Gods of Manhattan

by Scott Mebus

  Rory couldn’t see how anything could stand out among all these mounds of shiny gold.

  “We’re never gonna find it, Hex!” he said. “This place is huge!”

  “Don’t get discouraged,” Hex said calmly. “We know that Bertold was not large, and that he stayed on the path from that door over there to the door we entered by.” Rory could barely see the other door all the way across the room. “So it has to be along the way. We’ll find it in no time.”

  “How can we look if we can’t touch anything?” Rory asked.

  “You can touch the treasure. Just don’t hold on to it long. I mean it, Rory. Tobias protects what’s his, and you don’t want to run afoul of his guardian. So put anything you pick up back down as soon as you move it. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Rory said, certain their quest would stop here. There was no way they would find one small key amid all this treasure. Hex and Toy immediately began shifting through the piles by the path, looking through each piece. Rory walked a bit down toward the other door to start from that end. He couldn’t help staring at all the gold just lying there, begging to be pocketed. One small gold spoon seemed especially inviting. It all seemed so unfair.

  About three quarters of the way to the far door, he felt his wrist getting warmer. Looking down, he noticed his wampum bracelet was getting hot. Alarmed, Rory looked around for any shadows that might conceal a Stranger, but he saw nothing. Continuing to walk, he felt his bracelet grow warm until it was almost burning his skin, and then it suddenly began to cool again. He reached the far door, and his bracelet became room temperature again. Strange.

  He shifted through some of the gold by the door, careful to drop anything he put his fingers on. After ten minutes or so, the frustration threatened to take over. He kicked the plate he’d just moved and stood up. There was no way he could possibly find that tiny key in the middle of all this stuff! This was crazy! He stomped back toward Hex, determined to tell him this was all a wild-goose chase. But he hadn’t walked more than ten feet when his wrist began to warm up again. Touching his bracelet, he felt the heat rising, more and more, as he walked. Something was definitely going on here. But he could see nothing that appeared dangerous. He reached the point where it burned hottest when a thought occurred to him. Dropping to his knees, he began to shift through the pile at his feet. He pushed a gold figurine to the side, and a gold necklace, a gold bar, and three gold chess pieces. Finally, he caught a flash of white.

  “Amazing,” he muttered.

  Lifting a gold letter opener out of the way, Rory revealed a small white key nestled in the middle of the pile of riches. He never would have found this on his own, not without hours and hours of searching. But this key, with its smooth white surface, had called out to him. Where had he seen something like this before? He whistled as he realized the truth.

  “It’s wampum,” he whispered to himself. Of course. Wampage told him that his bracelet would help him find wampum. He hadn’t known how important that help would be. He picked up the key and took a closer look. It had been carved out of smooth white shells, maybe from the very pit Wampage now guarded. He heard footsteps behind him.

  “You found it,” Hex said. “I knew you would.”

  Rory looked up at the magician, who stood behind him with Toy at his side, both appearing to be completely unsurprised.

  “How did you know?” Rory asked.

  “Lights often see things hidden to everyone else. I was pretty sure this would be one of those things.”

  Rory stood up, bringing the key with him. It hung from a long silver chain that dangled from his fingers. A soft breeze made it sway gently. He wondered briefly where the breeze was coming from, but then the thought slipped away.

  “You could have said something,” he muttered, unhappy to have been kept in the dark.

  “I didn’t want to mess with your head and have you over-thinking things,” Hex replied. “It all worked out. We’re almost there—Where is that wind coming from?”

  Shrugging that he had no idea, Rory turned to head toward the door. He hadn’t gone two steps before he heard Hex gasp behind him.

  “What’s that in your other hand!” Hex demanded.

  Rory looked down at the gold letter opener still resting in his palm, and for a moment he could only stare dumbly.

  “Drop it, Rory!” Hex yelled. “Before it’s too late!”

  Finally, Rory reacted and tried to open his hand to drop the letter opener, but before he could release it the soft wind he’d felt earlier picked up, growing almost immediately into a full-force gale. Quickly, a fog rose from the floor and wrapped around him, forcing his arms to his sides and trapping the letter opener between his palm and his leg. He tried to shift his hand to let the golden piece drop, but the wind pushed into him, making it impossible to move. He could barely hear Hex shouting over the roar of the air around him. The fog pushed into his nose and mouth, rushing into his body, choking him. He tried to scream, but he could make no sound as the wind crushed him from both inside and out. He gave his hand one last desperate shake before the tornado overcame him and he fell into darkness.

  “Wake up, Rory. Please wake up.”

  Rory became aware of someone shaking him. He opened his eyes to see Hex and Toy bending over him. Hex let out a long, thankful sigh.

  “You’re alive. I was worried for a moment there, Rory.”

  “What happened?” Rory croaked. His throat was dry and scratchy, while in his chest it felt like his lungs had tried to blow up like a car air bag. Hex poured some water into Rory’s mouth while he explained.

  “You held on to that gold letter opener for too long and you awoke the guardian. It almost suffocated you. If you hadn’t somehow managed to fight the wind and let the gold fall to the ground right before you blacked out, it would have killed you. But instead, the wind let you go the moment you dropped it. A gold letter opener. What a stupid thing to die over.”

  “Am I okay?” Rory asked, sitting up. He felt dizzy and a little shaken but otherwise all right.

  “Your chest may ache a bit for a while, but I think you’ll be fine. I told you not to hold on to anything! You are a stubborn boy, Rory Hennessy.”

  “Sorry about that.”

  “Well, no harm done, I guess. We’ll move on when you’re ready.”

  Rory sat quietly for a moment, still shaken up at how close to death he’d come. He was frightened to head even farther into danger. But eventually he pushed those fears away and stood up. After all, he had a job to do.

  They left the treasure room behind and headed through the new door into another dark tunnel. They hadn’t gone far before a sound stopped them short. Hex covered the light, revealing a glow coming from around the corner. Hugging the wall, Rory made his way down toward the light. As he got closer, the light grew brighter, until he could see that it came from some kerosene lamps hanging from the ceiling. Under the lamps lay a teenager, asleep, dressed in rags and wearing a stovepipe hat just like Sly Jimmy’s. As Rory watched, the boy rolled over in his sleep. Rory looked around the rest of the small room. An underground stream bordered one side, making its own tunnel through the darkness. He could hear faint splashing in the distance. A card table was set up in the corner, a deck of cards lying on it, neatly stacked. Beyond the sleeping teenager, a large wooden door stood closed. Rory took this all in and rushed back to Hex and Toy to report.

  Hex cursed to himself. For the first time since the break-in began, he appeared uncertain.

  “Plug Ugly. He’s no illusion. Neither are his knives. Damn you, Tobias. Why’d you have to go and splurge on a guard!”

  “What’s a Plug Ugly? He looks only a few years older than me.”

  “A few years plus a hundred and twenty. He’s a member of the Plug Uglies gang. They’re a lot like the B’wry Boys that Sly Jimmy belongs to. They worked the streets back in the late nineteenth century. Out of Five Points, mostly, where Chinatown is today. Some of the Mayor’s advisers have their own gangs to do th
eir dirty work. Kieft uses the Forty Thieves. Tweed uses the Whyos gang. Tobias uses the Plug Uglies. They’re mean as dogs. We have to be careful.”

  “So what do we do?”

  “Maybe we can sneak by. We just have to be extremely quiet.”

  A splashing up ahead interrupted them. Hex’s face drained of color.

  “Oh dear. I hope that isn’t what I think it is.”

  He took a few steps forward and peered around the corner.

  “Things just got a tad more interesting.”

  Rory sidled up next to Hex and looked around the corner. The gang member was waking up as a white shape crawled over toward him. Rory could see the lamplight reflect off of hundreds of scales, rough and ridged. He blinked.

  “Is that an alligator?”

  Hex nodded slowly. Rory looked again.

  “He doesn’t seem too scared.”

  Hex nodded again, even slower this time.

  “That’s because he’s an alligator rider. That is his mount.”

  Sure enough, the Plug Ugly was scratching the alligator’s ridges and smiling. He pulled out a small piece of meat and tossed it to his gator. The large animal chomped it down and rubbed up against his leg. Rory shuddered.

  “He rides that alligator? Where?”

  “Through the sewers. They’re an elite group.”

  “Since when are there alligators in the sewers?”

  “Have you ever heard of the Albino Alligator?”

  Rory blinked. His neighbor Mr. Little had told him and Bridget stories of the great white alligator that lived in the sewers beneath the city streets. Those tales had kept them up nights until Mrs. Little made her husband stop and assured them it was all made up.

  “That’s a myth.”

  “Try telling that to her children. There are dozens of them roaming the waters under the city.”

  Rory looked back toward the light.

  “So what do we do now?”

  Hex leaned in.

  “I’m going to do something. Give me your hand. It’s important that you trust me. Do you trust me?”

  Rory nodded slowly, holding out his hand. Hex took out a pin and pricked Rory’s palm.

  “Ow! Jeez!”

  “Don’t be a baby, it’s just a little pinprick. Now rub the blood on your forehead.”

  Rory followed instructions. Hex reached down to the floor and scraped up some dirt. He wiped the dirt into the blood on Rory’s forehead. He murmured to himself with his eyes closed. Finally, he clapped lightly and opened his eyes, admiring his handiwork.

  “Perfect!”

  Rory looked down at himself.

  “What? I don’t feel any different.”

  Hex chuckled.

  “But you look completely different. You now blend in perfectly with whatever is behind you. Don’t touch! You’ll rub it off. And now to do me.”

  Hex repeated the same trick on himself. After the final soft hand clap, he stared at himself, nodding in satisfaction.

  “Perfect.”

  Rory could see Hex just fine. His own forehead was starting to sweat, but he made himself not think about it. Hex was bending down for more dirt.

  “Now for Toy. He’s inanimate, so he needs a slightly different magic.”

  Toy glared at him, apparently unhappy to be called inanimate. Hex finished his incantation and looked satisfied. To Rory, however, nothing looked any different.

  “Are you sure we’re invisible?”

  “Yes. Now don’t touch it!” He slapped Rory’s hand away before he could wipe off his sweaty forehead. Rory reminded himself to be careful.

  “We have to be ridiculously quiet,” Hex said. “Just follow me to that door.”

  Rory looked closely at the closed door.

  “What’s behind it?”

  “The entrance chamber to the vault. It’s a huge room, empty except for the guardian.”

  “What is the guardian?”

  “The last thing between us and the belt. We’ll deal with that when we get to it. Just get ready to creep like a mouse.”

  The Plug Ugly, a scruffy-looking kid with a scraggly beard, sat down at his card table and picked up the pack of cards. He called down to his alligator mount.

  “You wanna play some poker, Hamish? You got the perfect poker face for it.”

  He laughed at his own joke as Hamish stared back up at him impassively. Hex gestured with his hand and began to sneak down the tunnel. Rory and Toy followed, trying to stay as quiet as possible. Scraggly Beard dealt some cards.

  “Hamish, you got some hand! Look at that! You gonna call or what?”

  Hamish didn’t answer. Scraggly Beard took this as a yes and tossed some pennies onto the center of the table. Hex reached the table and slowly slid by, holding his breath. Rory was right on his heels, almost passing out from not breathing. He looked down at Scraggly Beard as he slipped by. The Plug Ugly didn’t even twitch, he was concentrating so hard on his cards.

  “Hey!”

  Rory froze in terror. Hex turned swiftly, his face alarmed, but he quickly relaxed. Rory turned to see Scraggly Beard waving a finger at his mount, who still hadn’t moved.

  “No peekin’ at the cards!”

  Trying not to shake, Rory resumed creeping. Hex had reached the door and stood there waiting for the other two to join him. Rory stepped up beside him with Toy right behind. Sweat began to pour down Rory’s face in earnest. Scraggly Beard’s back was to them, so they had a chance at opening the door and slipping through without him noticing. Hex put his hand on the knob and was just about to turn it when a small growl stopped him cold.

  “What is it, boy?”

  They turned back to see Hamish beginning to move, a small grumbling coming out of his reptilian snout. To Rory’s horror, he was making his way right for them. Scraggly Beard knelt down beside the alligator.

  “Where are you goin’? There’s nothing there. Just that door, and I ain’t openin’ that, no matter what they pay me.”

  The sweat ran thicker down Rory’s forehead, stinging his eyes. And that’s when he did it. He didn’t mean to; it was a reflex. But reflex or not, it was the worst possible thing he could have done. When the sweat dripped into his eyes, he reached up and wiped it clean with the back of his hand. He heard an intake of breath. Looking at the back of his hand, he could see a large smudge of reddish mud.

  “Who are you! Where did you come from!”

  Rory wasn’t invisible anymore. He’d wiped his protection off with the back of his hand. Scraggly Beard stared at him in disbelief, reaching to his side and coming back with a knife. He jabbed it in Rory’s direction.

  “Answer me! Where’d you come from!”

  Hex didn’t waste another minute. He quickly opened the door and stepped through. Scraggly Beard jumped.

  “How’d you do that?”

  Toy stepped through the door, and Rory backed up after him, finally answering.

  “Magic. Don’t follow me or you’ll get it worse.”

  Scraggly Beard looked past him, through the door.

  “Oh, I ain’t followin’ you. You couldn’t pay me to go in there. I’m just here to make sure you don’t get back out.”

  Unnerved, Rory backed through the door and Hex closed it. The last image he had was of Scraggly Beard looking after him with an odd mix of satisfaction and pity.

  And then the world turned white.

  Scraggly Beard (whose real name was Michael O’Shea) stepped up to the door once it closed. He didn’t know where that kid had come from, and he didn’t want to know. If the boss ever found out he let someone sneak by, he’d get it bad. Not that the boss would ever find out. Nobody ever came out of that room next door. Not even the remains of people were ever seen again.

  Glad it wasn’t him, Michael sat back down at his card table and looked over his cards. They were awful. He considered trying to bluff, but you can’t pull one over on an alligator. So he folded. Hamish stared back at him with that same empty stare, but Michael th
ought he saw a small hint of satisfaction in his eyes. Ah well. He’d get him next hand.

  15

  THE CALVARY IS RUNNING LATE

  Don’t you know how old these are! They’ve been in the family for generations!”

  Dylan Arnold looked down in shame as his mother screamed at him. She pointed over and over at the large glass case holding her prized possessions, one of which now lay in pieces on the floor.

  “These are china! China plates!” Mrs. Arnold shouted. “My great-grandmother, your great-great-grandmother, brought them here from Munich! How could you disrespect your ancestors like that?”

  Dylan knew how old those china plates were. His mother never missed a chance to point it out, telling him to be careful every time he got within ten feet of them. It wasn’t his fault he was a clumsy boy. You try being six foot two at fifteen years old, he wanted to yell at her. But he kept quiet, his eyes on the floor and his stomach in knots as Mrs. Arnold continued her tirade.

  Sitting on the dining room table, unseen by either of the Arnolds, Hiram Greenbaum couldn’t help but laugh. Mrs. Arnold was one of his favorite disciples. It really wasn’t Dylan’s fault he tripped over the rug in the dark and knocked one of those precious plates to the floor, where it shattered into a hundred pieces. It was just bad luck. But it gave Mrs. Arnold a chance to shine, and Hiram Greenbaum’s belly grew warm with all the sweet guilt that flowed through the room. Dylan’s hands were shaking, which meant a tearful apology could be only moments away. Hiram Greenbaum, God of Guilt, leaned in with anticipation.

  He never even heard the soft footfalls of the assassin behind him, nor saw the knife. But once his dead body hit the floor, everything changed. Dylan suddenly straightened up.

  “You know what, Mom?” he said, cutting her off. “I don’t care about your plates! So, why don’t you save your breath!”

  He turned abruptly, carelessly brushing up against the glass case. Two more plates went tumbling to the floor, smashing into tiny shards. Dylan didn’t even turn around, he stomped out of the room, leaving his mother behind, speechless. Her god had deserted her. The assassin leaned over the body of Hiram Greenbaum and yanked the small locket from around the dead god’s neck. Nodding in satisfaction, he looked up…right into the eyes of the terrified god sitting on top of the china case. Though Mrs. Arnold was oblivious to the murder done in her presence, Jean Pierre Le Grand, God of the Good China, had seen everything. Squealing with fear, he dropped to the ground and dived straight through the floor, heading for the basement. The assassin sighed, gave his knife a quick wipe, and swiftly followed.