Spirits in the Park

by Scott Mebus

  Bridget and her friends approached the bridge, staying safely within the trees. Sergent Kiffer rode upon her shoulder, while Toy mutely walked a step behind. She didn’t know what to expect from the paper boy; she hoped he’d help when the time came. Tucket had recovered enough to limp at her side. She planned to make certain the tawny dog didn’t get involved with this rescue attempt. He’d done enough already.

  The sky was darkening above them and the wind began to pick up as they reached the bridge, staying out of sight. They could hear Pierre muttering to himself under the arch. He was probably halfway down the passage, where he could see in both directions. So there’d be no sneaking up on him. What to do? Stumped, she glanced down at Sergeant Kiffer, who stood staring up at her, awaiting orders. With his helmet on, he looked terrifyingly huge. An image flashed in her mind, the memory of meeting Pierre in his dank little shack—and the way he’d reacted when he first spied Hans. An idea presented itself, and she began to smile.

  A few minutes later, she stepped out onto the path, right where Pierre could see her.

  “Hi, Pierre!” she called out. Pierre spun around, eyes wild, training his pistol on her.

  “You!” he exclaimed, taking a step toward her. Not enough, she thought. She needed him closer.

  “I give up,” she said, the wind whipping her paper hair in every direction as if she were Medusa. She must truly look like a demon, she thought. “You’ve got all my friends, so you win! I’ll tell you the truth.”

  “The truth?” he asked, taking another step toward her. “And what is the truth?”

  “The cave was full of Kieft’s treasure.”

  “I already know that!” Pierre took another step toward her. Almost, she thought. He gestured wildly with his gun. “Why didn’t you tell me that in the first place?”

  “Why would we want to share with you?” she asked, goading him further. “You weren’t smart enough to find it on your own. Why should we give you any? You don’t deserve it.”

  “Don’t deserve it!” Pierre took another step, coming out from under the bridge into the open air. “I suffered for that treasure! That is my treasure. And you won’t take it from me.”

  He took his last step, pointing the gun at her. But he never got the chance to fire.

  “Geronimo!” Sergeant Kiffer yelled as he dropped from the edge of the bridge directly onto Pierre’s astonished face. And the freak-out she’d witnessed in Pierre’s shack at the sight of Hans paled in comparision to the dance of horror that unfolded when the huge roach landed on the old trapper’s forehead.

  “GET IT OFF ME GET IT OFF ME GET IT OFF ME!” Pierre screamed, clutching at his face in sheer terror. He ran in crazed circles, shaking his head violently, trying to dislodge the huge roach from his head. But Kiffer had grabbed hold of his hair and his ears. The battle roach was not giving in. He rode Pierre’s forehead like it was a rodeo bull.

  “You’re mine, you little weasel!” Sergeant Kiffer cried as he held on. “I ain’t going nowhere!” And despite Pierre’s frantic attempts, Kiffer’s words held true.

  Bridget tore herself away from the sight and ran under the bridge. She threw open the hidden door as Toy reached her side, and together they tore at the bonds that held their friends.

  “Thank you, Bridget!” Soka cried, climbing to her feet. Finn followed, helping the old Sachem Penhawitz find his balance. “We owe you our lives.”

  Bridget blushed with pleasure. “Let’s get out of here.”

  They turned to leave the bridge, where Pierre still struggled with Kiffer. Rain had begun to fall as the wind picked up. A particularly strong gust hit them, knocking Kiffer right off the trapper and into the bushes. Pierre staggered, but did not fall, turning to face his former prisoners, still clutching his ancient gun.

  “No!” he cried, gesturing wildly with his pistol. “You will not keep me from my treasure! I’ve waited too long!”

  He trained his gun on the first person he saw through the rain, who happened to be Soka. A look of fear came over Finn’s face and he raced toward his grandfather.

  “Grandfather, don’t hurt her!” he cried. Just as Finn reached the gun, his hand pushing the barrel of the pistol into the air, Pierre pulled the trigger. But the old pistol, wet from the rain, finally gave in to its advanced age, and instead of firing a bullet into the sky, it exploded into a million pieces, covering both Pierre and Finn in shrapnel. They fell to the ground in a tangled heap, smoke drifting lazily above them as the boom of the gun’s self-destruction echoed into the distance.

  With a cry, Soka ran to the two prone bodies, falling to her knees at their sides. Pierre was groaning, the old man crying as he clutched his smoldering, ruined hand in pain. But Finn was in far worse shape, his chest a mess of burns and blood.

  “That was so stupid!” Soka scolded him, her eyes filling with tears at the sight of Finn’s broken body.

  “I couldn’t let him hurt you.” Finn smiled weakly, and then dissolved into a fit of coughing. “Not you, Soka. Not you.” He shuddered once, his eyes opening wide, and then he went still.

  “He saved me,” Soka whispered, crying in the rain. “Oh, Finn. I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s over, Soka,” Penhawitz said, his hand on his niece’s shoulder. “We must go. His sacrifice must not be in vain.”

  “Finn.” Pierre was whimpering. “I never meant to . . . why did you get in the way!”

  “Will you watch him?” Soka asked Sergeant Kiffer, wiping her eyes. “You and Hans. I don’t think he’ll give you much trouble.”

  “Of course,” Kiffer promised. “You can count on us.”

  Soka turned to Bridget and the others, her face stone.

  “Come,” she said. “We must find my mother. She will know what to do about Abigail.”

  Bridget and Penhawitz nodded, and they took off down the path, leaving the man whose greed had caused such misery broken by the ruination of his schemes.

  27

  AT THE GATE

  When they reached Columbus Circle, Alexa guided Rory and his father to the large shopping mall across from the entrance to the park.

  “You’ll see why,” she said cryptically, and she urged them to hunker down in the doorway of one of the stores. A jewelry store, it seemed closed for the day, with its lights dim and door bolted shut. Rory stared out across the traffic circle toward the park, past the little plaza in the middle, with its towering pedestal at the top of which stood a statue of Christopher Columbus himself. The rain was picking up, and steam rose from distant trees, making the park look like a rain forest during monsoon season. Across from them, the main entrance to Central Park, called Merchant’s Gate, lay at the end of a paved semicircle that dipped in from the street. Another statue stood here to welcome visitors to the park, perched atop a grand pedestal decorated with sculptures of barely clothed Roman sprites. This golden statue, a warrior woman guiding a team of ferocious horses, seemed poised to leap off the monument in attack. This seemed a fitting place to make a last stand, Rory decided.

  As he watched, people began streaming into the circle, heading for the plaza in the center. At least Rory thought at first that they were people. But then strange feelings began to rush through him. He felt optimistic and sad and invincible and righteous and nostaligic and clever, all at the same time. He wanted to invest some money and rescue a kitten and play point guard for the Knicks. The feelings overwhelmed him, and he fell back heavily against the door to the jewelry store. Alexa gave him a pitying look.

  “Those are gods you’re seeing out there in the rain,” she said. “You know how it feels to be in the presence of one of them, right? Now imagine hundreds of them, all in the same place. If you were out there in the middle of all of them, you’d be a bloody mess, believe me. Mortals weren’t meant to be around that much divinity. I’m hoping that once you put on the Sachem’s belt, you’ll be buffered, but until then, we’ll stay out of the way. I think you’ll find that your fellow mortals will be staying away as well,
though they won’t know why.”

  Sure enough, the flow of cars around the traffic circle had ceased. No one was walking down the sidewalk in front of the mall, either. They must have known instinctively to stay away. From now on, it was only to be the gods and the Munsees. And Rory.

  “We shouldn’t be here,” Mr. Hennessy muttered next to him as more and more gods entered the circle, spilling out onto the now-empty street. Glancing around the rapidly filling roundabout, Rory sympathized with his father, even as he settled into the corner of the doorway to wait for Wampage and the belt. The sooner he turned that key and got out of there, the better.

  The rain had intensified, driving in every direction, as Bridget and her companions caught up to the Munsees. The Indians had just arrived at Merchant’s Gate, gathering around the spot where they would soon be able to reenter the world. Tackapausha stood apart, surrounded by his warriors, Tammand among them. But Sooleawa saw them first, and she came running with a happy cry.

  “Penhawitz! Brother! You are safe!” She threw herself into her brother’s arms. A whisper ran through the crowd at the sight of their old sachem.

  “Father,” Tackapausha said, walking over through the downpour to greet the former Sachem. “I am glad to see you have rejoined your people. Though your company could be better. A fugitive and a demon.” He nodded at Soka and Bridget, then noticed Toy standing mutely behind them. His eyes widened. “I’m sorry, two demons! They seem to be multiplying.”

  “I have come to beg you to turn from your path,” Penhawitz said, shouting above the rising gale that surrounded them as he addressed the crowd. “My people, we have all suffered. We have every right to desire revenge. But at what cost? When the Trap falls, we will feel the land again. The hole in our hearts that has plagued us for so long will be filled at last. We will be whole, as we were before! Tackapausha wishes to throw that away. His revenge? It can only destroy us. It is suicide.”

  “It is justice,” Tackapausha insisted. “They have treated us like dogs to be penned up. Will we let that go unanswered?”

  “We have lived here in the park for over a hundred and fifty years,” Penhawitz reminded him. “This is our home. It will be the heart of our nation. If the newcomers try to take it from us, they will suffer for it. That will be our revenge—we will prosper.”

  “It was here, you know,” Tackapausha said, raindrops dripping off his hand as he pointed toward the Circle. “Right on the other side of that gate, Meester shot my son. I cannot forgive that. When the Trap falls, there will be more of the same. More senseless murder. The newcomers will think they can do what they will to us. They will come under the cover of night and murder our children! That is who they are. Murderers of children. There is only one way to speak to such people—in the language of blood!”

  The group of young warriors around Tackapausha, Tammand included, cheered. Some of the other Munsees held back, fear and hope warring across their faces.

  Bridget could stand it no more. She called out, “What about Abigail!”

  Tackapausha turned to her. “Olathe is gone, demon.”

  “No, she’s trapped in the angel at Bethesda Fountain.”

  “Olathe is alive?” Chogan asked, eyes wide as he pushed himself to the fore. Penhawitz nodded and Chogan’s jaw dropped.

  “So is Buckongahelas,” a new voice called out. Fritz rode into view at their feet. “I’ve seen him.” A whisper ran through the Munsees.

  “I don’t know who you are, little one, but I saw him die,” Tackapausha inisisted, eyes flashing. “Why do you defile the memory of my son with these lies?”

  Fritz explained about Harry Meester’s plan to save Buck. Bridget’s heart leaped—Rory had found their father! Soon she would meet him. She didn’t know if she was excited or scared. Probably both. But first they had to get out of this mess, which didn’t seem too promising as Tackapausha’s eyes were narrowing in disbelief.

  “This is what they stoop to!” he announced to his people. “Attempting to buy us off with false hope! Is there nothing they won’t lie about?” Many of the Munsees looked angry as well; no one trusted the news they had just heard. Bridget sighed. Some things were just too unbelievable.

  “At least let us release Olathe so we can return her to her people,” Sooleawa said.

  “Is that such a good idea?” Askook said, stepping up to his sachem’s side. “After all, right now she is a hostage, but the minute we hand her over, she loses all value.”

  “You are wise, Askook,” Tackapausha said, nodding.

  “Are you crazy?” Bridget yelled, stamping her foot, sending wet mud flying in all directions.

  “If you won’t release her from the fountain, then I will,” Soka said defiantly.

  “I’m sorry, I cannot allow that,” Tackapausha replied. He nodded toward his nearest warriors, who immediately encircled Bridget and her companions, including Chogan and Sooleawa. “It is better if you remain here under guard until it is over.”

  He turned and walked away, straight and tall, as if the rain that pelted down upon them did not touch him at all.

  Once he and Askook were out of sight, Sooleawa turned to her daughter. “It has to be up to you, now. I will cause a distraction. You must free Olathe and return her to her father.”

  Soka took a deep breath and nodded.

  “I’ll head back to the other side of the wall,” Fritz said. “They need to know what’s going on in here.”

  “Good, then I’ll cause a disturbance,” Sooleawa said to her daughter. “And you, and Bridget, and the silent one will make a break for the trees. You don’t have much time, so you must be swift. Understand?”

  Soka nodded and Sooleawa smiled at her daughter, kissing the top of her head. “Get ready to run.” She reached into her pouch and pulled out a thick substance. She rubbed it on her forehead, muttering under her breath. Then, suddenly, she disappeared. Almost immediately, a cry went up among their guards.

  “Sooleawa is gone!” the one nearest Bridget cried. A voice called out clear across the path on the other side of the line of Munsees, who now cast about in confusion for the source of the commotion.

  “You cannot hold Sooleawa!”

  Bridget concentrated on the spot where the voice came from, and to her horror, she could see the faint outline of the medicine woman, made from the falling raindrops as they bounced off Sooleawa’s invisible shoulders. The rain made it impossible to be truly unseen. The guards immediately saw Sooleawa’s outline in the rain as well, and they ran toward her. For a moment the rest of Bridget’s group were unwatched.

  Penhawitz whispered to them. “Run!”

  Bridget, Soka, and Toy immediately made a break for it, crashing into the brush. The warrior princess needed to be saved, Bridget thought as they raced north toward the plaza, and she would not let her down.

  28

  OLD MAGIC UNDONE

  Nicholas stood uncomfortably in the rain, trying not to worry. He and Lincoln had arrived at Columbus Circle to find a multitude of gods already waiting. Word had gotten around, apparently, that the Trap was falling and they were here to see it for themselves. Nicholas tried to gauge the mood of the crowd; fear was in the air and they teetered on the edge. They would follow the Mayor, Nicholas thought. There was no one else left standing. But what would the Mayor do?

  Hamilton didn’t even look at them as he spoke with various gods. Nicholas couldn’t tell if Abigail’s necklace had changed Hamilton’s mind. He wished the Mayor would give some sign of his intentions . . .

  “Nicholas! Lincoln! Hello!” Nicholas turned to see Simon running up to them. For some reason he was carrying a stack of plates, which Nicholas recognized.

  “Why are you carting around my mother’s china?” he asked, bewildered. Simon started, staring down at the plates as if he’d never seen them before.

  “I don’t know . . .” he said, confused. “I went to your house to get you, but the whole place was a burned shell. Some guy named Diedrich told me that th
e house went up in flames, and Burr was one of the casualties. I don’t believe that for a second, by the way. There was nothing more I could do, so I ran here.”

  “With my mother’s plates . . .” Nicholas’s eyes narrowed, and suddenly he pushed Simon, hard. The Astor boy lost control of the china and plates flew through the air, but somehow, miraculously, he managed to catch each one. Nicholas jabbed a finger in his chest. “You put on the locket, didn’t you!”

  Simon tried to protest, but Lincoln reached out and pulled open Simon’s puffy shirt. The gold locket hung there, plain as day. Simon quickly pulled his shirt closed and looked around to see if anyone had noticed.

  “Are you crazy?” he said. “What if someone saw?”

  “Take it off, right now,” Nicholas ordered.

  “I’ll take it off later,” Simon promised. “It’s too dangerous now, someone might notice.”

  A commotion on the other side of the plaza alerted them to a new arrival. Alexa marched up through the driving rain, a strange man by her side. The Mayor caught sight of the man and froze, his face turning white.

  “You!” he cried. “But you’re dead!”

  “Hello, Alexander,” the Munsee said, his eyes burning at the sight of the Mayor.

  “Buckongahelas!” Hamilton breathed. “How can this be? It is a miracle. Where have you been all this time?”

  “I am not here to catch up, Hamilton,” Buckongahelas said, his eyes cold. “I am here to see my wife.”

  “They told me she still lived,” Hamilton said, in shock. “It seems too good to be true.”

  “Perhaps it is too good to be true. We will find out together.”

  “I—” Hamilton started to say something, then stopped himself. “I guess we will,” he finished lamely. Nicholas sighed. The Mayor had been so close to an apology, but he’d backed away. He still didn’t know what the Mayor would do once the Trap fell. He’d have to wait and hope, along with everyone else.