“They forgot one thing though. Never do in the open what can be better accomplished in the shadows.”

It is raining. How fitting. But time is short and my window to leave the island is closing. So today will have to be the day. I wrap the Compendium in cloth several times over before placing it in the familiar worn wooden box with several metal weights, and grab my umbrella. It is a short walk to the stables and my horse is saddled and ready to go. Luckily for me, he has seen too many winters for the British to find him useful but he still suits my purposes and I hope the hands will still take care of him after I leave the island.

I secure the box to the saddle and the animal winces as I lead him into the cold and the wet but he will have bear it now and he will have to bear it later, just as I will and just as the boxes have always done. We ride north, out of the city and through the abandoned farms, until at last I see the fort looming on the hill. A dozen memories flood into my mind about this place. It has been nearly two lifetimes since we came ashore at the edge of that forest for the first time, when we bought this island from the Lenape.

I hope I am the only one left among the living who remembers that day.

As the teeming mass of Redcoats come into view, I have second thoughts about approaching on land but quickly cast them aside. I do not mind manual labor, as my blooming garden each summer can attest to, but only on my terms and at a time of my choosing. It is a privilege I believe I am entitled to after all these years. Still, rowing up the length of the island and back by myself would be fraught with peril, and I would rather rely on my wit and my charm than my ability to outmaneuver the British in open water.

I dismount and pull out some sugar chunks from the saddlebag. The horse does not like the mud sticking to his hooves but he happily takes the sweet reward. I tie him to a tree and walk into the lion’s den.

Two soldiers approach, their faces red to match their jackets, and I pity them, but only for a minute.

“Halt,” says the first one.

“What are you doing here?” says the second.

I dispense with the formalities and summon the word to my tongue.

“Peitho.”

I felt something grasping my shoulders and I struggled to stay in the moment. The power that had been at my command was unlike anything I had experienced before. It wasn’t borrowed or siphoned or tapped, it was raw and it was mine. But the pulling persisted until I was wrenched out of Rita’s memory.

For a second, I saw her from the back, standing there on the dirt road. Her tied-up brown hair rustled slowly in the wind and I wanted to hold out just a second longer so I could finally see this woman whose essence had seeped into my mind.

But when I opened my eyes again, all I saw was the dusty, old book in front of me and the dim light of the lone lamp in our island headquarters. I turned around in the chair and saw Beatrice standing behind me, her brow glistening with sweat, and unsure if she should come closer.

“Wh-what happened?” I said. “The memory, it wasn’t…” I looked back at Rita’s 1777 diary to find the ink that had appeared on the page from Polly’s ring smeared into an indecipherable blob like last time. Which meant one thing: the memory was gone.

“Why did you pull me out of it?” I said, trying to stand up, but my legs gave way and I stumbled back into the chair.

“Take it easy,” Beatrice said. “Here.” She offered me the familiar maroon buff but I refused her. We were both beginning to rely too heavily on them and I worried that I was treading Kate’s path all over again.

“I’m fine. It’s just . . . I didn’t get far enough. She was heading north ”

I recounted Rita’s memory to Beatrice and her face fell when I reached the end.

“Oh,” she said. “I wanted to let you go further, but this time it was different. With the other diary, you kind of were just asleep on the page. That’s how it started out this time, at least. Then, your hands started moving, making these really weird gestures and then you started talking.”

“Peitho,” I said without thinking and Beatrice drew back, but nothing happened.

“She did something, to the soldiers. On her own. They were dead, but not dead, if that makes sense.”

“Not really. I’ve never heard of anyone using alchemy like that, like the magic was inherent to them. This is why more than ever we need to get that Compendium.”

“Agreed,” I said. Our latest harebrained idea had been to find Rita’s Compendium, which would, and this was all wishful thinking, include the antidote for the stone curse I had inflicted on Frankie. Rita’s last diary entry from 1777 had stated briefly that she had “hid Compendium in the usual place” before she had left New York to join her husband at Valley Forge.

Reading that passage over again now, with the knowledge of the memory rings, had been a revelation, and Beatrice had practically run to Polly’s apartment to take back the ring after her own ring hadn’t worked. But I convinced her to play it cool, to not let Polly in on the fact that the ring was more than just a band of silver, lest she demand something in return. Fortunately, by the time I had stumbled back teary-eyed to the 47th floor last night after my disastrous dinner, the ring was there. And when it had dissolved into a pool of silver ink and then into the familiar handwriting this morning, it seemed like things were starting to go our way.

“I wish I could have seen just a little bit more, seen who she gave the Compendium to. Maybe it’s still sitting in a library somewhere, just like her diary.”

“I know, but I didn’t want to let you keep going and have it be her who woke up.”

“You think that’s what the rings are? Some sort of distributed consciousness that will bring Rita back to life?”

“Maybe,” said Beatrice. “I don’t know. That’s why I wanted to let Polly try the memory this time. Probably better that she didn’t. The girl already knows too much. But I’m glad we don’t have another diary. I don’t want to find out that I was right.”

“So now what?” I asked. “We’re quickly running out of leads.”

“I wouldn’t call it a lead. What were the chances that Rita knew about the Medoblad, knew how to reverse its effects, and just happened to write it down in neat handwriting for us to discover 200 years later? I mean, I found the thing in a cave on a Greek island you’ve never heard of.”

“It was worth a shot,” I said. “Even if it didn’t have the cure, it would still have been a good chip to barter with. Seeing as how Rita’s gold token is probably lost in the ether as well.”

“I know, I know,” said Beatrice. “Maybe City Hall will surprise us and find the property records we requested.”

“Yeah, in like 100 years. Right around the time the sea rises and sinks all of Manhattan.”

“Wait a minute,” Beatrice said with a note of excitement. “You said Rita was heading north, to the place where the Dutch bought Manhattan from the Lenape.”

“Yes, she hoped she was the only one alive who remembered that day. I figured it was just a meeting place where she was giving the Compendium to someone. You don’t think…”

“I’ve been up there. Took Jack-Jack to run around for an afternoon a few summers ago. It’s probably the last piece of mostly untouched land in Manhattan. And there’s a rock with a plaque on it that claims to be the spot where the sale to the Dutch was made.”

“Then maybe the Compendium is buried under that rock,” I said, although I knew it couldn’t be that simple.

Nothing ever was in this messed-up world I inhabited.

Next: A trip to the far reaches of Manhattan.