Sorcerer's Secret (25 page)

Bridget cocked her head, a thought popping up. Fritz's voice rose in her head, telling her to stay out of trouble.

“Sorry, Fritz,” she whispered.

“Sorry?” the cook said, overhearing her.

“I said, do you need any help?” Bridget growled, adopting her patented low British voice. She held up the bottle. “I can carry this to make sure you don't drop it.”

“You'd do that?” The cook looked pathetically grateful. “Then follow me!” He moved past her, heading for a door to the admiral's quarters. She followed obediently, all the while promising Fritz in her head that she wouldn't get into any more trouble. But as they approached the admiral's quarters, she wondered if that was even possible anymore . . .

B
y Jove, you people are ridiculous!” Teddy Roosevelt exclaimed, pacing back and forth in front of the council. Nicholas had to hide his smile as the council members exchanged scandalized glances. “Our city is torn in two, and you can't even agree on what to do next! We need action, not words!”

“We can't just jump into civil war!” Hamilton replied, his face a thundercloud. “Kieft has an army. This isn't one of your little adventures. This is serious!”

“It's not about Kieft's group of disgruntled spirits,” Roosevelt insisted. “It's about the hearts and minds of this city. We need to grab their imaginations, make them believe in our cause! Kieft has a cause: destroy the Munsees. It's a horrible, despicable cause, but it is a cause nonetheless. What is our cause? Save the Munsees? Take down Kieft? What?” The members of the council couldn't meet his eye, uncertain how to answer.

“Come on, dunderheads!” Roosevelt shouted. “We are the good guys! Kieft is trying to tear this city down in his mad quest to destroy the Munsees. He'll burn our beloved home to the ground! We need to protect it! Kieft is a mad dog. His army is a made up of rabble, of dissidents, and we will stamp it out! It's as simple as that!”

Nicholas felt inspired by Roosevelt's words. Even though the council didn't look happy to hear them, he could feel the spirit of action flow through them. Alexa leaned in to his ear.

“Don't you think Roosevelt is underestimating Kieft a little bit?” she muttered. “Kieft isn't just some mad dog. He's the most powerful god in Mannahatta. This won't be an easy fight. Blood will flow.”

“At least Roosevelt is doing something,” Nicholas replied. A wave of satisfaction washed over him. He'd found his leader, he was sure of it.

S
oka glanced around at the filthy prisoners, shocked at how wan and unhealthy everyone looked. Cornelis explained that there were spirits from all boroughs here, as the prison ship was floating in neutral waters. Some of the prisoners had been tortured, she could tell. She shuddered to think what Howe would do to her and Rory. She glanced at him, and he smiled back, trying to be strong. But she could tell how worried he was. There had to be a way out. They just needed to find it.

“I had your package, son,” Cornelis was telling Rory. “I knew my luck, so I kept it on my person at all times. But the soldiers took it from me when I reached the ship. I'm sure that damned Howe is reading it right now. I never looked, myself. Adriaen asked me not to, and I never break a promise!”

“But there was a chance you could have learned something we could use against Kieft!” De Vries scolded the patroon, giving Soka some insight into why Van der Donck had handed his prize to the clumsy Cornelis rather than the dashing De Vries. Loyalty was a hard thing to come by.

“Soka! There are some friends I'd like you to meet!” Perewyn's voice came from behind her, and she turned to see the white-haired pau wau leading a group of Indians up to meet her. She greeted them warmly, glad to see the faces of her people again, even if they weren't Munsees. Perewyn leaned in to speak softly in her ear.

“They tell me they've seen another Munsee here in the hold.”

Soka pulled back in surprise. A Munsee, here? Who had they captured? She scanned the hold, searching for a familiar face. She saw no one she knew, but then one of the Raritan pointed.

“There, he just ducked behind those farmers!”

Soka ran forward, circling around until she could see behind a cluster of Quaker farmhand spirits. A man was sitting there, looking away. He spoke without turning.

“I was hoping you would not see me.”

Soka's heart stopped as the man faced her.

“
Tammand
. . . ” she whispered.

Indeed, it was her brother, the man who had turned against his own family in his single-minded quest to make the Gods of Manhattan pay for their crimes. He'd even fired an arrow at her, though the act of attacking his sister had broken his spirit. Soka had banished him from her life and her affections, hoping never to see him again. But here he sat.

He looked awful. He'd found a white shirt and pants somewhere, though the white in the shirt had since become a filthy grayish brown—the man who had denounced everything about the newcomers was now dressed like one. His hair was dirty and matted, and his once-proud dog tattoos had retreated to the very edge of his face, like whipped mongrels.

“I am ashamed for you to see me,” Tammand said miserably. “I've been hiding since the Trap fell, trying to find my way. It's been so hard—”

“I don't care!” Soka said angrily. “This is what you deserve.”

“Tammand? How did you get here?” Rory said as he stepped up beside her.

“Look who it is, the great liberator.” Tammand sneered at Rory. “Caught in the rattrap like the rest of us.”

“Leave him alone,” Soka hissed at her brother. “He freed our people while you almost helped lead them to destruction.” She took Rory's hand protectively, as if daring her brother to say more.

“So you've taken that as well,
Sabbeleu,”
Tammand spat, eyes narrowing at the sight of Rory holding her hand. “See how the newcomers want everything that is ours, Soka? Their greed is insatiable.”

“Just shut up, Tammand,” Soka yelled at him. “He has earned what I give him. You took my love for granted and threw it away!”

“I am paying for my pride,” Tammand said stiffly. “Rotting in a prison cell with all the people I despise. It is torture, but it is what I deserve. But you, you deserve better than this little boy whose only claim to honor is some gift he was born with. He is not worth a jewel of the Munsees!”

“You . . . you . . . YOU!” Soka sputtered, so angry she could barely think. She wanted to punch something, or blow something up, and her fingertips tingled as she seethed. Suddenly Tammand yelped as his dog tattoos began to growl, leaping at one another across his nose. They snarled and bit at one another as Tammand fell back in alarm.

“What is happening?” he cried, unable to see the fight breaking out on his own face. Someone else gasped and Soka turned to see a nearby prisoner's hair growing at an alarming rate, pooling in his lap. Against the wall, green shoots began poking out of the ship's hull, growing inward like ivy.

“Are you doing that?” Rory asked her, shocked. Soka had no answer, as alarmed as everyone else. She felt a hand on her shoulder.

“Maybe you should come over here and calm down before the guards take notice,” Perewyn's voice said. “I think you're getting a little worked up.”

The white-haired medicine man guided her toward the opposite side of the hold, and the shocked prisoners parted before her. Perewyn sat her down, and Rory knelt by her side.

“What happened over there?” Rory asked, but Perewyn waved him off.

“Give us a moment, boy,” he said. “She needs time to regain control.”

Rory backed off, giving her worried looks. Soka smiled to say it was all right, but inside, she knew this wasn't true at all. She looked across the hold to see if anyone else had been hurt by her burst of magic, but Perewyn sat down in front of her, cutting off her view of the other prisoners.

“I believe I have figured you out,” he told her.

“What? Am I cursed?” For that was what it felt like.

“Just calm down,” he advised her. “I won't say a thing until you have relaxed a little bit.”

Soka breathed, in and out, calming herself. Finally, Perewyn nodded.

“Good. It's quite simple, really. What you did just then . . . that is beyond the powers of any pau wau I have ever seen. To call forth magic like that, without words or wampum, it is extraordinary. You could not do this inside the Trap, correct?”

“No, not at all,” Soka assured him. “I was still learning basic spells from my mother.”

“But then the Trap fell and you felt the land for the first time. What happened then?”

“I became sick, actually,” Soka told him, a little embarrassed. “I threw up, repeatedly, and none of my magic worked as before. Eventually, I couldn't make anything happen at all, even after I recovered from my sickness. Until that moment in the caisson, anyway.”

“When the voice whispered in your ear,” Perewyn prompted.

“Yes. Did she give me some sort of power?”

“No,” Perewyn said firmly. “It was there all along. You are very strong, and always have been, I bet, but you did not know it because you were cut off from the land. Your mother might be this strong, as well, though I find it hard to believe. She grew up with the land in her blood, so she would have recognized it and known how to channel it. You, on the other hand, have never felt this power before. You have never felt the land before. And it overwhelmed you. Made you sick. You didn't know how to handle such power, so you locked it away, instinctively. Without even knowing it, you cut yourself off from your own abilities. It wasn't all at once. At first, I'm sure some of your spells worked. But the power . . . it was too much. Finally, you cut yourself off completely. Until the caisson.”

“Do you know who that woman was?” Soka asked, her eyes wide.

“I have my suspicions, but I will not voice them without more proof. I think I can help you, Soka. I can help you channel your new power and bring it under control. It won't happen all at once, but I know a few simple tricks that can put you on the right path. Will you work with me, right now? We have some time before they return for you.”

“Okay,” Soka agreed, hope blooming in her chest. “I will try.”

Perewyn began to speak, taking her wrists in his hands as he explained what she needed to do. Soka listened, and for the first time since the Trap fell, she began to feel like maybe she could be whole again. It would take work, but it would be worth it if she could help her people and all of Mannahatta with the gift that had been given her.

A
dmiral Howe barely glanced at Bridget as she placed the bottle of wine onto his desk. The admiral's quarters were pretty nice, she decided, looking around. Curtains on the big windows overlooking the stern of the boat, big comfy chairs in every corner, a large bookcase filled with old, dusty books—everything seemed pretty expensive. Even Howe's desk was fancy—it was made of solid, ornately carved wood, though papers covered the surface. Bridget shuddered to think of all the reading those papers demanded.

She'd been so concerned with looking around, that she hadn't noticed that the cook had already put down his tray and backed out of the room, leaving her alone with the admiral. She started as she realized Howe was staring right at her.

“Looking for something to steal, maybe?” Howe asked her, his eyes hard. Bridget thought fast.

“Oh no, ye matey!” Bridget answered, trying to be as salty as possible. “I'm just a-makin' sure yer happy wit yer rum!”

“But this is wine,” Howe said coldly.