Sorcerer's Secret (12 page)

“What's racing day?” Bridget asked.

“You'll see,” Simon told her cryptically. “Come on. We've got some ground to cover if we want to beat the starting gun!” He flipped his reins and soon they were galloping away from the river and into the heart of Queens. And what a ride it was!

Back and forth they rode from the mortal world to the spirit world of Queens, weaving in and out of the past. They galloped from the crowded present-day city streets to tranquil open farms with wheat swaying in the fields, through bustling nineteenth-century open-air markets, where peddlers cried their wares while pulling heavily laden pushcarts, and down shadowy back alleys lined with what appeared to be opium dens, with dangerously fragrant smoke drifting from the dark doorways. On and on Rory and his companions rode, threading in and out of the rich tapestry of history, until finally they emerged into a festive sight.

A huge crowd of spirits and gods milled about an open fairgrounds, filling a large grandstand decorated with red, white, and blue bunting. More spirits lined a long dirt road that stretched into the distance. A brass band played old marching songs while vendors selling peanuts and hot dogs worked the crowd. Simon slowed his horse, leading them over to a hitching post behind the stands.

“What is all this?” Rory asked, gazing around.

“The greatest sporting event ever devised by mankind!” Simon enthused, his eyes bright. “The Vanderbilt Cup Race!”

“What do they race, exactly?” Rory asked. “Horses?” Simon gave him an incredulous look.

“Are you joking? Do those look like horses to you?” He pointed across the crowd of people to a cleared-out area on the other side of the track, where Rory saw a group of funny looking machines.

“Are those go-karts or something?” he asked doubtfully. Simon narrowed his eyes, not pleased with Rory's lack of enthusiasm.

“Those are cars!” he exclaimed. “The greatest cars ever made.”

Rory wasn't so sure about that. They certainly didn't look like any cars he'd ever seen. Their chassis were long, rickety, metal cigars with the back third scooped for a riding bench and steering wheel. Each unwieldy body rested on tall, thin, fragile wheels, which resembled bicycle tires. Smoke billowed out from under many of their long hoods. Rory had seen faster-looking vehicles in the Boy Scouts' pinewood derby, where none of the cars were bigger than his hand. But Simon was fanatical in his enthusiasm.

“The Vanderbilt Cup Race was the first—and the greatest—race in the history of racing! Starting in 1904, they invited all the greatest racers in the world to compete. Chevrolet! Mercedes ! Fiat! Hotchkiss! They all started here!”

“That's what cars were like in 1904?” Bridget asked, looking askance at the smoky vehicles. “How did anyone live to see 1905?”

“They're built for speed, not beauty,” Simon answered, peeved that no one shared his enthusiasm. “Anyway, the race was shut down after a few years because too many spectators died. Hey, they knew what they were getting into when they lined the track, that's what I say! But the race lives on here, and instead of once a year, it's every week!”

“Have you ever raced in it?” Rory asked. Simon looked away, his face pained.

“No,” he said. “You have to either be a god or be sponsored by one. And no one would sponsor me. I even built a car of my own–” He cut off, as if he had said too much. “Anyway, I've always wanted to race, if only to show that stupid Willy Vanderbilt that I'm better than he is! 'Cause I am!”

“Are you sure Rufus is here?” Mr. Hennessy asked, putting the focus back on their mission.

“Of course,” Simon answered, hopping down off his horse. “I told you, he never misses a race. Come on.”

The others dismounted, following Simon into the crowd. Rory began to feel a bit uncomfortable surrounded by so many gods. Mortals were not meant to be around so much concentrated divinity. But he gritted his teeth and said nothing.

“There he is!” Simon shouted, pointing. They pushed their way past the excited spirits, making a beeline for a fat, balding man who was gesturing wildly at another man holding a small pistol. Simon stepped up to him and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Rufus? Busy?”

“Of course I'm busy!” Rufus King shouted back without turning. “I'm trying to prevent that damned Vanderbilt menace from racing in my car! He'll probably crash it! It doesn't belong to him!”

“But he won it from you fair and square at the last race,” the man with the starter pistol explained, his weary voice betraying his impatience. “You know the rules: the winner of the race gets to take the car of one of the losers. He chose yours. If you want it, you'll have to win it back. You have another car, right? You lose every race, after all, and you never seem to run out of cars.”

“Number fourteen wasn't supposed to be in the last race!” Rufus yelled. “She's never supposed to be in any race! I'm saving her for my victory parade once I win the Cup! But my latest driver grabbed the wrong car and it cost me my baby! She is my pride and joy! My steed! She belongs to me!” Rory exchanged an excited glance with his friends at the mention of the word steed. He pushed forward.

“Sir, this number fourteen car is your steed? Can we see it?”

“Who are you?” Rufus said, noticing him. “Of course you can't see it. It's mine! Or it will be, again. Hey, come back here!” This last exclamation was directed at the man with the starter pistol, who'd seized Rufus's momentary distraction to make himself scarce. “Now you did it! He got away!”

“Rufus, we need to talk to you,” Simon said.

“Young Simon Astor,” Rufus exclaimed, noticing the Rattle Watcher for the first time. “Come to ask me to sponsor you again? I may have fired my driver and lost my best car, but I'm not that desperate.”

“We're not here to race, sir,” Rory said. “We just need to look in your car.”

“Who are you people?” Rufus asked, confused. He blinked, looking closer at Soka. “Aren't you a Munsee, girl?”

“Just talk to us for one moment under the grandstand,” Simon said. “We'll explain everything.”

Rufus agreed to follow them as they pushed their way through the crowd. Rory was becoming more and more uncomfortable, sweating under the power of all these gods of Queens. Bridget looked fine, however. She must be protected by her paper body, he surmised. If only he were so lucky.

As they pushed past a small group of gods, Rory overheard one of them talking in low tones. “The Munsees are the true menace. They've been killing gods all over Mannahatta. It's only a matter of time before they come to Queens. We need to make a stand now. You bunch have the blood to cross the river. Are you with me, fellas? Or will you let them slaughter our families in their sleep?” Rory burned to hear these lies. He ran up to Simon, who was walking by Rufus.

“There's a guy back there lying about the Munsees,” he whispered, pointing. Rufus overheard and grimaced.

“That's Robert Moses, one of Kieft's men. He's been recruiting all over the borough. I don't believe much of what he says, but others do. I'm a staunch supporter of the Munsees, myself. They have as much right to live their lives as anyone, I figure. Well, here we are under the grandstand. What do you want to tell me?”

“Did you know Adriaen van der Donck?” Simon asked. A look of recognition passed over Rufus's face as Simon continued. “Did he give you anything?”

“So you're the ones, huh?” Rufus said, looking uncomfortable. “Yes, he gave me a package, and told me to keep it safe. And I thought I did.”

“What do you mean you thought you did?” Mr. Hennessy asked.

“It was only meant for my victory lap! So I figured it was the best place to hide it. In plain sight, if you will.”

Rory sighed. It was just as he thought. “So it is in the car?”

“I hid it under the floor,” Rufus said, eyes wide with innocence. “And then that cheat Vanderbilt went and beat me, taking the car as his prize. I just need to win it back.”

“Are you a good driver?” Bridget asked.

“Yes,” Rufus said, then shrugged. “I mean, I'm okay. And by okay, I mean I'm pretty awful. I usually have a driver, but I had to fire him. Plus he quit. Said I was cursed, since none of my cars ever won. So shortsighted.”

“So what do we do?” Soka asked.

“We win the car back!” Simon exclaimed. “And I'll drive!”

“Why don't we just ask to see the car,” Rory suggested.

“I know Willy Vanderbilt,” Simon told him. “He won't go for it. He's just awful.”

“We've got to try,” Rory answered, and took off through the crowd toward the cars, leaving his friends to hurry after him. Robert Moses was still telling lies and recruiting as Rory passed him; Rory wanted to do something to expose Kieft's man, but he had no time to dawdle.

Reaching the area holding the racing cars, he marched right up to car number 14. A tall, handsome man in a bomber jacket and jaunty cap was leaning against the hood, laughing with some collegiate-looking friends.

“Mr. Vanderbilt?” Rory said, and the tall man turned to him. “Would you mind if we took a look at your car? It's vitally important.”

Vanderbilt didn't even glance at him. Instead, he smiled insolently at Simon, who was running up behind Rory. “Hello, Astor. Come to watch real drivers race?”

“I could mop the road up with you,” Simon spat. “If they let me race.”

“I wish they would let you race, so I could humiliate you in public, rather than just in private like I usually do.” Vanderbilt's friends burst out in mocking laughter.

“Shut up, meanie!” Bridget said, her hands on her hips. Rory sighed, not liking where this was going.

“Look, it's a talking doll!” Vanderbilt declared, snorting with laughter. “Where's the string?”

“You shut up and let us look at the car.”

“Get out of here, kids,” Vanderbilt said, shooing them with his hand. “Go play with your little toys. The big boys are getting ready to race.”

With that, he turned his back on them. Rufus and Simon shrugged as if to say, See?

Rory sighed. “What if we beat you?” he asked Vanderbilt. The insolent young god turned around, a disbelieving look on his face.

“Excuse me? That could never happen.”

“But if it did,” Rory continued, “we'd get your car, right?”

“Of course,” Vanderbilt replied. “But it's never going to happen.”

And he went back to ignoring them. They moved away and Rory whispered fiercely to Rufus, “Can I drive your car?”

Before Rufus could respond, Mr. Hennessy cut in. “You are not driving that car. You're thirteen years old. You've never driven a day in your life, I bet.”

“I'll drive it!” Simon offered. Rufus shook his head firmly.

“I've seen what you've done in practice races,” he said. “You are not setting foot inside any of my cars. You're worse luck than I am.”

“I'll do it,” Mr. Hennessy said. “I've raced my fair share of cars. That's pretty much all I did during the fifties when I was on shore leave.” Rufus looked torn, but then gave him a nod, pointing to a car on the outskirts of the clearing. It was painted bright red, with the number 13 on the hood. Simon gave Rufus a look of disbelief.

“Thirteen? Could you make it any harder on us?” he asked, shaking his head.

“Who's your mechanic?” Rufus asked Mr. Hennessy, ignoring Simon. “Every car needs a mechanic to ride alongside.”

“I'll do it,” Rory offered, but his father shook his head.

“It's too dangerous. You'll get hurt.” He turned to Bridget. “Would you like to ride with me?”

Bridget practically vibrated with excitement. “Really? Can I? Really? Okay!”

Rory couldn't fault his dad for going with the child with invulnerable skin. But he felt disappointed all the same. His father patted his shoulder before walking over to the car with Bridget at his side. Simon walked with them, explaining the nuances of the track to them, leaving Rufus, Soka, and Rory standing off to the side.

“I need to let the scorers know who my driver is,” Rufus said, excusing himself to head to the main grandstand. Rory glanced at Soka, who gave him a small smile.

“Those things look pretty dangerous,” she said. “I think it's better if you stay right here, where you won't crash and burn to death.”

“Nice to know you care,” Rory replied, and Soka's smile faltered as she remembered to be angry. Shaking his head, Rory turned to follow after Rufus and grab a seat in the stands to watch the race. Soka followed close behind.

They passed near Robert Moses again, who was busy making his pitch to a new group of gods. Rory began to get angrier. How dare that Moses fellow lie like that, as if it was nothing to distort the facts. His belly began to burn as he thought about it. Why didn't he just tell the truth?

Suddenly the burning in his belly intensified, and he bent over double with the pain. That's when things started to get a little weird.

“I want to use you to curry favor with Kieft so he will give me more power,” Robert Moses was saying. His face changed as he heard himself speak, his eyes going wild as his words came out differently than he intended. “I don't really care if the Munsees are a threat, and it's highly unlikely they'll ever leave Central Park, to be honest, but if you show up to fight, then maybe we can kill them once and for all and steal their power.” The crowd around Moses began to murmur, not sure what was going on. The burning in Rory's stomach worsened as the press of divinities all around him seemed to feed the fire within. Suddenly other gods began to speak, unprompted.