjoying the beautiful day. More than one couple found their hands torn apart by the fleeing children. Various angry yells followed them in their wake as they almost knocked over half the people they
sped past, but still the exit stayed just out of sight. Bridget sneaked another look.
“He’s got the arrow in his bow! How can he run and do that, too? I can’t even watch TV and eat at the same time without getting it all over my shirt!”
“We’re almost there!”
Finally, the exit popped into view from behind a tree. They weaved around the path as a whistle sung past their ears. The tree ahead of them suddenly sprouted an arrow. Rory redoubled his efforts, dragging his sister along behind him. With a final burst of speed, they shot through the gap in the wall out onto the sidewalk. Bridget tripped, pulling them both to the ground. They spun around just in time to see another arrow flying their way from the other side of the exit. Rory prepared to shield his sister’s body from the missile, but the second the shaft reached the exit, it burned away into nothing, the ashes blowing back into the park. The tattooed Indian stood framed by the gap in the wall for a moment, as if daring them to come back in, before turning to disappear into the trees.
A small crowd had gathered around the two children lying on the sidewalk. An elderly woman leaned over.
“Are you two all right?”
Bridget hopped up, her eyes glowing from excitement and fear.
“We’re A-okay! You’re kind to care!”
The crowd dispersed, satisfied that no one was hurt. Bridget stared down at her brother, hands on her hips.
“What’s your explanation for that?”
3
EYES IN THE SHADOWS
The five members of the Rattle Watch were pretty pleased with themselves. Nicholas and his friends were standing defiantly in front of the door of the main council room at City Hall, facing the full wrath of the Council of Twelve seated around the large table before them. Not only were most of the council members who ruled over the Gods of Manhattan—including Albert’s and Simon’s fathers—there to berate them, but they’d even dragged in an uncomfortable Frederick Douglass, Lincoln’s dad, who didn’t even sit on the council. Of course Nicholas’s father, Peter Stuyvesant, was absent as always. But as long as Adriaen arrived soon to enjoy the circus, Nicholas’s satisfaction would be complete.
All in all, it had not been a bad day’s work for the Rattle Watch.
“We can no longer turn a blind eye to your acts of vandalism!” the Mayor said, his handsome face burning with disapproval as the other council members looked on with solemn faces. “The list of your actions against certain members of this council is long and shameful. The incident with the garbage monkey and the jar of honey at the Patroon Day Parade was particularly odious. Mrs. Astor had to be scrubbed down with a horse brush. But today’s stunt at the bank went too far.”
Too far? Could they ever go too far against those who’d aid and abet the enemy? Nicholas didn’t think so. Adriaen van der Donck had come to Nicholas and his friends to form the Rattle Watch and to keep people in the know, to expose the enemies in their midst. But he had never said how. So, the five eternal teenagers had taken it upon themselves to embarrass, harass, and generally drive their enemies to distraction.
And it was good to have a purpose. As children of gods, Nicholas and his friends would never mature, never advance past puberty…never do much of anything, really. Blessed—or cursed—with their famous parents’ immortality, most children of gods coasted through their unending lives, going to party after party and leading lives of meaningless privilege with no responsibility. After all, what was the point in caring about anything? They’d never be gods like their parents: one had to have been mortal to be elevated to godhood, and none of them had ever been mortal.
Nicholas was different. He may have appeared to be no older than sixteen, but he’d already seen three centuries go by, and he was tired of watching and doing nothing.
At Nicholas’s side, Adriaen’s daughter, Alexa, was frowning as she scanned the room for her father, who still hadn’t arrived. With her big hazel eyes and lustrous amber hair, Alexa could have easily made herself into a beauty queen and lorded over the world of lavish luxury that consumed their peers. Instead she pulled her beautiful locks into a no-nonsense bun and plunged headlong into the fight. She was her father’s right hand. Nicholas had always envied her close relationship with Adriaen, who served as a second father to all of the Rattle Watchers, whose own fathers so frequently let them down.
He glanced at the rest of his friends. The excitable Lincoln Douglass bounced in place, ready to fight the world all at once if need be. His father, Frederick Douglass, God of Freedom, looked on with exasperation, probably wondering how he’d ever given life to such a spastic son. Next to Lincoln, Simon Astor, looking a little ridiculous in a loud, wrinkled shirt (the one he wore especially for being brought before the council), lazily stuck his tongue out at his dad, John Jacob Astor, God of Excess. Unlike Frederick Douglass, John Jacob Astor appeared downright angry as he scowled at his son. Though the laid-back, somewhat hapless Simon didn’t seem to care, Nicholas always worried about what his father would do after one of their pranks. The God of Excess was not a nice man….
Lastly, to Nicholas’s right, the dashing Albert Fish was smirking openly. His father, the image-conscious Hamilton Fish, God of Connections, didn’t seem to like it one bit. Fun-loving with a devilish streak a mile wide, Albert had been the one to hatch the plan to let the gigantic sandhog loose outside the bank, and it had worked to perfection.
Nicholas smiled, too, thinking of the huge pig they had relocated from the East Side, where it had been at work eating out a tunnel for the new Second Avenue subway line. Bred to excavate, sandhogs had long been regarded by the Manhattan mortals as simply a colorful name for the men working deep underground. A guy with a shovel would have been easier to catch, that’s for sure, thought Nicholas.
Once they’d set it free in front of the bank, the elephant-size pig had immediately burrowed into the ground, digging a large ditch up to, and partially through, the side of the building. It hadn’t gotten too far, of course, before the Brokers of Tobias had corralled it. But to stick it to that tightwad T. R. Tobias had been more than worth the punishment they’d be receiving. The rotund God of Banking pretended to run his First City Bank for the good of the city, but the Rattle Watch knew he worked only for himself. And, thought Nicholas, for the First Adviser, Tobias’s lord and master.
“If I may,” Nicholas said, bowing low and adding a sweep of his arm, which caused Albert to repress a chuckle and Alexa to roll her eyes, “it was not our intention to hurt anyone. We merely wanted to make a point. The bank represents the safe world we pretend we live in while the sandhog represents the tunnel of truth that needs to be dug through the thick walls of self-denial that this council, nay, all of Mannahatta has encased itself in!”
The Rattle Watchers each gave him an incredulous look. Alexa mouthed Tunnel of truth?! her eyes twinkling. Nicholas shrugged. Okay, fine, maybe they just did it to make Tobias cry. The Council of Twelve didn’t have to know that. There was always room for a little bit of revisionist history.
“What is this nonsense?” Tobias snorted, sounding half annoyed and half bored. “They were probably trying to break into my vault. A futile enterprise, as many would-be thieves before them have discovered to their everlasting chagrin. Now, Mayor, I have money to count. Could you please—”
Before he could go any further, a commotion was heard outside the council room. The doors flung open and Stephanus van Cortlandt, God of Noble Politics, burst in.
“Murder!” he declared. “Van der Donck has been murdered!”
Nicholas felt like he’d been kicked in his stomach. He turned to Alexa, whose face had gone ashen.
“It can’t be,” he said, and his denial was echoed in the faces of his friends.
The council burst into frightened chatter. The Mayor pointed to the Rattle Watch.
“Get them out of here.”
Nicholas and his friends were rushed from the room. As the doors closed behind him, he could see the almighty Council of Twelve shouting bac
k and forth, devolving into a big mess.
It couldn’t be true. Who would save them all now?
Rory sat on the sidewalk in Times Square, thinking. He figured that the busiest intersection in the world would be a good place to hide from Indians and squirrels while he figured stuff out. Bridget, unable to sit still, amused herself with her favorite game: hailing cabs and then pretending to be surprised and confused when they stopped for her. Eventually, she grew tired of the angry honks and plopped down next to her brother, who was turning the eight of clubs over and over in his hand.
“I guess we better find Hex,” he said. “He might have some answers to all this.”
Bridget grabbed the playing card.
“You have really bad handwriting. I think that Native American girl was flirting with you.”
Rory snorted.
“Yeah, right. The imaginary Indian girl was trying to get my number.”
“She said you had a nice nose.”
“And then her brother tried to shoot it off!”
“Maybe she’ll be your first girlfriend!” Bridget smiled innocently, as if daring Rory to poke her. Though he didn’t want it to, the Indian girl’s face popped up in his head. She did seem to smile at him an awful lot. He shook his head. This was so stupid. He had to concentrate.
“We can’t lose focus, Bridget! Hex said something to me about a card. Did he leave a business card?”
“Not that I know of. Mom might know.”
Rory froze. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of something strange. A dark shadow at the opening of a small alley between two buildings behind him seemed to shift as people walked in front of it, slipping to the left and right as it popped in and out of view. He looked up to see what cast the shadow, thinking it might be a construction crane in front of the sun or something, but there was nothing there. He looked back, his hair standing on end as he noticed how the shadow had grown. Two small specks flickered within. They could be reflected light from a car parked on the street. Or they could be eyes. He felt a shudder run violently through him as the glowing specks began to grow, darting left and right, looking for something….
