THE TWO DAYS following the discovery of Skavenger’s final clue were incredibly tense. Nearly every moment, Henry and the boys thought about what awaited them in New York.
Mulberry.
Little Water.
Anthony.
Cross.
Orange.
Five Points. The notorious spot in lower Manhattan where Ernie’s parents had confidently gone to spread the word of God and failed to return.
Where they’d been murdered.
Even though it was still difficult for Ernie to talk about, he managed to tell Henry that the intersection of the five streets remained home to the most vicious gangs New York had ever seen.
Crime could be found on almost every corner, which made it clear in Henry’s mind that the final step in Skavenger’s Hunt was simple, yet so, so difficult.
It was a test of courage.
Now, finally, the two days were behind them and they had arrived in New York. It was raining as their horse-drawn carriage—provided by Eiffel himself—pulled away from Castle Garden in the Battery, home to New York’s port of entry.
More than once, Chief had told Henry about the history of this spot. The rugged port had felt the first footsteps taken in America by thousands of arriving men and women, all seeking the hope of a new land.
When Henry saw it, though, it had been a strange sight.
Jack and Ernie, along with almost all of the hopeful immigrants, crowded shoulder to shoulder on the ship’s railing as the southern edge of Manhattan prowled into view.
Henry and Eiffel, however, had chosen to gaze out at a tiny, empty island.
That’s where you’re headin’, Lady Liberty. The young hunter smiled. You’ll be the first thing everyone sees in America. Torch high in the air. Sayin’ hello to all your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearnin’ to breathe free.
Despite the hope provided by that sight, Henry couldn’t help but think about what was ahead of them. Monsieur Eiffel had promised that his New York host would take exceptional care of all of them upon their arrival. And so the awaiting gentleman had, welcoming them outside immigration with the finest of carriages and then accompanying them for the ride into the city.
Now, Eiffel glanced at the three boys sitting across from him in the bouncing coach.
“If you boys wish for someone to go with you,” the great designer suggested, “it’s certainly not too late.”
Henry didn’t reply, waiting to see if Jack or Ernie might. He kept a steady gaze through the rain-specked carriage window.
“Henry?” Eiffel asked again, this time with a growing hint of concern. “Would you like someone to go with you?”
Jack turned to look at him, while Ernie kept his vacant stare on the floor of the carriage.
“No, merci,” Henry answered Eiffel. “We’re supposed to do this alone.”
“So you’ve told me several times.” The visionary nodded. “I just wish to make sure before we bid farewell.”
Henry smiled at Eiffel, then turned to look through the window again. The sight of New York, especially with a bit of unseasonal weather, reminded him of . . .
Christmas Eve.
Snow comin’ down. Mom driving you next to the park. Thinking you were about to start two days of nothing-but-being-inside.
Heck, Jeremy’s prob’ly still watching “The Tick Loves Santa!” I can hear him right now. Hey “H,” what’d you do over break?
Ohhhh, not much. Crossed the Atlantic twice, hitched a train ride to Missouri, snuck inside the Vanderbilt Mansion. Oh yeah, I also met Mark Twain, Gustave Eiffel, and this legendary newspaper publisher who’s kinda sittin’ across from me right now. The guy whose name is still on the biggest writing prizes in the whole entire world. The guy who raised a hundred thousand dollars for the pedestal the Statue of Liberty’s gonna stand on? Y’know . . . that guy.
The publisher with the bushy black mustache and equally thick beard glanced at Henry over the top of his reading glasses. “Don’t forget, we have a deal, yes?” he reminded him. “Should you solve Skavenger’s riddle, I’ll want an exclusive for all of my papers.”
“Well, Mr. Pulitzer,” Henry answered him. “I think maybe we should do the solving part first.”
“Fair enough,” Joseph Pulitzer replied, smiling as he turned the page of the newspaper he was reading. The newspaper he owned. Not just this one, but each and every copy printed in the city.
The patter of late-night rain had started to ease on the carriage roof. Jack straightened his cap and pulled his jacket collar tight. “This is close enough, thanks,” he said.
Pulitzer removed his glasses and immediately struck a worried tone. “You boys want to be dropped in this neighborhood?” he asked.
Henry nodded.
Pulitzer knew nothing of Skavenger’s clue, but the youngest of the three hunters could see he hadn’t expected the edge of the most dangerous neighborhood in New York City to be their destination.
The great publisher tapped the window nearest him and nodded to the streets on that side. “That is the direction you need to take. Or I’m afraid I cannot let you out.”
He then pointed toward the opposite window. “Because if you go that way?” Pulitzer simply shook his head, not needing to say a single word.
Henry could see that the direction in which he’d pointed was nothing more than a gateway into despair. Rickety old buildings—some made of brick, some made of damp and sagging wood—loomed over a host of dark alleyways.
“Which way does the clue take you, Henry?” Eiffel solemnly asked.
Henry had trouble looking him in the eye. “We’ll take the good way, don’t worry,” he quietly lied.
The visionary waited several seconds before nodding. “I want all three of you to remember the words of Aristotle,” he said with a serious tone of voice. “‘Courage is the first of human qualities because it is the quality which guarantees the others.’”
Pulitzer lifted his cane and tapped the roof. The driver above whistled for his two horses to stop, and the lumbering carriage came to a halt. All was silent aside from an impatient snort from one of the two rain-soaked steeds.
“Be careful and safe,” Pulitzer cautioned one last time. “And remember our deal.”
Henry gave one last look toward Eiffel, hoping the Frenchman’s reassuring smile would put him at ease, but finding that it didn’t.
“Bonne chance, Henry,” Gustave told him, his voice thick with concern. “My worthy adventurer.”
They shook hands all around, and Eiffel opened the carriage door. Jack almost had to drag Ernie out, but Henry followed readily. A handful of thumping heartbeats later, the three boys watched as the sanctuary of Joseph Pulitzer’s carriage rolled away.
CLIP CLOP CLIP CLOP clip clop clip clop . . .
Leaving them alone on the outskirts of Five Points.
Jack, of course, was the first to disregard Pulitzer’s warning, heading for the risky edge of Anthony Street the minute the sound of the carriage was gone.
“All right, follow me,” he said to both of them over his shoulder.
Henry took a deep settling breath. “Okay, Ern, you ready to do this?” He stepped forward, right into a puddle he’d missed in the dim twilight.
He stopped. And not because of the puddle or the darkness.
Ernie hadn’t moved.
Ernie wouldn’t move, Henry could tell.
“I can’t, I’m sorry,” Ernie said to him with a ragged tone. His own wet shoes looked firmly anchored to the street.
“Jack! Hey, Jack!” Henry called out, hoping he wasn’t too loud. Jack turned and was back to the two of them in an instant. Ernie looked stricken when he got there.
“Sorry. I’m sorry. Sorry,” he said to both of them.
“Hey . . . we’ll make it, pal, all right? We’ll be okay.” Jack put a hand on his shoulder, but Ernie shook his head.
“I can’t go in there.” He gulped hard to keep the tears from rolling. “I thought I could. But . . .”
Jack tried one more time. “Nuthin’s gonna happen, Ern. I prom—”
“You can’t promise, Jack,” Ernie cut him off short with a weary smile. “You can’t. People promised my mother, people promised my father. Look what happened to them. They got killed in there!”
The first tear found its way onto his cheek.
“Ernie, we can’t just leave you here,” Henry said. “I mean, what are you gonna do?”
“I’m goin’ to Aunt Hazel’s and Uncle Phil’s, that’s what I’m gonna do.” He answered the question as if he’d decided days ago. “I’ve still got a family, you heard what she said. She said I was welcome anytime.”
“Ernie, wait.” Jack lowered his head so he could look his friend straight in the eye. “You need to finish this first. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”
Ernie smiled and shook his head. “Nah, I’ll regret it if I do, Jack. Think about it. Everything my folks did was just them tryin’ to show I could do somethin’ myself. Make things better. That was a big part of why they walked in there.”
He nodded to the Points and then looked at Henry. “Wouldn’t have figured that out if you hadn’t solved that first clue and dragged me halfway around the world.”
Henry felt a hard pull of emotion.
Can’t argue with that. At least you got somewhere to go.
“You sure about this?” Henry asked, even though he already knew the answer.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m sure. Thanks.”
Ernie had one more thing to say, though.
“Don’t go in there,” he said to both of them. “Aunt Hazel, she’ll take care of all of us. I know she will. It’s like Mark Twain said. All we gotta do is ask.”
The rain had just now broken into a fading shower. The nearest alleyway leading into Five Points beckoned.
“Sorry, I gotta see this through to the end,” Jack told his friend. “Same reason you shouldn’t.”
“I know you do.” Ernie exhaled with a worried look. He cast a hopeful look toward Henry. “You?”
“Yeah,” Henry answered. “I gotta see it through too.”
Ernie sadly nodded, holding out his hand to wish them both luck. “You’ll know where to find me,” he said, making sure to add, “Promise you’ll turn back if it goes bad in there.”
“We will,” Jack promised, though Henry knew better.
Ernie backed away, not wanting to turn quite yet. After a few more steps, he finally gave a wave and turned to head toward the somewhat brighter lights of safety a block away.
Good luck, Ernie. Thanks for everything.
Ernie spun around one last time.
“Hey, Henry!” he shouted and held up his raggedy old journal. “All those days on the train? The ship?” He thumped the cover and tucked it away again. “I was finishin’ writin’ my mother’s book! Turns out it’s not a piece of crap after all!”
A few seconds and another wave later, Ernie Samuels was gone around the corner. Gone for good. Same as Pulitzer’s carriage had been for minutes now. Same as anyone with a sane mind would be if they accidentally found themselves in this neighborhood.
“Well?” Jack said as he turned to Henry. “We’ve got ourselves two Babbitts.” He puffed his cheeks wide. “Better than just one, yeah?”
“I hope so,” Henry answered.
Together, they stepped into the alleyway that led to the Points.
The first match flared three blocks later at the opening of another darkened alley. A thickly browed man, twenty or so very rough years old, sparked half a cigarette before handing the match to someone next to him.
The man took a long pull before grunting to Jack and Henry, “Doubt you’ll wanna be goin’ any farther than right here, lads.”
You got that right. Henry shuddered. Just keep walkin’. Don’t say a thing. Get to Mulberry, get to Orange. Find the door with Skavenger’s name on it.
Both Henry and Jack peered back to see the two men step out from the alley. They were motionless as they watched them, aside from the jumping light coming off their cigarettes. The two men stared for a few seconds more and then cackled, apparently deciding the boys weren’t worth pursuing.
That was the one thing Jack had told Henry could be in their favor—that the two of them would appear worthless to anyone who saw them. Their frayed and drenched coats, cracked shoes, even their expressions seemed to shout that they had nothing of value.
Henry, though, worried that their shabby appearance might not make any difference in Five Points. Too many people had been hurt there. Or in the case of Ernie’s parents, much worse.
The stench of rotten things came and went as they walked deeper in. Even when the smell occasionally eased, it never fully went away. Worse yet, Henry could sometimes see where the reeking smell came from—dead rats bloated and infested with white maggots, rusty metal buckets half-filled with things he didn’t want to get any closer to.
There were no more broken and twisted fire escapes on the sides of the buildings, as there had been the first few blocks. Only high-reaching scorch marks from fires that looked to have been barely fought.
The bleak surroundings seemed to press in on them, and Henry tried swallowing what little moisture he had left in his mouth.
Door with Skavenger’s name on it. Keep looking, keep looking, keep moving.
They kept walking, their shoes squishing into the muddy gravel that served as somewhat of a makeshift sidewalk. Faster, but not too fast, passing another alley opening without so much as a glance.
They heard footsteps. The sound of the footsteps was steady; not growing louder, not growing softer.
“Don’t say anything,” Jack whispered.
“Don’t worry,” Henry answered, unable to resist taking a quick look back. Two men were walking toward them. One wore a tattered dark vest and a cap that shadowed his eyes completely; the other was shrouded in dreary and dirty ill-fitting clothes from head to toe.
The larger of the two men—the one in the tattered vest—spit onto the gravel, then reached down to scoop up a handful of the small stones without breaking his steady, unsettling pace.
The boys ignored him. Still walking, still looking for Skavenger’s door.
“Ayy, you!” the man demanded in a louder voice, punctuating his sentence with a gurgling cough.
“What?” Jack tried growling over his shoulder.
“What? You’re asking me what?” The man lazily tossed a single stone in their direction, and then another.
Plink . . . plink . . . plunk.
The third of the small rocks ricocheted off Henry’s head.
“I’ll tell ya what,” the man said as he reached to the ground for more. With almost every word that followed, he threw another stone. “Why don’t you . . . tell me . . . what the two of ya are doin’ in my neighborhood? Middle of the night.”
A mucky gray rat, very much alive and close to a foot in length, scurried out of a gutter and right between Henry’s feet.
“Aaaaagggh!” Rat! RAAAAT!
“Welcome to the neighborhood,” Jack uttered under his breath. “Just keep walkin’.”
The clockwork-steady footsteps behind them continued. A scream broke the quiet from somewhere up ahead. It was hard to tell whether it had come from a man or a woman, but the one thing that was certain? The scream was not followed by a second.
“HEY.” It was the man from behind again. “I asked the two of ya a question.” He sounded as if he was losing patience.
Jack stayed quiet for a few more strides before yelling over his shoulder, “We’re meetin’ our uncle at Little Water. Johnny Flynn? You know him?”
Johnny Flynn? C’mon, Jack, least you can do is come up with a scarier name.
The man scoffed. “Never heard of no Johnny Flynn at Little Water. You?” he asked his smaller, equally sketchy accomplice.
“Nah.” The smaller man blew snot from his nose. The large man sent another small stone sailing through the air, this one bouncing off Jack’s shoulder. He was smart enough to ignore it.
Henry closed his eyes for a second, hoping that last word might actually be the last word. The steady crunch of gravel behind them, though, gave him his answer.
Crunnnnch crunnnnch crunnnnch crunnnnch . . .
“All right . . . whatta ya say the two of you stop right now,” the larger man finally threatened. “So we can have ourselves a talk.”
Henry’s breathing started to race—loud enough that he knew Jack could hear it.
His great-great-grandfather quietly, yet firmly, said under his own quickening breath, “All right, Babbitt. I got an idea. Here’s what I need you to do. All your bravery, all your courage, I need you to reach down deep for it. It’s there, I know it is. These two guys are a wreck; they can’t hurt us.”
“What do you mean, they can’t hurt us?” Henry asked, still moving ahead. “What are you gonna do?”
But Jack had already wheeled around and was now waiting for the two men to draw closer. Henry zipped back with just enough time to ask him, “What are you doing?”
“Haven’t decided yet,” Jack whispered back. “Remember, though, whatever I do? You do.”
Haven’t decided yet?! C’mon, Jack, look at these guys!
Both were covered in scars and welts of varying age—some new, some not. The smaller man had a ragged pink scar on his upper neck that dried up the last remaining spit in Henry’s mouth. The scroungy, intimidating pair slowed as they drew close to the boys.
“Well, well. See?” The larger man came to a stop. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“Can’t believe you ain’t never heard of Johnny Flynn,” Jack said, trying to lower his voice. He rammed his hands into his coat pockets, as if he were carrying something they should be worried about.
The large man smirked at his partner, jabbing a thumb in Jack’s direction. He tossed the remaining stones in his hand onto the ground, then slowly reached into his own pocket.
“I ain’t never heard of no Johnny Flynn, no Jimmy Flynn, no nobody Flynn,” he said as he pulled out a rusted knife. “This, however,” he warned, “you can call whatever you want.”
“Jack?” Henry quietly, yet urgently, asked.
But Johnny Flynn’s so-called nephew was already tough-talking the knife-wielding man again. “Well, that’s too bad,” he said with his low voice. “Because we have heard of him, and I think we’re already late. Babbitt! Time to go!”
Jack whipped around and gave Henry a shove in the back. Both boys bolted in the opposite direction, the walkway gravel flying from beneath their shoes. The scarred men came right after them.
In a dead sprint the hunters ran. Not out of Five Points, but deeper into it. Down one street, then down another. A block this way, a block that way.
Still . . . the ragged, scarred men gave chase. Faster than Henry thought they might.
The next few blocks felt like the twisty and winding path Jack had led Henry through back in Hell’s Kitchen, only they were covering this route a whole lot faster.
Up and over a broken and leaning fence; dashing through two dark, but fortunately empty, wet alleyways; then down a pair of garbage-strewn streets. Thankfully, the boys didn’t encounter any people. Not so thankfully, their path seemed to be leading them deeper and deeper into danger.
“Keep going, Babbitt!” Jack yelled as he glanced over his shoulder. “Faster! We got ’em!”
“You boys are DEAD! DEAD!” the knife-packing man shouted from behind, but his voice was already beginning to fade in the distance.
Neither Jack nor Henry, though, looked as if they were about to risk slowing down. Not here. Not now.
Keep goin’, keep goin’! I don’t care where we end up, let’s just get away from these guys!
Jack skidded around the corner of a seedy broken building, his shoulder brushing the bricks while Henry stayed right behind him. Still running. Running, running, running.
One more block . . . one more street . . . just to make sure . . .
. . . until Jack allowed himself one final look and a quiet laugh as he slowed to a stop. He leaned over, hands on his knees. His breathing was deep and loud.
Henry slowed and stopped right in front of him. He cocked his head in each direction, not wanting to say a single word until his breathing settled and he was sure the two scarred men were gone.
Once he felt it was safe, he finally turned his head and looked Jack right in the eye.
“That . . . was your . . . idea? That?!” he asked in between heaving breaths. “Johnny Flynn . . . and then RUN?!”
Jack grinned at him.
“Game . . . ON . . . Babbitt!” he answered, his laughter making it even harder to catch his own breath.
Henry couldn’t help but laugh too. And then they were both laughing. Right there in the worst part of New York . . . laughing harder at their near-death experience than at any time since they’d met.
“Okay, ’nuff of that,” Jack said, finally pushing himself up. “Let’s find out where we are, all right?”
Ten minutes and four blocks later, they both knew. Through the darkness of that last stretch, there had been a shimmer of dull light, illuminating what appeared to be an opening to a common area of some sort.
A handful of people walked back and forth. Their faces were filled with despair and their eyes were vacant. Not so with the seedy panhandlers. Their eyes were alert and darting, seeking unfamiliar faces who might be able to spare something. Anything.
The boys turned down a few of them as they walked into the open square between the pale and narrowing buildings. They then stopped and took a long, depressing look all around them.
The area resembled a rotting center hub of a disgusting wheel.
They had just walked past Little Water, the street name simply carved into a crumbling brick wall. Cross looked to be up ahead at eleven o’clock. Mulberry and Orange had to be the two streets on their left. And Anthony was where they now stood.
They were standing in the heart of Five Points.
Old leaking barrels of unknown ooze spilled into the muddy ruts that ran through the filthy epicenter of the neighborhood. The open windows on some of the taller buildings looked like glaring eyes, silently asking the two boys why they had even bothered to come.
Henry and Jack looked around the sorrowful gloom, looking for a door with Skavenger’s name and making sure to avoid meeting the gaze of anyone. The few looks they did receive were largely indifferent. Even the painted ladies of the aptly named Orange Street looked bored and disinterested in them.
“All right, this is where he said it’d be,” Jack muttered as he looked at the decaying neighborhood. “See any doors look promising? Anything with ‘Skavenger’ carved right into the wood? Maybe it might even be burned in. Who knows?”
Henry was trying to figure that part out himself.
Even if Skavenger managed to put his name on a door, it had to be dangerous for him too. What’d he do? Bring his fancy carriage right down the middle of Anthony Street into Five Points?
Henry glanced to his left, checking Orange Street again. Most of the buildings over there were completely dark except for a few flickering candles. Best he could tell, there wasn’t a single door with a name on it. Not that he could see.
He turned to Mulberry Street, which looked just as desolate.
Maybe we already walked by it. He glanced back in the direction from which they’d come. Maybe it was back there on Little Water . . . or here on—
He took in a sudden and sharp breath.
No.
No, no, no.
Henry couldn’t move. He couldn’t even breathe.
There . . . beyond one of the dripping wedge-shaped buildings, under a broken streetlamp, a figure stood in the shadows. Its blackened outline was darker than the surrounding night.
The Dark Man.
And not just any Dark Man.
Grace.
He was there. Somehow, he’d found them. It was past midnight in Five Points, and yet there he stood, Henry was absolutely sure of it. A silhouette, yes, but it was Grace all the same. Just like Henry had known it was him on the train heading to St. Louis.
“All right, sooo where ya wanna start, Babbitt?” Jack sighed, unaware of what—of whom—Henry was looking at.
He can’t be here. There was no clue for him to find, no way he could have known we left Paris. How? Wha . . ? They must have been on Le Chasseur all along!
“Ja . . .” he tried whispering. “Jac . . .”
SOOOOOOOOOON . . .
The cold word chillingly rolled through Henry’s head as Jack finally turned.
“All right, what do you say we go over—” His voice caught as he saw the look on Henry’s face. “Holy smokes, Babbitt! What’s wrong?!”
Henry could only dip his forehead toward the dark image under the streetlamp.
“It’s him.” He gulped, seeing the icy-blue glint of the man’s devious eyes, even from a distance. “It’s Grace.”
Jack fell silent as he looked, his eyes quickly finding him as well. “No, no. It can’t be,” he said, shaking his head. “That’s impossible.”
For a short moment, all they could do was stare. Stare and stare some more, in growing disbelief.
Until, with one intimidating stride, Grace began to walk toward them. Slowly, steadily, moving closer.
And then the nightmare grew worse.
With Grace now heading for Henry and Jack, two more of the Dark Men appeared at the ends of Anthony and Cross. They began to walk toward the boys. Then the fourth emerged from the gloom of Little Water behind them.
“All of them,” Henry’s voice quivered. “We gotta do something, we gotta do something, Jack. What do we do?”
Jack let out a deep breath. But Henry could tell there was something strangely different about it, even here . . . even now.
It was an angry breath.
“We do what we came here to do,” Jack growled as he shoved Henry toward Cross Street. “Nobody’s takin’ my chance or your chance away from us. This is our hunt, not theirs!”
They walked as fast as they could, not wanting to run unless it was absolutely necessary. Even so, the gaunt neighborhood stragglers despondently leaning against the crumbling brick buildings seemed to know something out of the ordinary was taking place.
Jack shook his head as he quickened his stride. “Maybe they’ll walk away like they did on the train.”
“They were on the ship going to Paris too,” Henry chose to admit.
“You saw ’em? All four of ’em?!”
Henry looked back again. “Just the one out front.” He nodded at Grace. “Doubt was there too.”
“Doubt was on the ship?!” Jack sped up a little more. “How come you never told us?!”
“Would it have helped?”
“I dunno. Prob’ly not, I guess.”
Jack skirted an approaching panhandler, and Henry now had to work to keep up. It wasn’t that hard to do, though, thanks to the sound growing louder behind him.
Kuhthump kuhthump kuhthump kuhthump . . .
The boots of the four Dark Men seemed to thunder against the wet grit of the street. Striding side by side. Insistent.
Henry looked back just as a rat scurried in front of Grace. His boot landed on the grimy rodent’s tail. The rat squealed with pain, but Grace didn’t blink.
We gotta get outta here! We gotta get outta here NOW!
“No, no, we stay. We finish this,” Jack firmly ordered as if sensing what Henry was feeling.
Stay? We can’t stay! They’re gonna herd us right into some dead end. Look at ’em, Jack! They’re right back there!
Henry’s rattling thoughts stopped for a short second when he heard Jack laugh under his breath. An actual laugh.
“Heck of an adventure, huh, Babbitt?” Jack looked over his shoulder again. “When you and I get outta here, we’re gonna do somethin’ like this again. Maybe not with these four jokers, but somethin’, that’s for sure. And then we’ll go on another one and another one after that. You with me?”
The words, so similar to his own father’s, made Henry stand up straighter. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m with you,” Henry replied as he turned to smile at his great-great-grandfather . . .
And then he stopped.
Stopped right in the very middle of Cross Street. Stopped, even though he could still hear the Dark Men approaching.
Kuhthump kuhthump kuhthump kuhthump . . .
“Come on, Babbitt! C’mon!” Jack spun around and reached for Henry’s jacket. “We can’t stop. Gotta keep walkin’, gotta keep . . . NOOOO! BABBITT!”
Henry had already started running.
Not running away from the foursome of pursuing men, but running toward something. Something else. His beaten shoes slipped on the scattered gravel, but he kept on moving.
“Hey! HEY!” Jack shouted as he ran after him.
“Babbitt! Stop!”
Henry took the steps leading up to a broken building two at a time. He stopped on the landing, facing a single front door that featured two solitary letters:
The letters had been carved right into the wood, and they were fresh. Henry reached out to touch them as Jack came running up the steps. Seeing the Dark Men still on approach, he took them three by three, jumping over a broken whiskey bottle with his long final leap.
Henry reached for the doorknob . . . and then hesitated. Not out of fear, but with the panic-laced knowledge that . . .
It’s the last door. The last one. This is it.
“Open it!” Jack yelled as the four men drew near.
Henry gave it a turn.
Click.
The doorknob turned the width of only a fingernail before firmly catching.
C’mon, c’mon, not here! Not now!
It was locked. Seemingly locked tight. But it had turned just enough to convince him to give it one more try—heck, ten more tries.
Henry closed his eyes.
Under his breath, he said the words that had worked once before at a mansion in this same city.
“Your journey . . .”
The Dark Men were nearly at the bottom of the stairs. Henry had to catch his breath before trying again.
“Your journey shall be . . . unlocked.”
The twelve-year-old hunter twisted the knob and heard the tumbler give way. Jack reached over his shoulder and thumped the door open with the heel of his hand.
In.
And.
Thump.
SHUT!
They slammed the door closed behind them. The corridor in which they now found themselves was dark, but there were hints of light coming from within. Henry and Jack looked down a long, barren hallway, and it was the lure of that feeble light that almost made Henry forget to—
“Lock the door!” He whirled around, but Jack was already clicking the bolts, of which there were two. Hopefully they were strong ones.
The two boys looked at each other. They were trapped, Henry knew that much, but there was something else he knew.
“Jack!” he whispered, still short on breath. “We made it! We’re here!”
“Yeah, I know. We’re all here, if ya know what I mean. Whatta we do now?”
Henry turned his head and looked down the paint-peeled hallway, a crackling sound coming from deep inside the room—the part that was hidden around a corner twenty feet ahead of them.
Orange and yellow light danced on the weary ceiling at the far end of the hall; it was enough to convince Henry of at least one thing about the section of the room neither of them could see.
A fireplace? With a fire in it? Here in Five Points?
There was a click as the knob on the front door began to turn, one way and then the other, followed by the unsettling tapping of a long fingernail against the knob itself.
They’re trying to get in.
Right now.
The four Dark Men.
Henry tried to ignore it, while Jack nodded his head toward the wavering light coming from inside. Slowly, quietly, the two of them stepped their way along the splintered wood floor to the tempting opening.
Jack bumped into Henry as he stopped at the threshold. “Sorry,” he said, but it wasn’t necessary . . .
Because of what they saw.
The room stood nearly empty except for an oak table situated to one side of a roaring fireplace. An even older leather case, a satchel, was positioned precisely in the center of the table, six burning candles surrounding it.
There was an old gray chair facing the fire, its high-arching back blocking any view of who might be sitting in it.
But Henry knew there was someone there.
He could see a hand on top of a walking stick. Its owner, face still unseen, basked in the warmth of the curling flames.
“Congratulations,” Henry heard a familiar voice coldly utter. He felt his throat go dry.
Can’t be . . . no . . .
Hiram Doubt slowly stood and prodded the fire with the tip of his cane, not looking at either of the young men. He flicked a stray burning ember back into the hot pit, then turned to his two guests. The wicked grin Henry first saw outside the Vanderbilt Mansion was on the sinister man’s face once more; a shadow crept over the teardrop scar as he turned his back on the fire. In this very moment, though, the smile wasn’t just wicked—it was much worse than that.
It was victorious.
Henry’s shoulders sagged.
We lost. It’s over. I don’t know how, but it is. Everything the four of us did. Every clue, every step to get here. Mattie. All of it for nothing.
The malevolent winner of the hunt stepped closer to Henry. His cold features began to take shape as the young man’s eyes adjusted to the dim light.
“Seems we meet once more, my friend,” Doubt said with his icy tone. “Though I’m quite sure I’ve neglected, up until now at least, to give you my proper name.”
He held out his hand, the deadly chill of his bleak eyes filling with sudden and unexpected warmth.
“Hunter S. Skavenger,” he smiled as he introduced himself. “The honor is mine.”