The Deavys (22 page)

N/Ice made a face. “Hey, that's where the bike wanted to go. You know how ornery bikes can get if you just restrict them to riding on the street. Once in a while you have to give them their headlight.”

Rose sat back and closed her eyes. “It feels better already.”

N/Ice nodded knowingly. “That's one reason I chose this. I remember that it works real fast. Mom said it's good for contusions, deep cuts, bloody noses, scrapes, bee stings, and that it's really good on Oreos. Makes them taste just like Dreamsicles.”

“Can you stand?” Simwan was watching his sister closely. If she couldn't travel at a reasonable pace, they would have to give up the quest—at least for the day—and go back to Uncle Herkimer's. They could try again when Rose's leg was better, but by then the Crub might have found out how close they had come to tracking him down. It could take appropriate steps to see that the Deavy brood had a much harder time of it next time they tried to cross the park. That is, Simwan thought, if they were even allowed a second chance.

And there were other factors to take into account. Uncle Herkimer might not be so willing to let them out on their own if he felt they were going to be gone long into the night. Or the New York weather might take a turn for the worse.

No, their best chance, their best opportunity to succeed in their quest, was to keep going, to press on. If they could. He dreaded having to choose between his sister's health and that of their mother.

Fortunately, N/Ice had chosen her medication well. With the oxide of orangeium working magically on the bruise, Rose was soon not only able to stand but insisted she could run again if circumstances demanded it. Her leg was sure to be sore for a while, but she was adamant that she could manage.

“I can even run away from those awful Madoon again if I have to,” she insisted stubbornly.

“You won't have to do that.” Simwan was staring in the direction of the bridle path. “Because we're not going to risk running into them again.” Turning to his right, he let his gaze rove out across the steadily darkening expanse of the Reservoir. “We'll find another way north.”

Amber protested immediately. “I told you, brother—I'm not going swimming. Not in
this
weather.” Her sisters were adamant in agreement.

“There are ways of crossing open water that do not require individual immersion.” Having hopped up onto the concrete wall that held back the Reservoir, black- and azure-striped tail switching emphatically back and forth, Pithfwid stood staring in the same direction as Simwan, the cat's bright blue ears erect and alert.

N/Ice joined him, resting both palms on the concrete and leaning forward as she stared out across the basin. “It's smaller than an ocean but bigger than a pond. A boat is what we need.”

“We could try the path on the east side of the park,” Rose suggested.

Pithfwid shook his head. “There's bridle path to be crossed there as well. Too dangerous now that the Madoon know we are here. If they want to track us down, they'll be looking for us to try something like that.” The cat turned bright indigo eyes on Simwan. “I won't say that we're well and truly trapped, but our options have definitely narrowed. I think at this point we can do one of two things: We can go forward, or we can go back.”

Silence ensued, broken only by the lonely, far distant honk of a truck horn or the mournful wail of a city siren. At that moment, they might as well have been as far away from the bustle of Midtown Manhattan as a plateau in Qingzai. Simwan looked at his sisters. The coubet eyed him back.

“We can't,” Amber finally declared. “If we don't bring the Truth home with us, Mom—Mom might not …” She couldn't finish. She didn't have to.

“We've come too far and we're too close to give up now,” N/Ice added resolutely.

Rising from the bench, Rose gingerly put weight on her injured leg and smiled determinedly. “Remember what Gramma and Grandpa always told us. Deavys don't run. Besides, if we keep on, maybe I'll get the chance to kick some Madoon tail.”

From his perch on the edge of the concrete barrier, Pithfwid looked expectantly up at Simwan. “Well, boy? What say you?”

The girls were staring at him, waiting. “Like I have a choice,” he finally muttered. “Like living with these three, I've ever had a choice.” He turned his attention to Rose. “You're sure now, about being able to walk okay, and run if you have to?”

She nodded and, to emphasize her confidence, jumped. Not too high, but convincingly enough. “And I can kick with the
other
leg.”

“Okay, then. What about Uncle Herkimer?” He cast a meaningful glance skyward. “It's starting to get dark. Should we give him a call?”

The coubet considered. “Better not to,” Amber decided. “He might ask us to come back to the apartment. Then we'd have to tell him we can't, or lie about what we're doing. If he doesn't hear from us, we won't put ourselves in that position. It'll be all right. Uncle Herkimer knows we can take care of ourselves, even in a strange city. He knows that we're Deavys.”

“Even knowing that we're Deavys, he still might start to worry a little if it starts to get really late,” Rose put in, “but by that time we should have recovered the Truth and be on our way back to the apartment.”

“We'd better be,” N/Ice added grimly. “It's cold and it's wet and it's dark.” She eyed the cloud-filled, mist-swept sky. “And it's only going to get colder and wetter and darker.”

“All the more reason we need to get to the Truth as fast as we can,” Amber observed quite sensibly. She started pacing the edge of the Reservoir, searching the water, the paved walkway, and the grass-covered ground they had recently traversed. “There
has
to be a way to cross.”

It took them less than five minutes to find a boat. It was a nice boat. A straightforward one, with a single sail and boom, virtually no rigging, and a rudder to steer with. Perfect for their purposes, with only one drawback.

It was only a foot long.

Simwan scanned their immediate surroundings. Though the fog and mist had lifted slightly, his range of vision was correspondingly limited by the increasing darkness. There was no one to be seen: not on the pathway, not in the direction of the distant, dark hulk that was the art museum, not on the Great Lawn behind them. The child who had presumably forgotten the toy craft and left it behind after a visit to the park was probably on his or her way home, if not already there. They might be lamenting the loss, or like so many Ord children, indifferent to it, knowing that if they moaned and wailed about it loudly and often enough, their despairing parents would simply buy them another.

It was, most certainly, the only boat in sight. Rapidly running short of both daylight and time, the Deavys mulled it over long and hard.

“We could shrink ourselves to fit,” Rose suggested, none too usefully.

“What, and have some oversize goldfish slurp us up for supper?” Amber argued.

“There isn't enough space on it to hold even one of us.” N/Ice was gazing intently at the little wooden craft as it bobbed up and down against the interior of the Reservoir wall.

“‘One of us'? There isn't enough room on it to hold one of my
shoes
,” a disappointed Simwan pointed out. He glanced at Pithfwid.

“I see what you're thinking,” the cat responded. “You can just forget it. While I might be able to sail that toy across the Reservoir, and while I could conceivably go after the Truth myself, that would mean leaving you four behind. I promised your parents I'd keep an eye on you. So you can skip the line of thought you're presently tripping down. Through success or failure, we're staying together.” Raising one paw, he gave it a dainty lick. “I don't trust you kittens not to get into trouble if I'm not around to look after you.”

By now all three girls were eyeing the model sailboat attentively. “Well,” Rose finally declared, “if we're not going to make ourselves smaller, I suppose we have to try and make the boat bigger. Big enough to hold all of us.”

“It doesn't have to be a perfect job.” N/Ice was encouraging. “We're only going to sail it through part of Central Park, to the edge of North Meadow. It's not like we're sailing to Byzantium.”

“Ephesus,” Amber put in. “I'd rather be going to Ephesus.”

“North Meadow.” Simwan knew how easily his sisters could be distracted. “We're going to North Meadow. Ephesus can wait. What do you think? Can you guys do it?”

Amber was gazing fixedly at the toy vessel. “We don't need to conjure something new. We just need to make this one bigger.”

“And maybe a little nicer,” N/Ice added. “It's awfully plain.”

Simwan saw the warning signs, heard the hints, but by the time he thought it might be appropriate to say something about them, the coubet had already bent to work.

As the sister possessed of the steadiest grip, Rose leaned over the concrete wall and held the toy as motionless as she could, gripping it by the stern while pointing its miniature bow out into the water and simultaneously uttering unfamiliar provisos. Amber stood on her left, working her fingers along with her words as she vigorously thrust both in the boat's direction. On Rose's right, N/Ice was bending forward and waving her hands back and forth over the sides of the little craft, murmuring softly under her breath. Simwan stood back, out of the way, watching and wary lest something go wrong.

True to their word, none of the girls had ever done much work with boats before, there not being much cause for them to do so while attending a landlocked school or living in a landlocked town. As they waved and intoned and gestured, he felt himself tense. A wary Pithfwid took temporary cover behind his lower legs, his vivid violet eyes widening slightly as he observed the coubet at work.

Something
was happening, anyways.

A ball of light began to emerge from the water, swelling and intensifying in time to the sisters' steady sing-song. No, not from the water, Simwan saw. From the boat. Concerning the toy itself, the light soon grew much too bright for him to look at directly, even when he squinted. As the soundless golden globe continued to expand, lines began to appear within it. The girls were wholly into their work now, having entered into a trancelike state that was half theurgic, half sisterhood, and all coubet. As was usual during such times of powerful application, Rose and Amber remained firmly grounded while N/Ice could not keep from rising several inches off the ground.

Shafts of light like lambent ropes trailed from their fingertips as they wove the words and conducted the magic. Within the golden sphere, distinctive lines continued to solidify. Shading his eyes, Simwan found that he could now make out the first glimmerings of gunwales and tiller, mast and sail. It was the same toy ship they had found, greatly enlarged and doubtlessly more than a little transformed. How much more transformed he would find out in a moment or two.

The coubet's steady susurration slowly faded away, leaving the only sound the slight plinking noise produced by accumulated moisture falling to the ground from nearby branches and benches. As the girls went quiet, the golden sphere dissipated swiftly, the waves of light melting into the welcoming wavelets of the Reservoir. In their wake stood the model sailboat, enlarged enough to carry them all and, as Simwan had expected, more than slightly altered from its original design. Approaching, he looked it over from stem to stern, shaking his head critically. Pithfwid leaped lithely up onto the Reservoir barrier to study the result of the coubet's combined effort.

“Girls!” Simwan made a disgusted sound. “Honestly, can't you fix
anything
without overdoing it?”

A tad embarrassed, Amber looked over at Rose. Rose lowered her gaze as she glanced at N/Ice. N/Ice did her best to face down their big brother.

“Look, we've never modified a boat before. We've done ponies, and bikes, and skateboards, and even helped Dad with the car, but never a boat.” As this threadbare reasoning sounded feeble even to her, she hastened to add, “Besides, this
is
New York.”

At least it
looked
seaworthy, Simwan decided reluctantly as he stepped up onto the concrete barrier that held back the waters of the Reservoir. As Pithfwid made the short jump onto the boat's deck, Simwan extended a hand back toward his sisters. Still favoring her left leg, Rose accepted his offer of assistance without hesitation. A moment later, and they were all aboard.

Since no one else seemed inclined to take the position (or the responsibility), Simwan sat down in the stern and draped his right forearm over the hardwood tiller that controlled the rudder. As soon as he straightened it out, the boat began to move forward, away from the wall and out onto the gray expanse. As was to be expected, progress was smooth and steady, since there was virtually no wave action. The only sense of motion was forward.

With the fog once more snugging in around them and the inexorable advancement of evening, he could see nothing in the way of landmarks. Not even the western or eastern boundaries of the Reservoir, much less any of the concrete and steel and glass towers that ringed the park. He was not concerned. North to south, the Reservoir was only ten blocks in length, extending from 96th Street to 86th. They were crossing a portion of north Central Park, not the North Central Pacific. It was pretty much impossible for them to get lost.

He peered off to the west. There was no sign of angry Madoon patrolling the distant bridle path, or of recreational Ord riders. Reality had become too stable for the former, too late and damp for the latter, he decided. He allowed himself to relax, his right arm resting lightly on the tiller, holding the magically modified craft on its steady northward heading. The watery tranquillity offered an opportunity halfway through their quest to take it easy for a moment or two. If only his sisters hadn't, in the course of their otherwise estimable exertions on behalf of critical toy boat renovation, decided to go and overdo things. The ostentatiousness of their work risked drawing dangerous attention. Fortunately, it did not appear as if there had been anyone around to bear witness to the results. So far, anyway.