Sorcerer's Secret (7 page)

They reached the top of the hill near the bridge, and finally caught sight of their destination below. The Little Red Lighthouse seemed almost doll-like—a tiny, fire-engine-red tower nestled beneath the soaring steel girders of the giant George Washington Bridge. The lighthouse had a long history on Manhattan. The brightly painted tower had been built in 1880 on Sandy Hook, a small piece of New Jersey that “hooked” out between the ocean and New York Bay. Moved in 1921 to the spot where the majestic GW Bridge would soon be erected, the valiant little light warned ships away from the shore until it was decommissioned after World War II. Rory and Bridget, like many kids, had been introduced to the lighthouse by the children's book written about it, and their mother had taken them to visit the old building when they were younger. Rory would never have dreamed that such a beloved, whimsical structure could house someone like the Fortune Teller. Even now, part of him doubted it. A small green park nearby led right up to the river's edge, and the path that cut through it branched off, leading past the lighthouse door like a circular driveway. They stood atop the hill for a moment, making certain there were no nasty surprises waiting for them.

“Looks all clear,” Nicholas announced. But as they made their descent, Rory felt his good mood begin to melt away. Even though the lighthouse was so bright and cheery, something about it made him uneasy. Glancing at his friends, he noticed the same worry on their faces.

“Why do I feel like running away?” Bridget asked nervously. “It's just a silly little red building!”

“It is a place of power,” Soka replied, her face solemn. “This is no tower of whimsy.”

They were closer now, and the shadow of the bridge fell upon them, blocking out the sun. Rory shivered, though he wasn't cold. A cast-iron fence surrounded the lighthouse, as if it needed to be contained. The air grew dense and oppressive as they drew near, as if someone or something were trying to warn them away. The bright red lighthouse now seemed less like a toy and more like a trap—a gingerbread house in the forest with a witch inside waiting to gobble them up.

They stopped in the shadow of the lighthouse, pulling in close to decide what to do.

“I don't think we should all go,” Alexa said. “Some of us need to keep watch for enemies, in case Kieft discovers where we are. I'll stay out here.”

“Me, too!” Simon jumped in. “That fat lady didn't tell me I had to visit.”

“I should go in alone,” Rory suggested. “If the price is as high as my dad said, I don't think any of you would want to pay anyway.”

“I'm coming,” Soka said firmly. Rory glanced at her then looked away. Though he refused to dwell on it, her rejection still stung. “I will pay any price.”

“You can't leave me behind!” Bridget piped up. “Someone has to watch your back!”

“I'm coming,” Fritz said, in a tone that brooked no argument.

“And I'll represent the rest of us,” Nicholas said. Lincoln looked like he wanted to protest, but one look from Nicholas made him close his mouth. “There's no use risking more than we have to. Bang on the door if there is trouble. Or come in after us, if you have to.”

“We will,” Alexa said. She walked over to the cast-iron fence and fiddled with the padlock. After a moment the lock sprang open and the fence swung out. “Good luck.”

His stomach rolling, Rory strode through the open fence and up to the lighthouse door. Bridget stepped up on one side and Soka on the other, while Fritz rode Clarence at his feet. Taking a deep breath, Rory reached out and pulled the door open. Pitch black waited on the other side. Pushing down his fear, Rory took a big step forward, into the darkness . . .

And immediately began to cough as smoke filled his lungs. Was something on fire? Waving his hand in front of his tearing eyes, he struggled to clear the air around him.

“Who are you!” a voice demanded. Finally able to see, Rory was shocked to find himself in a dark room dominated by a round table with a mound of brightly colored chips piled up in the center, lit only by a single lightbulb hanging above. The room was far too wide to be part of the little lighthouse, so where were they? The smoke, he discovered, came from the smoldering cigars sticking out of the mouths of the five men sitting around the table. Each held cards in one of their hands. Unfortunately, in their other hands each brandished a gun, pointed Rory's way.

“I said, who are you!” One of the men, dressed in a silk suit with a black tie, stood up, his gun trained on Rory. “Did the Gambinis send you? How did you get down here?”

“It's just a bunch of kids!” One of the other guys spoke up, grinning. He pushed back his newspaper-boy cap. “You come by to learn poker from the masters? It's a thousand just to sit in, you know. You got that kinda money?”

“I popped my first cop when I was only a little squirt,” the first man said, his gun never wavering. “You can't trust 'em just'cause they're kids.”

“Then waste 'em so we can get back to our game already,” a third man said, his eyes wandering over toward his neighbor's cards.

“Hey, don't waste us!” Bridget cried by Rory's side. “I love poker! The pretty black flowers are my favorites!”

“Enough of this,” the first man said, his finger curling around the trigger. Rory flinched, waiting for the crack of the gun.

“Hold on, Tony,” a female voice called out. Into the dim circle of light strode a tall, graceful woman in a long, slinky red dress. She held a long cigar in one hand and a pack of cards in the other. She was very beautiful, in a dangerous way. As she came closer, Rory realized he recognized her. Though she was thin and lithe where the other had been fat and lumbering, this woman was the spitting image of the Fortune Teller. She nodded toward him, turning to the men. “I've been waiting for this one. Be a dear and give us a minute, will you? That means all of you. We can finish the game in a bit. Don't worry, no one will peek at your cards, I promise!”

To Rory's surprise, all five men put away their guns without protest and marched up a concrete staircase in the back, disappearing through a door at the top. The Fortune Teller didn't even bother to watch them go.

“Rory Hennessy,” she purred. “So lovely to see you.”

“Where are we?” Bridget demanded. “This doesn't look like the inside of a lighthouse!”

“This is my spot,” the Fortune Teller said, waving a languid hand to encompass the smoky room. “My little slice of heaven. Come in through the door at the top of the stairs, and you sit in on the hottest high-stakes poker game in town. But enter by the door you five just stepped through . . . well, the stakes get even higher. There's no limit to what you can gamble away.”

“Is that what we have to do?” Fritz asked. “Gamble?”

“You're no stranger to gambling, are you, Mr. M'Garoth.” The Fortune Teller winked at him. “Now, winning, that's another matter entirely.”

“I don't understand,” Rory said. “Why did you call me here?”

“Well, that's a different story,” the Fortune Teller replied. She reached over and picked up a box from the table. “Cigar?”

“That's disgusting!” Bridget declared. “Smoking is for losers!”

“Very true.” The Fortune Teller smirked, setting the box back down. “That's why these are so popular among my clientele.” She took a long puff of her cigar. “So why have I called you here, Rory Hennessy? Well, you have a question to ask, don't you? Of course you do. Normally, when someone enters through the lighthouse door, wishing to ask me something, they have to play one of my games of chance. The more random the game, the higher the stakes. Your father, for example, played me in a game of blackjack. He beat me, but only barely.”

“What did he want to know?” Bridget asked excitedly.

“You will have to ask him that,” the Fortune Teller replied.

“What would he have lost if you'd won instead?” Nicholas asked.

“His firstborn child.” The Fortune Teller pointed a long finger right at Rory. “Which would have been you.” Bridget gasped, grabbing her brother tightly by the waist as the others gave him a shocked look.

“No wonder he was against you coming here!” Fritz declared, shaken. “So if we have questions . . . ”

“You will have to make a wager and win,” the Fortune Teller finished for him. She shrugged. “I'm told it's a worthwhile bet, at least by the winners. The losers . . . well, they are not so enthusiastic.”

“So I have to beat you in a game?” Rory asked, confused.

“Well, you are a special case,” the Fortune Teller admitted. “Your way has been paid in advance.”

“By who?” Rory asked, taken aback.

“By a Dutch gentleman with a very keen eye for cards,” the Fortune Teller replied ruefully. “He was a God of Justice, I believe.”

“Adriaen!” Nicholas guessed and the Fortune Teller nodded. “Adriaen van der Donck beat you for Rory's question?”

“So he said. Not Rory, specifically, but rather the next Light to ask for my help. It was a little while ago, you see, and he did not know how much time would pass.”

The others marveled over Adriaen's prescience, but something about this didn't sit quite right with Rory. He spoke up. “But you called for me specifically down in the Tenements. How did you know that I was Adriaen's Light?”

“The time had arrived, that's all,” the Fortune Teller said, but her eyes glanced away and Rory could tell she was hiding something. Before he could ask what, Soka stepped forward.

“What must I wager to have my question answered?” she asked.

“Soka, no!” Rory blurted out. “Who knows what she'll demand if you lose!”

“That is not your concern, Rory,” Soka said, not looking at him. She focused on the Fortune Teller. “My magic has become hard to control and I need to know what I can do. My people need a strong pau wau to stand beside my mother in the days ahead and I will risk anything for that.”

“I need to know how to save my city,” Nicholas announced, stepping forward as well. “No price is too great for that.”

“What can I do to help both Rory and my home?” Fritz spoke up. “I know how to play gin rummy, by the way.”

Rory watched the Fortune Teller's eyes light up as his friends offered to play her games. He didn't trust her, not one bit. It wasn't fair that he would get a free answer to his question while his friends risked so much for theirs. He felt like there was a larger game being played here and he couldn't just blindly go along with it. When the Fortune Teller looked at his friends, he saw greed and hunger in her eyes. But when she looked at him . . . he caught a glimpse of hope. He realized the Fortune Teller wasn't quite as impartial as she seemed. And that gave him an idea.

“You said the more random the game the higher the stakes, right?” Rory asked. “So what is the most random game?”

“There is no need for your friends to take such chances,” the Fortune Teller answered, her tone light but her eyes sharp. “I have plenty of games. I believe I even have Boggle lying around here somewhere.”

“How about flipping a coin?” Rory asked, pulling a quarter out of his pocket. “It doesn't get any more random than that, does it?”

“No, it doesn't,” the Fortune Teller replied warily.

“What would I lose if I called for heads and it came up tails?” Rory asked, tossing the coin in the air and catching it.

“Your life,” the Fortune Teller whispered, worry crossing her face.

“Those are pretty high stakes,” Rory said nonchalantly. “So you would have to wager a lot on your end as well, am I right? Say an answer to each of our questions? That seems fair if I win the coin toss, doesn't it?”

“Rory!” Fritz cut in, nervous. “There is no need to be foolish.”

“I will flip the coin!” Soka cried. “You won't do it for me!”

“Rory, don't you do it!” Bridget yelled at him, reaching for his arm. He pulled away, his eyes on the woman in red.

“You don't have to flip it at all,” the Fortune Teller said, frowning. “Your way has been paid. Let the others play their games and earn their answers on their own.”

“No, I think this is the best wager I can make,” Rory said, ignoring the cries of his friends. He tossed the coin into the air and caught it, slapping it against his wrist but not revealing which side was up. “Shall I call it? Or will you?”

A hush fell over the room as the Fortune Teller stared at him. A low moan slipped out of Bridget's lips as she looked up at her brother in anguish. The tension crackled as everyone waited on the woman in red. Finally, a rueful smile flashed across her face. “All right, Rory Hennessy. You win. Put away the coin. I will answer their questions.”

“What?” Bridget asked, confused. “But nobody called it.”

“Rory was too valuable to risk,” Fritz said, snapping his fingers as the truth dawned. “He bet that you wouldn't let him bet his own life!”

“And he was right,” the Fortune Teller replied, a bit testily.

“But why?” Bridget asked, still lost.

“Because someone else is interested in Rory's mission,” the Fortune Teller said. She held up her hand before Rory could speak. “There is no wager that can get me to reveal who that is. You will have to discover their identity on your own. But they need you to finish what you've started.”

“So you'll answer each of our questions?” Rory asked, trying not to sound too proud of himself.

“I will answer them all together, because they are linked,” the Fortune Teller said, taking a long puff of her cigar. “You want to know how to save your mother. You also want to save the city from destruction. The way to both of these lies with the treasure of Willem Kieft.”