Spirits in the Park by Scott Mebus

Giovanni repeated. “You never sailed with me?”
    â€œDefinitely not,” Rory answered. He didn’t like where this line of questioning was leading, so he quickly steered the conversation away from his identity. “You were a sailor?” he asked.
    â€œSailor?” Giovanni scoffed, taking the bait. “I was a great captain! In my mortal days, five centuries ago, I guided my ship across the great sea, traveling up and down the coast of the New World, claiming huge tracts of land for France!”
    â€œFrance? I thought you were Italian,” Rory said.
    â€œFrance paid me a great deal of money to be French, so, for that voyage, I was French. It was I who discovered the untamed shores of Francesca!”
    â€œWhere’s Francesca?” Rory asked, confused.
    â€œHis name for North America,” Alfred cut in, winking slyly. “It didn’t quite take.”
    â€œAmerica has such a pedestrian sound to it,” Giovanni complained. “Now, Francesca, that is the name of a great land!”
    â€œIt’s a done deal, Giovanni,” Alfred told him, his tired tone making it obvious that this argument came up a lot. “Francesca just isn’t going to happen.”
    â€œNo respect for the man who discovered the isle of Manhattan!” Giovanni announced, his voice ringing with centuries of resentment.
    â€œBut I thought Henry Hudson discovered New York,” Rory said. “Did you sail with him?”
    â€œOh boy,” Alfred muttered, putting his head in his hands. “Now you’ve done it.”
    â€œHow dare you!” Giovanni exclaimed, his voice quavering with indignation. “As if that bumbling nincompoop of an Englishman were even fit to lick my boots! Henry Hudson.” The name came out drenched in disdain. “He followed in my footsteps almost a century later. A century! So why does his name go on all the good stuff? Just because he decided to sail up the river, while I, who was very busy, remember, discovering everything for the first time, stayed out by Staten Island—just because of that, he gets the Hudson River, the Hudson Valley, the Hudson everything! It should be the Verrazano River! The Verrazano Valley! I was here first! All I get is a stupid bridge!”
    â€œEasy, Giovanni,” Alfred soothed his cohort. Indeed what little of the Italian explorer’s face that showed through the beard had turned bright red. “You don’t want to pass out again.”
    Pouting like a kid who lost at Candyland, Giovanni crossed his metal-encased arms with a frown. “That is exactly why I gave up on discovering new lands beyond the mists. Everyone is trying it. The true discoveries await belowground! So I recruited Alfred here to help me explore the depths of the island. My only competition down here is Caesar Prince, and who knows what that man is looking for . . .”
    â€œSo you’ll be kind of an underground Columbus?” Rory asked.
    â€œColumbus!” Giovanni spat. “Let me tell you about that imbecile Columbus . . .”
    Giovanni raged on as the train sped through the dark tunnel, Alfred Beach shaking his head the entire time. Finally, light streamed through the windows as the subway car pulled into the familiar 207th Street station, the end of the line.
    â€œHere you go, Rory,” Alfred said, gesturing outside. Glancing out the window, Rory wasn’t surprised to see that no one even looked in their direction. He thanked his benefactors and stepped off the train, helping Tucket down onto the platform. He gave a wave as the train began to pull out of the station, on its way back to exploring the depths of the island. Then, with a screech, the car shuddered to a halt. One of the windows flew open and Giovanni stuck his head out, his beard hanging over the sill.
    â€œTwo’s Boys!” he yelled.
    â€œWhat?” Rory asked, thoroughly confused.
    â€œThat’s where I know you