Spirits in the Park (24 page)

R
ory glanced around the study as the abbess moved past him toward her desk. The small room looked lived in, with folders and books stacked everywhere. The main desk was barely visible under the mountains of paper. The walls held towering bookshelves in every direction. A big comfy-looking chair sat in front of the desk, and it was in this that the abbess indicated Rory should sit. She settled behind her desk and gazed thoughtfully at him, her fingers tapping her chin.

“What are you looking at?” Rory asked nervously.

“I think you know,” the abbess replied. “You're not the spitting image of him, of course, but the likeness is there. What's your name?”

“Rory Hennessy,” he replied, off balance.

“So you knew him as Peter Hennessy, correct?” The abbess smiled. “He always did like that name.”

“Who are you!” Rory demanded.

“I'm the abbess of this convent. I established it long ago, for many reasons, not least of which was to give the daughters of the gods a place where they could ponder the mists in peace. The mists remind us that there is more out there than ourselves. Much more than we can ever understand. We may be immortal, but we are as lost as you mortals in many ways.”

“So you started an abbey to look at fog?”

The abbess laughed. “Among other things. Myself, I've always been a healer. It is my way of making up for who I used to be. This convent allows me time to study my craft. And, of course, it was a convenient escape.”

“Escape from what?”

The abbess smiled again, this time with a slight twinge of bitterness. “From your father.”

Rory shivered. He was so close. “So you know him? Who he is? Where he is? What he is?”

“So many questions. I don't have all the answers. We are such old friends, but even I don't know all his secrets. Even as he made certain to visit before every voyage, there were always holes in his past he never bothered to fill in for me. Such a sad man. But, then again, sad people tend to flock to me, I'm afraid.

“And then he disappeared for a little while. I thought he'd passed on. But then he reappeared, about eight years ago, only this time he was shipping out on the worst boat imaginable. The ghost ship, the Half Moon. He was truly lost to despair. It was heartbreaking to see.”

“I don't understand,” Rory said. “What was wrong with him?”

“That is up to him to explain, not I,” the abbess said. “I wish I could tell you your father is a paragon of virtue. But in many ways, he is a weak, weak man. He has hurt so many people, including myself, and he runs rather than answer for his actions. I pray for him to find strength, but I fear that prayer is in vain. Perhaps my prayers have been answered in you, instead.”

“Why won't you just tell me what you do know?” Rory cried. “At least tell me his real name!”

“I don't know it,” the abbess admitted. “He never told me. Perhaps it is Peter Hennessy. It wouldn't surprise me one bit.”

“None of this is helping,” Rory complained, slumping in his chair. “I guess you didn't know him that well.”

The abbess leaned back, sighing. “Perhaps not. I loved him too much to know him.”

Rory started. “Did you . . . date?”

“We were together for a while.” The abbess stared out at nothing, her face wistful. “I would have done anything for him. His name was Morgan when I first met him. Morgan Green. That is the name I call him in my head. I fell for him immediately. He had such a way about him, so kind and wise. I had made many mistakes in my past and been around some rough men, so I appreciated his gentle manner. I didn't know at the time how prone he was to flight. He loved me in his way, but never enough, and finally, he left me. I pursued him for a while, a good hundred years I'd say, through at least four different identities, but he could never give me what I wanted. So eventually I retreated here to found my abbey, and he would visit on his way out to sea. I knew he was running from something, for he made me promise never to reveal any of his names, especially Harry Meester. I see by your face that you know that one. I helped him all I could, for I could not stop loving him, and I still do. We became great friends. But he could never truly love me. That he reserved for your mother.”

“Come on,” Rory said, disbelieving. “He left her alone with two kids to feed. How is that love?”

“Like I said, he is a weak man. But I could tell by his face on that day eight years ago. He was leaving his true love behind, and it killed him.”

“Then why did he do it!” Rory cried.

“You will have to ask him that,” the abbess replied. “I don't have the answer. We were very close, but I never knew much about him. I cannot tell you why he did the things he did. I can only tell you where he is now.”

“Where is that?” Rory asked, overwhelmed.

“Headed due east. The ghost ship is heading out to sea once again. He passed by here not three days ago. The Half Moon is not in good shape, so you might be able to catch him if you can find yourself a fast ship. But you'll have to be quick to—”

A cry in the hall interrupted her, followed by a crash. The abbess sprang to her feet. Rory felt fear gnaw its way into his belly.

“Maybe you shouldn't go out there,” he warned her.

“You remain here,” she said. “I'll be right back.”

Rory couldn't bear the thought of waiting, so he followed the abbess out into the hall. They heard yelling and cries for help. The abbess began to run, until she spied something ahead. Her hand flew to her mouth in shock. Peering around her, Rory saw a body on the ground; it was a nun, barely moving.

“Sister Patience!” the abbess cried, running forward.

“Wait!” Rory whispered, following her carefully. His heart pounded as he came nearer. The nun lay in front of the door to the room where his friends waited. But there wasn't much of a door left. It had been hacked to pieces. Yelling and crying came from inside the room. Rory peered around the door frame.

Inside, he was greeted by a chaotic sight. Alexa clung to the back of a hulking man, who waved his knives back and forth, trying to slice everything that moved. It was Bill the Butcher, Rory realized with a sick feeling in his stomach. Somehow the killer had found him. Simon sat quivering in the corner, a cleaver buried an inch from his head, half his hair sliced off onto the floor. As Rory watched, Bill threw Alexa off his back, sending her slamming into the stone wall; she fell in a senseless heap. Fritz's tiny form raced in front of her, tossing firecrackers at Bill's feet to no avail. Bill raised his cleaver.

“Where is he?” he bellowed.

“We'll never tell you anything!” Fritz cried, tossing another firecracker. Bill roared and brought the cleaver down toward the defiant battle roach.

“NO!” Rory cried. But he needn't have worried; Fritz easily leaped aside, missing the blade by a hairbreadth. Rory's cry had given Bill a new target, however: him.

“There you are, boy.” Bill smiled. Rory blanched at his sickly grin. “I've been looking for you.”

“You will not touch him, ruffian,” the abbess announced, stepping in front of Rory. Bill began to laugh.

“You're gonna stop me? A little girl like you?” He stepped forward with cleaver held high, ready to cut her down where she stood. The abbess did not flinch.

“Sisters!” she cried, stepping aside. “Defend our house!”

A group of nuns raced by her into the room, rushing Bill. With a cry, he disappeared under a sea of habits as more and more nuns poured in to subdue the intruder. The abbess turned to Rory.

“Run! Quickly! We can't hold him forever. Find your father! Tell him Mary Burton still thinks of him! Go!”

Rory ran forward and helped up Alexa, who was still shaken from her meeting with the wall. He turned to Simon, yanking the frightened boy to his feet.

“Come on!” Rory yelled, spurring them to action. Behind them, with a Herculean effort, Bill roared to his feet, tossing off nuns as if they were leaves.

“You're not goin' nowhere, Rory Hennessy!” He lunged forward with his cleaver in hand. Rory watched him come, unable to move. The cleaver descended, heading directly for his neck. But it never landed there.

Thwack.

The abbess staggered back into him, the cleaver sticking out of her chest. She'd leaped in front of Rory and taken the blow meant for him. She slid to the ground, staring up at Rory.

“Go . . .” she whispered, and her eyes closed as she went still. The nuns stood still for a moment, stunned, and then they roared into action, pummeling Bill into the ground until he disappeared under a flurry of habits. The abbess's last word still hung in the air. Go.

Terrified, Rory ran for it, followed by Alexa and Simon, the former carrying Fritz in her hand. They raced through the stone halls of the convent and out the front door into the fog, swerving around the mist-shrouded trees as they made their way toward the dock. Finally, they reached the boat, which had been joined by a second vessel tied up right beside it. Rory ran up to the second boat and ripped the sail right off the mast with strength born of terror. Anything to make sure Bill could not follow.

They piled into their boat and pushed off the dock as Alexa quickly hoisted the sail. The wind picked up and they had begun to move away from the shore when a scream of pure fury shook them all to the bone.

Bill burst out of the trees to race down the dock, a hulking mess of a man barreling toward them with unstoppable force. He bled from numerous wounds, but he did not slow. Reaching the end of the dock, he launched through the air at the boat, grabbing at the mast. He just missed, but he managed to wrap his hand around one of the lines as he flew by, and the weight of his falling body brought the boat dangerously close to capsizing as he splashed into the ocean.

“He's going to kill us all!” Simon cried, pulling out a knife to hack at the rope.

“No, Simon!” Alexa cried, trying to stop him, but Simon's fear could not be contained. He severed line after line, sending the entire sail fluttering into the sea. Letting go of his rope, Bill tried to swim toward the boat, but it became obvious that he did not know how. His fury turned to fear as the waves began to crash over him, pushing him under. He struggled to stay afloat, cursing at Rory, safe in the boat, but the cause was a losing one, and finally, Bill the Butcher sank beneath the waves.

They all fell back against the side of the boat, exhausted. Glancing back, Rory noticed that the current had pulled the boat far from Swinburne Island, dragging them deeper into the mist. Alexa stared daggers at Simon.

“All you had to do was cut the one line he was tangled up in,” she said angrily. “Why did you have to cut them all?”

“I didn't want him to get me—I mean, us,” Simon muttered, his face still ashen.

“You are such a coward!” she shouted back. Simon didn't answer, sitting miserably at the bottom of the boat. Fritz put up a calming hand.

“Let's simmer down,” he said. “We need to figure out what to do now.”

“Well, we've got no sail and we've got no oars and the current is taking us away from land,” Alexa said, counting their troubles off on her hand. “If we try to swim, we'll most likely be dragged to the bottom of the ocean. So in reality we've got one option: float.”

And float they did, out into the mist.

Hours seemed to pass as they drifted through the thick fog. Finally, Rory lost his temper.

“CRAP!” he shouted into the void. Alexa snorted.

“Feel better?” she asked.

“AHOY THERE!” a voice called out from the mist. Rory exchanged shocked looks with his fellow castaways.

“HELLO!” he shouted back. The others joined him in shouting, until a ship came gliding out of the fog. ADVENTURE GALLEY it read on the bow. A familiar face leaned out over the rail; it was Captain Kidd himself. His eyes twinkled as he called down to them.

“Need a hand?”

N
ight had fallen over the Munsee village. Bridget sat cross-legged at the mouth of Chogan's cave, slowly petting Tucket's soft fur as he lay at her feet. She stared up at the stars, so brilliant in the moonless sky. It was the sky of a world without electricity, and its beauty awed her. Around her, fires crackled in the other caves, as did the large fire pit in the center of the village. Chogan had mentioned that during times of feasting, there was dancing around the fire pit, but there would be no dancing tonight. A hushed murmer of conversation floated by from the Munsees sitting around the fires, and she knew they spoke about her.

A council was under way inside one of the longhouses that would decide Soka's fate. Earlier, while Bridget had watched from a distance, some of Tackapausha's loyal warriors had marched Soka into the longhouse. Then a voice had whispered Bridget's name from behind her, making her almost jump out of her paper skin. It was Askook, sneaking up to watch his people getting ready for the trial.

“I see you worry, demon,” he had hissed, the snake tattoos on his cheeks writhing. “You should worry for yourself. Your very soul is in danger. It drips out of you. Drip drip. I would very much like to drink it up.”

Askook had grinned, and his smile dripped madness.

“You're a sicko!” Bridget said, shuddering as she backed away. “How can everyone not see that?”

“Maybe they do and they don't care,” Askook had said, shrugging. “I tell Tackapausha how to make his dream of revenge come true. He does not care about the rest.” He stepped forward, prompting Bridget to stagger back. “I shall make you my special project. There must be some way to open you up like a nut. Soka is not so powerful with the magical arts. I would like to cut you open and see what happens to your soul. Will it stay trapped in here with us? Will it fly away? Can I imprison it in something a bit sturdier than that paper body you wear? Or should I just devour it? We will find out together, you and I.”