Spirits in the Park (37 page)

“Now tell me what I want to know.”

Suddenly something slammed into Bridget, hard, lifting her up with Tucket still in her arms and carrying her away. She heard Pierre's shouts in the distance, but they quickly faded as something swiftly carried her into the trees. She struggled, but the grip around her was ironclad. Tucket tried to nip at whoever held her, but the injured dog couldn't reach far enough. Finally, she was deposited beneath a tree, where she spun around to face her kidnapper. Her jaw dropped as she came face-to-face with the last person she ever expected to see.

“Toy.”

 

 

Askook stood up from his place under the chestnut trees. He no longer had any time for games, with the Trap on the verge of opening. He'd worked toward this day for decades, whispering Kieft's words into Tackapausha's ear, until the war leader turned sachem was ready to lead his people to destruction. Time to watch as his efforts finally paid off.

He kicked dirt over the pool of blood at his feet to hide any trace of his presence. He'd watched Soka's party from this spot the entire time, never leaving the outskirts of the Munsee village. He'd known all along that they'd find nothing in Kieft's cave. Askook had moved his master's things long ago, after discovering that the old trapper, Pierre, had led Abigail up the mountain. He'd decided to play with Pierre's mind, gradually pushing the old man to madness over the years with dreams of fabulous riches. That little game had definitely bore fruit today; he had no doubt that the old trapper would take care of things in a satisfactory manner. Pierre was a hairbreadth from snapping completely; someone was going to get hurt. Hopefully, all of them.

As for the demon girl's miraculous escape, Askook couldn't care less. There was nothing she could do now. There was never anything she could do, to be honest. Askook's plans were too well laid. The only thing that could stop Tackapausha was a knife in the gut, an end that hopefully awaited him on the other side of the barrier. There would be no freeing Abigail from her bronze prison, a prison Askook had always known she lay trapped within since that day long ago when he watched from the trees as she recited one of his master's spells to escape Pierre's hungry pursuit. No, there would be nothing ahead for any of them but blood. He could already taste it. As he walked away from the red-soaked earth under the chestnut trees, he practically shook from excitement. It would be a good day, indeed.

B
ridget sat against the tree, staring at Toy. The poor paper boy had deteriorated even further since she'd seen him last. The stump where his hand had been was tattered and filthy, his skin was cracked and yellowed from fire and weather, and she could spy a depression in his shirt from the hole she knew had been poked open in his chest. She had no idea how he kept it together, and her heart broke at the thought of what he must be going through.

“We'll get Soka to fix you up,” she said, patting Toy's hand. “She fixed me, see?” She held up her bark fingers. “She's a miracle worker. Would you like that?” Toy didn't respond, staring back at her impassively as usual. “How did you find me?”

“He followed you!” said a voice from the grass beside her. Looking down, she was surprised to see the familiar form of a huge roach, clinging to the back of a trotting rat she knew to be Clarence.

“Sergeant Kiffer, it's so good to see you!” she cried. The battle roach pulled off his helmet, revealing his tiny head.

“Good to see you, too,” Kiffer replied. “It's been a long couple of days, let me tell you. And riding this stupid rat didn't make it any easier!” He clumsily dismounted Clarence, who sidled away, just as glad to be free of his rider as Kiffer was to be on solid ground. Kiffer brushed off his armor. “I don't know how Fritz puts up with you, rodent! You're a terror!”

Clarence just looked away, curling up in a ball by Bridget's feet.

“What are you doing here?” Bridget asked.

“Looking for you,” Kiffer replied. “Fritz gave me Clarence and told me to track you guys down. But instead of your trail, I found myself following his by mistake!” He pointed to Toy, who stood by, silent, impassively watching Bridget. “We passed by some town, up toward a river, where I almost caught up with you! Wolves were attacking you, and one almost got you, until this guy, here, dropped a rock on its head.”

“That was you!” Bridget gasped.

“I tried to call out, but you guys hopped into those canoes and sped off down the river. So I followed Toy, figuring that he'd lead me to you. Which he did, when he snuck up to some tavern at the crack of dawn. And then I saw you, kicking down that door of the stable and riding off like a crazy person! You didn't make this easy, Bridget!”

Bridget turned to Toy, her mouth dropping open. “That was you outside the Tavern, Jason? Why?”

“Why do you think?” Kiffer answered for the mute paper boy. “The kid keeps protecting you. I think he's got a crush.”

“We ran from you,” Bridget said to Toy, sadness settling over her face. “And all you wanted to do was help.”

“You're a lucky girl!” Kiffer said, shaking his head in admiration. “He wanted to help so bad, when you rode off on those horses he started to run. And I mean run! He never slowed down for a second. We were exhausted chasing after him, and Clarence is no easy ride! My butt is killing me! He ran after you all the way to that big mountain, getting there just when you were coming back down the trail, and he ran after you down south to the fountain. This time he was finally able to help, and thankfully, you're all right.”

“But my friends!” Bridget cried. “Pierre has them! I have to go help them.”

“I'm not letting you go in there with only this paper guy to get your back!” Kiffer said. “Fritz would have my armor! Clarence, go tell Fritz what happened here. Tell him to bring reinforcements.”

Immediately the rat was off like a shot, racing into the trees toward the exit to the street. Once Clarence was out of sight, Bridget turned back to Kiffer and Toy, her face deadly serious.

“We don't have time to wait for backup,” she said fiercely. “We've got some rescuing to do and we've got to do it now.”

26

THE STORM APPROACHES

A
lexander Hamilton leaned back in his comfortable leather chair, staring out the big windows that made up two of the four walls of his corner office in City Hall. He found it soothing to take in the Brooklyn Bridge majestically rising above the East River in the distance, as impressive now as it had been a hundred years earlier. Clouds were racing in from the sea. A storm was coming, and the afternoon sun was now completely hidden away, leaving the bridge's beautiful brick towers in shadow. Such storms he was forced to weather . . . he wished he could just cross that bridge into Brooklyn, leaving behind the mess he'd made here in Mannahatta. But his blood prohibited it, keeping him here in Mannahatta to face his sins. There would be no hiding from what he'd done.

The Trap was falling; he'd be a fool to ignore it. Kieft had said as much to him earlier that day. Hamilton had always fancied himself able to keep one step ahead of the black-eyed god. He knew Kieft's nature was to seek power, but he also knew that without Hamilton, the old god would have nothing. No one would accept the black-eyed man as the mayor of Mannahatta. They feared what he would do with it. Hamilton was the one with the title and the real power. Or so he'd always thought . . .

But now the Trap was about to fall, which Kieft had promised would never happen. And the Munsees waited on the other side, waited for him. Not Kieft, who had pushed the Trap on him so many years ago; not Burr, who'd thought it up; not Prince, who engineered it; but him, Alexander Hamilton, the Munsees' greatest supporter before they tried to steal his daughter from him. It didn't seem right after all he'd suffered . . .

Kieft now argued that they had to strike first, to attack the moment the Trap fell. Munsee and god cannot live together; this had been proven long ago. Their age-old struggle must be stopped before it could begin again. And that would mean Hamilton had to strike hard and fast, ending the threat at the outset.

This made sense to the Mayor. Even as a small guilty voice inside whispered that Hamilton deserved to suffer for what he'd done, a louder voice argued that Tackapausha had made his own bed, by encouraging Buck to take Abigail away from her own father. At least the Munsees should have watched over Abigail once she'd been inadvertently trapped along with them, instead of allowing her to perish. Tackapausha's sins were no fewer than Hamilton's own, and he had no call to hold a grudge.

Thoughts of Abigail ran through his head, opening old wounds long scabbed over. That blasted song seemed to be everywhere these days, giving strength to Hamilton's guilty voice and slicing his heart with each note. He'd forgotten how much Abigail had loved Buckongahelas, how happy he'd made her. He'd been impressed with Buck as well, before he'd learned that the boy's true plans involved stealing his daughter away. But did any of it matter, when all was said and done? His worries, his furious attempts to keep her close, any of it? He lost her anyway, in the end. He lost her forever.

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. Hamilton had just enough time to gather himself before Jimmy Walker stuck his head in.

“Someone to see you, sir,” he said, and disappeared before Hamilton could tell him to turn the visitors away.

Nicholas Stuyvesant stepped into the room, followed by a limping Lincoln Douglass.

“Sorry to disturb you, sir,” Nicholas said. Hamilton was taken aback. Kieft had told him the boy was dead.

“I'm happy to see you survived the attack on your father's farm,” Hamilton said, keeping his surprise off his face. “But I'm very busy, so I'm afraid I can't—”

“I have something for you,” Nicholas said. “It's a gift. From your daughter.”

Hamilton felt a shock run through him. His voice rumbled with anger. “Now see here, that is in very poor taste indeed . . .”

Lincoln stepped forward and pulled something out of his pocket. Hamilton's heart almost stopped as he beheld a beautiful necklace made of wampum. Somehow he knew instantly: he was supposed to wear this. Lincoln dropped it on his desk and the two children of the gods silently left his office, closing the door behind them. With shaking hands, Hamilton reached out to take the necklace, unable to resist its call. He lifted it over his head and around his neck, and soon the tears began to flow in earnest as everything he thought he knew came crashing down around him . . .

The Adventure Galley reached the dock in the late afternoon. Rory had avoided his father during the rest of the voyage, opting instead to stand at the stern, scanning the mist for signs of the storm. They seemed to have outraced it, for now. But he knew that they didn't have much time.

Captain Kidd bid them farewell with a pointed look at Rory. Rory knew that the pirate captain would not forget his debt. One day he would have to deal with that, but one crisis at a time, Rory decided. Right now he had to bring down the Trap before the storm arrived and blew them all to pieces.

Rory and his friends stood on the dock, Buck and Mr. Hennessy at their side, as they tried to figure out what to do. Fritz took note of all the sailors disappearing into the crowd.

“They'll be telling their friends about their voyage and the storm that's coming,” he said.

“So we'd better move fast,” Alexa said. “We need to get Buckongahelas to the place where Tackapausha will be when the Trap falls.”

“That'll be Columbus Circle,” Mr. Hennessy said. “Where he thought he saw his son die.”

“Are you sure?” Fritz asked.

“Yes,” Buck answered. “My father will want to pay his respects to the dead before searching out the Mayor. That is where we need to be when the Trap falls.”