Sorcerer's Secret (23 page)

“Who goes there!” a British voice called out before Rory could get the words out. It was too late, he realized, as two redcoats stepped out of the trees, striding over to them with muskets pointed straight at their hearts.

“Prisoners for Admiral Howe,” Rory answered, following the script De Vries had laid out. “We found this savage on De Vries's plantation and took them both prisoner.”

“Jolly good,” one of the redcoats said, his beady little eyes staring at the prisoners hungrily. “We'll take it from here, soldier.”

“Yeah, good job,” the other said, smiling to reveal a mouth full of rotten teeth. “You can head down to the Black Horse—you've earned it.”

Rory glanced into the trees, where he knew Fritz was watching them. Were they going to be turned away before they could even reach the house? Soka was having none of it.

“We are not letting you take all the glory for our arrest!” she told them sternly. Both soldiers flinched, caught out. “We are bringing these prisoners in ourselves, so the ones in charge know who caught them. Get out of our way!”

After a moment the soldiers reluctantly stepped aside. As they passed, Bridget turned to them, pushing back her oversize hat to glare at them.

“Have a smashing good day, guv'nor!” she told them, her voice unnaturally low and gravelly, like a four-year-old's impersonation of a man. Rory flinched at her awful attempt at a British accent. One of the soldiers narrowed his eyes as he watched her pass.

“You have a cold or something, soldier?” he asked Bridget, who opened her mouth to no doubt give an equally gravelly voiced response, but Rory kicked her on the shin.

“Ow!”

“He's been coughing all night,” he said, thinking quickly.

“Haven't been eating Typhoid Mary's cooking, has he?” The other soldier laughed. “That'll put you in your grave a second time, am I right?”

Rory forced himself to laugh, though inside he was seething. Typhoid Mary was still out hurting people as she'd hurt his mother. It burned him to know about it and be so powerless to stop it.

They left the soldiers behind as they continued down the lane until they reached a low, one-story stone house picturesquely sitting beneath a gigantic flowering tree. This was the Rose and Crown; during the Revolution this small building had served as the headquarters for England's invading army. From this spot, Admiral Howe launched his attack on New York City, capturing it decisively, but failing to take General Washington, who escaped with the majority of the Continental Army. Howe had underestimated the American resolve and it eventually cost the British the war.

Soldiers were gathered outside, talking and drinking, as the children approached. Rory gulped, hoping their disguises held up as well here as they had on the road. They were noticed as they came nearer, and one of the soldiers called into the stone tavern. Presently, a paunchy man with a pasty, unhealthy-looking face stepped outside. The soldiers stood at attention, saluting; Rory followed suit, relieved to see both Soka and Bridget saluting as well (though the sight of Bridget's sleeve falling over her hand as it hit her forehead made his stomach roll). This must be Admiral Howe.

Rory and his friends marched up to the admiral, pushing De Vries and Perewyn before them. Howe's eyes lit up when he saw who had been captured, and he smiled evilly.

“I knew it was only a matter of time, De Vries,” Howe spat, getting into De Vries's face. “I knew you were harboring the enemy. And now I have proof. Are there any more savages on your property?” De Vries said nothing, looking past Howe as if the admiral weren't there. Howe didn't seem offended; he turned to Perewyn with the same glint in his eye. “What say you, savage? Any more pests infesting my island? You have nothing to say? That's fine. You'll talk soon enough.” He spun around, shouting at some of his men. “Take them inside and prepare them for transfer!” Two soldiers ran up, grabbing De Vries and Perewyn and dragging them roughly into the stone house. Howe then turned his attention to Rory, Soka, and Bridget, who stood at attention, feeling exposed.

“Good job, privates,” Howe commended them. “This is an important step to ridding Staaten Eylandt of all who would oppose us. We will finish the job we started three hundred years ago when the colonists got lucky and somehow tricked King George into signing a peace treaty. This time we will crush them all! Am I right, men!” The redcoats let out a rousing cheer, throwing their fists into the air. Rory and his companions belatedly joined them, and Rory winced to hear Bridget's growly cry. Howe gave Rory's shoulder a pat. “That is all, men. You may return to your posts. Your contribution to the cause will not go unnoticed.” He turned to go. Rory glanced at Soka and Bridget in a panic. They were being cut out! He knew Fritz could follow the prisoners, but he didn't trust that he could get inside wherever they were being held. Rory didn't like that gamble, so he decided to make a gamble of his own.

He quickly ran up to Howe's side as the admiral reached the door of the tavern. Glancing around to make certain no one else was within earshot, Rory muttered into Howe's ear.

“A certain First Adviser would like me and my fellow soldiers to accompany the prisoners.”

Howe froze, turning to Rory with wide eyes. “You? You are a spy for Kieft? Is it not enough that I do what he asks? He has to look over my shoulder and infiltrate my own army? That is unacceptable! You tell your master that he cannot order me about on my own island!”

Rory pushed down the panic—Howe's nostrils were flaring as he stared daggers at Rory. He thought fast. “These are important times. Nothing can be left to chance. You know you are one of Kieft's most trusted lieutenants. I am here to make certain no one tries to topple you from power. You are focused on the big picture. I make certain no one slips through the cracks. Like De Vries.”

“You could have told me,” Howe said, partly mollified. Rory wondered who the admiral thought Rory was. “I don't appreciate the skulking about.”

“I'm sorry, I should have come to you sooner. But my two fellows and I must accompany De Vries and the savage. They are of special importance to the First Adviser and he will have my head if I don't make certain they arrive at their destination in one piece, generally speaking, of course.”

Howe stared at him, his narrow gaze trying to pierce Rory's innocent facade. Finally, he nodded, seeming to buy Rory's story. “Be ready—we leave in an hour. I will be accompanying you. I want you to report back to Kieft about how good a job I'm doing carrying out his plans. Scratch my back and someday I will scratch yours. Understood?”

“Of course, sir,” Rory replied, and Howe nodded once, curtly, before disappearing into the tavern. Rory let out a long breath. That was close. But he'd done it. They were going to find Cornelis and the Raritans. He had to hope that their disguise held out long enough to free the prisoners. Otherwise things could get very hairy—Howe did not seem the forgiving type. Rory would have to do everything perfectly.

T
he dirigible floated above the city, a long, pill-shaped balloon the length of two city blocks with giant fins at the end. As it passed over the city, the spirits of Mannahatta gazed upward in awe. Some felt fear as the shadow of the dirigible passed over them. Others knew wonder, feeling a stirring inside to explore the heights of Mannahatta. And one boy in particular felt hope wash over him.

“Why didn't I think of him before?” Nicholas Stuyvesant wondered aloud, breaking into a run.

Nicholas reached the Empire State Building just as the dirigible approached the needle at the top. Lincoln, Alexa, and Simon were already there, waiting.

“Did you know he was coming back?” Alexa asked him. Nicholas shook his head.

“I thought he was gone for good, actually,” he replied. “We'd become too boring for him.”

“I'm so excited!” Lincoln was practically hopping up and down. “The man is a genius at war!”

“He's a genius at getting people killed,” Simon snorted. “Not really the same thing.”

“I think he might be the one I'm looking for,” Nicholas said.

“Really?” Alexa asked, dubious. “Isn't he a little . . . flighty?” Nicholas wasn't even listening, staring up at the giant balloon.

“Come on, my father's probably already up there to greet him when he gets off the dirigible,” he said, leading them into the Empire State Building, where a special elevator waited to shoot them to the top. He sighed, a thought occurring to him. “Man, my dad is not going to be happy. He is not a fan.”

They reached the top of the Empire State Building quickly, stepping off the elevator into a waiting room. When the building was built, the very top floors had been designed to be a port for the newfangled air vehicle called the dirigible. Filled with lighter-than-air hydrogen, the dirigibles floated through the skies like giant blimps, driven by huge propellers. The architects of the building had believed that their new building would be the perfect place for this new mode of transportation to dock. The dirigible would float up to the building, anchor to the tall needle at the peak, and the passengers would disembark directly into the waiting room on the top floor, grabbing their luggage and riding the elevator down into the very middle of Manhattan. It had been a noble dream. There was only one problem: wind.

It was so windy around the Empire State Building that the one time they actually tried to dock a dirigible, it almost impaled itself on the needle. Judging this far too dangerous, the city shut down the dirigible port. But here in Mannahatta, that first dirigible sometimes returned to dock at the very top of the tallest building in New York.

The huge vessel was being anchored as the Rattle Watch ran out into the waiting room. Peter Stuyvesant was already there, looking annoyed, and the rest of the council was arrayed around him. None of them looked too excited to be there.

“Just what we need,” Peter muttered to his fellow councilmen. “A big shot of foolhardiness.”

“Maybe he's mellowed,” Bennett said, his pad in hand as he took notes for his evening edition. “After all, he's been off exploring the skies for twenty years. Maybe he's changed.”

“And maybe I'm a spider monkey,” Mrs. Parker muttered to Zelda Fitzgerald, who giggled. The dirigible was stable, now, and the small, boxy passenger compartment that hung from the huge, hollow balloon had lined up with the ramp. The door flew open to spit out the whirlwind of a man that was Teddy Roosevelt. His safari hat sat rakishly atop his head, and beneath his bushy mustache he was grinning like a madman. He ran down the ramp so rambunctiously that his small glasses flew right off—thankfully the string tied to the stems prevented them from coming off completely.

“By Jove, I hear there's a war on!” he cried, bounding up to the council members and shaking each of their hands vigorously.

“Yes, Teddy,” Mrs. Parker told him, her voice tired. “But we've got it under–”

“Jolly good!” Teddy cried, cutting her off. “Well, if there's one thing Teddy Roosevelt knows, it's how to wage a jolly good war! We're going to wipe the floor with that Kieft fellow.” He spied Peter Stuyvesant and patted the old god on the cheek. “Perk up, pouty face! Still as dour as ever, I see. I'm here now! We're gonna win this thing, hands down! Tallyho! We've got some planning to do!”

Teddy ran past the Rattle Watch to the elevator, turning at the open doors. “I said, Tallyho! Chop Chop!” He clapped his hands and to Nicholas's amusement, the council members ran after him, joining him in the elevator. Only Peter took his time, stomping across the floor, his face a thundercloud. Nicholas heard him mutter as he passed.

“He's lucky I don't have one of those god-killing knives on me right now,” Stuyvesant seethed, passing his son as if he weren't even there, he was so wrapped up in his anger. He took his time entering the elevator, and just as the doors shut, Nicholas thought he saw Teddy good-naturedly smack his father on the butt.

Nicholas turned to the rest of the Rattle Watch, who were struggling not to laugh.

“Now, that's inspiring,” he said with a grin.

Admiral Howe and a small group of redcoats and Hessians marched the prisoners down to the waterline. Rory, Soka, and Bridget followed (keeping their distance from the Hessians, as they still remembered the battle at Dyckman's Farm the week before), trying to figure out where they were going. They reached the very same boatyard where the USS Monitor had dropped them off. The wrecks of all the old ships seemed less spooky under the bright morning sun, but Rory could still hear the whispers of the dead boats if he listened hard.