The Explorers’ Gate (10 page)

I heard a
Bloop!
and my history lesson began.

Have you ever seen those goofy
Schoolhouse Rock!
videos from the 1970s and '80s on YouTube?

If so, you have a pretty good idea of what the movie I was watching looked like.

“Welcome to the Kabouter Crown Quest!” boomed a cheery voice over a trumpet fanfare as a grainy image of a seven-pointed crown turned on a velvet-covered lazy Susan. “A grand and noble tradition. If you are watching this video: Congratulations! You have been chosen to represent the Dutch descendants of New York City who have benefitted from the presence of kabouters in their midst.”

Then the wall was filled with black-and-white images of old and new New York.

“Working behind the scenes, through the ages, kabouters have helped the farmers, artists, merchants, doctors, and bankers of New Amsterdam, and then New York, in their daily endeavors.”

Next came images of grimy kabouter faces straight out of
Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs
: dozens of “wee people” toting pickaxes and shovels over their shoulders.

“And let's never forget, the hardworking kabouters who helped build the New York City subway system we all ride on today. Yes, where would New York City be without its kindly kabouters? Well, one thing's certain, New York wouldn't be the
Big
Apple without all these
little
helpers!”

More bouncy music played while the video showed panoramas of the Manhattan skyline, ending with an overhead shot of Central Park sparkling in the middle of the island.

“And now the time has once again come for these hidden but hardworking New Yorkers to choose a new king to rule over their home, Central Park! But, wait, you say, how did this Crown Quest even get started? Well, children, that's a very good question. For the answer, let's journey back in time to the early 1620s, when the first Dutch settlements in the New World were teetering on the brink of destruction!”

The music became very History Channel as the visual changed to a map with throbbing blue and orange dots.

“Fort Orange, near what is now Albany, and New Amsterdam, here at the mouth of the Hudson River, were about to be abandoned. You see, back home in the Netherlands, these Dutch settlers had relied on kabouters to help them toil in their fields and shops. In the New World, they were on their own. But in 1641, two wise young merchants in Amsterdam named Adrian Vanderdonk and Daveed Van Draaken realized that, for the new colony to thrive, they should import willing and courageous kabouters!

“Vanderdonk and Van Draaken convinced a kabouter prince named Kroll, one of the many sons of the reigning kabouter monarch in Holland, to sail with them to the New World. Kroll, being brave and eager for adventure—and with absolutely no hope of becoming Kabouter King in Holland because of his six older brothers—quickly agreed.

“When they docked in New Amsterdam, Kroll became the first monarch to reign in what would eventually become New York City. On that same sailing ship came a host of intrepid and skilled kabouters—farm workers, milliners, blacksmiths—all the small helpers the struggling Dutch colonists needed to finally prosper in this strange new land!”

Merry music filled the air as cartoon kabouters eagerly helped Dutch settlers chop trees, milk cows, and build homes.

“But, of course, King Kroll the First could not live forever.”

The music became very sad and somber. But only for like five seconds.

“And so, the first Crown Quest commenced under the guidance of the Witte Wieven, mystical creatures of the misty lowland bogs who had travelled to the New World on the same ship with Kroll and the others, making the transatlantic voyage in rain barrels.

“The contest was wisely divided into three parts. First, ninepin bowling, to demonstrate skill and strategy while paying homage to the kabouter's old-world heritage. Second, a test of physical strength to determine which claimant to the crown had the superior human allies to help him protect and defend his realm.

“Third, and most importantly, to test both would-be kings' wits and intelligence, riddle solving and treasure hunting. After the 1869 move to Central Park, this third part was amended by the Witte Wieven of the Lake to be a treasure hunt for the crown itself, a quest that would test the kabouter prince and his human helpers on their encyclopedic knowledge of the new kabouter sanctuary, Central Park!

“Points earned in the first two rounds—ninepin and physical defense—give the high-scoring team a coveted advantage: a head start in the race through Central Park to find the hidden crown!”

Now I was looking at jittery black-and-white footage of a boy, girl, and kabouter from 1930-something racing onto the terrace of Bethesda Fountain, holding the seven-starred kabouter crown high above their heads, and jumping for joy when they crossed the finish line.

“With you, young Dutch boy and girl, this grand tradition continues. Good luck. Enjoy your Crown Quest. And may the best team win!”

The lights came up.

“Any questions?” asked Kristinka.

“No, ma'am.”

I just hoped we could beat Loki's team in the first two rounds. That way, if we won both ninepin
and
the physical defense round, we'd earn a
huge
head start for round three: the actual quest for the crown.

And that was the part of the contest that both Garrett and Willem were counting on
me
to win!

When Willem, Garrett, and I met to head down to the Sheep Meadow for the ninepin competition, the tip of Willem's curly white beard was touching his belt buckle.

“At my age,” he explained, “the whiskers sprout quickly.”

I raised my hand because I had yet another question.

“Yes?”

“If you and Loki are going to be rolling gigantic wooden balls across the Sheep Meadow in an attempt to knock down nine-foot-tall bowling pins, how can you keep this contest secret? Won't all of New York hear it?”

“Not tonight. The Witte Wieven of the Pond have contacted the appropriate moss maidens who will invoke their ancient spells. All that we do during the games will remain unseen and unheard.”

We made our way south from the Reservoir. As we passed through a patch of evergreens, Garrett raised a hand to signal us to halt.

“Did you hear that?” he whispered.

Willem and I shook our heads.

“No,” said Willem.

“Probably nothing,” said Garrett. “Guess I'm just jumpy.”

We continued south.

After we crossed under the double-arched bridge twenty feet beneath the Explorers' Gate, Garrett's hand shot up again.

This time, I heard it, too.

The steady clank-clomp-clank of bronze feet.

And a low grumbling.

Not a dog growl. More of a deep and throaty purr.

“It's on the right!” I whispered as we resumed our trek south toward the Sheep Meadow.

From the sway of branches and leaves off to our right, it was clear that some kind of crouching beast was creeping alongside us through the thicket.

Suddenly, I heard a screeching
Ka-ree, ka-ree!

Several birds of prey—falcons and hawks mostly—roost at the tops of the tall buildings surrounding Central Park so they can swoop down to attack other birds, not to mention chipmunks and rodents, and haul them home for supper.

Ka-ree, ka-ree!
This falcon's call sounded shriller than most. Almost metallic.

Because there is a bronze statue of a falconer in Central Park!

A young man in Elizabethan garb—balloon pants, tights, and a feathered hat—the Falconer stands on a rock outcropping very close to where we were walking.

The statue, of course, has a bronze
falcon
on its arm, poised for takeoff.

“You guys,” I said, “I think there might be a falcon circling overhead.”

Our eyes shot up to the leafy blackness. I had read an article about falcons once at school. They're unbelievably swift and awesome aerial hunters. After sighting their prey, they can zip into a steep dive that tops two hundred miles an hour.

Garrett shielded Willem. “Stay close to me,” he ordered.

“I think it's from the falconer statue,” I said.

“Loki must have bribed
him
as well,” said Willem.

“Because they're trying to stop us from making it to the Sheep Meadow on time!” said Garrett.

“Indeed. For if I do not show up promptly at nine, we will be forced to forfeit the first round.”

“Yeah, well that's not gonna happen!” said Garrett. Without taking his eyes off the sky, he grabbed a broken branch off the ground. Following his lead, I grabbed a rock.

The next
ka
was followed by a much longer
kreeeeee
.

“Here it comes!” said Garrett, raising his stick.

The bronze bird swooped down.

Skreek!

I side-armed my rock skyward and beaned the metal birdy in its belly. I think. I closed my eyes when I chucked the rock.

“He's circling,” said Garrett. “He'll be back.”

Now the beast in the bushes started to move again.

But we couldn't worry about
that
statue.

Big Bird was coming back for round two.

I grabbed another chunk of stone.

The falcon flapped open its massive wings.

Ka-reeeeee!

I spun around. Arched my arm.

Too late.

The falcon was tearing through the branches, thorny talons extended, claws aimed at Willem!

That's when the beast leapt up from the bushes and snagged the falcon's claws in its fangs.

It was a big bronze cat. The statue named
Still Hunt
—a crouching panther poised to pounce on passing joggers that's positioned on a rock overlooking the East Drive.

The raptor screeched, somehow tore its thorny feet free from the panther's jaws, and zoomed away.

Still Hunt
swiped at the empty air with its massive paw and growled. Satisfied that the attack bird was gone, the big cat pranced over to take the lead of our three-person pack. Apparently, the panther, like Balto the dog, was rooting for Willem's team.

“Willem! How nice of you to join us.”

Loki was waiting for us when we reached the Sheep Meadow.

“My goodness, it's nearly nine. We were beginning to worry!”

“I made it,” said Willem. “As did Miss Van Wyck, despite your earlier attempt to incarcerate her in your foul dungeon!”

“What? I was simply attempting to sneak her into the zoo through the bottom of the bat cage. They charge admission, you know. Three dollars for children!”

“You're lying!” I shouted.

“What? Have they raised the price? Why didn't someone alert me?”

“Enough!” said Willem. “Simply know that your attempts to eliminate us from the competition have, thus far, failed miserably!”

Still Hunt
growled in agreement. A few clinking feathers fluttered out of his mouth.

“Heavens,” said Loki. “Has that unruly kitty cat been destroying park property, again?”

The falconer statue came tromping out of the trees.

“Where is my pretty birdy, hunh?”

The Falconer had an Italian accent, probably because he'd been forged at a foundry in Florence.

“Where is my pretty birdy, hunh?” he repeated.

He also had a one-track mind, probably because he had a copper-alloy brain.

“I'm gonna tell my friend Christopher. He gonna be mad!” He turned to Loki. “Hey you—where my new pants you promise me? I no like these balloon pantaloons no more.”

Loki waved his hand dismissively. “Take this chattering birdbrain away! His incessant prattling annoys me! Set up the nine pins! Summon the referee! Let the first round of the Crown Quest begin!”

Two diamonds of nine jumbo-sized bowling pins each were arrayed at the eastern end of the Sheep Meadow, about three full football-field lengths away from where we stood under a tree at the western edge of the rolling pasture.

Whatever cloaking spell the moss maidens had used, it sure seemed to be working. Towering skyscrapers twinkled all around us. But nobody noticed what we were doing. Nobody even knew we were there.

I was checking out Willem's gigantic wooden bowling ball when who should stroll out from behind it but Brooke Billingsley's boyfriend, Brent Slicktenhorst.

“Greetings, Ima Gene.”

“My name is Nikki. Nikki Van Wyck. It's Dutch. Just like Slicktenhorst. Remember?”

“Riiight.”

“So, are you playing for Loki and the bad guys?”

“The bad guys? Heavens, I'm on the side of progress, Van Wyck. When Loki becomes king, he'll be much more amenable to sharing the park's splendor with private investors, such as Mr. Drake and my father.”

“You mean that stupid hotel Mr. Drake wants to build in the middle of Central Park?”

“Stupid? It'll be magnificent!”

“Yeah,” I said, “for those who can afford it.”

He arched an eyebrow. “And your point is?”

Man, now I really wanted Willem to win. Central Park was supposed to be for all the people, not just the rich ones like Brent and Brooke.

The massive bronze bust of Giuseppe Mazzini, whose pedestal was close to the Sheep Meadow, over near 67
^th
Street, arrived to referee the first round.

Mazzini had to wobble into position because he didn't have any feet or legs. He didn't have a torso or arms, either. He was all bushy beard, bald head, and bare chest.

“Prince Willem and Lord Loki?” he said, nobly turning his humongous, disembodied head from side to side. “You know the rules. You will be awarded one point for every pin you knock down. If, however, you knock down the eight pins surrounding the kingpin without knocking down the kingpin, you will score twelve points. Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes, your Honor,” said Willem.