The Explorers’ Gate (21 page)

Loki raised a hand, signaling King Jagiello to slow his steed.

They cantered closer.

“Unfortunate move, Miss Van Wyck,” Loki sneered. “Stopping to help a dog when both your parents' lives are at stake? What a silly little girl you turned out to be.”

“Can I go home now?” mumbled Blauvelt. “I figured out all your stupid clues.”

“Mr. Drake shall release your parents once you go fetch me my crown.”

Blauvelt heaved a huge sigh. “All right already.”

“So long, cousin!” Loki kicked the warhorse's ribs. “Fly like the wind, you Polish fleabag! Giddyup!”

The giant stallion flew up the road.

I clamped my hand over Balto's wound. For half a second, I was really, really mad at my mother for leaving me so much to take care of. Balto. My dad. My mom's eternal soul. Willem's royal crown.

And, I was blowing it all, big time.

That's when Balto licked my face to say thanks and to apologize for bringing our quest to its disastrous end.

“It's okay, boy,” I told him. “It's not your fault.”

“Not to worry,” said Willem. “Garrett still has a considerable lead on them.”

“Good, because we need to take Balto to that soldier behind the boathouse,” I said.

“Why?”

“For one thing, the soldier is probably carrying some kind of World War I medical kit. For another, he has really good hands.”

“Pardon?”

“Remember how I said Karl Illava, the sculptor, modeled the soldiers' hands in the 107
^th
Memorial after his own?”

“Yes?”

“Well that means the soldier at the boathouse has the hands of a sculptor. Maybe he can repair Balto.”

“Ah-hah! An excellent suggestion!” Willem, using his Herculean strength, hoisted the heavy bronze dog off the ground as if he were a fluffy pillow. “Come on, brave Balto. Let's go see that soldier.”

“Help! Please! Help me!”

It was Garrett, but we couldn't see him.

“Up here!”

Willem and I shielded our eyes and looked up.

Garrett was dangling in the clutches of a giant gray eagle. He had been snatched out of the pedicab by one of those angry old cement birds from the Central Park Zoo.

“Put me down you stupid hood ornament!”

Garrett kicked and struggled but the eagle flew off.

“It's up to you, now, Nikki,” said Willem.

“What?”

“You need to go get the crown. I'll take care of Balto and arrange for Garrett to be rescued. Don't forget—we have flying friends, too.”

“But I'll never beat them to the statue. Loki and Blauvelt have a horse.”

Willem smiled. “Apparently, so do you.”

I turned around and saw what Willem had already seen: a stampede of hand-painted wooden horses, the whole herd from the Central Park Carousel, bobbing up and down, floating across the air as if they were riding pogo sticks, their hooves never touching the ground—which is why we hadn't heard them approaching.

Four mice scurried down the pathway in front of the wobbly wooden mounts.

No. Not mice.

Chess pieces! The black and white knights.

“¡Seamos libres, lo demás no importa nada!”
they shouted in unison.
“¡Liberación!”

“Your words inspired us,
Señorita
Van Wyck!” said the black knight in his thick Spanish accent. “And so, we have set all our brothers and sisters free! No more will these noble steeds be forced to spend their nights riding around and around in an endless circle, listening to the oom-pah-pah music. No,
Señorita
. At night, they will ride free!
¡Viva la revolución!
”

The herd of carved wooden horses, all of them hovering two feet off the ground, let loose a joyous chorus of whinnies and whickers and nostril snorts.

“Pick one,” urged a white knight. “You have earned the first ride, Miss Van Wyck.”

I chose a prancing white mare, a jumper with a golden mane, a bright red bridle, and a champion's glint in its sky-colored eyes. The shiny horse dipped down low enough for me to hop into its saddle then drifted back up to its flying height.

“Thanks you, guys,” I said to the chess pieces.

“De nada, Señorita.”

“I'll meet you at the finish line,” I shouted to Willem and then called to my horse: “To the Scholars' Gate! Hiya!”

Then my brightly colored thoroughbred and I flew like the wind.

Only faster.

My majestic mare carried me south swiftly.

“Skip the zoo,” I suggested. “Stick to the main roads and stay off the winding pathways!”

Goldilocks (well, that's what I named her anyway) whinnied with gusto.

We kept bounding up and down, never touching the ground, flying forward while bobbing like a helicopter with a pilot who couldn't make up his mind whether to land or take off.

As we neared the Scholars' Gate, my wooden horse reared up, halted in midair, and let loose a nickering neigh. With a long blow through her nose, Goldilocks let me know we'd reached the park perimeter and this was as far as she could go.

“Wait here, girl,” I said as I hopped to the ground.

I looked for Loki. Didn't see him, Blauvelt, King Jagiello, or their horse.

Maybe they had taken the route through the zoo.

And maybe the arch under the Delacorte Clock had been too short and they got stuck because Jagiello liked to ride with his swords up over his head.

It looked like I still had a chance.

I dashed out to the sidewalk and saw the traffic of Fifth Avenue streaming around Grand Army Plaza, an island shaped like the heel of a very big boot. When the lights changed and the traffic paused, I darted over to inspect the statue of William Tecumseh Sherman.

I couldn't see the crown.

But I did see Jonas Blauvelt. He was standing in front of the statue, talking on his cell.

“No! Forget it. You let them go first.”

While he focused on his phone, I looked up at the statue of Nike. She had a laurel wreath wrapped around her head—laurel wreaths being another symbol of victory dating back to the Roman Empire—and …

Wait a second.

It wasn't a wreath.

It was a shimmering gold crown with seven starry stems circling it like diamond-encrusted candles on a birthday cake!

“Mom and Dad?” I heard Blauvelt say into his phone. “Are you okay? Where are you? Good. Stay there. And stay away from Mr. Drake. I'm on my way.”

He folded up his cell.

I tried not to make a sound.

But I could tell: Blauvelt knew I was standing right behind him.

“You can have it,” he said, without turning around.

“What?”

“I got what I wanted. Mr. Drake just set my parents free.”

“But if you don't bring Loki the crown, he'll send his thugs and goons after you again.”

Jonas finally turned around. He was smiling. “No he won't. Because
King Willem
won't let him.” He paused. Touched his glasses. “Um, Willem's the good guy, right?”

I smiled. “Yeah. Definitely.”

“Cool.” He took off his red cap and handed it to me. “You can keep it. I like my statues to be where my guidebook says they're supposed to be.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I used to like that, too.”

“We should write a book together sometime. About the Central Park nobody knows. Of course, nobody would believe us if we did.”

“They'd think we were crazy.”

“Yeah. Well, good luck rescuing your mom and dad! I gotta go get mine!”

The instant the light changed, Jonas Blauvelt dashed across Central Park South and headed west to David Drake's world-famous luxury hotel. I guess his parents had been held in a way better prison than my dad. They probably even got room service.

But I couldn't think about that.

I had to move fast. I grabbed a chunk of gravel out of the gutter and flung it up at the crown. The heavy thing toppled sideways off Nike's head and I caught it before it hit the ground.

Now, to seal the deal, I had to ferry the prize back to Bethesda Terrace and hand it to Willem in the presence of our military monitor, Sergeant Shaw—just like those kids I had seen in the Crown Quest orientation movie.

I sprinted back into the park through the Scholars' Gate.

Goldilocks, my Merry-Go-Round ride, wasn't waiting where I had left her.

I figured she'd gone exploring. I couldn't blame her. After all, it was her first night free from the circular monotony of the carousel.

That meant I would have to walk all the way back to Bethesda Fountain at 72
^nd
Street. Twelve blocks. A little over a half-mile. This time, I would take the secluded, serpentine pathways instead of the main roads. I headed west.

And Loki stepped out from underneath a tree.

“Ah! Well done, Miss Van Wyck. You found my crown.”

“Ha! This is for Willem.”

“Give Loki the crown, Ima Gene.”

Brent Slicktenhorst. He had been hiding in the shadows with Loki.

“How'd
you
get here, Brent?”

He shrugged. “There wasn't room for all three of us on King Jagiello's horse, so I called my dad's limo driver.”

“That's cheating!”

“So?”

“You'll be disqualified.”

“Only if I get caught.”

“I'll tell.”

“No you won't,” said Loki. “Because you're a very bright young girl.”

I hugged the crown closer to my chest.

That's when King Jagiello and his horse stepped out of the darkness. Up in the saddle, the King slicked his two swords against each other to sharpen their blades.

“Honestly, Nikki,” said Loki. “Is Prince Willem worth losing your mother, your father,
and
your pretty little head?”

“Miss Van Wyck,” said Loki, “I want you to seriously consider all that I can offer you.”

I didn't say anything. I more or less froze.

“First of all, I have, in my position as High Commissioner of Sewers and Drainpipes, already issued a Stop Work order. The Lake is being refilled, even as we speak. Your mother's spirit is being revived.”

“Thank you,” I muttered.

“Oh, it was all a silly misunderstanding. You see Willem's father, the late King Kroll, had been nagging me about sanitizing the Lake for years. So, after his death, as a tribute to our noble leader, I put his request at the top of my To Do list and ordered the immediate draining of the Lake.”

“And my father?”

“That was all Mr. Drake's idea.”

“Really?”

“Oh, how I pleaded with him. ‘Leave the poor child's family out of this! This is between my cousin and me!' But, well, David and his associate, that scar-faced fellow, they wouldn't listen. Rest assured, your father will be released as soon as the crown is mine.”

“Tell her what else,” said Brent.

Loki inched forward. “You'll be pleased to hear that, at my insistence, Mr. Drake would like to give
you
the Park Smarts prize he erroneously awarded to Jonas Blauvelt. Clearly, you know more about our humble home than he. Hand me the crown, and I will hand you a check for ten thousand dollars as well as the documentation to make you an official Friends of Central Park
tour guide
!”

“And, that's not all,” said Brent with a flirty wink. “You do the right thing here and from now on, you're one of the cool kids.”

“What?”

“You get to hang with me and Brooke Billingsley. Brooke and her gal pals will help you fix up your hair. They'll teach you how to shop, show you where to buy some decent clothes so you don't have to wear that ratty old T-shirt all the time. You can even chill with us at the Shake Shack on Friday nights.”

“Furthermore,” said Loki, “Mr. Drake intends to purchase the building at 14 West 77
^th
Street. You and your father can have your choice of apartments, even the penthouse. That cramped hovel in the basement is beneath a young woman of your grace and intelligence!”

“So show us how smart you really are, Nikki,” said Brent, all smiles. “Give Loki his crown.”

“I guess that would be the smart thing to do, huh?”

“Yes, Miss Van Wyck,” purred Loki. “You'll have everything you ever dreamed of!”

“Yeah, I would. Except …”

“Except what? What more could you want?”

“Oh, I don't know. Maybe some
real
friends? Like Willem and Garrett. And Krunk. I like Coach Krunk. Oh, and that Civil War soldier—the one your goons tried to pull down. He's cool. And Balto. Now there's a dog …”

“Enough!” shouted Loki. “Seize it!”

I don't remember exactly what happened next.

I know I kicked Brent but then there was this
FLICK-FLICK
sound and a flurry of steel and, all of a sudden, the crown was skewered on one of King Jagiello's swords like a wedding ring rolling around on a pencil.

“Foolish little girl!” snarled Loki. “The next time someone offers you the world, simply say, ‘Thank you, sir!' and take it.”

King Jagiello plopped the crown on top of Loki's cone-shaped cap.

“I'm out of here!” laughed Brent. “Gee, Ima Gene. You're a bigger loser than I thought! You just lost the Crown Quest! Imagine that!”

He slapped a finger
L
on his forehead then took off running.

Loki scaled the warhorse armor plates like they were a ladder and slid into the saddle behind King Jagiello. “Well, my fellow king, I suppose we should gallop back to Bethesda Terrace so that soldier fellow can make my coronation official.”

“Give me back the crown!” I shouted up at Loki.

“Sorry. Finders keepers, losers weepers. Oh, by the way, that Stop Work order? Oops. Never issued it. Sorry.”

“Hiya!” screamed Jagiello as he spurred his horse.