Spirits in the Park (41 page)

“Words won't stop the bloodshed, Nicholas,” Kieft said scornfully.

“Why not?” Nicholas shot back. “I grew up hearing about how things used to be, and I used to curse my father for every memory he forced upon me. But now I know how lucky I was. Because if we ignore the past, then we hand it over to people like you, Mr. Kieft. If we refuse to look backward, we let you write the histories. We let you tell us what is possible and what isn't. We let you convince us that the Munsees were savages who had to be exterminated for the good of the city. And how can we say any different? What do we know? Well, unfortunately for you, I grew up with the past in my ear every day, and I have not ignored it. We had a chance a century and a half ago to turn a new page with the Munsees and put away the hatred and mistrust in the name of peace. Instead, we bottled them up like a frightened child who refuses to face his mistakes. Well, now we're at that crossroads again. We can fight out of fear, or we can move on as one and see what kind of world we make together. Someone has to take the first step; it might as well be us. What say you, Mayor?”

Everyone looked to Mayor Hamilton. It would all be on him now.

As Rory watched the commotion, he spied Alexa walking toward him. She glanced around in confusion.

“Where's your father?”

Before he could explain, Wampage came gliding up, carrying a leather bag.

“It appears that I am just in time,” he said, handing over the bag. He glanced out at the crowd. “We are too exposed here. We need to move, perhaps inside this glass structure.” He pointed to the mall behind them. He glanced over his shoulder at the trees swaying in the storm. “To think I will soon be with my people again,” he said wistfully. Rory put a hand on his shoulder.

“You should go,” he told the Munsee. “To be there when the Trap falls. Alexa can keep watch. You deserve to see their faces when they emerge a free people again.”

Wampage gave him a look of profound gratitude and swiftly ran toward the crowd. Alexa smiled.

“Nicely done,” she said.

The intensity of the storm made it hard to hear, but Rory thought he heard a creaking behind him. Before he could turn, a loud thump sounded at his side. He spun to see Alexa slumped on the floor, blood streaming from her head. He opened his mouth to shout for help, but an arm flew out around his neck, cutting off his air. It pulled him back, through the now-open door to the jewelry store. Another hand reached out and slammed the door shut, kicking over a display case to keep anyone from coming in. Rory was flung into the corner, where the impact of his landing sent the leather bag flying. He scrambled to his knees, looking up to see who had attacked him. A familiar hulk of a man stood before him, clothing in tatters, staring impassively down at him.

“You're dead!” Rory cried, fear shooting through him.

“I know,” Bill the Butcher replied, running a finger over a rusty cleaver. “That's what makes this so easy.”

Rory could see no one through the glass windows of the store; they were watching the park. Alexa was slumped right outside, unconscious. Rory had a brief wild hope that his father would come back, but he knew that was a pipe dream. He was alone, with a killer, and there was no one to save him.

“You're not supposed to hurt me!” Rory cried as Bill took a step toward him.

“That was before,” Bill said, smiling with delight at his new freedom. “Before I realized that this city is a lost cause. Everything I fought for, to keep the island pure—it's all come to nothing. This city ain't nothin' but foreign, and I can't save it. I know that now. It's beyond my trusty cleavers. But this storm . . . this storm is a godsend. It'll wash everyone away, all the filth, so the city can start fresh and clean. That's why I have to kill you, Rory. So you can't turn that key and ruin my beautiful storm.”

Bill the Butcher advanced on Rory, who cast about wildly for a way to escape. He was cornered, without any weapons, and there was no way he could overpower the crazed man before him. He looked into the killer's eyes and he knew that hope was dead. This was it. Bill's shadow covered Rory's face and he braced himself for the inevitable blow . . .

Crash!

Something came flying through the window, sending shattered glass in every direction. Bill glanced back, surprised, and Rory used the momentary distraction to scramble out of the corner. To his considerable surprise, a familiar form pulled itself up from the floor, covered in broken glass.

“Toy?” he said out loud, dumbfounded. Bill whirled back around to see that his prey had crawled away. Rory stumbled to his feet and ran as the crazed killer chased him, totally ignoring the paper boy who'd just come hurtling through the window. That proved to be his mistake.

Toy launched himself through the air, landing on Bill's back. He clawed at the man's face, making him cry out in pain. Rory stood there, dumbly watching the struggle, until a familiar rat leaped through the broken window to land at his feet.

“Where's the belt?” Fritz cried up at him from his place on Clarence's back.

Good question. Rory scanned the floor, looking for the leather bag. Bill was banging into various display cases, sending jewelry and jagged glass flying everwhere in an effort to dislodge the paper boy. Rory shielded himself as best he could, but soon little cuts covered his hands and face. The scattered merchandise made it harder for him to find the bag, but he dug through the debris frantically, refusing to give up.

Fritz grabbed a handful of firecrackers from his armor and began throwing them at the hulking killer. The explosions sent Bill reeling backward, Toy still attached to his neck. Bill stopped himself and glanced around, eyes coming to rest on a particularly large display case. He launched himself at the case, spinning onto his back so that Toy would land first. They crashed into the case with so much force that the entire structure flattened like a pancake, rings and necklaces bursting into the air like candy from a broken piñata.

Toy's legs now hung in tatters below his waist. But his arm would not loose its grip on Bill's neck. Rory quickly resumed his search. There wasn't much time left, he could tell. Some people were coming, he could see through the window, but they wouldn't be in time. Toy was almost finished, and Fritz's firecrackers didn't have much effect on the man besides herding him away from Rory. It was now or never.

That's when Rory saw the bag, poking out from under a collapsed display case. He raced to pull it from beneath the glass and metal. Tearing it open, he was greeted by blinding white—the belt. Now he had to finish the job.

He pulled out the belt and wrapped it around his waist. All at once the world became sharper. Staring out at the plaza, he could see colors swirling. Fear, anger, hope, aggression—they all churned through the gods waiting to greet the Munsees. He was completely lost in what he saw until Fritz again caught his attention.

“Toy's done for. Finish it!”

Rory turned around to see Toy's grip slacken and his devastated body slip to the floor, where it lay motionless. Bill the Butcher was blinking, dazed from the fight, and Rory quickly rifled through his pockets to take advantage of the last distraction he was likely to get. Where was it . . . there! His hand closed around the lock and he pulled it free of his jacket. His other hand went to the key around his neck.

But it was too late. Bill shook off his confusion and focused in on Rory. There was no time for anything, not even a firecracker, as the big man stomped across the ruins of the jewelry store, arm outstretched, ready to choke the life from the last Light in Mannahatta.

“Hey, you!”

Bill glanced around at the unfamiliar voice. A shot rang out and he staggered back before falling to his knees. He fell forward like a tree, landing with a crash on the glass-covered floor, where he moved no more.

Caesar Prince stood in the doorway, a smoking gun in his hand. He walked forward, calmly felt around the dead man's back, and pulled out a glowing bullet. The truth dawned on Rory: this was another soul pistol, like the one Hex had once used on Bridget.

Caesar stared at the glowing bullet thoughtfully and put it in his pocket. Rory stepped forward.

“Caesar, I'm so glad you . . .”

Rory trailed off as the God of Under the Streets turned to look at him with pitiless eyes. Then his supposed friend and benefactor pulled out a copper spear, much like the one Wampage carried, and hurled that spear right into Rory's belly.

“No!” Fritz screamed, rushing to Rory's side as he fell.

“Quickly, Rory,” Caesar said, calmly staring down at the stricken boy. “You have an instant to save the world, for now and to come.” With that cryptic statement, he turned and strode out of the store, disappearing into the storm.

Rory wondered if he was dying. But there was no pain. In fact, the feelings he'd received when he put on the belt grew even stronger. Looking down at his stomach, he was shocked to see the spear was sticking right out of the belt. The wampum had saved his life.

“What was he talking about?” Fritz asked, anger coloring his voice. “You could have died. Why . . . ?”

Suddenly Rory gasped. The belt began to melt.

It was as if someone had thrown it into a fire. The beads lost their shape as they oozed off the strings that held them together. The brilliant white faded, turning to burned black. The last hope to bring down the Trap and free the Munsees was falling to pieces around him and he couldn't do anything about it.

Caesar had doomed them all.

AN INSTANT TO SAVE THE WORLD

T
he wind had now risen to hurricane strength, knocking down trees and blowing down anything not made of granite. The beautiful stained-glass windows at the Bowery Mission burst into a million pieces under the force of the gale. Fire hydrants were torn from the sidewalks and anyone foolish enough to be caught out in the storm was blown down the street. Lightning struck again and again—if the power hadn't been out already, it never would have survived the attack.

But light did return to the city, in the form of the many fires that sprang up everywhere. Fire engines raced through the howling wind, struggling to get to the flames, but most of them were blown clear across the road into the sides of buildings. The entire city was under attack, and its inhabitants fled like rats down into the basements, where they huddled together, flinching at every loud noise that filtered in from above, waiting in fear either for the storm to pass or the end of days, whichever came first.

The wind blew the glass through the air of the store like deadly dust, and Rory ducked behind his arm to avoid being blinded. The glow of the belt had almost faded, as had any hope he'd had of ending this. The last display case teetered under the gale, finally falling on top of the dead spirit on the floor. Rory turned aside to avoid the new barrage of glass, and his eyes came to rest on Toy.

The poor creature lay splayed out on the floor, limbs in tatters. He was dying for nothing, Rory thought hopelessly, and an immense sadness washed over him. Then, to his surprise, Toy's body moved. At first he thought it was the wind, but Toy's head rolled over to show that the paper boy's eyes were open and staring right at Rory.

Toy's eyes seemed to plead with him, begging him not to make it all for nothing. And that prompted Rory take another look at his belt. It was fading, melting, dissolving . . . but it wasn't gone yet. Quickly, Caesar had said. He had but an instant. Was this what the old god meant? An instant before the belt melted away into nothing?

His father would give up; the thought rose up inside him. His father would run. His father would find a place to hide and wait out the storm, ready to pick up the pieces once it was over.