by Scott Mebus
Or maybe he’d find out now, he thought as the mist loomed larger and larger before them.
“Are we going in there?” Rory asked.
“No!” Simon said with conviction.
“The convent sits on an island at the edge of the mist,” Alexa explained. “There are two islands there, Hoffman and Swinburne. Swinburne houses the convent, and as Farhad mentioned, Hoffman is empty.”
“Are they part of Mannahatta?” Rory asked. “Is that how you all can set foot on it?”
“Actually, no,” Alexa said. “The two islands were created by mortals only a hundred and fifty years ago. Because they were new, the boroughs agreed to make them neutral ground. Women from all five boroughs live in the convent. And Hoffman is the site of all official dealings between the borough leaders. See, that’s Hoffman Island there.”
A small hump of land rose up out of the water before them. As they floated closer, Rory could see trees and a few abandoned buildings. The whole place appeared deserted.
“They meet there?” Rory asked, incredulous. “It looks like no one’s been there in decades.”
“Longer,” Simon said. “Borough mayors don’t like to leave their cushy offices. The five boroughs haven’t officially met in almost a hundred years.”
They were now almost past the island. Alexa let out a cry and pointed into the mist.
“Thar she blows!”
“It’s not a whale, you silly girl,” Simon muttered. His face was growing white as he contemplated the new island in the distance gradually appearing out of the mist that now surrounded them.
“Nervous?” Alexa needled him.
“No!” Simon shot back.
“It’s just superstition, you know,” she continued, teasing him. “You won’t really lose your nether regions.”
“I know that. Leave me alone!”
Rory tried not to laugh at Simon’s worried face. The older boy didn’t look as confident as he tried to sound. Rory turned his attention instead to the island rising before them. This island was covered in mist, making it difficult to pick out many features. He could barely make out what looked like trees poking out of the fog. As the headed toward the island, he spied what appeared to be a small dock jutting out of the fog. Alexa guided the boat through the undulating sea up to the side of the dock, where Rory leaped out and tied them up. Alexa brought down the sail and nimbly hopped off the deck onto the dock; Fritz climbed out after her. Simon, however, had to be coaxed from his seat like a scared puppy.
“Don’t be such a baby,” Alexa scolded him. “Look at Rory; he’s fine.”
“He’s mortal, maybe it doesn’t affect him.”
“Get out of the boat, Simon, before I make the curse come true myself!”
Muttering resentfully, Simon gingerly climbed out of the boat and stepped onto dry land. A relieved smile spread over his face.
“I knew it! Stupid superstition!” He sounded quite disdainful now that he’d survived unscathed. “Those sailors are so gullible. Let’s go find this woman your dad’s so fond of, Rory!”
If any of them had turned around as they hurried down the dock, they would have spied a small white sail approaching, gradually getting bigger. But none of them did.
The small party made their way carefully up a rocky path away from the dock into the trees. Mist hung from the branches, cloaking everything in fog. They bunched together so as not to lose one another.
“How big is this island?” Rory whispered to Alexa.
“Not big enough to get lost in,” she whispered back. “But I can’t seem to find the convent! It’s all fog!”
“What are you talking about?” Rory said, pointing to the left, where he could see something in the distance. “Isn’t that it over there?”
Sure enough, out of the mist rose a tall white steeple. Alexa gave Rory a strange look as they drew nearer, and Simon muttered “How did I miss that?” under his breath. As they approached, a large convent gradually emerged, seeming to take shape from the fog itself. White walls spread in each direction, disappearing into the mist. The tall steeple loomed above a large wooden door. As they came nearer to the door, a bell began to toll.
“I guess they know we’re here,” Alexa said. She marched up to the door and knocked. After a moment the door creaked open to reveal a woman in a long gray robe.
“Go away,” she said. “You are not wanted.”
She began to close the door, but Alexa put out a hand to stop it.
“We have traveled far,” she said. “We seek one of your nuns—”
“No!” the woman said sternly. “The nuns are not to be disturbed. As official greeter, only I can speak with outsiders. And I use that privilege only to tell you all to go away!”
“Interesting use of the word greeter, eh?,” Simon whispered to Rory.
“Wait!” Rory said before the woman could close the door again. He wasn’t about to be turned away this easily. “I’m looking for a friend of my father. My father used to visit this place all the time! They say I look like him. Don’t you recognize me?”
The woman shook her head and seemed ready to turn them away when another voice came from behind her.
“Let them enter.”
The nun at the door quickly glanced over her shoulder, nodded reluctantly, and stepped aside, waving them into the convent. Inside, another woman awaited them in the soaring foyer, dressed in a simple habit of light blue. She seemed too youthful to carry much authority, but the first nun bowed her head.
“Where shall I take them, Mother?”
“I will take them to my study,” the younger woman said, her voice kind but firm. She nodded slightly to the newcomers. “I am the abbess here. Normally, we would not admit strangers. But we do not live in normal times. Come with me.”
“Wait,” Rory said, stepping forward. “I’m looking for someone. A sailor—”
“All in good time,” the abbess said, cutting him off. “Please, come.”
The abbess led them through the stone entrance hall toward a long hallway. The ceiling rose majestically, a sky of stone far above their heads. No one was around and the halls were eerily silent. Their footsteps rang loudly as they walked through the empty passage. Finally, they reached a small wooden door, which the abbess opened.
“There is a small dining chamber through here where you may wait. Sister Patience will be by with refreshments. I cannot speak to all of you, I am afraid. Only the Light.”
Rory gasped as the others exchanged shocked glances. Fritz stepped forward.
“How do you know what he is . . . ?” he asked.
“How can I not?” the abbess asked. “Only a Light could have seen the convent in the mist. And he is the only mortal human among you. So it is with him I must speak.”
She stepped aside to let the others enter the dining room. They turned to look back at Rory with worry as the abbess closed the door and locked it.
“Not that I don’t trust them,” she said with a smile. “But that fellow in the loud puffy shirt seems a bit shifty to me. Shall we?”
The abbess led Rory down the stone hallway to another wooden door. She opened it with a long metal key, holding the door for Rory to step through. She followed him through, letting the door close behind them with a loud click, leaving the hallway empty and still.
Sister Hope hurried through the main hall toward the front door. Sister Patience usually handled the entrance to the outside world, but she was off getting food and wine for the visitors. She would never admit it, of course, but Sister Hope had always wanted to be the door opener. She couldn’t see why Sister Patience was the only one allowed to greet outsiders. Just because Sister Hope had come here to contemplate the great beyond for all eternity shouldn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy a bit of conversation now and again.
So when the knock resounded through the halls, she had rushed to get the door before anyone could beat her to it. And her tenacity was rewarded when, upon opening the door, she was greeted by a man stepping
out of the fog, smiling sweetly.
“Hello, young miss,” the man said, doffing his cap. “Sorry to bother you. Friends of mine came before me to visit and I was hoping to catch up.”
As he came closer, Sister Hope revised her initial impression. This was not a nice man; no, not at all. A heavily greased mustache hung down limpy on his upper lip, while his gaunt face and beady eyes made him look like a zombie.
“I’m sorry . . .” she stammered, wishing Sister Patience, or anyone at all, would come. “We don’t allow visitors . . . you shouldn’t even be able to find us . . .”
“But your lovely bell led me right here.” He smiled, a mouth full of rotten teeth staring back at her. “And my friends are inside, right? So why don’t you run and fetch them for me, would ya?”
Uncertain, Sister Hope glanced behind her to see if anyone else was coming to help. Unfortunately, the hallway was empty. She turned back to her visitor, who stepped up to her.
“I’m sorry, if you could just wait—”
Her voice cut off suddenly, and she fell to the ground.
“Sorry, darling,” Bill the Butcher said, bending over to wipe his cleaver on the nun’s habit. “I really don’t have all day.”
He straightened and ran down the hall, keeping an ear out for voices drifting through this monument to silence.
Rory glanced around the study as the abbess moved past him toward her desk. The small room looked lived in, with folders and books stacked everywhere. The main desk was barely visible under the mountains of paper. The walls held towering bookshelves in every direction. A big comfy-looking chair sat in front of the desk, and it was in this that the abbess indicated Rory should sit. She settled behind her desk and gazed thoughtfully at him, her fingers tapping her chin.
“What are you looking at?” Rory asked nervously.
“I think you know,” the abbess replied. “You’re not the spitting image of him, of course, but the likeness is there. What’s your name?”
“Rory Hennessy,” he replied, off balance.
“So you knew him as Peter Hennessy, correct?” The abbess smiled. “He always did like that name.”
“Who are you!” Rory demanded.
“I’m the abbess of this convent. I established it long ago, for many reasons, not least of which was to give the daughters of the gods a place where they could ponder the mists in peace. The mists remind us that there is more out there than ourselves. Much more than we can ever understand. We may be immortal, but we are as lost as you mortals in many ways.”
“So you started an abbey to look at fog?”
The abbess laughed. “Among other things. Myself, I’ve always been a healer. It is my way of making up for who I used to be. This convent allows me time to study my craft. And, of course, it was a convenient escape.”
“Escape from what?”
The abbess smiled again, this time with a slight twinge of bitterness. “From your father.”
Rory shivered. He was so close. “So you know him? Who he is? Where he is? What he is?”
“So many questions. I don’t have all the answers. We are such old friends, but even I don’t know all his secrets. Even as he made certain to visit before every voyage, there were always holes in his past he never bothered to fill in for me. Such a sad man. But, then again, sad people tend to flock to me, I’m afraid.
“And then he disappeared for a little while. I thought he’d passed on. But then he reappeared, about eight years ago, only this time he was shipping out on the worst boat imaginable. The ghost ship, the Half Moon. He was truly lost to despair. It was heartbreaking to see.”
“I don’t understand,” Rory said. “What was wrong with him?”
“That is up to him to explain, not I,” the abbess said. “I wish I could tell you your father is a paragon of virtue. But in many ways, he is a weak, weak man. He has hurt so many people, including myself, and he runs rather than answer for his actions. I pray for him to find strength, but I fear that prayer is in vain. Perhaps my prayers have been answered in you, instead.”
“Why won’t you just tell me what you do know?” Rory cried. “At least tell me his real name!”
“I don’t know it,” the abbess admitted. “He never told me. Perhaps it is Peter Hennessy. It wouldn’t surprise me one bit.”
“None of this is helping,” Rory complained, slumping in his chair. “I guess you didn’t know him that well.”
The abbess leaned back, sighing. “Perhaps not. I loved him too much to know him.”
Rory started. “Did you . . . date?”
“We were together for a while.” The abbess stared out at nothing, her face wistful. “I would have done anything for him. His name was Morgan when I first met him. Morgan Green. That is the name I call him in my head. I fell for him immediately. He had such a way about him, so kind and wise. I had made many mistakes in my past and been around some rough men, so I appreciated his gentle manner. I didn’t know at the time how prone he was to flight. He loved me in his way, but never enough, and finally, he left me. I pursued him for a while, a good hundred years I’d say, through at least four different identities, but he could never give me what I wanted. So eventually I retreated here to found my abbey, and he would visit on his way out to sea. I knew he was running from something, for he made me promise never to reveal any of his names, especially Harry Meester. I see by your face that you know that one. I helped him all I could, for I could not stop loving him, and I still do. We became great friends. But he could never truly love me. That he reserved for your mother.”
“Come on,” Rory said, disbelieving. “He left her alone with two kids to feed. How is that love?”
“Like I said, he is a weak man. But I could tell by his face on that day eight years ago. He was leaving his true love behind, and it killed him.”
“Then why did he do it!” Rory cried.
“You will have to ask him that,” the abbess replied. “I don’t have the answer. We were very close, but I never knew much about him. I cannot tell you why he did the things he did. I can only tell you where he is now.”
“Where is that?” Rory asked, overwhelmed.
“Headed due east. The ghost ship is heading out to sea once again. He passed by here not three days ago. The Half Moon is not in good shape, so you might be able to catch him if you can find yourself a fast ship. But you’ll have to be quick to—”
A cry in the hall interrupted her, followed by a crash. The abbess sprang to her feet. Rory felt fear gnaw its way into his belly.
“Maybe you shouldn’t go out there,” he warned her.
“You remain here,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”
Rory couldn’t bear the thought of waiting, so he followed the abbess out into the hall. They heard yelling and cries for help. The abbess began to run, until she spied something ahead. Her hand flew to her mouth in shock. Peering around her, Rory saw a body on the ground; it was a nun, barely moving.
“Sister Patience!” the abbess cried, running forward.
“Wait!” Rory whispered, following her carefully. His heart pounded as he came nearer. The nun lay in front of the door to the room where his friends waited. But there wasn’t much of a door left. It had been hacked to pieces. Yelling and crying came from inside the room. Rory peered around the door frame.
Inside, he was greeted by a chaotic sight. Alexa clung to the back of a hulking man, who waved his knives back and forth, trying to slice everything that moved. It was Bill the Butcher, Rory realized with a sick feeling in his stomach. Somehow the killer had found him. Simon sat quivering in the corner, a cleaver buried an inch from his head, half his hair sliced off onto the floor. As Rory watched, Bill threw Alexa off his back, sending her slamming into the stone wall; she fell in a senseless heap. Fritz’s tiny form raced in front of her, tossing firecrackers at Bill’s feet to no avail. Bill raised his cleaver.
“Where is he?” he bellowed.
“We’ll never tell you anything!” Fritz cried, t
ossing another firecracker. Bill roared and brought the cleaver down toward the defiant battle roach.
“NO!” Rory cried. But he needn’t have worried; Fritz easily leaped aside, missing the blade by a hairbreadth. Rory’s cry had given Bill a new target, however: him.
“There you are, boy.” Bill smiled. Rory blanched at his sickly grin. “I’ve been looking for you.”
“You will not touch him, ruffian,” the abbess announced, stepping in front of Rory. Bill began to laugh.
“You’re gonna stop me? A little girl like you?” He stepped forward with cleaver held high, ready to cut her down where she stood. The abbess did not flinch.
“Sisters!” she cried, stepping aside. “Defend our house!”
A group of nuns raced by her into the room, rushing Bill. With a cry, he disappeared under a sea of habits as more and more nuns poured in to subdue the intruder. The abbess turned to Rory.
“Run! Quickly! We can’t hold him forever. Find your father! Tell him Mary Burton still thinks of him! Go!”
Rory ran forward and helped up Alexa, who was still shaken from her meeting with the wall. He turned to Simon, yanking the frightened boy to his feet.
“Come on!” Rory yelled, spurring them to action. Behind them, with a Herculean effort, Bill roared to his feet, tossing off nuns as if they were leaves.
“You’re not goin’ nowhere, Rory Hennessy!” He lunged forward with his cleaver in hand. Rory watched him come, unable to move. The cleaver descended, heading directly for his neck. But it never landed there.
Thwack.
The abbess staggered back into him, the cleaver sticking out of her chest. She’d leaped in front of Rory and taken the blow meant for him. She slid to the ground, staring up at Rory.
“Go . . .” she whispered, and her eyes closed as she went still. The nuns stood still for a moment, stunned, and then they roared into action, pummeling Bill into the ground until he disappeared under a flurry of habits. The abbess’s last word still hung in the air. Go.
