Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter 1 - A BAD DREAM
Chapter 2 - THE HERRING MAN
Chapter 3 - A SHAPE IN THE NIGHT
Chapter 4 - THE LITTLE RED LIGHTHOUSE
Chapter 5 - BEHIND THE BELOVED
Chapter 6 - INTO HELL GATE
Chapter 7 - THE ROYAL STEED
Chapter 8 - A TIGHT RACE
Chapter 9 - THE OLD STONE HOUSE
Chapter 10 - THE FAIR ENGINEER
Chapter 11 - INTO THE CAISSON
Chapter 12 - THE IRON SHIP
Chapter 13 - STAATEN EYLANDT
Chapter 14 - THE PERFECT DISGUISE
Chapter 15 - THE BEST-LAID PLANS
Chapter 16 - A FAMILIAR FACE
Chapter 17 - BRIDGET CAUSES TROUBLE
Chapter 18 - BETRAYAL
Chapter 19 - THE GREATEST SPY IN THE WORLD
Chapter 20 - THE HOME OF THE SWINDLER
Chapter 21 - THE GAME CHANGES
Chapter 22 - THE FORGOTTEN STATION
Chapter 23 - THE SACRIFICE
Chapter 24 - THE BATTLE FOR MANNAHATTA
Chapter 25 - FAMILY HISTORY
Chapter 26 - HONOR AMONG THIEVES
Chapter 27 - THE TRUTH
Chapter 28 - HELLO AND GOOD-BYE
I am doing what I need to do!
Rory regarded Hex, feeling sick as he realized what he had to do. Finally he nodded. “You can come. But one wrong move and it’s over. You can’t hurt me, remember? I’m protected.”
“I know,” Hex said even as Fritz and Bridget both cried their disapproval.
“You can’t trust him!” Bridget screamed.
“This is a mistake,” Fritz told him.
“What else can we do?” Rory asked them. “We will need magic, I know it.”
“Soka’s spell—” Bridget began, but Rory cut her off.
“Is not enough. I’ll do anything to save Mom, even deal with the devil.”
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Copyright © Scott Mebus, 2010
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ISBN : 978-1-101-54744-1
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To Brian,
who always has my back
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Rory Hennessy—A thirteen-year-old boy; the last Light in New York City
Bridget Hennessy—Younger sister to Rory Hennessy
Lillian Hennessy—Mother to Rory and Bridget Hennessy
Peter Hennessy—Rory and Bridget’s father; missing for past ten years
THE RATTLE WATCH
Nicholas Stuyvesant—Son of Peter Stuyvesant
Alexa van der Donck—Daughter of Adriaen van der Donck
Simon Astor—Son of John Jacob Astor
Lincoln Douglass—Son of Frederick Douglass
THE M’GAROTH CLAN
Fritz M‘Garoth—Lieutenant-Captain and Rat Rider of M’Garoth Clan
Liv M’Garoth—Captain and Rat Rider of M’Garoth Clan. Wife of Fritz
GODS OF MANHATTAN
Mayor Alexander Hamilton—God of Finance; Mayor of the Gods
of Manhattan
Willem Kieft—First Adviser to Mayor
Peter Stuyvesant—God of Things Were Better in the Old Days
Caesar Prince—God of Under the Streets
T.R. Tobias—God of Banking
Walt Whitman—God of Optimism
Dorthy Parker—Goddess of Wit
Boss Tweed—God of Rabble Politics and Back Alley Deals
William Randolph Hearst—God of Yellow Journalism
Mrs. Astor—Goddess of Society
Alfred Beach—God of Subway Trains
Jimmy Walker—God of Leaders Who Look the Other Way
Nathan Hale—God of Martyrs
Robert Townsend—God of Ornamental Handkerchiefs
Teddy Roosevelt—God of Valor
Aaron Burr—A fallen god
MUNSEES
Wampage—Only Munsee to escape the Trap
Tackapausha—Sachem of the Munsees
Sooleawa—Daughter of Penhawitz; sister of Tackapausha; Medicine Woman
Sokanen (Soka for short)—Daughter of Sooleawa; Sister of Tammand
Tammand—Son of Sooleawa; Brother of Soka
Askook—A magician
Buckongahelas—Murdered son of Tackapausha
GODS OF QUEENS
Rufus King—God of Also-Rans
Robert Moses—God of Power-Hungry Politicians
GODS OF BROOKLYN
Washington Roebling—God of Dangerous Projects
Emily Roebling—Goddess of Finishing What Others Have Started
GODS OF STATEN ISLAND
David de Vries—God of Just Causes
Cornelis Melyn—God Wishing Life Were Fair
OTHER SPIRITS OF NOTE
The Abbess—Founder of the convent on Swinburne Island
Sly Jimmy—Member of the B’wry Boys
James DeLancey—Leader of the Cowboys
Colonel Smallwood—Leader of the Marylanders
Colonel Wood—Leader of the Red Legged Devils
Perewyn—A Raritan medicine man
Admiral Howe—Leader of the Redcoats on Staten Island
IMPORTANT TERMS
Blood (Bronx, Manhattan, Brooklyn, etc.)—The restriction of a divine being to the boroughs where his or her mortal self was known to dwell. For example, a god whose mortal self lived on a farm in the Bronx possesses “Bronx blood.”
pau wau—Munsee word for medicine man or woman
patroon—Dutch word for landowner
PROLOGUE
Caesar Prince had a bad feeling about this.
He’d been called into the bowels of City Hall, deep into the maze of hallways that zigzagged beneath the ancient seat of the gods’ power. All the gods had their own rooms down her
e, and the older the god, the deeper the room. Prince’s own room was not easy to find, which was just as he liked it. But even he’d never been this deep before. The rooms down here were old, so old that most of their owners had faded away, left behind and forgotten as the city above moved ahead without them. But Willem Kieft never forgot.
It was Kieft who had called him to this place, into what appeared to be the room of the long-gone God of Barrelmaking. Metal hoops hung on the wall, coated with dust; rotting wooden slats lay in cobweb-covered piles in the corner. The room’s owner had fallen victim to the changing times, leaving behind only this musty place and a dead-eyed painting in the Portrait Room upstairs. No god felt comfortable standing in a dead god’s room—and causing discomfort was obviously Kieft’s intent.
Prince glanced around at the others whom Kieft had called. There were Kieft’s staunchest allies, of course: Tobias the banker, Boss Tweed the rabble-rouser, and Jimmy Walker the look-the-other-way politician. Tobias was flanked by two large green Brokers of Tobias, the metallic monsters who guarded his bank; both Brokers had scorch marks and metal drips across their broad green bodies, as if they’d recently been in a fire. Curious. Leaning against the wall, William Randolph Hearst nodded at Prince with a smirk when Caesar inadvertently caught his eye. Prince was always on edge around the God of Yellow Journalism, as Hearst seemed to know everything about everyone, and wasn’t shy about using his knowledge to his advantage. Finally, the Goddess of Society, Mrs. Astor, stood haughtily by the door, barely consenting to associate with the riffraff. They all kept their distance from the strange Munsee Indian across the room, he of the twin snake tattoos practically crawling across his face. There was something profoundly wrong with this man who called himself Askook, and they all studiously avoided his oily gaze as they waited uncomfortably for their master to arrive.
Finally, Kieft strolled into the room, a thin smile playing across his lips as he surveyed his coconspirators. With a shock, Prince realized that the black-eyed god was actually here in person. Normally, the First Adviser would inhabit some unfortunate spirit’s body for a meeting such as this. Prince’s stomach clenched as his bad feeling got worse.
“So kind of you to take the time out of your busy evening to join me,” Kieft told them drily, as if any of them would refuse a summons from him. “As you can see, I’ve decided to grace you all with my actual presence, as what I have to show you is too important to trust to an avatar.”
As those black eyes swept over him, Prince carefully kept his face still. He was playing a dangerous game here, with powers he freely admitted he did not understand. But he was willing to risk everything to make amends.
“Why did you drag us all down to this horrid place?” Mrs. Astor demanded.
“Because some things must be done in secret,” Kieft answered, his cold gaze causing her to glance away, humbled. “Some things must be done far from the light, in the bowels of the earth, where there is no one to witness the rules we bend. Am I right, Mr. Prince?”
Kieft was talking about the Trap, which Caesar had built so many years ago. Caesar forced himself to grin and nod back, as if he didn’t regret every minute he’d spent in the dark, building that monstrosity.
“What are we doing, exactly?” Hearst asked. He nodded at Askook. “And why is he here?”
“Askook will be helping in the demonstration,” Kieft said. The Munsee’s dead-eyed gaze slid over them as his snakes slithered across his cheeks.
“What kind of demonstration?” Mrs. Astor asked, her haughty tone replaced by a thin whine.
“I’m pleased you asked, Mrs. Astor,” Kieft replied, turning to the dapper Jimmy Walker. “Mr. Walker? Could you come over here? I’d be most grateful for your assistance.”
“Sure!” Walker hopped forward like a trained puppy, falling over himself in his eagerness to help. “What do I need to do?”
“You’ve done quite enough, already,” Kieft said, nodding at Askook. “Kill him.” The snake-Munsee stepped forward, quickly pulling out a knife, and slid the blade across Jimmy Walker’s throat. The God of Leaders Who Look the Other Way didn’t even have time to react; he soundlessly fell to the floor in a lifeless heap, blood pooling beneath his neck.
The room was shocked silent as Askook pulled out a piece of tanned hide and began to wipe his knife clean. “Jimmy Walker was a traitor to me and all of us,” Kieft calmly informed them. “He helped Nicholas Stuyvesant escape my assassins. Thus is disloyalty rewarded.” He kicked the body of the dead god with a black boot, rolling Walker’s corpse onto its back. Kneeling down, Kieft began to pull at something around Walker’s neck.
Glancing at his fellow spectators, Caesar could see the fear plain on their faces. This was impossible; no god could kill another god, or even order another god’s death—that was the unbreakable rule. Except they’d just witnessed Kieft’s direct order to the Munsee: Kill him. No one seemed to want to say anything, so Caesar spoke up.
“How can this be?” he asked. Though he hated to call attention to himself, this was too important to let slide. “The law can’t be broken. No god may commit murder by deed or order. It’s always been that way.”
Kieft glanced up at him, smiling coldly. “Has it? Well, did I not mention that rules would be bent today?” A shiver ran down Caesar’s back as the level of fear in the room doubled in an instant. How could Kieft break such a fundamental law? This changed everything. Caesar’s task became even more vital; he just had to survive long enough to fulfill it. Kieft grunted with satisfaction as he yanked Walker’s locket free.
“You all know what this is,” Kieft said, the glittering trinket hanging from his clenched fist. Caesar noticed that more than one god’s hand went reflexively to his or her own locket as the black-eyed god continued. “Normally, when a god fades away, their locket fades with them. Only murder disrupts that natural process. And while the Munsees have killed gods before, during our many wars of yesteryear, no one thought to touch the lockets of the fallen. So those lockets would crumble to dust, freeing other gods to take on certain of the dead gods’ responsibilities, or allowing new gods to eventually rise in their place. But it doesn’t have to be that way.”
Caesar immediately knew where this was going, and he did not like it one bit. A sigh from Tweed meant the God of Rabble Politics had also grasped Kieft’s meaning.
“You’re not saying one of us could wear that?” Tweed said, eyes glinting with greed.
“Imagine it,” Kieft whispered, the locket swinging from his hand hypnotically. “More power than you have any right to possess. That is what I offer you.”
“Are we a band of murderers now?” Mrs. Astor asked in a huff, though her eyes tracked the locket’s swing hungrily.
“Not murder,” Kieft assured her. His black eyes glittered in the firelight of the dead god’s room. “I will bring war. Righteous war against our ancient enemies. What is more natural than that?”
“Are you sure the Munsees will fight?” Hearst asked. “My sources tell me the old fire for revenge has dwindled some in Tackapausha since his son’s return.”
“Don’t worry about the Munsees,” Kieft said. “They will dance to my tune, though they won’t know it. But they are only a small piece of my plan. I am bringing you a war like you have never seen. And by the end of it, each of you will have more power than you can stand.”
Kieft had them, Caesar could tell. He didn’t know what kind of war Kieft had in mind, but a few mysteries he’d been puzzled by had suddenly become clearer. And if he was right, then no one was prepared for what was to come. No one . . .
“So who gets that one?” Tweed asked, his eyes on the prize. Kieft smiled.
“This first locket goes to a man who has only recently offered me aid. But that aid has been invaluable. Mr. Prince, I give this first of many to you.”
Kieft reached out and dropped the locket in Caesar’s hand. Caesar was taken aback. Was this a trick? Why would Kieft give this treasure to someone he, by all rights, sh
ouldn’t fully trust? Kieft’s face was still, a picture of calm. Caesar had no other choice. He placed the locket around his neck, gasping as the power flowed through him. It felt so good, yet he couldn’t help but think that somehow Kieft had gotten the best of him tonight.
“Why does he get one?” Mrs. Astor complained. “He’s a nobody!”
“Don’t worry,” Kieft said, his eyes flashing. “I brought enough for everyone.”
With these words, the door opened to admit a group of terrified minor gods, herded into the room by a pair of the greenskinned Brokers of Tobias. Struggling to hide his horror, Caesar looked away as Askook pulled out his knife. If this really was the start of a new kind of war, Caesar feared for them all.
1
A BAD DREAM
The city lay dead all around him.
Of course, at first glance, everything seemed fine. The soaring skyscrapers surrounding him gleamed in the sun, while the apartment buildings and storefronts lined each block as always, repeating ad infinitum into the distance. But while the buildings and sidewalks were clean and unblemished, they were completely sterile, and no hint of life could be seen in any direction. The air was eerily quiet—this was a metropolis that looked as though it hadn’t been lived in for decades. The cars sat neatly parked along the shining sidewalks, washed and ready for drivers who never came to claim them. Those majestic skyscrapers stood tall but empty, like metal gravestones for a long-dead people. And nowhere could he find a single tree, or bush, or even a blade of grass. The city was nothing but a well-preserved corpse.
A voice came from behind him. “Do you like it?” The boy spun to see a medium-size man in a severe black coat and wide white collar standing on the street corner.