Spirits in the Park by Scott Mebus

Author:Scott Mebus
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2010-02-25T16:00:00+00:00

16

SWINBURNE ISLAND

Peter Stuyvesant nibbled at a small biscuit his wife had baked him as he rested beneath his pear tree on the corner of 13th and 3rd. He was taking no chances; he knew poison when he saw it, and Whitman and the others were definitely poisoned. Although they were already improving—they were gods, after all—it would be days before his fellow council members would be up and around. Until then, Peter had to shoulder all of the load himself.

And the load was getting heavier. The rumors about a Munsee assassin roaming free had been replaced by actual sightings of bands of Munsees, causing general mayhem throughout Mannahatta. Peter knew they weren’t Munsees, of course. Probably hooligans in war paint and feathers, he figured. But it spooked people, and when people got spooked, they panicked. And when they panicked, well, that’s when people got hurt.

Folks didn’t scare so easily back in his day, he thought sourly to himself. We had real courage, back then, he thought. All these namby-pamby new gods just didn’t have any stomach. So he had to run around, keeping the peace and reminding people that just because some underworld thug put on a headdress, it didn’t mean the city was under attack.

“Mind if I join you?” Peter looked up in surprise to see Caesar Prince smiling down at him.

“I haven’t seen you in a while,” Peter told Caesar, relaxing. “I thought you’d fallen down a hole through the center of the earth.”

“Nope,” Prince said, settling beneath the tree beside Peter. “Just biding my time.”

“I could use you, you know,” Peter told him. “Everyone else is sick as dogs. Poison, you know.”

“Doesn’t surprise me,” Caesar said. “Something big’s coming and you know Kieft would want the big guns out of the way.”

“I know it,” Peter said, preening slightly at being called a big gun. “You don’t get the same caliber of god anymore. God of Parking Meters? God of Text Messages? God of Co-op Boards? That last man is a real weasel, by the way. They’re just not the same.”

“I’ll help all I can,” Caesar promised. He pulled out a large sandwich. Peter sniffed the air; it smelled like pastrami on rye.

“Is that Mr. Katz’s pastrami?” The God of Delicatessens made a mean sandwich.

“No, I made it myself. You can’t trust anyone, you know?”

Peter looked longingly at the big, bursting sandwich, and then glanced down at his sad little biscuit. Caesar was right; you couldn’t trust anyone. But he’d known Prince for so long. And he was so hungry for anything but his wife’s cooking.

Caesar noticed Peter’s sidelong glances and smiled.

“Want a bite?”

The small boat rocked violently beneath Rory. Even though the skies were clear, the wind whipped the waves into whitecaps that threatened to overwhelm the small vessel. A particularly large wave sent them careening up and down, prompting a cry of pure terror from the galley.

“I thought you said it wasn’t out in open water!” Simon cried, huddled miserably in the bottom of the boat.

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