by Scott Mebus
“Did you know Adriaen van der Donck?” Simon asked. A look of recognition passed over Rufus’s face as Simon continued. “Did he give you anything?”
“So you’re the ones, huh?” Rufus said, looking uncomfortable. “Yes, he gave me a package, and told me to keep it safe. And I thought I did.”
“What do you mean you thought you did?” Mr. Hennessy asked.
“It was only meant for my victory lap! So I figured it was the best place to hide it. In plain sight, if you will.”
Rory sighed. It was just as he thought. “So it is in the car?”
“I hid it under the floor,” Rufus said, eyes wide with innocence. “And then that cheat Vanderbilt went and beat me, taking the car as his prize. I just need to win it back.”
“Are you a good driver?” Bridget asked.
“Yes,” Rufus said, then shrugged. “I mean, I’m okay. And by okay, I mean I’m pretty awful. I usually have a driver, but I had to fire him. Plus he quit. Said I was cursed, since none of my cars ever won. So shortsighted.”
“So what do we do?” Soka asked.
“We win the car back!” Simon exclaimed. “And I’ll drive!”
“Why don’t we just ask to see the car,” Rory suggested.
“I know Willy Vanderbilt,” Simon told him. “He won’t go for it. He’s just awful.”
“We’ve got to try,” Rory answered, and took off through the crowd toward the cars, leaving his friends to hurry after him. Robert Moses was still telling lies and recruiting as Rory passed him; Rory wanted to do something to expose Kieft’s man, but he had no time to dawdle.
Reaching the area holding the racing cars, he marched right up to car number 14. A tall, handsome man in a bomber jacket and jaunty cap was leaning against the hood, laughing with some collegiate-looking friends.
“Mr. Vanderbilt?” Rory said, and the tall man turned to him. “Would you mind if we took a look at your car? It’s vitally important.”
Vanderbilt didn’t even glance at him. Instead, he smiled insolently at Simon, who was running up behind Rory. “Hello, Astor. Come to watch real drivers race?”
“I could mop the road up with you,” Simon spat. “If they let me race.”
“I wish they would let you race, so I could humiliate you in public, rather than just in private like I usually do.” Vanderbilt’s friends burst out in mocking laughter.
“Shut up, meanie!” Bridget said, her hands on her hips. Rory sighed, not liking where this was going.
“Look, it’s a talking doll!” Vanderbilt declared, snorting with laughter. “Where’s the string?”
“You shut up and let us look at the car.”
“Get out of here, kids,” Vanderbilt said, shooing them with his hand. “Go play with your little toys. The big boys are getting ready to race.”
With that, he turned his back on them. Rufus and Simon shrugged as if to say, See?
Rory sighed. “What if we beat you?” he asked Vanderbilt. The insolent young god turned around, a disbelieving look on his face.
“Excuse me? That could never happen.”
“But if it did,” Rory continued, “we’d get your car, right?”
“Of course,” Vanderbilt replied. “But it’s never going to happen.”
And he went back to ignoring them. They moved away and Rory whispered fiercely to Rufus, “Can I drive your car?”
Before Rufus could respond, Mr. Hennessy cut in. “You are not driving that car. You’re thirteen years old. You’ve never driven a day in your life, I bet.”
“I’ll drive it!” Simon offered. Rufus shook his head firmly.
“I’ve seen what you’ve done in practice races,” he said. “You are not setting foot inside any of my cars. You’re worse luck than I am.”
“I’ll do it,” Mr. Hennessy said. “I’ve raced my fair share of cars. That’s pretty much all I did during the fifties when I was on shore leave.” Rufus looked torn, but then gave him a nod, pointing to a car on the outskirts of the clearing. It was painted bright red, with the number 13 on the hood. Simon gave Rufus a look of disbelief.
“Thirteen? Could you make it any harder on us?” he asked, shaking his head.
“Who’s your mechanic?” Rufus asked Mr. Hennessy, ignoring Simon. “Every car needs a mechanic to ride alongside.”
“I’ll do it,” Rory offered, but his father shook his head.
“It’s too dangerous. You’ll get hurt.” He turned to Bridget. “Would you like to ride with me?”
Bridget practically vibrated with excitement. “Really? Can I? Really? Okay!”
Rory couldn’t fault his dad for going with the child with invulnerable skin. But he felt disappointed all the same. His father patted his shoulder before walking over to the car with Bridget at his side. Simon walked with them, explaining the nuances of the track to them, leaving Rufus, Soka, and Rory standing off to the side.
“I need to let the scorers know who my driver is,” Rufus said, excusing himself to head to the main grandstand. Rory glanced at Soka, who gave him a small smile.
“Those things look pretty dangerous,” she said. “I think it’s better if you stay right here, where you won’t crash and burn to death.”
“Nice to know you care,” Rory replied, and Soka’s smile faltered as she remembered to be angry. Shaking his head, Rory turned to follow after Rufus and grab a seat in the stands to watch the race. Soka followed close behind.
They passed near Robert Moses again, who was busy making his pitch to a new group of gods. Rory began to get angrier. How dare that Moses fellow lie like that, as if it was nothing to distort the facts. His belly began to burn as he thought about it. Why didn’t he just tell the truth?
Suddenly the burning in his belly intensified, and he bent over double with the pain. That’s when things started to get a little weird.
“I want to use you to curry favor with Kieft so he will give me more power,” Robert Moses was saying. His face changed as he heard himself speak, his eyes going wild as his words came out differently than he intended. “I don’t really care if the Munsees are a threat, and it’s highly unlikely they’ll ever leave Central Park, to be honest, but if you show up to fight, then maybe we can kill them once and for all and steal their power.” The crowd around Moses began to murmur, not sure what was going on. The burning in Rory’s stomach worsened as the press of divinities all around him seemed to feed the fire within. Suddenly other gods began to speak, unprompted.
“I pulled a spark plug in number eleven and then bet against it,” one short little god said, looking horrified with what he was saying.
“I kissed a goddess who wasn’t my wife!” another god said unwillingly.
“I’m afraid of children!” a tall goddess announced. “They’re short and scary!”
“I’m not wearing any underwear!” another god cried, looking mortified even as he said it.
“I’d just as well stab you in the back as help you,” Moses said, and then backed away, like a cornered rat. He spotted Rory, and suddenly his eyes narrowed with recognition. Rory was too overcome to react, until Soka grabbed his arm and dragged him away from the circle of truth-telling gods. She pulled him under the grandstand. Rory noticed that she seemed to be holding her mouth shut with her hand.
Rory bent over, breathing deep, until the burning in his stomach dissipated. He nodded to Soka. “It’s gone.” Soka opened her mouth in relief.
“What were you doing?” she asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Everyone suddenly decided to tell the truth,” Soka pointed out. “Did you make that happen?”
“Well, my belly started to hurt, and I was angry with that hypocrite lying about the Munsees, and the next thing I knew, everyone was telling the truth.”
“Have you always been able to do this?” Soka asked. “Or is it recent?”
“It’s been happening ever since I wore the Sachem’s Belt when I opened the Trap!” Rory said, the truth dawning. “Maybe it melt
ed into my skin or something when Caesar Prince destroyed it. Did the belt make people tell the truth?”
“It did in the hands of a Light,” Soka said. “But never like this. You even do it to gods!”
“I wonder if Prince knew this would happen,” Rory mused.
“What did you do?” Simon poked his head around the corner of the grandstand. “I overheard Robert Moses tell some men to nab you the minute the race is under way! And not only that, he’s put two and two together and recognized Bridget as well! Look!”
Moses was standing near the track, leaning over the rope near two unsavory-looking drivers in identical black cars, whispering to them and pointing to Rory’s dad and sister, who were preparing their car for the race.
“Those are the Lamborghini twins!” Simon said. “They’re the dirtiest drivers in the borough. Your dad doesn’t stand a chance!”
“We have to do something!” Rory cried.
“I’ve got it!” Simon snapped his fingers. He ran off. “Simon!” Rory called after him, but to no avail. The officials called for the drivers to make their way to the starting line and Rory began to walk toward the track. “I’ve got to warn them,” he told Soka, heading toward his dad’s car, even as a group of tough-looking spirits spied him, forcing their way through the crowd in his direction. Fear shot through him as he realized he wouldn’t be able to make the track before the toughs reached him. But then a loud explosion made him jump. Spinning, he came face-to-face with the most dangerous-looking, poorly constructed car he’d ever seen. The rivets were uneven, the tires were wobbly, and smoke poured incessantly from under the hood. And behind the wheel, smiling like an idiot in his hat and goggles, sat Simon.
“This is my baby!” he declared. “I built her myself and keep her here at the track, just in case! Hop in, we’re going to race!”
“You’re crazy,” Soka said, backing away. “That looks like a death machine.”
“I’m a great driver!” Simon assured her. “This is the best way to make sure your dad and sister are all right, Rory. If we race, those goons over there can’t touch you, and we can draw the twins away so your dad can win. Or maybe we’ll win, ourselves! Never know!” He grinned again. Rory glanced back through the thick crowd at Moses’s men, who were getting closer and closer. Out of options, he climbed up next to Simon, who waved at Soka to join them. She sighed and hopped in next to them, forcing Rory to squish into the middle so she could fit.
“You better not kill us,” she told Simon, and he gave her a mocking salute before putting the car into gear. It lurched forward, sending a belch of smoke into the air before stalling.
“Whoops! Gotta pop the clutch!” Simon yelled, and he fooled around under the wheel. Finally, he restarted and the car began to move forward, pushing its way through the crowd toward the starting line.
They pulled in behind the first line of cars. Mr. Hennessy and Bridget saw them, and while Bridget waved, Mr. Hennessy looked furious. Rory pointed to the Lamborghini twins, making fierce faces. His father seemed confused, not understanding.
“Hey!” William Vanderbilt was standing in his car, pointing at Simon. “They can’t race! They don’t have a sponsor!”
“I’m their sponsor!” Rufus King announced, running up.
“You are already sponsoring a car,” the official ruled. “You can’t have two in a race.”
“Wait!” Simon called out. “I’m my own sponsor.”
“You have to be a god, idiot.” Vanderbilt sneered, sending a ripple of laughter through the crowd. Simon hesitated for a moment, listening to the mocking snickers, and then stood up in his seat.
“I am a god,” he announced. A hush fell over the crowd. Even Rufus’s jaw dropped.
“That’s impossible,” Vanderbilt scoffed. “You weren’t a god last week.” He nudged his mechanic, smiling slyly.
“Well, I’m a god today,” Simon replied, and pulled out his locket. A shock ran through the crowd. Rory worried that Simon’s revelation was a mistake. But it was too late now. The official leaned in to take a good look at the locket, frowning. He shot an arm in the air.
“He is qualified,” he shouted, then backed away, disturbed. Simon sank back down in his seat, staring belligerently at a flabbergasted Vanderbilt. But then the countdown began and Vanderbilt returned to his own seat, revving his engine. There was no time to ponder the wisdom of Simon’s declaration. They had a race to win.
“Three! Two! One! Go!” The pistol rang out and twenty cars roared to life, exploding across the starting line and down the dirt road.
“Here we go!” Simon screamed, and put his foot on the gas. Soka screamed as Rory held on for dear life.
Five seconds later, they were sputtering down the road at a comfortable fifteen miles an hour, and all the other cars were out of sight.
“Don’t worry,” Simon said, bent over the wheel of his automobile, lazily ambling down the road. “We’ll catch up.”
8
A TIGHT RACE
There is a tunnel that only the roaches know. It leads deep down, beneath the subways and pipes, and ends in a large, hollowed-out cavern. The walls of this cavern are lined with the white bones of a giant rib cage, the remnants of some forgotten ancient creature who burrowed its way into the depths to die. It is here that the battle roaches of Mannahatta come to hold council.
Lanterns hung from the bones on the wall, the flickering light reflected in the armor of the thousands of battle roaches filling the cavern. Every clan had come at Fritz’s call, even the M’Bairds, who had sided with Kieft in the past. Only Fritz’s own people, the exiled M’Garoths, were absent. They refused to concern themselves with the world above, practically ostracizing him for his involvement with Mannahatta. Fritz had barely seen his wife, Liv, in months, which hurt more than he would admit. But he could not dwell on the past. He had a future to save.
Fritz stood on the stone dais, Hans and Sergeant Kiffer by his side, looking out at his brethren. The clans had come partly from curiosity, partly out of fear for their beloved city. Battle roaches took their duties as protectors very seriously. The problem, Fritz discovered, was that they didn’t know who needed protecting.
“We’re at a crossroads, friends,” Fritz began, and the room quieted. “War is coming. Now, I’m not afraid of battle. What I am afraid of is injustice. And Willem Kieft is the very definition of that word.”
“He says it’s not his fault that war is upon us,” one of the M’Baird clan elders shouted. “It’s the Munsees who are to blame. They want revenge!” The crowd began to murmur at this, forcing Fritz to raise his voice.
“If they’d wanted revenge, they would have taken it the moment the Trap fell,” he shouted, quieting the room once more. “We almost did fight, but the Munsees backed down. It was Kieft who wanted to fan the flames, not the Munsees. We need to be on the right side of this!”
“Why should we listen to you?” another roach called out. “Where is your clan? I don’t see them here. I even heard that they exiled you for stirring up trouble.” Fritz had heard this, too. Some of the elders of his clan only wanted to hide from their troubles. Apparently they’d had a vote to shun him, and Liv was the only dissenting vote. She cared about the clan the way he cared about the city, so he didn’t expect her to break their law. He’d just have to find a way to go on without her, no matter how much it hurt.
“Maybe someone else should be speaking with us, then,” another roach exclaimed. “Why would we follow an exile?”
“Because he is right!” a new voice called out. Fritz’s heart almost stopped as a large group of roaches entered the cavern, led by the beautiful rat rider he feared he would never see again. “My husband has sacrificed everything for this city,” Liv said, her voice ringing with pride. “He has given up family and friends in order to do what was right. Can we do no less? I care about my clan above myself, as does each of us, but the time has come to stop being M’Garoth or M’Korenth or M’Baird. The time has come to be a battle ro
ach of Mannahatta! And that means protecting this city from those who wish to do it harm. The M’Garoth elders don’t understand this, so we left them behind to hide in their hole. Will you hide as well? Will you let the liars and thieves take this city from us?”
A resounding “NO!” rang through the cavern as the battle roaches, caught up in Liv’s rousing words, rattled their swords.
“Then listen to what my husband has to say! For no one cares more about this city than he does.”
Liv looked to Fritz and his heart almost burst. For a moment it felt as if just the two of them were standing alone in the giant cavern, and the months apart meant nothing. Then he began to speak and he could feel the roaches responding, even the M’Bairds. Nicholas would have this army at least. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Liv smile, and he knew he could not fail.
Can’t you get this thing to go faster?” Rory cried. They’d been puttering along for a half hour and the other cars were long gone. They could hear some of the spectators heckling them. “I can get out and walk quicker than this!”
“It just needs to warm up,” Simon assured him. “I’ll hit the next gear then. Change gears too soon and who knows what could happen!”
“If we don’t go faster soon,” Soka said, “we will never catch up.”
“Fine,” Simon said, gritting his teeth. “But if this beautiful work of art of a car falls apart, you are buying me a new one!”
“Come on!” Rory screamed, frustrated. Simon reached down and fiddled with a knob.
“Remember, I warned you,” he said, and gave it a turn. The car suddenly lurched forward and took off like a rocket, shooting down the dirt path while veering left and right. The spectators who lined the track scattered in all directions. Rory very quickly realized that Simon was not a good driver, an unsettling thought when racing down a dirt road at eighty miles an hour in a death trap of a car.
