by Scott Mebus
Fritz grabbed a handful of firecrackers from his armor and began throwing them at the hulking killer. The explosions sent Bill reeling backward, Toy still attached to his neck. Bill stopped himself and glanced around, eyes coming to rest on a particularly large display case. He launched himself at the case, spinning onto his back so that Toy would land first. They crashed into the case with so much force that the entire structure flattened like a pancake, rings and necklaces bursting into the air like candy from a broken piñata.
Toy’s legs now hung in tatters below his waist. But his arm would not loose its grip on Bill’s neck. Rory quickly resumed his search. There wasn’t much time left, he could tell. Some people were coming, he could see through the window, but they wouldn’t be in time. Toy was almost finished, and Fritz’s firecrackers didn’t have much effect on the man besides herding him away from Rory. It was now or never.
That’s when Rory saw the bag, poking out from under a collapsed display case. He raced to pull it from beneath the glass and metal. Tearing it open, he was greeted by blinding white—the belt. Now he had to finish the job.
He pulled out the belt and wrapped it around his waist. All at once the world became sharper. Staring out at the plaza, he could see colors swirling. Fear, anger, hope, aggression—they all churned through the gods waiting to greet the Munsees. He was completely lost in what he saw until Fritz again caught his attention.
“Toy’s done for. Finish it!”
Rory turned around to see Toy’s grip slacken and his devastated body slip to the floor, where it lay motionless. Bill the Butcher was blinking, dazed from the fight, and Rory quickly rifled through his pockets to take advantage of the last distraction he was likely to get. Where was it . . . there! His hand closed around the lock and he pulled it free of his jacket. His other hand went to the key around his neck.
But it was too late. Bill shook off his confusion and focused in on Rory. There was no time for anything, not even a firecracker, as the big man stomped across the ruins of the jewelry store, arm outstretched, ready to choke the life from the last Light in Mannahatta.
“Hey, you!”
Bill glanced around at the unfamiliar voice. A shot rang out and he staggered back before falling to his knees. He fell forward like a tree, landing with a crash on the glass-covered floor, where he moved no more.
Caesar Prince stood in the doorway, a smoking gun in his hand. He walked forward, calmly felt around the dead man’s back, and pulled out a glowing bullet. The truth dawned on Rory: this was another soul pistol, like the one Hex had once used on Bridget.
Caesar stared at the glowing bullet thoughtfully and put it in his pocket. Rory stepped forward.
“Caesar, I’m so glad you . . .”
Rory trailed off as the God of Under the Streets turned to look at him with pitiless eyes. Then his supposed friend and benefactor pulled out a copper spear, much like the one Wampage carried, and hurled that spear right into Rory’s belly.
“No!” Fritz screamed, rushing to Rory’s side as he fell.
“Quickly, Rory,” Caesar said, calmly staring down at the stricken boy. “You have an instant to save the world, for now and to come.” With that cryptic statement, he turned and strode out of the store, disappearing into the storm.
Rory wondered if he was dying. But there was no pain. In fact, the feelings he’d received when he put on the belt grew even stronger. Looking down at his stomach, he was shocked to see the spear was sticking right out of the belt. The wampum had saved his life.
“What was he talking about?” Fritz asked, anger coloring his voice. “You could have died. Why . . . ?”
Suddenly Rory gasped. The belt began to melt.
It was as if someone had thrown it into a fire. The beads lost their shape as they oozed off the strings that held them together. The brilliant white faded, turning to burned black. The last hope to bring down the Trap and free the Munsees was falling to pieces around him and he couldn’t do anything about it.
Caesar had doomed them all.
30
AN INSTANT TO SAVE THE WORLD
The wind had now risen to hurricane strength, knocking down trees and blowing down anything not made of granite. The beautiful stained-glass windows at the Bowery Mission burst into a million pieces under the force of the gale. Fire hydrants were torn from the sidewalks and anyone foolish enough to be caught out in the storm was blown down the street. Lightning struck again and again—if the power hadn’t been out already, it never would have survived the attack.
But light did return to the city, in the form of the many fires that sprang up everywhere. Fire engines raced through the howling wind, struggling to get to the flames, but most of them were blown clear across the road into the sides of buildings. The entire city was under attack, and its inhabitants fled like rats down into the basements, where they huddled together, flinching at every loud noise that filtered in from above, waiting in fear either for the storm to pass or the end of days, whichever came first.
The wind blew the glass through the air of the store like deadly dust, and Rory ducked behind his arm to avoid being blinded. The glow of the belt had almost faded, as had any hope he’d had of ending this. The last display case teetered under the gale, finally falling on top of the dead spirit on the floor. Rory turned aside to avoid the new barrage of glass, and his eyes came to rest on Toy.
The poor creature lay splayed out on the floor, limbs in tatters. He was dying for nothing, Rory thought hopelessly, and an immense sadness washed over him. Then, to his surprise, Toy’s body moved. At first he thought it was the wind, but Toy’s head rolled over to show that the paper boy’s eyes were open and staring right at Rory.
Toy’s eyes seemed to plead with him, begging him not to make it all for nothing. And that prompted Rory take another look at his belt. It was fading, melting, dissolving . . . but it wasn’t gone yet. Quickly, Caesar had said. He had but an instant. Was this what the old god meant? An instant before the belt melted away into nothing?
His father would give up; the thought rose up inside him. His father would run. His father would find a place to hide and wait out the storm, ready to pick up the pieces once it was over.
“I’m not my father,” Rory snarled. He fought the wind to grab the key from around his neck. The lock still lay in his other hand. The glow was almost gone from the Sachem’s belt, so it was now or never. He thrust the key into the lock, said a prayer to whichever god might listen, and gave it a turn. But the key protested, not wanting to move. Rory screamed into the wind as he strained, putting everything he had into his twist, digging deep inside as he willed the key to turn. Finally, up sprang a familiar warmth that spread through him like wildfire, coursing through his veins. He could see the truth, all of it, for one blazing moment. Then the key turned.
A soft sigh flew from his mouth as he fell back, exhausted. But the sigh didn’t fade. The wind carried it out toward the park. It was no longer his sigh, it was everywhere, as if the island itself were expressing relief. The island itself was finally whole again.
Rory climbed to his knees and stared out at the park. The blue glow that he could usually see only from a distance was now growing brighter by the second, until he could barely look at the park. Turning away, he noticed that Toy’s head was facing the back of the store. The paper boy’s mouth was moving soundlessly as he stared at the flickering blue reflection in the glass that littered the floor. Rory crawled across the floor to his side, lifting the paper body in his arms. He turned Toy’s ruined face toward the park, toward the light that now threatened to overwhelm them. Toy’s mouth opened in astonishment as his eyes drank it all in. His mouth formed the unspoken words: It’s beautiful.
Tears were running down Rory’s cheeks, mixing with the rain, as he silently agreed. It was beautiful. So beautiful. It enveloped them in one last, all-encompassing blue blanket of light. And then it faded, slowly, until it was gone forever. Toy’s body slumped and Rory knew that he, too, was gone foreve
r. But his cracked paper lips were turned upward in an unfamiliar, but unmistakable smile.
31
OLD WOUNDS
The storm subsided, the wind dying down as the rain slackened. Nicholas shook himself alert, still awed by the beautiful light that had washed over them all. The death throes of the Trap had been breathtaking. But now there was still work to do.
Kieft still waited, watching to see what happened next. Would Tackapausha step out of the park first? Or would it be Abigail? Buck moved ahead of the crowd, his eyes filled with the hope of just that possibility.
Suddenly, there was a commotion behind him and Nicholas spied a boy in a stovepipe hat running toward Buck’s back with a bared knife. Nicholas was too far away to do anything, he realized with horror; he could only watch helplessly as the boy sprang at Buck, stabbing the knife down toward a spot directly between the unwitting Munsee’s shoulder blades—
Thwack!
From out of nowhere, an arrow appeared in the boy’s shoulder, prompting him to drop his knife in pain. Buck realized his danger and spun around, but the injured boy was already disappearing into the crowd. Before anyone could chase the would-be assassin, a voice rang out from the entrance to the park.
“It cannot be—”
They all turned back toward the park, where a man had appeared, striding out of the trees with his bow in hand. The man’s eyes were shocked, even as he fit another arrow into his bowstring. Nicholas knew him of old—it was Tackapausha, free at last.
Hundreds of Munsee warriors poured out of the entrance behind their sachem, fanning out to take positions behind benches and trees. They appeared ready to fight. The gods around him took a step back, muttering to themselves. Many of them pulled out pistols and swords. Great, Nicholas thought. They’d come this far just to kill one another.
Buckongahelas took a step forward, a tearful smile flowing across his face. “Father! You’ve come home.”
“It is you who has come home,” Tackapausha replied, his face still disbelieving. “I do not know how it is possible, but I am beyond joyful to see you again, my son.”
“Where is my daughter?” the Mayor demanded, striding forward. Tackapausha turned away from his son, his face becoming stone at the sound of the Mayor’s voice.
“I am surprised to see you here, Hamilton,” the Sachem said. “I would have thought you were hiding in a cellar somewhere.”
The gods grumbled among themselves at the Sachem’s haughty tone. It was as if they’d forgotten who had put whom in a cage, Nicholas thought.
“I was told she still lived,” Hamilton said.
“Is it true?” Buck asked his father, who nodded. “Where is she?”
“My business here is not finished yet,” Tackapausha answered.
“I demand that you return her to me!” Hamilton shouted.
“There will be no demands!” Tackapausha declared. “Only justice. All through the long years of our captivity, I continued to promise my people that one thing: justice. There were many architects of our prison, I know this. But you, Hamilton, you were the great betrayer. You took everything from me! And now I want the same from you.”
“What are you talking about?” Hamilton asked warily.
“I demand your life. That is justice.”
“My people, this insult cannot be borne!” Kieft cried, lifting his pistol. The gods followed him, training their weapons on the Indians at the gate. “If you threaten our mayor, you threaten us all.”
Nicholas had to admire the way Kieft incited the crowd. When the fighting began, people would remember only Tackapausha’s demands, not Kieft’s fanning of the flames. The Munsees reacted in kind, brandishing their weapons. Hamilton shook his head.
“You’re mad, Tackapausha, if you think I’ll let you take my life.”
“I knew you’d be a coward,” Tackapausha said. “Your people’s lives are on your head.”
“Father, please, don’t do this,” Buck said, stepping forward, but the Sachem refused to hear him.
“Let’s all just calm down a minute!” Nicholas called out, but no one listened. Hamilton pulled out a gun.
“You’re the one who is keeping my daughter from me. You’re the one making unreasonable demands. Look around you. I have ten times as many people behind me. It will be a slaughter if you try to fight.”
“We will make a good accounting of ourselves, I promise you,” Tackapausha said fiercely. Weapons pointed in every direction as the battle waited only upon a single first shot to explode.
“Hey, poopheads! Chill out! You’re worse than the boys in my class, and they eat paste!”
A familiar girl ran right between Tackapausha and Hamilton, followed by a large dog.
“You should be ashamed of yourselves!” Bridget scolded them. For a second both the Sachem and the Mayor seemed taken aback by this paper girl in their midst, but Tackapausha quickly rallied.
“You have no say in this, demon,” he informed her haughtily.
“I don’t,” she replied in the same tone, pointing toward the park, where a figure was emerging. “But she does.”
Buck was already eagerly running past the girl toward the trees, and the look on his face brought tears to Nicholas’s eyes.
“Abby . . .” he whispered. He joyfully reached the tired-looking girl in a dirty dress who was laughing at the sight of her love. They kissed, clutching at each other fiercely.
“Abigail.” Hamilton’s voice came out anguished as he lowered his gun hand. He reached out to his daughter, tears rising in his eyes.
“Hello, Father,” Abigail said, her voice cold as she turned toward him. “I waited for you. I thought you would come for me.”
“I couldn’t,” Hamilton stammered. “The Trap . . .”
“I waited a hundred and fifty years for you to come, and you never did,” Abigail said. “I love you, Father, but for what you’ve done . . . I can never forgive you.”
Hamilton seemed to deflate in front of everyone.
“You’re right,” he muttered. A murmur ran through the crowd. Tackpausha looked taken aback. “Justice is required. You may have your revenge, Tackapausha. There is nothing left to me, anyway. Just try to forgive my people. Too many lives have been ruined already. Let mine be the last taken. But let’s not call it an execution, for both our sakes. Let’s call it a duel.”
Hamilton raised his gun and fired into the air. Tackapausha lifted his bow, the arrow aimed right at Hamilton’s heart. But his hand shook. Abruptly, he dropped the bow to his side.
“I will not kill you today,” he said. “It is our first day of freedom and I will not stain it with blood . . . even your blood.” He raised his voice to address the gods. “We are returning to our home. The park is ours; newcomers are not welcome in our home. We have neither forgiven nor have we forgotten. But today . . . Today we enjoy the passing of the storm.”
He turned and strode into the park without looking back. Taken off guard at the abrupt shift from the edge of war to peace, the Munsees slowly followed their sachem back to their home. Nicholas could tell by their faces that, indeed, nothing had been forgiven. He sighed, the tension finally seeping out of him as the Munsees disappeared into the trees. At least war had been averted for now.
Turning, Nicholas noticed that Kieft was already starting to move away, followed by Boss Tweed and Tobias, among others. Though some of the gods looked relieved, others appeared both angry and fearful. Kieft’s work had been done too well, he thought. It was apparent that not all of Mannahatta welcomed the Munsees back. This peace was fragile, and it would not take much to shatter it into a million pieces.
But for now, the storm had passed.
32
AFTER THE STORM
Rory hadn’t moved from his spot in the store. He watched as the Munsees and the gods almost came to blows, then he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw them avert disaster. It had all worked out. He glanced down at Toy. Well, almost.
When he looked back up again,
someone was standing there.
“Your nice nose is all ruined,” Soka said, smiling softly.
“It’s just blood,” Rory replied. “I’ll heal. So you’re free.”
“Thanks to you.”
“I just did my part,” he said, too exhausted to brag.
“Well, my people are going back into the park. But I’ll be back to see you, I promise. Or you could visit me. Tackapausha has forbidden newcomers, but I’m not afraid to break the rules.”
“No, you’re not,” Rory replied. The two of them stared at each other, unsure what to say next. A lot had happened in the past week and Rory felt different. Soka looked different as well; sadder, wiser, and somehow more beautiful. He felt a million miles away from this otherworldy Indian girl.
“The demon is dead,” Soka said finally, breaking the silence as she noticed Toy for the first time.
“He saved my life,” Rory said, a mild reproach in his voice.
“Then he was no demon.”
“Where’s your brother?” he asked, looking around for the disapproving face of Tammand. Soka’s eyes darkened.
“I do not care. He is not who I had hoped he’d be.”
“Family hardly ever is,” Rory said ruefully.
“Do not let Bridget hear you say that,” Soka replied, smiling. She put a hand on Rory’s face, sending a shiver down his spine. “I will see you soon, Rory Hennessy. I promise.”
With that, she left to rejoin her people. Rory watched her go with a sad feeling in his heart and he didn’t know why.
“Rory!”
Rory spun to see Bridget standing there, her face all smiles as he reached in to envelop her in the biggest hug ever given, and he held it for what felt like forever.
Askook felt the call in his head, demanding his presence. It led him to the deserted City Hall, down the winding corridors he knew from the time before the Trap, into an area of the building he’d never seen before. Judging by the age and rottenness of the wall hangings, and all the dust on the floor, no one had come this way in a long time. Finally, the call led him to a large oak door crisscrossed with forbidding iron bars. He pushed it open with a large creak. Standing on the other side was Willem Kieft.
