“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 77th 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.
They took off.
There was absolutely no way for me to stop them from racing the half-mile north to Bethesda Terrace where Sergeant Shaw waited to declare a winner.
Well, there was absolutely no way, until I heard a high-pitched whisper of a whinny from behind a rock.
Goldilocks! My trusty wooden steed had not deserted me. She’d just been smart enough to hide when all the bullies showed up.
“Come on!” I shouted. “We need to catch them!”
She tossed back her head and gave me a throaty let’s-do-this-thing whoop.
I hopped into her saddle and we took off like a fighter jet, streaking north.
I could hear the heavy clomping of King Jagiello’s warhorse not far ahead.
“Faster, girl, faster!”
She blasted up the roadway. I held on tight.
I could see the bouncing bronze butt of the huge horse dead ahead.
Thirty yards.
Twenty.
Ten.
Suddenly, King Jagiello’s armored mount reared up like a bucking bronco and tossed both riders off its back.
The king crashed to the ground, dented his head, and started cursing in Lithuanian again.
Little Loki was catapulted up into the air.
When he reached the peak of his short flight, the crown slid up off his perfectly pointed cap—its sparkling stars twirling in a glittering swirl—and landed right in my lap!
That’s when I heard a very familiar bark.
Balto!
Hind leg bandaged nicely, our intrepid friend had, once more, come to my rescue.
And, apparently, King Jagiello’s horse still needed to work on his paralyzing fear of dogs.
Chapter 52
Goldilocks and I galloped down the Mall.
“Well done, lassie!” cried Robert Burns, the Scottish poet, as we raced past his statue.
“Things won are done,” shouted Shakespeare, “joy’s soul lies in the doing!”
“Remember me?” cried Fitz-Greene Halleck.
“Hi, Mr. Halleck! We found the crown!”
We bounded down the steps to the arcade, crossed under its arches, and entered Bethesda Terrace.
Willem was waiting with Sergeant Shaw. Something looked odd about the fountain but I was too excited to worry about it.
“Here it is!” I shouted, hopping off my floating hobbyhorse. “We have the crown! Balto saved the day! Where’s Garrett?”
“Safe,” said Willem.
“Is he here?”
“He’s on his way.”
“Where is Prince Loki?” asked Sergeant Shaw.
Sitting in the middle of the road on his butt, I wanted to say, but, well, the sergeant sounded so formal and official.
“I don’t think he plans on attending this evening’s festivities,” I said instead.
“Sore loser, eh?”
I smiled. After the big bronze horse tossed him out of the saddle, Loki had landed pretty hard on his tailbone. I imagined that, right now, he was an extremely sore loser.
“Yes, sir. I guess.”
“Very well.” Sergeant Shaw marched forward two paces, the way the guards do at Buckingham palace. “Present, crown!” he barked and crisply thrust both hands forward.
I made my spine stiff and walked like I was in a wedding. I handed the crown to the sergeant, who pivoted to his left and marched toward Willem. Holding the crown over Willem’s head, the sergeant proclaimed, “By the power vested in me by the Wise Women of the Central Park Preserve, I crown you King Willem the First, ruler of all the kabouters!”
Coach Krunk popped up out of a sewer grate and shouted, “Hip, hip!”
Dozens of kabouters came streaming up from the drains and out of the forest to scream “Hooray!”
“Hip, hip!”
Hundreds of kabouters instantly filled Bethesda Terrace.
“Hooray!”
Fireworks exploded in the sky. A band struck up a jolly folk tune. Kabouters paired off and started clog dancing in circles. Daniel Webster strode down the steps followed by the bronze Civil War soldier.
“Union forever!” they shouted—in unison, of course. The Indian Hunter and his dog traipsed stealthily down the steps behind them.
The three horsemen of Central Park South swept down the opposite staircase, leading a herd of carousel horses and what looked like a flock of liberated carriage horses—some with plastic flowers stuck in their manes, others with feedbags strapped to their muzzles.
In the center of the celebration, Willem’s face filled with joy.
“How can we ever thank you, Nikki?”
“Tell Dieter to stop draining the Lake.”
&n
bsp; Willem pulled a decree out of his tunic.
“I have already written the order. Royal Secretary?”
A little man with ink stains all over his fingertips scurried out of the kabouter crowd holding a fluttering candle and a jewelry box. Willem opened the box and slipped on a golden ring embossed with the royal seal as the secretary dripped molten wax on the lower left corner of the decree. Willem sank his ring into the soft wax, affixing his seal to make the order official.
“Take this as fast as you can to the south gatehouse. Instruct Dieter to immediately refill the Lake with all the water at his disposal!”
“Yes, Sire!”
The royal secretary sprinted north.
“And the key?” I asked.
“Of course,” said Willem, reaching up to his crown to pluck out a stem. “This should do the trick.”
“Thanks.” I climbed aboard Goldilocks.
“I pray that your father is uninjured.”
“Yeah, me, too.”
I heard a fluttering of wings.
“Hey, Nikki! Look at me! I can fly!”
I looked up. There was Garrett—in the arms of the Angel of the Waters statue.
“I told you we had flying friends,” said Willem.
The angel drifted down and deposited Garrett gently on the ground.
“Thanks.”
The angel flitted back to her regular perch. (I realized that’s why the fountain had looked weird—the angel was missing). She started pumping her arm. “Will-em! Will-em!”
The whole crowd of red-capped kabouters cheered.
“Hey, Willem,” said Garrett, “the crown looks good on your head.”
Willem bowed elegantly. “Thank you, brother.”
“I’m heading north to free my father,” I said to Garrett.
“Want some company?”
“No, thanks. My dad and I have a lot to talk about.”
Garrett nodded. “Sure. Hey, invite your dad to the party.”
“Oh, yes,” said Willem. “Please do. We’ll be singing and dancing all night. Of course, he’ll need a red hat to see us and all the splendid cakes. I’ll instruct the royal seamstress to whip one up, right away.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “He already has a hat. My mom gave it to him years ago.”
“Excellent. So we’ll see you at the party?”
“Well, as much as we’d both love to be there, I think we might need to take a rain check.”
“Why’s that?”
“It’s getting kind of late and we need to wake up bright and early tomorrow. At least an hour before dawn.”
“Of course,” said Willem.
He understood.
And, from the goofy grin on his face, Garrett did, too.
My dad and I had our own celebration to attend: a family reunion.
Because, come dawn, the two of us would be sitting on the rocks at Hernshead, my mom’s favorite spot in all of Central Park.
It’s where we’d find her, waiting for us in the mist.
And, as you know, I had a ton to tell her!
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2012 by Chris Grabenstein
Cover design by Neil Heacox
978-1-4804-5994-6
Published in 2014 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
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Chris Grabenstein, The Explorers’ Gate
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