All, that is, except Peter. The young thief stepped back from the group and joined Sir Tode on the cold, dirt floor.
The knight studied the boy’s face in the candlelight. “I’m no mum,” he said. “But I am your friend.”
Peter rested a hand on his matted nape. “My best friend.” And the two of them sat together and listened as Lillian hummed softly to her new family. The Missing Ones had been found at last.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
THE CLOCKWORK BEAST
In rescuing Lillian, Peter had definitively answered all outstanding questions regarding his competency. And so the following morning, Peg and the others set out to show him the mines. “I can’t wait to see those chains fall off just like magic,” Her Majesty exclaimed as she hopped down a rocky stairway. It seemed she had changed her opinion of the young thief overnight. “You should have seen how he popped open Lillian’s locks—underwater, even!”
Peter wasn’t so confident. Yes, he was a skilled thief, but from the sound of it there were a lot of children who needed saving. He wasn’t sure he liked having so many people depending on him. “Let’s hope it’s that easy,” he said under his breath.
Easy, however, it was not. Just getting to the mines proved an ordeal in itself. Peter’s adventure in the Eating Hall had clearly rattled the king, who had since posted sentries in all the tunnels underground; it seemed every path was now blocked off by apes. “How many routes are there?” Peter whispered as they waited in a side cavern for some guards to march past.
“Oh, hundreds,” Timothy said, holding firmly to Lillian’s hand. “We know lots of them, but only the king knows them all.”
“The king knows all of the tunnels?” Peter was somewhat surprised; it had been his experience that adults rarely knew about secret passages in their own homes.
“Every last one,” Marbles said. “He has this magic piece of parchment that lets him see where they all lead and how they connect to each other.”
“You mean a map?” Sir Tode said.
“What’s that?” she asked.
Peter and Sir Tode were shocked—these children had never even learned what a map was.
“Map . . .” Lillian repeated the word with a hint of foggy recollection. “Yes, I do believe I remember that one.” She lit a candle and brought the children closer. “A map is a piece of paper with a picture of the ground on it. Look here: I’m drawing a map of this cavern.” And with this, she took a piece of coal and began to mark the floor.
“That’s just a lumpy circle,” Timothy said. “It doesn’t look anything like this place.”
“True,” she said patiently. “But what if Simon was looking at this room while flying overhead? What would it look like then?”
“Dark?” Giggle offered.
“Like a bunch of rocks?” Scrape said, thinking hard. “Because he’d be looking at the rock floor!”
“Very good, Scrape. And what shape would all those rock walls take? Look around a moment, if you have to.” The children all craned about, staring at the shadowy chamber.
“A circle?” Timothy finally ventured.
Lillian beamed. “Exactly. So that’s what I’ve drawn on my map. And tunnels would be wiggly lines, like this.” The children watched, completely transfixed.
Peg remained with Peter apart from the group. “I learned a little about maps from Simon,” she said. “But I don’t know enough to explain it to them. They needed a real teacher.”
Peter listened to Lillian’s lesson, glad that the children were finally learning something. He had never seen a map, of course, but had grown up creating little diagrams in his mind of how rooms were shaped so that he could avoid bumping into things. In his head, these spaces were always alive—shifting and growing as his other senses filled in more details. “If the king has this fancy map, does he know about the cave where you live?” he asked.
“Not yet,” Peg answered. “We dug that one ourselves. If he does find out about it, we’ll have no place left.”
As Lillian and the children continued discussing the mysteries of cartography, Peter turned his attention to the echoing footsteps of the Night Patrol. He could hear them stomping back and forth, grumbling about how much more fun the rest of the apes must be having right now. Mr. Seamus had taught Peter that when guards get bored, they fall into patterns—and it was a thief’s job to discover that pattern and exploit its weakness. When the ape sentry marched past for the third time, Peter sensed an opportunity. He turned to Peg. “Your Majesty, I can get us by those apes, but it’s too dangerous to move in such a large group. We can’t take the others.”
The girl rose, dusting off her hands. “Peter and I are continuing on,” she said to the children. “I need the rest of you to return to the den and wait for us.”
Her friends loosed a communal grumble. “It ain’t fair.” Scrape jumped to his feet. “How come you and Peter get to do all the fun stuff?”
Before there could be a scene, Lillian intervened. ”Because, Scrape, without you, I’ll have no one to protect me from those terrible apes. You are such a brave fighter, and I would feel so much better with you at my side.” She offered her arm. “Won’t you please escort me?”
The boy gave an embarrassed shrug. “I guess,” he said and shuffled to her side.
Timothy, not to be outdone, grabbed her other arm. “I’ll guard you too, Mum.”
“Me, too!” said the girls.
“How chivalrous, all of you!” Lillian led the children off toward the den. “When we get back, I’ll make you some tea and teach you all about hygiene. Won’t that be fun?”
Peter listened, half wishing he could join her. But he and the princess had more urgent matters to attend to. Peter led the way, with Peg, Simon, and Sir Tode close behind. The small group traveled deeper and deeper underground, stopping to hide whenever they heard the Night Patrol nearby. Eventually they reached a steep tunnel that led toward the mines.
Peter put his hand to the clammy stone. “I can feel something moving down there. Like the whole earth is shaking.”
“It’s the clockwork beast I was telling you about, the one that eats rocks. We’re getting close.”
A rough voice echoed up through the dark. “All right!” an ape said. “Fifteen minutes for nap time, then it’s back to work! Anyone who grumbles gets fed to the dragons!”
“Dragons?” Sir Tode, who was trying his best to clop quietly, caught up with the others. “The king has dragons?”
“I have never heard of such creatures,” Simon said, settling down on Her Majesty’s shoulder. “It is probably a hollow threat.”
Peter sniffed the air for something that might settle the matter—traces of brimstone or venom—but caught only a salty tinge. If he didn’t know better, he would have said the odor reminded him of his hometown. But that was absurd: they were miles underground and half a world away.
The tunnel leveled out and opened onto a narrow landing overlooking an enormous cavern. “Welcome to the mines,” Peg said.
The rumbling had subsided, better allowing Peter to take in his surroundings. The sheer enormity of the chamber stunned him. He felt heat from torches a hundred feet off. He could hear drips of water falling from stalactites fifty feet above him. And he could smell apes marching back and forth across the wet floor, which seemed to stretch into nothing.
“Careful of that ledge,” Peg said, pulling him back. “It’s a long way to the bottom.” She pointed across the chamber for Sir Tode’s benefit. “Over there sleeps the clockwork beast.”
The knight squinted through the torchlight and gasped. “Goodness, Peter . . . she wasn’t kidding.” If the boy were able to see, he would have been greeted with the vision of a nightmarish contraption. The colossal machine was nearly as tall as the cavern itself. The exposed back revealed a tangle of gears, pistons, and springs, all connected to giant circular cages—not unlike the exercise-wheels that scientists use to amuse rodents. Only these particular exercise-wheels were larger
, big enough to fit several people inside. The front of the machine looked like a great iron screw that had burrowed deep into the wall.
The drill, which had been responsible for the rumbling, was currently dormant. Its operators—the children—were all resting in the center of the cave. “The slaves are huddled together in the middle of some flat boulder,” Sir Tode explained. “There’s a moat with dark water surrounding them on all sides.”
Peter could hear apes marching around the perimeter, cracking their whips and threatening the children. Each guard held a long chain that ran along the floor and disappeared under the surface of the moat. “That’s saltwater,” he said, realizing why the smell had seemed familiar to him.
Sir Tode craned his neck and caught a glimpse of a long shadow moving beneath the ripples. “It looks like the apes have something swimming on the other end of those chains.” No sooner did the knight utter this than he saw an enormous creature lift its head out of the water. Its slimy body was thick as a pickle barrel and lined with spiny ribbons of fin. The animal writhed and lunged against its leash, which was fastened to a great iron mask that covered all of its head except the mouth. Every snap of its jaws revealed razor-sharp teeth made of glassy bone. It let out a high-pitched scream that sounded as though it could split rock.
“Good heavens . . .” Sir Tode said. “I had thought they were extinct!” He watched in horror as the hideous monster lashed its three-foot tongue through the air, tasting food (children) nearby. It shrieked and snapped, trying desperately to sink its teeth into the soft flesh just out of range.
The slaves all screamed, dropping their food and rushing to the other end of the island. “Look lively, you maggots,” one of the apes heckled. A creature on the opposite side of the moat shot its head out of the water, shrieking and snapping as well. The guards fell into wild fits of laughter as they watched the children scurry back and forth between the monsters.
“What are those waterborne fiends?” Simon asked, almost mesmerized.
Sir Tode’s mouth had gone dry. “Sea serpents . . . dragons of the deep. They disappeared from our waters a long, long time ago. I remember stories when I was young—it was said that just three of them were responsible for devouring the entire Philosopher’s Peninsula.”
“And there are at least a dozen down there in that moat,” Peter said, counting their shrill voices. This job was getting harder by the minute—no longer just a matter of cracking open some old rusty locks; now there were sea dragons to contend with.
“How is it these monsters can breathe underwater?” asked Peg, who, thanks to her father’s enchantment, had never seen so much as a lint-mollusk in her lifetime.
Simon tried to answer the question as best he could. “In some faraway places there lives a mighty ‘ocean’—water so vast that it can surround entire kingdoms on all sides. It is said that this water circles the world like a scorned lover, forever chasing the moon. Beneath its surface lies a second realm, filled with a magic salt that flows through its currents like the wind through our skies. Myriad strange creatures are born and die within those depths, never to taste the air.” The bird shuddered at this horrifying thought.
The girl nodded, only half understanding what Simon’s words meant—especially the stuff about scorned love. Before she could ask for further details, a metallic voice echoed through the cavern.
“LONGCLAW!” It was coming from a brass horn mounted to the wall. “I NEED TO SEE YOU IN MY ROYAL STRATEGY ROOM THIS INSTANT. WE HAVE URGENT MATTERS TO DISCUSS. GIVE YOUR SERPENT TO ANOTHER GUARD AND GET IN HERE.”
“It’s the king,” Peter said to the others. Apparently, Incarnadine had rigged a sort of voice pipe that ran from another chamber into the mines. Peter had encountered similar contraptions back home, devised for summoning servants and clerks.
“Aw, I was just startin’ to have fun with her,” LongClaw protested.
“I SAID NOW.”
Peter listened as the ape threw his leash down and stomped off into what sounded like a small tunnel. The boy knew that the primary mission was to free those children, but something told him he might want to listen in on whatever “urgent matters” were being discussed. He turned away from the princess and removed the box of Fantastic Eyes from his burgle-sack. He opened the lid and let the golden pair take a good long look at their hiding spot—just in case he needed to make a quick escape. He crouched beside Sir Tode, whispering, “I want to find out what they’re planning down there. And I thought maybe . . . if you were willing, that is . . .” He opened the bag, somewhat sheepishly. “I could really use a pair of eyes.”
“By all means,” the knight said, making himself comfortable inside the sack.
Peter slung the bag over his shoulder. When he approached the edge of the path, Peg grabbed his shirt. “Are you crazy?” she said. “That’s a sheer drop!”
“Don’t worry about us,” he said and pulled himself free. “Just stay out of trouble while we’re gone.” Peter swung his legs over the ledge and disappeared into the shadows.
For those of you who are not thieves, the art of scaling smooth surfaces (called “cobwebbing”) may seem a complete mystery. It is, in fact, one of the most difficult skills for a thief to master, requiring the ability to wedge one’s fingers and toes into impossibly small cracks. As you may imagine, such a process is made considerably more tricky by any degree of moisture. The cave walls were slick, and Peter’s fingers were stiff from tension. Still, slowly, quietly, he made his way to the base of the cavern, careful to keep clear of the flickering torches.
The mines connected to another chamber that was nearly as large as the first. Peter could smell sulfur and sawdust in the air. All around him he heard the distinctive music of carpentry—hammers pounding, axes cutting, wood snapping. Sir Tode looked out of the bag and described what he saw. “It’s a stockpile. They’ve got cannons, powder casks, harpoons . . . Why, they could take the kingdom ten times over with an arsenal this size.” He eyed the huge pile of masts, planks, and oars. “And it looks like they’re building a fleet to match . . . but why build boats when there’s no ocean to carry them?”
Peter heard LongClaw’s voice echoing through a stone archway ahead. He was speaking with Incarnadine. The boy crept through the shadows and slipped inside.
The chamber—which Peter had heard called the royal strategy room—was a small cave lined with torches. LongClaw and the king were huddled around some sort of table in the middle. The lack of echoes made the boy think the walls might be lined with tapestries. Sure enough, he reached out and felt silky fabric hanging beside him. He couldn’t see the design, but he suspected it bore a picture of the king. The master thief slipped behind the tapestry, where he and Sir Tode could listen undetected.
“Still no traces of the girl, Sire,” LongClaw reported. “But my grunts are scouring the tunnels here, here, and here.” He shuffled some papers on the table as he spoke.
“If only you hadn’t crushed that sparrow,” the king said peevishly, “we could have gotten more information out of her. I must find out about this stranger who’s helping my niece.”
“Given how fast he cracked the fleshy woman’s chains, I’d say he’s a lock-pick. Maybe even the same one that freed the princess?”
“That’s doubtful. It’s been years since she broke from her shackles. No, I suspect this is someone new who has come to help rescue her precious subjects. I should like to see him try. No person alive could ever hope to smuggle those brats past my sea serpents.”
“A brilliant precaution, Sire,” the ape said. “One more thing: we received a post from Officer Trolley this morning.”
“Trolley?” Incarnadine chuckled. “What’s the old fool got for us? More magic carpets?”
“It seems a war has broken out between the ravens and thieves. Right now the sides are evenly matched.”
The king considered this news. “That is excellent for our plan,” he said. If ever you have had the chance to spend quality time with a villa
inous mastermind, you will know that these people are extraordinarily fond of discussing their evil schemes out loud. Much to Peter and Sir Tode’s good fortune, it sounded like the king was preparing for just such a monologue. “I want you to send the thieves a barge loaded with weapons,” he went on. “If they survive this battle, I may have some use for them once more—it never hurts to have an army of sunburned maniacs at your beck and call.”
“You really think they’ll trust you again, Sire?”
“Trust me? Of course not. But thieves are cowards, and I am the only one who can rescue them from what’s to come . . . which I will happily do in exchange for their services. Besides, it’s not like they’re swimming in alternatives . . . not yet, at least.” At this, the king suppressed a snigger. Peter did not understand the joke, but he suspected that it had something to do with the big anniversary plans the man mentioned in his address to the people.
“Peter, there’s a stack of scrolls on that table,” Sir Tode said in his quietest voice. “If the king’s making boats, then he must have a way of getting them to sea . . . Those papers might show us how.”
The boy flexed his fingers. “Leave it to me.” He knelt and collected a handful of coughing pebbles as the king and ape continued their conversation.
“What is the status of the dig, LongClaw?”
“If them squigglers are any sign, we’re getting close. There’s already cracks around the drill. I say with a little push, we could be soggy by sunrise.”
“Then push we shall. Ten long years I’ve been trapped in this filthy desert!” He raised his armored fist, and Peter caught the whir of clockwork. “It’s time at last for my reach to expand. The sooner I sail out, the sooner we can recruit more apes—teach them how to speak and fight like you.” The king clapped the creature’s shaggy hump. “Imagine that, LongClaw: ten thousand apes under your command . . . and you, of course, under mine.” The two shared a conspiratorial chuckle.