Spirits in the Park (23 page)

The voyage quickly grew more dangerous as they drifted out into choppier waters. Now the waves tossed them about as they sailed under the great Verrazano-Narrows Bridge, which connected Brooklyn to Staten Island (thinking of its grouchy namesake made Rory smile). Beyond the bridge lay the open sea. Mist clung to the horizon, covering the distant water in fog.

“I can't see anything out there,” Rory shouted over the wind. “Will the mist clear up later in the day?”

“The mist never clears up,” Alexa replied. “It's always been there and it always will be. It's the last great frontier. Great mariners sail into its murky depths in search of the secret islands where, supposedly, strange hermits hold caskets of treasure. Others hunt great whales the size of ocean liners. And the bravest souls of all search for the lost gods, who left never to return.”

“Lost gods?” Rory had never heard of any lost gods.

“Not all the gods who no longer grace Mannahatta faded away with the passing of mortal memory,” Alexa explained. “Some tired of their days trapped by their blood and set sail for new lands out in the mist.”

“Like Europe?” Rory asked.

“There is no Europe out there,” Fritz said, his eyes distant. “No other side. Just mist, forever and ever.”

“That's where Wampage went!” Rory suddenly understood his friend's parting words. “He's looking for his old leader.”

“Many great gods went off into the mist,” Alexa said. “Henry Hudson, Peter Minuet, Adriaen Block. Most of the first gods left before they could be bound to the land, or so my dad told me.”

“What do you mean, bound to the land?” Rory asked.

“I'm not sure, myself,” Alexa said. “My father mentioned it once and then refused to speak of it again. Something happened in the early days to send many of the first gods off into the mists. None of the other gods who were there will speak of it, either. Maybe it's something they're ashamed of.”

“Whatever it is, it's long past now,” Simon said. “No use worrying about it. You couldn't pay me enough gold to get me to sail off into those mists. There's no treasure, no heaven, on the other side. I don't think there's anything out there but water. Endless water.” He shuddered at the thought, his hand playing with something in his pocket. Alexa shot him a sharp look, and Simon started, before pulling out an old penknife from his pocket with a shrug. Alexa pursed her lips and returned to steering the boat.

Rory stared out at the wall of mist slowly approaching, feeling his heart stir. His father had sailed out into that fog. Rory wondered what he had discovered out there. Maybe when he found him, the elder Hennessy would tell all his stories. Or maybe Rory would sail out there himself, one day, and find out firsthand.

Or maybe he'd find out now, he thought as the mist loomed larger and larger before them.

“Are we going in there?” Rory asked.

“No!” Simon said with conviction.

“The convent sits on an island at the edge of the mist,” Alexa explained. “There are two islands there, Hoffman and Swinburne. Swinburne houses the convent, and as Farhad mentioned, Hoffman is empty.”

“Are they part of Mannahatta?” Rory asked. “Is that how you all can set foot on it?”

“Actually, no,” Alexa said. “The two islands were created by mortals only a hundred and fifty years ago. Because they were new, the boroughs agreed to make them neutral ground. Women from all five boroughs live in the convent. And Hoffman is the site of all official dealings between the borough leaders. See, that's Hoffman Island there.”

A small hump of land rose up out of the water before them. As they floated closer, Rory could see trees and a few abandoned buildings. The whole place appeared deserted.

“They meet there?” Rory asked, incredulous. “It looks like no one's been there in decades.”

“Longer,” Simon said. “Borough mayors don't like to leave their cushy offices. The five boroughs haven't officially met in almost a hundred years.”

They were now almost past the island. Alexa let out a cry and pointed into the mist.

“Thar she blows!”

“It's not a whale, you silly girl,” Simon muttered. His face was growing white as he contemplated the new island in the distance gradually appearing out of the mist that now surrounded them.

“Nervous?” Alexa needled him.

“No!” Simon shot back.

“It's just superstition, you know,” she continued, teasing him. “You won't really lose your nether regions.”

“I know that. Leave me alone!”

Rory tried not to laugh at Simon's worried face. The older boy didn't look as confident as he tried to sound. Rory turned his attention instead to the island rising before them. This island was covered in mist, making it difficult to pick out many features. He could barely make out what looked like trees poking out of the fog. As the headed toward the island, he spied what appeared to be a small dock jutting out of the fog. Alexa guided the boat through the undulating sea up to the side of the dock, where Rory leaped out and tied them up. Alexa brought down the sail and nimbly hopped off the deck onto the dock; Fritz climbed out after her. Simon, however, had to be coaxed from his seat like a scared puppy.

“Don't be such a baby,” Alexa scolded him. “Look at Rory; he's fine.”

“He's mortal, maybe it doesn't affect him.”

“Get out of the boat, Simon, before I make the curse come true myself!”

Muttering resentfully, Simon gingerly climbed out of the boat and stepped onto dry land. A relieved smile spread over his face.

“I knew it! Stupid superstition!” He sounded quite disdainful now that he'd survived unscathed. “Those sailors are so gullible. Let's go find this woman your dad's so fond of, Rory!”

If any of them had turned around as they hurried down the dock, they would have spied a small white sail approaching, gradually getting bigger. But none of them did.

The small party made their way carefully up a rocky path away from the dock into the trees. Mist hung from the branches, cloaking everything in fog. They bunched together so as not to lose one another.

“How big is this island?” Rory whispered to Alexa.

“Not big enough to get lost in,” she whispered back. “But I can't seem to find the convent! It's all fog!”

“What are you talking about?” Rory said, pointing to the left, where he could see something in the distance. “Isn't that it over there?”

Sure enough, out of the mist rose a tall white steeple. Alexa gave Rory a strange look as they drew nearer, and Simon muttered “How did I miss that?” under his breath. As they approached, a large convent gradually emerged, seeming to take shape from the fog itself. White walls spread in each direction, disappearing into the mist. The tall steeple loomed above a large wooden door. As they came nearer to the door, a bell began to toll.

“I guess they know we're here,” Alexa said. She marched up to the door and knocked. After a moment the door creaked open to reveal a woman in a long gray robe.

“Go away,” she said. “You are not wanted.”

She began to close the door, but Alexa put out a hand to stop it.

“We have traveled far,” she said. “We seek one of your nuns—”

“No!” the woman said sternly. “The nuns are not to be disturbed. As official greeter, only I can speak with outsiders. And I use that privilege only to tell you all to go away!”

“Interesting use of the word greeter, eh?,” Simon whispered to Rory.

“Wait!” Rory said before the woman could close the door again. He wasn't about to be turned away this easily. “I'm looking for a friend of my father. My father used to visit this place all the time! They say I look like him. Don't you recognize me?”

The woman shook her head and seemed ready to turn them away when another voice came from behind her.

“Let them enter.”

The nun at the door quickly glanced over her shoulder, nodded reluctantly, and stepped aside, waving them into the convent. Inside, another woman awaited them in the soaring foyer, dressed in a simple habit of light blue. She seemed too youthful to carry much authority, but the first nun bowed her head.

“Where shall I take them, Mother?”

“I will take them to my study,” the younger woman said, her voice kind but firm. She nodded slightly to the newcomers. “I am the abbess here. Normally, we would not admit strangers. But we do not live in normal times. Come with me.”

“Wait,” Rory said, stepping forward. “I'm looking for someone. A sailor—”

“All in good time,” the abbess said, cutting him off. “Please, come.”

The abbess led them through the stone entrance hall toward a long hallway. The ceiling rose majestically, a sky of stone far above their heads. No one was around and the halls were eerily silent. Their footsteps rang loudly as they walked through the empty passage. Finally, they reached a small wooden door, which the abbess opened.

“There is a small dining chamber through here where you may wait. Sister Patience will be by with refreshments. I cannot speak to all of you, I am afraid. Only the Light.”

Rory gasped as the others exchanged shocked glances. Fritz stepped forward.

“How do you know what he is . . . ?” he asked.

“How can I not?” the abbess asked. “Only a Light could have seen the convent in the mist. And he is the only mortal human among you. So it is with him I must speak.”

She stepped aside to let the others enter the dining room. They turned to look back at Rory with worry as the abbess closed the door and locked it.

“Not that I don't trust them,” she said with a smile. “But that fellow in the loud puffy shirt seems a bit shifty to me. Shall we?”

The abbess led Rory down the stone hallway to another wooden door. She opened it with a long metal key, holding the door for Rory to step through. She followed him through, letting the door close behind them with a loud click, leaving the hallway empty and still.

Sister Hope hurried through the main hall toward the front door. Sister Patience usually handled the entrance to the outside world, but she was off getting food and wine for the visitors. She would never admit it, of course, but Sister Hope had always wanted to be the door opener. She couldn't see why Sister Patience was the only one allowed to greet outsiders. Just because Sister Hope had come here to contemplate the great beyond for all eternity shouldn't mean she couldn't enjoy a bit of conversation now and again.

So when the knock resounded through the halls, she had rushed to get the door before anyone could beat her to it. And her tenacity was rewarded when, upon opening the door, she was greeted by a man stepping out of the fog, smiling sweetly.

“Hello, young miss,” the man said, doffing his cap. “Sorry to bother you. Friends of mine came before me to visit and I was hoping to catch up.”

As he came closer, Sister Hope revised her initial impression. This was not a nice man; no, not at all. A heavily greased mustache hung down limpy on his upper lip, while his gaunt face and beady eyes made him look like a zombie.

“I'm sorry . . .” she stammered, wishing Sister Patience, or anyone at all, would come. “We don't allow visitors . . . you shouldn't even be able to find us . . .”

“But your lovely bell led me right here.” He smiled, a mouth full of rotten teeth staring back at her. “And my friends are inside, right? So why don't you run and fetch them for me, would ya?”

Uncertain, Sister Hope glanced behind her to see if anyone else was coming to help. Unfortunately, the hallway was empty. She turned back to her visitor, who stepped up to her.

“I'm sorry, if you could just wait—”

Her voice cut off suddenly, and she fell to the ground.

“Sorry, darling,” Bill the Butcher said, bending over to wipe his cleaver on the nun's habit. “I really don't have all day.”

He straightened and ran down the hall, keeping an ear out for voices drifting through this monument to silence.