by Scott Mebus
“What garden is this?” I asked her. “How did it come to be here?”
“This land has been here for far longer than mortal feet have tread upon it,” the Lady answered me. “I am the one who remembers and honors all that once lived here. They laid down roots, and I cherish those roots.”
“We wish to lay down roots, as well, Lady,” I told her. “That is why we’re here.”
“So you wish to make covenant with me?” the Lady asked, her face unreadable. “You will bear the price of agreement?”
“Not him,” Kieft interrupted, pointing at Henry, who flinched at his master’s finger. “He is merely here to carry our baggage.”
“And yet he was the one who knew the way to my garden, was he not?” the Lady asked, smiling. “Do not worry, I will ask nothing of him. He has already done enough. No, it will be the two of you who will sign our pact. Though”—here she looked troubled, peering intently at Kieft—“are you certain you are able to make such promises?”
“We have brought the offering,” Kieft answered quickly; too quickly, I thought. “We carry the prayers of our people inside us.”
“You do, I see that,” the Lady said, shrugging away her mistrust. I let out a breath I did not know I had been holding—it would have been disaster to be turned away after all we had gone through. The Lady pulled herself up to her full height and addressed both Kieft and me.
“What do you offer me, to bind your people to my soil?”
“We pledge our fidelity to the land, by our promise never to leave the boundaries set by our blood,” I intoned, as Kieft had coached me.
“We pledge our respect to the land, by our promise never to murder, by intent or deed, others of our kind,” Kieft chanted.
“We pledge our duty to the land, by our promise never to betray the duties given to us by our believers,” I finished. These were the promises Kieft had set out—now we had to hope she agreed to them.
The Lady raised her arms to the sky.
“I accept these promises. Now we must bind ourselves to them.”
Kieft pulled out his pipe, in which we’d placed a drop of blood from all our fellow gods and spirits. He pulled out a flint and lit a spark in the bowl. He breathed in deeply before passing it to me. I likewise inhaled, fighting not to cough at the acidic taste. Finally, I handed the pipe to the Lady, who sucked in the smoke that was laced with the essence of our people. She finished, lowering the pipe to stare at us through a cloud of smoke.
“And what of the gifts?”
“What gifts?” I asked, confused.
“To complete our deal. The two of you are your people’s sponsors. I require gifts to finish our bargain. Did not your guide tell you?”
Henry wouldn’t look at me, but even worse was Kieft’s total lack of surprise. He’d known all along.
“I give you memory,” Kieft said. “My memory of my greatest spells. There is nothing more important to me.”
The Lady nodded, reaching out to grasp at the air in front of Kieft’s face. He flinched, his jaw going slack, and then he recovered, his face wan.
“Thank you for your gift,” the Lady said. “It was nobly given.” She turned to me. “And now, you . . .
I could not stand it. Memory? That was what Kieft gave? And I was being asked for even more than the price I had already paid? I knew I should not, but I erupted all the same.
“Have not I given enough?” I yelled. “What more do I have?”
The Lady regarded me for a moment, her face showing more kindness than I would have expected, and then she nodded. “Your gift is also accepted. It was nobly given and will not be forgotten.”
She took a step back, smiling at us all. “Our pact is sealed, our agreement made. You are welcome on my shores. You are home. I will remember you.”
With that, she turned and disappeared into the lush undergrowth, and I never saw her again.
In the weeks since that day, I have often thought on our sacrifices. What Kieft gave up . . . I do not believe it. I have seen him work great magic since then. He seems to have lost none of his power. This leads me to only one conclusion: somehow he deceived the Lady, and that does not bode well for us all. There will be a reckoning, some day, of that I am sure. I take solace in the knowledge that our people are saved and we will endure on these new lands. There will be no more Peter Minuits fading into nothing, though some might say we are better off without a God of Shady Dealing. But that is for the mortals to decide, not for us gods. For my part, I hope to live side by side with the Munsees, growing with them, and living in peace in our new home. Then my sacrifice will be worth the pain it has caused me.
Rory finished reading and let the pages drop. He felt overwhelmed by what he had learned. Looking around, he saw that everyone else seemed equally lost. Soka’s eyes were wide, as if something in those pages had struck a chord.
“Kieft is a liar!” Bridget exclaimed. “He lied to that nice Lady!”
“What did Adriaen sacrifice, that is my question,” Fritz asked.
“I bet the answer is in the piece of diary we’re missing,” Rory mused. “I just wish I knew where we could find it.”
“The home of the Swindler, that’s what the Fortune Teller said?” Fritz asked, and Rory nodded. The battle roach sighed. “Maybe Nicholas and the rest will have some ideas.”
“If they can spare the time,” Rory muttered, leaning back in the boat to watch the clouds drift by. War was coming; he could taste it in the air. They were running out of time.
They sailed closer to Mannahatta, heading for Battery Park. And there, waiting for them on the shore, was the last person Rory expected to see.
“Dad?”
Peter Hennessy stood on the shore at Battery Park, watching the little boat that held his children float closer and closer. He was about to do something very dangerous, and he could only hope no one got hurt. But he didn’t have any choice.
Kieft had been planning to visit the prison ship, but then he received word that the prisoners had revolted, taking over the boat. Askook had used his blood to scry, and he’d spotted Mr. Hennessy’s children getting into a schooner to sail back to the mainland. Apparently the prison ship had hoisted sail and escaped into the fog. But Kieft didn’t care about that; he just wanted the Light.
Which was what led to Mr. Hennessy being taken to this spot and told to lure his children in. Kieft was sure of his hold over his former lackey despite Mr. Hennessy’s recent disobedience; he thought Mr. Hennessy was too weak to rebel, especially since a group of Kieft’s gang boys, led by some nasty piece of work called Sly Jimmy, were hiding behind the trees and tourist kiosks. Once the boat landed and his children ran up to meet him, the gang boys would erupt from their hiding places and capture them all.
He glanced to his left, where Sly Jimmy was hiding, The evil-looking boy was running his finger along a knife blade lovingly. Kieft was counting on Mr. Hennessy’s fear of his children being hurt to ensure his cooperation; a struggle could definitely end in bloodshed. The thought made him sick.
The kids hopped out of the boat, and ran over to him.
“Dad!” Rory cried. “You’re all right!”
In the end, the choice was surprisingly simple. Some risks just had to be taken. Mr. Hennessy opened his mouth and screamed, “It’s a trap! Run, kids! Run!”
He’d carry the looks that spread across his children’s faces to his grave (if that blessed day ever came). But then the world descended into chaos as the gang boys sprang from their hiding places, and Soka threw her hands back. The lawn exploded as tiny trees sprang up from beneath the earth, knocking the gang boys to the ground. Mr. Hennessy watched the kids run for safety, a smile spreading across his face even as he realized that he’d probably never see open air again.
That smile faded, however, as he watched Sly Jimmy pick up a rock and throw it with all his strength at Rory’s fleeing form. The stone hit him squarely on the back of the knee, and Rory dropped to the ground. The gang boys ran up an
d dragged him back into the newly grown grove of trees, placing a cloth over his mouth until Rory stopped struggling and fell asleep. Peter realized that the other kids wouldn’t even realize Rory was gone until they reached Broadway. And by then it would be too late.
He opened his mouth to yell that his son was being taken, but then he felt a cloth slip over his own mouth. He heard Sly Jimmy’s voice whisper in his ear, “Good job, boyo.” As he fell away into unconsciousness, he felt his world come crashing down around him. He’d failed, just as he always failed. All he could hope for now was that they’d just stick him in some cell until the world ended. Maybe he’d finally get lucky and end right along with it.
19
THE GREATEST SPY IN THE WORLD
We need to go get him, now!” Bridget cried.
“And we will!” Teddy Roosevelt declared, gazing around the council room triumphantly. Bridget had been impressed with the god’s awesome mustache and cool hat when the Rattle Watch had led her into the council meeting, along with Soka and Fritz. If he could save her brother, he’d really be a god in her book.
They hadn’t even realized Rory wasn’t with them when they ran from the gang boys. Bridget had been thankful her father had warned them (though why was he there in the first place? That thought she pushed away for another, quieter time). Once they’d noticed his absence, they turned back just in time to see Rory taken away by a large group of boys. Fritz followed them, leaving Bridget and Soka to wait in a state of crazed worry until the Rattle Watch heard where they were and came to take them to City Hall. Fritz returned to report that Rory had been taken to the old smallpox hospital on Roosevelt Island, where Kieft’s army was headquartered.
“This is jolly good luck!” Teddy was arguing. “This is the cause we need! To rescue the Light!”
“We can’t just go in guns blazing,” Whitman explained, his eyes tired. “If they don’t attack us first, it’ll look like we’re the aggressors.”
“This is provocation, by Jove!” Roosevelt announced, slamming his fist on the table. “They’ve stolen a mortal! We are charged, above all, to protect and serve those little blighters! This is our chance to strike a blow! Look, we won’t use the Munsee for this attack, so they won’t seem like they’re fighting against our people. Will that satisfy you? It just means more glory for the rest of us!”
Peter Stuyvesant spoke up. “I don’t think this is a good idea. We haven’t heard from our spies recently . . .”
“What are we, women?” Roosevelt asked, exasperated. Mrs. Parker coughed, glaring at him. “Sorry. You want to wait for spies? I’m tired of this wishy-washy behavior! Do you want to win this war or not? By gum, I want to win it! I’m a soldier, and soldiers know a time comes when talk is cheap. Now is that time! Are you gonna wait for the old black-eyed bastard to come knocking on your door with a knife in his hand? Or are you gonna take action!”
Bridget felt her heart stir as the council responded to the god’s speech. She saw that even Nicholas’s eyes were shining. Only Alexa looked worried.
“This is a mistake,” she muttered to no one in particular. Bridget just wanted her brother rescued. However they did it was fine with her. But she’d make sure he came home safe and sound.
In his dream, Rory was back in the black-eyed man’s dead city.
“I told you I would find you!” the black-eyed man’s voice called, and Rory turned to see the man standing triumphantly atop a shiny car, arms outstretched in victory. He jumped to the ground directly in front of Rory. “You thought she could protect you forever, but I proved stronger.”
“Who is protecting me?” Rory asked, bewildered. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I have hunted you, time and time again, and you have slipped away. Do you think you accomplished this through your own power? Come now. You have her blessing. She has chosen you, helped you avoid my grasp. She’s still angry with me, of course. This fight is not between you and me. It is between her and me, and you are but a pawn in that struggle. But I have removed you from the chessboard. And now you’re mine to do with as I please, and she can do nothing.”
Suddenly a roaring sound filled Rory’s ears, as if he were standing in a hurricane. The city began to stretch, as if it was paper and the wind was blowing it away. The man with the black eyes fell back, too, under the force of the wind, and he had to shout to be heard.
“You can push me away, but it means nothing!” the black-eyed man screamed, laughing. Rory could tell these words were not meant for him. “I have him now!”
The roaring grew louder and the wind rushed past Rory, hitting the city so hard that the buildings and cars just blew away into nothingness. The man with the black eyes blew away with it, still laughing. There the roaring quieted, leaving Rory floating in nothingness.
“He always was an arrogant fool,” a female voice said behind him. Rory spun to come face-to-face with a smiling Soka. But one look in her eyes told him that this was not Soka. This was someone else entirely. “He won’t bother you anymore,” the not-Soka said. “At least, not in your dreams. I finally put my foot down.”
“Who are you?” Rory asked.
Not-Soka shrugged. “Just a concerned party in the ongoing story of Rory Hennessy.”
“I don’t understand what’s going on,” Rory protested.
“And you may never understand,” not-Soka said, patting his cheek as if she were his mother. “That is a mortal’s lot in life. But maybe, just maybe, you’ll come through anyway. Hope to see you soon!”
“But—” Rory began as the roaring returned and his world was shrouded in black.
Rory’s head hurt, and he felt ill enough to throw up. He’d awoken to find himself in a strange room, like a hospital room that had long fallen into disuse, lit by the one small window halfway up a wall. The door was locked shut, and no amount of rattling would move it even an inch. That was all bad enough. But the true torture of his predicament had drifted through the wall from the room next door. It began soon after he’d woken up.
“Hello? Hello, is someone there?” the voice had asked. Incessant, almost manic, like the yapping of a lapdog, it cut through his room like a car alarm. Soon Rory discovered that it was just as irritating. He made the mistake of answering it, and then the voice’s words came rushing nonstop.
“Great to meet you, Rory! I’m so glad you’re here! It’s wonderful, wonderful to meet more soldiers in the fight against tyranny. Down with evil men! My name is Nathan Hale; you may have heard of me. ‘I regret that I have but one life to give for my country!’ That was me! I was a great spy, you know. Great spy! I really should be the God of Spies. I’m not really sure why that didn’t happen. I mean, I’m proud of the godhood I did get, don’t get me wrong, but still—God of Spies! That’s so me! I infiltrated British-held Manhattan during the Revolution! Dressed as a Dutch schoolteacher, I gathered information and struck a blow to the very heart of the British war machine! There was no spy sneakier than I. I could have posed as King George’s mother and fooled the monarch himself!”
“So were you sent here to spy for our side?” Rory asked.
“Yes! Peter Stuyvesant himself tasked me with gathering information. He’d been impressed with my last mission, in which, dressed as a Dutch schoolteacher, I followed John Jay’s daughter and discovered she’d been seeing a boy behind her father’s back—I even got a great look at the boy’s face when he caught me in the bushes and beat the stuffing out of me. Stuyvesant knew my talents and sent me on Kieft’s trail! So, dressed as a—”
“Let me guess, Dutch schoolteacher,” Rory said drily.
“Exactly! Why mess with success? I infiltrated this smallpox hospital, the belly of the beast, as it were, and discovered much about Kieft and his plans before I was caught.”
“That’s amazing,” Rory replied. “How long were you able to poke around before you were discovered?”
“Almost forty-five minutes!” The pride rang in Hale’s voice. “A new record for m
e! And I’ve been here in this cell ever since.”
“Have you tried to escape?”
“Of course not!” Hale sounded horrified. “No, I’m waiting for them to hang me, and then I’ve got this wonderful speech prepared that will move them all to tears and make them repent of their evil ways. It can’t miss!”
“What are you god of, exactly?” Rory asked, a suspicion forming in his mind.
“God of Martyrs,” Hale answered, confirming Rory’s intuition. “But I should be God of Spies, honestly. I am that sneaky!”
And so it continued. Rory barely had to answer as Hale regaled him with story after story of his spying prowess, each of which involved him being a Dutch schoolteacher and getting caught really, really fast. Rory could tell by the fading light that evening was descending. He tried looking out the window to catch a glimpse of Kieft’s army, but his room faced a wall, so he saw nothing but old stone. No one came to his door to check up on him; for all he knew, Kieft had stuck him in this room to rot. He lay down on the old mattress, trying not to think about his father, who had seemingly betrayed him, yet tried to save him in the end. Still, the fact remained that Peter Hennessy had led Kieft’s men to Rory and his friends. And for that, Rory didn’t know if he’d ever forgive him.
Rory began to have fears of starving to death in this tiny forgotten room while an idiot droned on next door, when something strange happened. A thump sounded outside his room, like something big was hitting the ground, and then his door slowly creaked open.
Rory sat up, his heart in his throat. The doorway was empty, leading out to a dim hallway.
“Hello?” he called out, not too loudly.
“Yes?” Hale answered.
“Not you,” Rory said absently, sliding off the bed to creep over to the open door. Cocking his hand into karate-chop position (not that his yellow belt would help him much here), he carefully peered out into the hall.
