Read Online The Explorers’ Gate by Chris Grabenstein - Free Book Online

black but alive with sparkling stars.
    I decided not to go into the park via the Explorers’ Gate. That talking statue of Humboldt was still there, probably keeping one bronze eye aimed in my direction. So I stayed on the far side of Central Park West all the way down to 69 th Street. Garrett wouldn’t know I’d be spying on him, so I thought it’d be smart to cut across the Heckscher Ballfields, work my way through Driprock Arch, circle around the Wollman Skating Rink, and take up a secluded listening post on Gapstow Bridge.
    As I made my way past Umpire Rock, I thought I heard something metal clunking in the darkness behind me. When I whipped around to see if someone (or something) was following me, the clanking stopped. When I moved forward, the creaky clinking started up again.
    So I decided to run the rest of the way and hoped the statue tailing me was one of the slower ones, like the bust of Humboldt.
    Somebody without legs.
    The arching Gapstow Bridge, with its stone sidewalls to hide behind, was a perfect surveillance post.
    To the south, I could see the skyscrapers of Midtown. To the west, a rugged, wooded bluff, part of the Hallett Nature Sanctuary.
    In the faint light creeping across the lawn, I could also see Garrett Vanderdonk down near the lakeshore. Yawning. He was scratching his ears (and other things people scratch when they’re sleepy and don’t think anybody’s watching).
    Soon, Brent Slicktenhorst strolled down a pathway and joined Garrett.
    Both boys were wearing red hats. Brent’s was pointier. Made him look like a preppy garden gnome.
    The sky to the east, behind the stacks of apartment buildings lining Fifth Avenue, started turning orange. Dawn had arrived, right on schedule.
    A whirlwind of white mist swirled up from a stand of reeds. The delicate haze took on the shape of a glowing woman. Cloud white and ghostly translucent, she was as ethereal as an upright snow angel.
    â€œWelcome, sons of the Netherlands. My sisters and I send you condolences on the death of your king, Kroll the Second.”
    Garrett took one step forward. Cleared his throat. “We thank you,” he said in the stilted voice most guys use when the teacher makes them stand up in class to recite poetry. “We are now ready to receive your words of wisdom, oh wise one.”
    â€œHear me, sons of New Amsterdam! Over the next three nights, your two teams shall compete in three different contests. Tonight, we will test the sons’ knowledge of their fathers’ traditions. The two claimants to the crown shall compete upon the bowling green.
    â€œTomorrow night, one human child from each team shall face off in a battle of courage and strength to see which prince possesses the fiercest defenders from the mortal realm.
    â€œPoints shall be awarded in both of these first two contests. The team with the highest score shall be given a head start for the final round—the Crown Quest itself!
    â€œOn Tuesday night, both teams shall assemble at the Bethesda Terrace starting line to demonstrate their knowledge of the kingdom your princes would rule.
    â€œThe objective of this final competition is quite simple: Be the first team to find the Kabouter Crown, which we shall hide somewhere within the kabouter kingdom. The first team to find the crown and bring it back to the starting line safely shall see its prince crowned the new king of Central Park!”
    â€œCool,” said Brent—which isn’t exactly how I’d address a mystical being.
    Then, again, I wouldn’t be chewing gum, either.
    â€œThe sun rises,” the wise woman said as her gauzy form faded away. “When next it sets, let the competition commence!”
    With that, the Witte Wief and all the mist hugging the surface of the Pond vanished.
    â€œYour boy is gonna lose tonight,” I heard Brent snort at Garrett. “Then, it’s you and me, bro.”
    â€œI guess.”
    â€œWhat?