Peter’s stomach tightened. “Maybe it was some other bird that told them?”
“There are no other birds,” she said.
Much as he hated to come clean, Peter couldn’t let an innocent creature take the blame for his blunder. “I told them.” He cleared his throat. “I was trying to rescue the sparrows, but the Night Patrol interrupted me. I told them about the stranger to distract them. It was dark, so they probably assumed I was a bird.” He hoped they didn’t examine this last statement too closely. “I’m sorry,” he said for the second time in as many minutes.
“Brilliant.” Her Majesty snorted. “Now it’s the blind leading the blind.”
Simon explained. “Those sparrows were our spies aboveground. Without them we have no way of knowing what Incarnadine is planning. It is also likely that he has apprehended one of them. When you set the sparrows free, they all reported here—all except for one bird named Crumpet. The king is not above torture. He may have taken her to learn of the stranger . . . but he will undoubtedly learn much more.”
The thought of that innocent sparrow being tortured was too much for Peter. “We have to rescue her!”
“I think you’ve ‘helped’ enough for one day,” Peg said, standing with her back to him. “Trouble, Scrape, you two start preparing a new hideout. Giggle and Marbles will keep lookout.” Her orders were interrupted by a ringing aboveground. “That’s the Breakfast Bell, which means the king will be waking up soon. We should move.”
Peter put his hand to the wall and felt a tremor as dead bolts slid open all over the palace. Many hundreds of people filed from their homes, all walking toward the Eating Hall. He could hear something else above the chatter of hungry citizens: the faintest ripple of water. Peter sniffed the air and caught a scent that had not been there the moment before—a smell both disgusting and unmistakable.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Peg said when she saw him packing his recently recovered burgle-sack.
“I have to check on something aboveground,” he answered.
“What’s the point? They’re just eating breakfast.”
“I’m hungry.” Peter didn’t want to tell her the real reason just in case he was wrong. “Look at it this way: if I die, I’ll be out of your hair for good.” He grabbed a stray coil of rope and stuffed it into his bag—in his experience, it never hurt to have a bit of rope on hand.
The princess found herself caught between frustration and curiosity. “Fine, but I’m coming with you. The only safe way is through the sewers, and you’ll never get there on your own.” She turned to Simon. “Keep watch on the fierce knight and see that he stays out of trouble. Everyone reports back here before the high sun.”
And with that, the Missing Ones scattered into the darkness.
The journey to the surface was a long one. The tunnels were narrow and slippery, made all the more treacherous by Her Majesty’s speedy pace. Within a few minutes, Peter’s whole person was soaked and sore. But still, he did not slow down—he wanted to prove himself a worthy hero, and that meant keeping up. As he breathed the dank air, Peter considered what it would be like to have grown up in this strange kingdom. It would have meant slavery, true, but he was no stranger to hardship. He couldn’t shake the sense that there was something right about this place, something that made him feel more at home than he had ever been in his life. Even Her Majesty, who was rude and bossy, felt somehow familiar.
“I couldn’t open that box of yours,” she called back to him as she hoisted herself up a ladder. “What’s inside?”
“Nothing special.” Peter was still nervous about showing anyone the Fantastic Eyes. He remembered the professor’s warning to keep them a secret. “It’s just some old thief tools.”
“Really?!” She helped him onto the ledge. “Can I look at them?”
“Trade secrets.” He pushed the bag behind him. “A girl wouldn’t understand.”
“Fine . . . I didn’t want to see them anyway!” Her Majesty resumed running at twice the speed.
Though hurt by her dismissive tone, Peter was relieved that the subject had been dropped. “What do you hope to do once we escape with the children?” he called, hoping that conversation might slow her down. “Will you be crowned queen?”
“I’ll go find NoName,” she said.
“Go find who?”
“NoName. My twin brother.”
Peter had forgotten all about the second child. “Simon never said what happened to him.”
“No one knows. He disappeared. Trouble and Scrape think he’s dead, but I won’t believe it. I’ve asked Simon, but he always gives me some nonsense about ‘saving the Line’ and ‘Justice returning to us.’ ”
Peter wasn’t sure it was wise of the bird to give her false hope like that. “For a baby to survive such a battle,” he observed carefully, “you have to admit, it does sound a little unlikely.”
“He’s alive.” She pushed open a rusted sewer grate and stepped into the warmth of daylight. “And someday I’m going to find him. You’ll see.” But of course Peter couldn’t see anything—not the halls, nor the sky, nor even the way the morning light glinted off Her Majesty’s brilliant, emerald-green eyes.
CHAPTER TWENTY
THE KING’S ADDRESS
Peter and Peg made it to the Eating Hall just before the second course. The princess led him to a secret perch inside the mouth of one of the many stone gargoyles spitting water down into the courtyard. Gargoyles, as you may be aware, are so named because of the way they “gargle” water. It is thought by some that these immortal grotesques were once filthy little children, turned to stone as punishment for the nasty habit of spitting in public. This pair of filthy children, however, had bigger things to worry about than social taboos. Peter and Peg leaned over the bottom row of stone teeth, eavesdropping on the citizens below. As with supper the previous night, conversation was pleasant and food was abundant. Peter could hear people talking through stuffed mouths, saying things like “I do love a good fig bisque!” and “My, isn’t this sparrow-omelet divine?”
The hall had been completely cleaned since the boy was last there, and the sparrows’ pedestals had been replaced with potted trees. “A group of children comes through here before dawn to clean up,” the princess said. “The grown-ups always leave the place in a terrible—”
Peter raised a finger to her lips, signaling for her to be silent. He needed to concentrate on what was happening below. He could hear people chewing. He could hear the clock tower ticking. He could hear the streams flowing around the perimeter. “Princess, do you see something in the water down there?”
Peg peered over the jaw of the gargoyle for a better view. Everything seemed normal to her. “What am I looking for?” she asked.
Peter concentrated. There was definitely something foul in that water. “Is there anything sticking out of the surface? Like long tubes of some kind?”
“I see some reeds. They’re spread all around the hall, every ten feet or so.”
Peter nodded, inching closer to her. “It’s a good thing we came. I’ll wager my knack that the king is planning to attend breakfast this morning.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Peg said. “The king never eats breakfast with his subjects. What makes you so sure?”
“Because his guards are stationed in the water. Look where the reeds are. Do you see any large shadows?”
“Yes,” she said after a moment. “A-a-are those monsters?”
“There’s nothing quite like the smell of wet ape.” The boy tried not to sound smug, but had difficulty controlling his grin. “Stay down! Here comes the king!”
As if on cue, a trumpet sounded, and two dozen armed apes rose from the water. Seeing the dread Night Patrol in broad daylight, the people panicked. Several men fainted right there on the spot. Others began choking on their waffles. There was a mad stampede as citizens threw their food down and shoved and pushed to escape the Eating Hall. But when they reached the corridor, the people found
that a gate had been lowered, blocking them off from the rest of the palace.
“Stop, citizens!” an ape roared above the din. Peter recognized its voice as that of the one named LongClaw. The beast paused, checking to make sure everyone was listening before he continued. “Your Gracious King has decided to join you for breakfast. Welcome him!”
The crowd instantly erupted into riotous applause the likes of which Peter had never heard in his life. He listened as the men and women stomped and whooped and cheered with all their might. The master thief, however, could sense other things—that their clapping hands smelled sweaty and their cheering throats sounded dry.
The king entered from a small door at the base of the clock tower. Peter could not see him, of course, but he could hear well enough. Every step echoed with a fierce clank of spurs. “He’s wearing his clockwork armor,” Peg said. “He never goes anywhere without it.”
Peter was at a loss. He was pretty sure she must have meant something other than “clockwork.” But when he listened more closely, his ears caught the faint whir of gears spinning beneath the king’s breastplate. The boy studied the sounds, wondering how this strange armor might work.
The applause continued as His Highness stepped to the head of the banquet table. Instead of waving his hand for silence, he simply stood there, nodding.
“What’s he waiting for?” Peter whispered to Peg.
“He’s waiting to see who stops first,” she said.
But no one stopped. The people cheered and cheered and cheered until their hands were red and their voices hoarse. Finally, an old man at the table lost his strength. He collapsed to the ground, his cries giving way to a fit of coughing.
“Enough!” The king called out in a voice both authoritative and indignant. Peter did not think it sounded like the voice of a fierce warrior—there was something almost shrill in his tone. Yet at his command, the crowd fell to instant, terrified silence. The king faced the old man. “Have you no respect for your Great Ruler?”
“P-p-please, Mighty King!” the old man begged. “Have mercy on a loyal subject!”
“Guards!” Fast as a flash, three apes leapt across the courtyard. They pounced on the old man and dragged him by his heels, screaming, down the corridor toward some unseen and no doubt unpleasant fate. When at last his cries had faded away, the king turned back to his subjects. “Please. Eat,” he said with a magnanimous smile.
Every person in the hall sat down. They ate in silence, trying to force down perfect mouthfuls of food. This was hard to do, on account of having just seen one of their neighbors “disappear” at the hands of two drooling apes.
High above them, Peter huddled with Peg inside the gargoyle’s massive jaw, shivering. He was shivering not because of the cold water rushing past his knees, but because his sensitive ears could still detect the old man’s screams echoing somewhere deep underground.
Meanwhile, the adults below chewed, sipped, and swallowed their way through the rest of their meal. Apes circled the perimeter behind them, keeping watch for anyone who might dare offend their king with a slackened appetite. When the people had finally cleared their plates, Incarnadine spoke again. “My dear citizens. You may be wondering why I’ve graced you with my presence this morning. You see, it has been just over ten years since I completed building this Perfect Palace, brick by brick, with my own hands.” He paused for a moment to accept his subjects’ enthusiastic applause.
“Thank you, citizens,” the king said. “It is so heartwarming to see how you appreciate my leadership, wisdom, and sacrifice.”
“We do! We do!” the people shouted.
“And to reward you, I am planning something very big for our kingdom’s anniversary.”
“All hail anniversary!” the people shouted.
“It will be something that will make my kingdom what it should have been all along! Not only perfect, but powerful!”
“Hooray for powerful!” the people shouted.
Peter leaned forward. Whatever the king was planning, it might have something to do with the digging being done underground.
“But before I share that with you, I have something of a more serious nature to discuss.”
“Three cheers for serious nature!” the people shouted.
The king scowled at this last declaration. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were all just repeating whatever comes from my perfect mouth.”
“Oh no!” the people shouted, more nervous this time. “We’re listening! We love you!”
“That’s better,” he snapped, somewhat mollified. “As I said before, there is a very grave matter that I must bring to your attention. It seems that a spy has wormed his way into the castle. He is going by the name of Mr. Justice Trousers. And I suspect that he may, in fact, be . . . a thief!”
At this, women began hyperventilating while men trembled in their boots. It seemed the mere word had struck terror into the hearts of every subject. “As you know,” the king said, “thieves are dark creatures who have evil ways of opening the locks that I have installed to protect you.”
The two children listened as the people praised the king and his wonderful “magic” locks. Peter, who had told a lie or two in his day, was not impressed. “He’s trying to tell them being locked up is good? That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“I know,” she said. “But they believe him, all the same.”
The king raised his hand, silencing the crowd. “I have been told that this Mr. Trousers has come on a secret mission to assassinate your Worthy King.”
A fresh wave of panic rippled through the crowd. “Don’t die, Your Highness!” they cried. “We need you!”
“Your concern touches me.” He placed a gauntlet over his ticking heart. “However, do not forget that I am the greatest fighter who has ever lived.”
Peter snorted at this last statement.
“Don’t laugh,” Peg warned him. “He may be vain, but my uncle is dangerous. Simon says he can wield not one but one hundred swords, and a single sweep of his arm can fell ten men.” Her mind flashed to the memory of her dead parents. “Whatever you do, don’t underestimate him.”
That this man could prove so powerful seemed impossible to Peter, but he trusted Simon to know a good warrior when he met one. Peter had spent his whole life in a town where fights were either drunken and friendly, or silent and petty. True war was foreign to him. He thought of how scared and confused he had been when the battle broke out in the Nest; he was in a different world now.
The boy shook these thoughts from his head and concentrated once more on the king’s address. “Loyal subjects! You may be asking yourselves how a spy managed to hide in our midst. I am saddened to inform you that he was smuggled in by one of our own. I present to you all: the traitor!” He banged his armored hands together, and two apes stomped in from the corridor, escorting someone between them.
Peter gasped. He could smell the perfume from all the way up here. “It’s Mrs. Molasses!” he whispered.
Peg leaned in close. “Is that the lady who helped you?”
Mrs. Molasses wore shackles around her wrists and ankles. It was clear the woman had no idea what she had missed in the first part of the king’s address. She kept pleading, “What have I done? What have I done?”
The princess watched as the apes marched their prisoner to the middle of the hall and hurled her at the king’s feet.
Incarnadine resumed his address to the crowd. “Early this morning, my guards apprehended this woman in her home. She was a fine citizen. An earnest admirer of her king and her kingdom. Blessed with a perfect life, she was eager to share her good fortune with strangers.” Because nice things were being said about her, Mrs. Molasses began nodding her head, vigorously affirming each word. He continued. “And it is because of this generosity that I have called her before you today.” The woman gave a brief, bewildered smile—was she being rewarded?
“I have received word that she recently brought a friend to sup
per. A stranger whom she had been housing for many days. My dear Mrs. Molasses,” he said, smiling at her, “would you be so kind as to tell us the name of your esteemed guest?”
The woman beamed, now certain she had been nominated for some sort of hospitality prize. “Your Highness, his name was . . . Justice Trousers!”
At these words, the crowd gave a communal shriek. “Guilty by her own admission!” the king proclaimed. “Citizens, you know this to be the very name of the spy sent to murder me—and this woman is his accomplice!”
Mrs. Molasses gave a faint squeak. “No, Your Highness! Mr. Trousers was a nice man. He was injured! I wanted to help him, to share our perfect palace with him!” She approached on her knees, clutching her manacled hands to her bosom. “He never said anything about being a spy!”
“Of course he didn’t say, you fool! And you didn’t think to ask! Your kindness,” and he spat out that last word with particular disgust, “has released an enemy into our midst and put my precious life in danger!” He turned back to the people. “Now, what shall we do to her?”
“Punish her!” the people shouted.
“Very well.” He marched to the long, wooden table and snatched up a fistful of cutlery, raising it above his head. “Prove your loyalty to me! Take up your arms and punish the traitor!”
Princess Peg watched, horrified. “They wouldn’t . . .” she whispered. But she was wrong. Without a moment’s hesitation, every person in the Eating Hall took up a knife, fork, or serving spoon, chanting, “Kill the traitor! Kill the traitor!” Mrs. Molasses shook in fright as they circled her, screaming and shouting. The apes chuckled, eager to enjoy the show.
“Kill the traitor! Long live the king!!!”
“We have to do something,” Peg said, reaching for Peter’s hand. But his hand was nowhere to be found. While she had been busy watching the crowd below, the master thief had disappeared.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE