LILLIAN
Now you, knowing something of Peter Nimble and his Fantastic Eyes, have probably assumed that when Princess Peg discovered her companion had disappeared, it was because he had literally disappeared. The truth was far simpler, but no less compelling. The moment the great thief heard Incarnadine’s order to kill Mrs. Molasses, he knew he had to do something; if that woman hadn’t found him and nursed him back to health, he would be dead. He had been eager for an opportunity to silence Peg’s doubts about him once and for all—what better way than with a heroic rescue?
Peter realized there was no chance of him overpowering the mob, never mind the apes. His only hope would be to create some kind of distraction; if he could divert their attention for just a moment, there might be a chance to sneak down there and set Mrs. Molasses free. But how? He had no coughs or noisemakers large enough to disrupt a roaring mob. He felt around the gargoyle’s mouth for something to throw—a loose molar, perhaps. Instead, his fingers came across a rusted hinge that connected the statue’s jaw to the wall. Apparently, the gargoyle was acting as a sort of spigot, controlling the flow of water from the sewers.
The boy sprung to his feet and searched the tunnel behind him for some kind of switch to widen the floodgates.
“Peter! What are you doing?” Peg splashed alongside him and snatched at his sleeve. “I thought something had happened to you! You can’t just disappear like that!”
“Either help me or get out of my way.” He jerked his arm back, forgetting for a moment that she was royalty. “We have to save that woman.”
“How? They’re about ten seconds from Long-Live-the-Kinging her to pieces!”
“Then we’d better hurry,” he said. “You know these waterways, is there a sort of lever that controls the water flow?”
“A sort of what?” she said, exasperated. “I already told you, the fountains are magic, just like the bells, and locks, and everything else.”
Peter pushed past her, wading deeper into the tunnel. The princess was clearly going to be of no help. Far below, he could hear Mr. Bonnet take the first swipe at Mrs. Molasses with a mustard fork. The boy winced at the sound of sharp prongs catching against her bustle, shredding the fabric. “I haven’t time to explain, Your Majesty,” he said. “Please, just go to my sack and grab the rope inside. I need you to anchor it to something secure.” The girl chose not to question the command. Without another word she ran to his bag and removed the rope.
“Now, where are you hiding?” Peter murmured, turning back to the sewer wall. The farther he traveled, the deeper the water grew. It was up to his thighs now, dragging against his legs with the force of a thousand gallons. The flow pushed him backward, and he reached out a hand to steady himself. His fingers fell on a small knob connected to some rusted pipes along the ceiling. “Is the rope tied?!” he called back to Peg.
Growing up in underground caves, the princess had learned a thing or two about good climbing knots. The rope was expertly cinched around the gargoyle’s outcropped fang. “All secure!” she said.
“Good! Then hold on!” Peter took the knob and wrenched it with all his strength. The pipes groaned as not one but every gargoyle above the Eating Hall opened its ugly jaw and loosed a torrential flood onto the people below.
In case you are not familiar with the sensation, a knock about the head is widely regarded as one of life’s most unpleasant surprises. Such an assault usually results in the victim spinning around to cry “Who’s there?!” at the air behind them. The person might even stupidly pat their head to check for blood. This most often happens to tall people when they walk into lintels or low-hanging branches—a fact that goes a long way toward explaining the perpetual bad mood of giants, Brobdingnagians, and the like.
While the citizens of the kingdom were not remarkably tall, they were all receiving knocks to the head from the cascading water. Almost every adult in the Eating Hall whirled around to demand “Who’s there?!” while feeling for blood. Because their attacker was no person, but a thundering waterfall, their queries were met with a good soak in the face.
The pandemonium was astounding. There was so much yelling and splashing that it took them several minutes to realize what was happening. All the while, more water rushed down from above, filling the hall to the people’s waists and sweeping some of them off their feet.
“The gargoyles are overflowing!” the king bellowed, climbing atop the table, which had itself begun to float. “LongClaw! You’re responsible for the waterways!”
“They were fine last night, Sire!” The ape shoved a drowning citizen back into the water. “Someone must have tampered with the controls!”
“That’s impossible! No one in the kingdom—” but just as the king was about to say that no one in the kingdom understood basic plumbing, he spotted two young children, both about ten years old, swimming through the chaos—and one of them was his niece!
“The girl is attacking! Capture her!”
“Get the child!” LongClaw snarled, sloshing after Peg.
As you may know, apes are not natural water creatures. They hardly ever drink the stuff in the wild. Every month or so, they might take a long pull from a trough and store the excess liquid in their hump, which lies squarely between their grotesque shoulder blades. Princess Peg, on the other hand, had spent a lifetime wading through sewage and muck. Because of this, the horde of bloodthirsty apes proved none too successful at capturing the fugitive heir. They slogged and splashed through the water, but Peg was too fast.
The girl swam around the perimeter of the Eating Hall, trying her best to draw attention away from Peter. The master thief, meanwhile, had worked his way to the center of the room and gotten hold of Mrs. Molasses. Before the woman knew what was happening, Peter dove below the surface and set to work on her chains. The locks were not difficult, being basically the same mechanism as the ones used on the sparrows. He popped the clasp open and came back up for air. “You’re free!” he said, snatching her by the wrist. “Now hold your breath!” He dove below the surface of the water again, this time dragging Mrs. Molasses with him.
Under the water, Peter slowed his heart and concentrated on the splashy confusion. If he focused, he could tell the difference between humans and apes. He felt Mrs. Molasses pulling against his grip as they worked their way to the edge of the hall. They reached Peg’s side just in time to help her break through the pile of citizens, who had jammed up the main corridor.
“That gate’s blocking the exit,” Peter said. “Is there another way out?”
“You might have checked before you washed us down here,” Peg muttered. “Follow me.” She grabbed Mrs. Molasses’s other arm and led them through a side corridor. When they came to a small alcove, Peg pulled a stone loose from the wall and shoved them both into a secret passage. She climbed in after them, replacing the stone before anyone could see.
Now, one might think that saving a woman’s life would create in her a positive disposition toward her rescuers. You might even think that the saved woman would be thankful and eager to please as she was pushed and squeezed through this or that underground tunnel. This, however, was not the case. After more than ten years of brainwashing, Mrs. Molasses’s mind had been thoroughly scrubbed of anything even remotely resembling common sense. Despite evidence to the contrary, she remained entirely convinced that her king was good and that these children were evil. “Let me go!” she shrieked as they carried her deeper underground. “Help! Guards! King! Anyone! The spies have me!”
Peg spun around, exasperated. “Your neighbors were going to murder you—with spoons! You really want to go back up there?!”
“They were only obeying His Highness!” She kicked Her Majesty’s shin. “Let me go!”
Peter tried a more diplomatic tone. “Mrs. Molasses, I know you’re frightened, but if you keep screaming, those monsters will hear us. Do you really want that?” In answer, he, too, received a kick in the shin.
There is an old phrase that an insecure
man once made up to feel superior to his progeny. Sadly, the saying caught on over the years, and now many people believe it to be true: “There’s no reasoning with a child.” As any levelheaded child can attest, this sentiment is pure nonsense. And while Peg and Peter both rubbed their shins, Her Majesty grasped the truer statement: “There’s no reasoning with a grown-up,” she sighed, limping ahead. “If she’s that stupid, we should just let her die.”
“Get back here, Peg!” Peter said with a force that surprised even himself. “This woman may be confused, but she’s still one of your subjects. We’re taking her with us.”
“She’ll lead the king and his apes right to our hideout,” the girl shot back. “We can’t risk that.”
Peter considered this for a moment. He knelt down and tore a strip of cloth from his pant leg. With an apologetic smile, he stuffed the fabric into Mrs. Molasses’s screaming mouth. “Problem solved,” he said. “Now start dragging.”
The gag worked like a charm, and—kicking and punching aside—Mrs. Molasses was much more agreeable for the remainder of the trip. When the pair finally reached the den, Sir Tode and Simon were waiting.
“Peter!” the knight said, galloping to the boy’s feet.
“Your Majesty!” the raven said, swooping to the girl’s shoulder. Peg sighed, dropping her end of the load. “Sorry we were late. Take it up with Peter.”
“And so I shall,” Simon said and shot him a glare. “We heard commotion aboveground and became worried. I sent the sparrows up to investigate. They said the king has locked everyone in their houses and started door-to-door inspections. Were you seen?”
“You could say that,” Peter groaned as he dragged the rest of Mrs. Molasses into the cave.
“Er, who’s your friend?” Sir Tode asked, poking her with a hoof.
“Her name is Mrs. Molasses. She’s the woman who nursed me back to health. We rescued her from a mob of crazed grown-ups.”
“That was foolish,” Simon snapped. “We cannot afford to have one of the king’s citizens knowing of our location.”
“They were going to kill her,” Peter protested.
“Even so. Her Majesty’s safety is more important than any single person. You would be wise to remember that.”
About this time, Mrs. Molasses managed to roll herself to an upright position. “Help! I’m in here!” she screamed, ripping out her gag and racing for the tunnels.
Peter lunged across the cavern, tackling the woman. “Hold her down,” he grunted. “I’ll chain her up.”
“No chains,” Peg said firmly. “As long as I’m princess, we will never use chains.”
“You used them on me,” he grumbled.
Simon spoke to Peg in a low tone. “Your Majesty, unless this woman calms down, she puts us all in danger of being discovered. If you refuse to chain her up, then you must get rid of her.” He raised a black talon. “I can make it quick.”
“I said NO,” Peter shouted across the cave. Both princess and raven were evidently surprised he had heard them. “I know it’s dangerous, but if you kill her, you’re no better than the king.”
“The boy has a point,” Sir Tode said. “We are not murderers here.”
“Speak for yourself,” Peg said.
Peter turned back to the struggling woman. He knew there must be some way to cut through the king’s lies. “Do you remember me, Mrs. Molasses? I’m the stranger you found in your courtyard.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” she spat back. “That man had golden eyes. You have no eyes at all! I never forget a face!”
“I’m not a man, I’m a little boy.” He swung his leg around, pinning her in a sort of sleeper hold. “Do you remember what a little boy is?”
The woman looked at him in wild terror. “If it’s a sort of torture, it will never work! You can little boy me all you want—I’ll never give in!” She rolled over, smothering him under her voluminous skirt.
Peter grabbed a fistful of her hair, trying to wriggle free. “Wait a minute,” he said, sniffing the perfumed locks. “Where’s Trouble?”
“The two boys are scouting the caves,” Simon answered.
“Can you bring him here? Please?”
Peg sighed, then nodded to Simon, who quickly flapped out of the cavern. A few minutes later, the raven returned with Trouble in tow. “Did I do something wrong?” he asked, wiping his nose on his sleeve.
Peter, who had since managed to subdue Mrs. Molasses with ropes, rose to meet him. He leaned close, sniffing the boy’s hair. “Trouble,” he said with a smile. “I want you to say hello to your mother.”
There was a long silence.
“My what?” Trouble said, picking a scab on his forearm.
Peter took his hand and led him into the candlelight. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. Just let her see your face.”
“Don’t come any closer!” Mrs. Molasses cowered against the wall, covering her eyes. “Get away from me, you dirty little man!”
Trouble squatted down to get a better look at her. “She’s awful fat,” he said.
This wasn’t working quite as well as Peter had hoped. He knelt beside the woman and gently pulled her hands from her eyes. “Look at him,” he said softly. “I know you haven’t forgotten.”
Mrs. Molasses tried to break away from Trouble’s gaze, but she could not. Slowly, as she stared into his pale blue eyes, something changed within her. Peter heard her breath catch and felt the pulse quicken beneath her skin.
“T-T-Timothy?” she whispered.
Mrs. Molasses was now shaking all over. She reached up to touch the boy’s face. “I had a baby once . . . he had the most beautiful eyes . . . he was . . .” Her great body heaved as she fought back tears. “My baby!” She threw her arms around Trouble, pulling him close against her bosom. “My little Timothy!”
The boy was confused and a bit scared. “Is that really my name?” he asked. “Timothy?”
The woman wept, remembering the horrid day all those years ago when her son was stolen from his crib. “I thought I had lost you forever!” She pulled him closer, and Trouble wept, too—for no child ever truly forgets the love of his mother.
Peg watched all this in silence, thinking of how she had wanted to kill this woman moments before. “What . . . just happened?” she asked.
Peter shrugged. “Underneath all that perfume and grime, something told me they belonged together . . . their smells matched.”
“Ha! Their smells matched!” Sir Tode repeated the words like a satisfying punch line. “I told you he was gifted, but you wouldn’t listen. What do you have to say now?”
Simon hopped down from Her Majesty’s shoulder. “Forgive my previous doubts, Peter Nimble. I see now that your arrival is a miracle indeed.”
The princess could not go so far as to admit she had been wrong, but she, too, was impressed. “You clearly know your way around a pair of shackles,” she said. “Tomorrow we’ll go to the mines, and see if you can’t help the others.” She looked back at Timothy with his mother and could not help but smile. “And thank you.”
This approval, however mild, filled Peter with gladness. “Of course, Your Majesty,” he said, bowing.
For the next few hours, the cold chamber was filled with more warmth and love than all the hearths of the world combined. Timothy shared with his mother the trials and pains of growing up underground, and each new tale made her weep with renewed gratitude that they were together once again. As the afternoon grew longer, the little boy became tired, and his mother took him in her arms, stroking his matted hair and singing hushed lullabies.
It wasn’t until evening that the appearance of Mrs. Molasses, whose real name was Lillian, created trouble. It started when the other girls returned from their posts, bone tired. “Who’s that?” Marbles asked, glaring suspiciously at the grown-up beside Timothy.
“That’s my mum,” the boy said proudly. “Peter rescued her.”
Marbles gasped, taking hold of Peter’s arm. “You found Trouble’
s mother?”
“I couldn’t have done it without Peg’s help,” he said.
A new thought dawned on the girl. “Well, what about my mother? How come Trouble gets one and not me?”
“Yeah,” Giggle said, joining her side. “And what about me?”
Princess Peg stepped in and tried to explain the situation. Just when she had calmed them both, Scrape came in from his scout run. “I heard shouting and came as fast as I could! What’s happened?” His fists were balled, ready for a fight.
“Trouble’s got a mother,” Marbles said. “And he won’t share!”
Scrape, who was Trouble’s closest mate, looked at his friend with hurt in his eyes. “That’s not fair . . . Let us have a turn with her!”
“It’s not like that.” Timothy shoved them all away. “She’s mine!”
“Oh yeah?” they yelled, shoving him right back. “Well, what if we take her?!”
Peg tried her best to break things up. “All of you, quit fighting!” she shrieked in her bossiest voice. “Or I’ll take her right back aboveground where we found her!” But it was no use; bedlam had broken out—complete with crying, spitting, and kicking of dirt.
Lillian could see that stopping the fight would require more than force alone. “Children, please!” She thrust herself between them. “I’m all the mother any of you has got right now. I wish it wasn’t so, but I will have to suffice for the time being. I’m sure Timothy will be perfectly happy to share me with you. Won’t you, darling?”
Timothy looked far from “perfectly happy” about the prospect of sharing his new mother with anyone, let alone several anyones. Instead of answering, he glared at the ground, pushing a mount of dirt around with his toe. “Timothy,” Lillian said in a disapproving tone.
“Fine,” he muttered. “You can have her some, too.”
With that, she encircled all of the children in her great grownup arms, even pulling Princess Peg into the group. Now, for those of you who have been raised with mothers, the significance of this moment may escape you. However cruel and flawed your own mother may seem, she is certainly better than no mother at all. These children had no memories of being held or spanked or fed mush with a spoon. When they were learning to walk or training themselves for the toilet, they had no encouraging voice cheering them on—instead, they had apes ready to eat them alive if they didn’t get back to work. Because of this, Lillian’s promise to be a mother to every one of them was a bit overwhelming. No sooner had she adopted them than they all burst into tears, clinging to their new guardian.