“Nerts,” Madge said. “We’d better catch that bird and scram before Fishbone comes back. Come on, Boris,” Madge cooed to the dove, who had landed on the information desk and was cocking its head at them with a strangely intelligent glint in its beady eyes.
“Boris?” Kiku asked, making Walt jump at the sound of her voice.
“Yeah, as in Boris Karloff in The Mummy. Only I’m afraid this bird isn’t as smart as that monster.”
“He looks smart to me,” Kiku said.
“He looks hungry,” Joe said.
“Hm.” Madge dug in her pocket and drew out a crumb from a doughnut she’d slipped in there earlier. She held it out to the bird. Boris flew straight to her hand, eagerly ate the crumb, and then looked up at Madge as if he wanted more. “Poor guy. I don’t suppose he’s had anything to eat since the thirteenth century. Let’s get back to the workroom and get him a bite before Miss Fishbone comes back.”
* * *
As soon as they got to the workroom, Boris jumped off Madge’s shoulder and dived for the sandwich crumbs they’d left on the table.
“Here . . .” Madge opened the sandwich bag. “What do you think a thirteenth-century dove would prefer—pastrami or deviled ham?”
“I think the real question is how he came to life in the first place,” said Kiku, who was visible again. “How does this magic work? And how long does it last?”
“And why can we each do different things?” Walt asked, walking over to the big anvil. He rubbed his hands together, placed them on either side . . . and lifted it over his head.
“Jeez Louise, Freckles!” Madge cried. “You’ve turned into Superman.”
Walt put the anvil back down, trying to look properly serious, but then gave up and grinned. “I was wishing I was strong enough to lift up the lid of the marble sarcophagus to hide from the guards and suddenly I was.”
“And I was wishing I could be invisible,” Kiku said.
“I was wishing I hadn’t lost my own language,” Joe said.
“And I was wishing I could have kept my mother alive,” Madge said. “But Boris didn’t come to life right away. It only happened when the four of us held hands.”
“Try it again, Madge,” Kiku said. She took the okimono crow out of her skirt pocket and handed it to Madge. “It doesn’t have the chapter in it—I checked already. See if you can bring it to life.”
“Okay,” Madge said, regarding the statue warily. “I just hope he doesn’t bully Boris.” She held the crow statue in her hands. “Nope,” she said after a few minutes.
“Try it with all of us holding hands,” Walt suggested.
Madge wedged the crow statue in the crook of her elbow and they all held hands again, but the crow remained stubbornly inert.
“Huh,” Walt said. “That’s funny. There must have been something different when we did it before.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Madge said. “Now I don’t have to worry about bringing the mummies to life by accident.”
“There’s a lot we have to understand about these powers,” Kiku said. “I mean . . . what if I couldn’t make myself visible again? How would anyone ever find me?”
“And what else might the gold paint do to us?” Madge asked.
“We need to know more,” Walt said.
“Maybe the next chapter will tell us,” Kiku said, “but it’s not in the crow or the dove . . .”
“It’s in the falcon,” Joe said, taking the statue from the inside pocket of his jacket. “Um . . . at least that’s what it told me.”
“Sheesh,” Madge said, slapping Joe on the back. “That’s quite a talent you’ve got, sport. What are you waiting for?”
Joe opened the mechanism on the belly of the falcon, and a sheaf of papers fell out, uncurling in a cloud of gold dust. Walt saw Madge brush a little of the dust into her palm and rub her hands together under the table. She does mind about not having a power, Walt thought. And then, so the others wouldn’t notice what she was doing, he slapped Joe on the back just like Madge had. “Yeah, what are we waiting for . . . sport?”
Joe gave Walt a funny look, then cleared his throat, and began.
THE HEWING
After our four had passed the Lion of Truth, they thought they’d endured the worst of the tests, but their trials were only beginning. The Hewan Wood was so named for a terrible battle that had been waged there, in which the soldiers had hewn each other to pieces until the ground was soaked with blood. The place came to be known as the Hewing and then the Hewan Wood. As they stood on the edge of the wood, they could hear the ghostly cries of the soldiers in the wind and the clank and clatter of sword and blade in the movement of branch against branch.
“This is a cursed place,” Morgaine said. “We should leave here at once.”
“And forfeit the safety of our land?” replied Arthur. “No, but perhaps I should go alone.”
“I will never abandon you, my lord,” spoke Guinevere.
“Nor I,” said Lancelot.
“If one goes, we shall all go,” said Morgaine, “for there is strength in our bond of friendship.”
At that the very trees seemed to shake with laughter, for the magic of the Hewan Wood is that it cuts asunder the ties that bind us one to the other. No sooner had they set foot on the path than the trees began to whisper in their ears.
To Guinevere they whispered that Arthur loved his country better than he loved her. Why could he not be more like Sir Lancelot, who always put her first?
To Arthur they whispered that Guinevere did look upon Lancelot with too favorable a glance.
To Lancelot they whispered that he who was the better swordsman should be king.
To Morgaine they whispered that the others thought she was a witch and did not trust her. Use your power, they whispered, show them what you can do.
They had come to a place in the wood where the path split in two. There was a spring here, bubbling up out of a cleft in the rock. A dove carved from stone rested in a niche in the rock above the spring.
“What a beautiful bird,” Guinevere exclaimed, reaching for the bird.
“You shouldn’t touch that,” Morgaine said. “It must be sacred to the old people of the forest.”
She thinks she knows everything, the trees whispered to Guinevere.
“Oh, I don’t think they would mind,” Guinevere said, cupping the bird in her hands.
She takes whatever she wants, the trees whispered to Morgaine, but you can show her that not everything belongs to her.
And so Morgaine whispered a spell that made the dove come to life in Guinevere’s hands.
“Oh! I’ve made it come to life! How precious!” Guinevere cried.
But then the dove flew out of her hands and down the path that stretched to the right. Guinevere cried out and chased after it.
“Come back!” Arthur cried. “We must stay together to finish our quest.”
All he thinks about is his quest, the trees whispered to Guinevere. If he wants you to come back, why doesn’t he come after you?
“I’ll go after her,” Lancelot said.
But Arthur said that he would go after his lady and bade Lancelot stay with Morgaine to ensure she did no more magic. Morgaine, angry at Arthur’s chiding, would not stay as he bade but set off down the left-hand path with Lancelot following. And so divided, the four wandered through the Hewan Wood until Arthur and Guinevere at last came to the Maiden Castle, which stood on an island in a lake guarded by an old man who sat before it on a rock.
“Good sir,” Arthur said, “I have come to the Maiden Castle to learn how I may save our land and people.”
“Do you come alone that you say ‘I’?” the old man asked him. “I see a lady by your side and do you not have other companions? You may not enter the Maiden Castle alone.”
“No,” Arthur admi
tted, “I come with my lady Guinevere and my good friend Lancelot and my sister Morgaine, but alas we were separated in the wood.”
“Were you? Then whom do I see behind you?”
Arthur and Guinevere turned to see Lancelot and Morgaine come from the forest. They rejoiced each to see the others and were sorry they had argued. They each spoke of what had irked them into rash words and told each other the adventures they had had in the forest. When they were sealed again in amity, they turned to the old man and found in his place a tall and imposing sorcerer in a midnight-blue robe, whom they recognized as Merlin.
“You have done well to heal the rifts between you. You will need each other in the Maiden Castle. If you succeed and make it to the top of the tower, the Lady will bestow a talent suited to your need and nature, but always remember that you are strongest when you use your powers together. Then, and only then, will you defeat the great evil that has risen in your kingdom. But remember that with every gift comes a burden and a danger. Be careful how you use what you are given.”
And then, with a swoop of his cloak, Merlin vanished into the mist that rose from the lake, and the four were left to go forth into the castle with pure hearts and friendship sworn, but with also a foreboding at what Merlin had told them, for one among them already felt a darkness growing within and knew it would lead to betrayal.
“Huh,” Madge said, “that last part is kind of creepy. But it’s not like anyone here would betray the others.”
“But what if we weren’t . . . ourselves,” Joe said. “What if the book gets into you somehow? What if the gold dust doesn’t just give us powers, but also turns us into the people in the book?”
“Into Arthur, Guinevere, Morgaine, and Lancelot?” Walt asked. “Would that be so bad?”
“I guess I’d be Morgaine,” Kiku says. “The witch who betrays Arthur.”
“Well, I certainly don’t want to be Guinevere,” Madge said. “She ran away with Lancelot and hurt Arthur.” She was looking at Walt.
“What? Do you think I’m supposed to be Arthur? That’s ridiculous. I’m not a leader. Madge is more likely to be Arthur . . .”
They went around and around like this until Madge slapped her hand on the table. “Enough! I don’t care if I’m the Queen of Sheba. Arguing like this isn’t going to make it any better and it’s not going to stop the attack on New York. All this business with the gold dust is just . . .”
“Malarkey?” Joe asked.
“No, I guess not,” Madge admitted. “But it’s kind of beside the point. We found the chapter so we could decode the next part of the message, so let’s get to work on that. Joe and Walt, you can start decoding the message. Kiku, you start on Sir Peanut Brittle’s next clue. It’s that scribbled bit at the bottom, right? I’m going to make us all a pot of strong tea to keep us awake.”
They all nodded, even Boris, who bobbed his head up and down and cooed.
“You know,” Walt said, as they got up to go, “Madge really does make the best King Arthur.”
16
WHERE HEROES DIE
WALT WROTE THE seventh word on the twelfth page over the first word of the coded message and tried to concentrate on decoding. It had been exciting to be able to lift that heavy sarcophagus lid and to see Madge’s eyes grow wide when he hoisted the anvil over his head, but now that he thought about all the powers he might have wished for, he was sorry he hadn’t had more time to choose.
“Hey, Joe,” he said, keeping his voice low so the girls wouldn’t hear him. “What would you have chosen if you’d known you were going to get a power?”
Joe shrugged. “I don’t think it works like that. The book said the gift they each got was according to their need and nature.”
“Huh. I can see how I might’ve needed to be stronger, but I don’t see what it’s got to do with my nature.”
“What would you have wanted, then?”
“To fly,” Walt said without hesitation. “Then I could fly across the ocean and pick up my family. While I was at it I’d swoop down and give Hitler a sock to the jaw just like Captain America did.”
“Would you kill him?” Joe asked.
“Oh,” Walt said, surprised at the bluntness of the question. “I don’t know . . . I mean he sure does deserve to die, but I think I’d just tie him up and deliver him to President Roosevelt. Then he could be put on trial and everyone would know the terrible things he’s done and he’d have to let all the people go from the labor camps and ghettos.”
“It sounds like a good plan,” Joe said. “Let’s get this message decoded and save New York and then see what we can do for the rest of the world.”
“All right,” Walt said. He lowered his head to the page and then it popped up again. “Hey, Joe, you never said what superpower you would want.”
“Oh, that’s easy,” Joe said. “I’d like to be able to turn back time.”
* * *
When Walt had the message decoded, he called Kiku and Madge over to the table. Madge poured them all cups of strong tea while Walt read the message out loud. “I’ve got it decoded,” he said, “but I don’t really understand it. It says:
The weapon you and the other operatives will use is one my colleagues in Germany have found to be effective in the killing of all vermin. Right now, these vermin are being incorporated into concentration camps in Germany, Poland, and France. We will do the same to the people of New York. When the American people see their own dying, it will undermine their will to fight.
“Like heck it will!” Madge said. “And what does he mean by vermin?”
“Pests,” Kiku said. “Rats, cockroaches . . .”
“I don’t think that’s what he means,” Joe said, looking warily at Walt. “When I look at the word, I can tell he meant something else. Maybe it’s like understanding languages. I can understand what the person who wrote it really meant.”
“So what does he mean?” Madge asked.
“I-I . . .” Joe looked regretfully at Walt. “I think he means Jews. And when he says they’re being incorporated into concentration camps . . .” Joe touched the words on the page, and all the blood drained from his face. “I can see something else. I’m not sure if it’s something that’s happening now or if it’s what Mr. January wants to happen in the future. I-I . . .”
“What is it?” Walt said, his face drained of all the boyish happiness that had been there a moment ago.
“I can see hundreds of people being marched at gunpoint, herded like cattle onto trains, forced behind barbed wire . . .” Joe shuddered and drew his hand away from the page as if it were on fire. “I also saw poison canisters and rooms filled with gas. They plan to kill all those people.”
“No,” Walt said. “That can’t be . . .” But he was thinking of the things that his uncle Sol and his friends whispered when they thought Walt wasn’t listening—that Hitler wanted to wipe the Jewish people from the face of the earth.
“Wait,” he said, staring at Joe. “The message says this is happening in Germany, Poland, and France. Are you saying that they plan to kill Jews in France, too?”
Joe lifted his eyes to meet Walt’s as if it took a great effort to move them. “I think so, Walt . . . and I think they mean to do the same here in New York. They mean to kill us all.”
Walt looked down and his eyes lit on a scrap of newspaper that had been left on the table. Arrests of 12,850 Revealed in Vichy, read the headline. Jews who entered France since January 1936 are ordered rounded up. His parents had fled Germany only two years ago, in 1939, which meant—
The room began to spin.
“I-I think I need some air,” he stuttered. Then he fled the room.
* * *
Madge got up to follow Walt, but Joe stopped her. “Trust me,” he said, “no fellow wants a girl watching him puke.”
“Oh,” Madge said, sitting back down. “I g
uess you’re right. Will you go see if he’s all right?”
“I’m on my way,” Joe said, glad for an excuse to get out in the air. Along with the horrible images he had seen when he touched Mr. January’s note he had heard a voice. An awful voice—
He followed Walt out the back exit, but he waited a few minutes when he heard him throwing up in the bushes. No one really wanted anyone to watch them throw up, especially not Walt, who was a little touchy. Joe didn’t blame him. In the Mush Hole, it had been hard to hold on to any bit of himself. The teachers shaved the students’ heads—to protect against lice, they said, but he suspected they wanted to get rid of their braids as soon as possible—and daily checked behind their ears and under their fingernails as if they suspected they were hiding weapons there. When your body wasn’t your own, you started feeling like you had nothing. When people treated you like vermin, you began to feel like vermin.
And you left your sister Jeanette there. If you joined me we could get her out—
Joe shook his head to dislodge the voice. It was different from the one he’d heard when he read the chapter on his own. It was a bad voice.
To distract himself, he looked up at the tall stone spear that rose up from a stone base. When he had looked at it earlier tonight, he hadn’t understood what the figures meant, but now he did. There was a lot of “Praise be to this god” and “Protect us from that demon,” but Joe could now also hear the grunts and groans of the men who had cut the stone from the quarries and dragged it across the desert. He could hear the cries of the Roman soldiers who moved it to commemorate their own victories and the clash of other armes that came when the Roman Empire fell. Men were always killing each other. What was the point of knowing all languages if the stories he kept hearing were all about the terrible things that people did to other people?
So that you can control them. There was that awful voice again. But it couldn’t be right. How could he control anyone when he was just a runaway Indian boy living off discarded food in the park?