Their revelries were cut short by the sound of light footsteps outside the chamber. “What is it now?” the king snapped, not a little irritated at being interrupted in the middle of a good evil laugh.
LongClaw stomped into the tunnel and returned a moment later. “Nobody outside, Sire.” He sniffed the air. “But I do smell somethin’ about.”
“Not likely. These mines are crawling with apes. No one would be that . . .” Here his words trailed off, for as he glanced back toward the table he spied a young boy stuffing maps, blueprints, and ledgers into a cloth bag.
Obviously, Peter hadn’t counted on being noticed in the middle of his theft. But life, as you know, often has a way of surprising us at the most inopportune moments. He had been too reckless with his cough, and now he and Sir Tode were trapped.
“If it isn’t our little stranger,” Incarnadine said with a frown. Despite having the upper hand at the present moment, he wasn’t pleased that this intruder had gotten so close.
Peter backed away from the table and slipped a hand into his burgle-sack. “Greetings, Your Highness,” he said, rummaging through his bag. “I enjoyed your speech yesterday morn—”
“Shuddup, lock-pick!” The ape grabbed Peter and slammed him against the wall. The boy did not cry out, but instead dug deeper into his bag.
“What’d you have in mind, Sire?” LongClaw ripped a torch from its bracket and brought it close to the boy’s face. “Should I gobble him raw, or should I roast him first?” Peter winced as the flames flicked against his cheek.
“Patience, LongClaw. We wouldn’t want to kill ‘Mr. Trousers’ just yet. Not when there’s oh so much I have to ask him.” Incarnadine stepped closer, and Peter heard the delicate clockwork spinning beneath his armor. There came a shink! sound, and then he felt something sharp against his skin. The blade seemed to be spring-loaded, attached to his forearm. “Why don’t we start with your real name?” the king said, running his weapon along the boy’s jaw.
“M-m-my name is Peter Nimble.”
“Peter Nimble?” The king snorted. “Why, that’s even worse than Trousers. Tell me, Peter, how did you manage to undo the Molasses woman’s shackles?”
“I . . . I have a key,” he answered weakly. “It’s inside my bag.”
LongClaw dropped the torch. “Didn’t nobody tell you? Keys are strictly outlawed in this here kingdom.” He reached into Peter’s bag in search of contraband.
The next moment, the bag jerked to one side. “Take that!” a voice cried from within. “And that!”
LongClaw roared, yanking his paw free. Sir Tode came with it—jaws clenched firmly around the beast’s shaggy paw. “Gahhh! Get it offa me!” the ape snarled and flung Sir Tode across the chamber.
“The cat you can eat,” Incarnadine said before returning to his own prey. But when he raised his fist, he saw he was holding not the wrist of a little boy, but an extinguished torch of roughly the same thickness.
Sir Tode’s bite had been all Peter needed to slip free and scab the king. The master thief scooped up the scrolls from the ground and dashed to his friend’s side. He pulled his bandage away to reveal a pair of shining, golden eyes. “Long live the True King!” he said, and the next instant Peter, Sir Tode, and the scrolls were gone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
THE MUTT’S NOGGIN
A moment later, Peter and Sir Tode reappeared beside Peg and Simon. They tumbled to the ground, sending scrolls everywhere.
The princess was furious, and not a little startled. “You could have gotten us killed!” She swatted Peter’s ear with a map. “I sent Simon down to check on you and he was nearly spotted—and what are these ridiculous papers?”
“We had to find out what they were talking about,” the boy said, quickly slipping the box of Fantastic Eyes back into his bag. He retied the bandage over his sockets before the others could notice.
Simon hopped closer. “Your head bleeds, Sir Tode. Are you badly wounded?”
“Only my honor,” the knight said weakly. “We fled before I had a proper chance to fight back . . . Why, another minute, and I’d have given that ape a gash to match my own!”
Peg returned to the subject at hand. “That was incredibly stupid—both of you. I knew you weren’t ready for this task.”
Peter, who had fought so hard to win the princess’s trust, resented this. “Sorry if we inconvenienced you. I figured we might want to know the king’s plans before we rushed into anything.” He snatched the scroll from her hand and stuffed it into his bag. “Besides, one of these ‘ridiculous papers’ might just show us how to break out of this place.”
Their argument was cut short when LongClaw stormed into the mines and howled the alarm. Apes scattered in all directions in search of a “brat with golden eyes.”
Before Simon or Peg could ask what that meant, Peter started for the tunnels. “Let’s go, Sir Tode. Guess we’ll just have to risk our necks for Her Majesty some other time.”
As they traveled back to the hideout, the two children maintained a frigid silence. Peg felt bad about the way she had spoken to Peter, but could not come up with any good way of saying “I’m sorry” that didn’t also say “I’m wrong.” Peter, on the other hand, was too busy compiling a list of all the thankless sacrifices he’d made to even contemplate an apology. Sir Tode and Simon did not speak, but they exchanged occasional looks meant to convey that they, at least, bore no hard feelings.
As with most squabbles, the fight was forgotten when the children encountered a uniting threat. They found one as soon as they reached the hideout: it was empty, their few provisions smashed to bits. There was no sign of Lillian or the children anywhere.
Peter drew his fishhook and sniffed the air. The stench was overpowering. “Apes,” he said somberly.
“They must have been waiting here when the others returned.” Peg’s voice was tremulous. She knelt and picked up a scrap of cloth, torn from Lillian’s apron. “If I hadn’t sent them back here alone—”
Peter cut her off. “Then we’d be dead, too. You said it yourself: the king was searching the tunnels. This wasn’t our fault.”
“Not ours . . . mine,” she said softly. “They trusted me to lead them.” She turned away from the others to hide her tears.
Peter listened to her, and his frustration melted into genuine concern. “We will find them, Your Majesty. You have my word. But right now we have to leave before the creatures come back.”
“And go where?” She threw down the cloth and stood. “We’re trapped! The king knows every tunnel in the kingdom.”
Peter couldn’t help but share in her despair. Where could they go? He shook his head. “There’s always the mutt’s noggin.”
The others were silent.
“It’s an old thieves’ proverb,” he said. “The safest flea is on the mutt’s noggin. It doesn’t matter if our location is secret, or even secure—it just has to be the one place our enemy isn’t looking.” Peter slid his fishhook back into his bag. “Your uncle thinks we’re underground, so we should go as far from underground as possible . . . and I think I know just the spot.”
While sneaking through a sleeping palace was simple enough, moving during daylight was another thing altogether. It seemed like everywhere Peter and the others turned, they found apes and citizens on the lookout for the dread Mr. Trousers, aka Peter Nimble, aka the Golden-Eyed Assassin. It was several hours before they reached the mutt’s noggin—also known as the belfry of the clock tower.
“Not like any clock I’ve ever seen,” Sir Tode had observed upon reaching the top of the rickety stairs. “Why, there are no hands at all. Just a blank face, ticking and ticking . . .”
They were on a small wooden platform surrounded by enormous clockworks. Peg touched the cog behind her, which was three times her height. “These same magic wheels live inside the walls,” she said. “They make the locks open and close.” She pulled her hand back as the cog lurched forward.
Simon was just as mystif
ied as the princess. “And these chimes,” he said, hopping toward an iron bell. “They somehow call the sun, commanding its rise and fall.” He pecked the rim, which responded with a soft pinggggg. He fluttered to a window, checking to see whether it looked any darker outside. “The king alone controls their magic.”
Peter attempted—once again—to explain that there was nothing magic about locks or clocks, but Simon and Peg could not be made to understand. “No,” she insisted. “It’s dark magic my uncle brought back from far-off lands.”
Peter was starting to think that the “far-off lands” Incarnadine had visited were no more special than his port town. While no one back there had ever seen talking ravens or enchanted deserts, even the children understood basic scientific principles. He remembered what Professor Cake had said about distant seas being ruled by laws other than reason. He hadn’t before considered how that might limit the people living there. “Well, friend,” he said to Sir Tode, “it sounds like it will fall on you to decipher these.” He took the scrolls from his bag and spread them out on the floor.
When unrolled, the papers were large enough for Sir Tode to stand right on top of them. The knight paced from end to end, keeping his nose close to the markings. “Good heavens . . .” He gave a bitter snort. “The king wasn’t kidding.”
“What is it?” Peg said, kneeling to examine the strange papers.
Sir Tode pointed a hoof at an image before him. “Your Majesty, this is a picture—a map—of the mines. And surrounding them, just beyond the rocks, there’s a ring of dark blue.”
“Is that the sky?” she asked.
“No, it’s water. Lots of it. And that infernal machine is headed straight for the stuff. All those years of digging—your uncle wasn’t searching for jewels or ore . . . he was looking for the ocean.”
“Then he is a fool,” Simon said. “Lord Hazelgood ensured that our shores would never again touch the seas.”
“But the king’s going beneath the shores,” Peter explained. Even though he couldn’t see the map, he had understood the basic principle. “It makes perfect sense. Sir Tode and I overheard him say he was finally going to be free of the curse—this is how he’s going to do it.”
“But it’s an enchantment,” the princess insisted as if invoking an immutable scientific law. “You can’t just go around it . . . can you?”
Sir Tode had spent the better part of his life studying enchantments and knew that they were notoriously riddled with loopholes. “I fear he can, Your Majesty. If those sea dragons are any indication, he’s already made some cracks in the foundation. It’s only a matter of time before he breaks through in earnest.”
“Then it is just as Lord Hazelgood feared so long ago,” Simon said. “Incarnadine will be free to sail out and besiege other kingdoms.”
“Precisely. He’s got all the makings of a war fleet down there—just waiting to be assembled.” Sir Tode nosed through the pile of scrolls and pulled out another one with his teeth. “Goodness, Peter . . . this is one of our maps, like the one Professor Cake showed us. I can see my home valley, and your port town . . . Why, he’s moving out in every direction. By the time he’s through, half the world will be under his flag.”
The princess had never heard of those far-off places, but she imagined the rulers there would fare no better than her father. “How could he take all those lands? Wouldn’t he need a bigger army?”
“He’s getting one,” Peter said darkly. “We heard him bragging about how he planned to gather more apes and train them to fight.”
“And don’t forget the thieves,” Sir Tode added. “They’ve apparently agreed to help in exchange for their freedom. Apes are smuggling weapons into the Just Deserts as we speak.”
“Then my brothers are doomed,” Simon said. There was pain in his voice. “Sir Tode, you have seen the places drawn on these parchments. You alone know whether his plan could succeed.”
The knight sighed. “I have seen many impossible things in my travels. But before coming here I had never heard of a man who could leash the dragons of the sea, or teach wild beasts to speak like men. Incarnadine carries with him both the magic of your land and the advancements of ours. I fear for us all.”
Peter thought about his town: its sailors, markets, and merchants. What if King Incarnadine could really do it? Would Peter ever be able to go back? The idea of never again smelling the salty port air or treading the puddled alleys filled him with a sadness he could not explain. Like it or not, that place was a part of him. Thinking of his old life reminded Peter of how weak he really was—he couldn’t even fight Mr. Seamus, let alone an armored tyrant. He was just as helpless as the slaves. With this came a new, even more disturbing thought. “Sir Tode,” he asked, “what happens to the children when the drill breaks through?”
The knight hesitated. “From what I could see, their chains were bolted to that rock in the cavern floor. If they’re still down there when that water comes . . . they’ll be drowned.”
The boy’s heart sank; Incarnadine’s plan was a death sentence. If Peter failed in his mission, the blood of all those children would be on his hands. “How . . . how many days do we have?” he said numbly.
“None, I’m afraid. If we’re to believe that ape fellow, the king’s drill should break through by morning. Which means you have to free them tonight.”
“All of those locks in one night?” The boy clutched his trembling fingers.
Peg gripped his hands in her own. “It’s a good thing we have Peter Nimble—the greatest thief who ever lived.”
Peter, however, could not share in her hope. “Princess, there are hundreds of children down there. Their shackles are all rusted shut. Even ignoring the apes and sea serpents, a job that size would be . . .” His words fell short. He knew it might take days, even weeks, to get through all those chains. And they had just a few hours. “Not even I can pull that off,” he said.
Peter felt her grip loosen slightly. “Don’t talk that way,” she said. “Of course you can.”
The girl’s words filled Peter with shame. He could feel the desperation pouring out from her, from Simon, and even from Sir Tode. And he hated himself for not being able to answer it. “There’s just not enough time . . . I’m sorry.”
Peg let go of his hands. “You came all this way to help us, and now you’re telling me it’s too late?”
“I told you: It can’t be done,” he said, more insistent. His shame was fast turning into frustration. “Just be thankful we’re not locked down there with them.” Already the old instinct of self-preservation was kicking in, and the master thief found himself considering his options. “The most I could do is steal a boat—then at least we could escape ourselves.”
“That’s not good enough.” Peg stood up, put her hands on her hips, and spoke with all the authority she could muster. “I command you to rescue those children!”
Peter jumped to his feet. “I’m not one of your subjects you can just boss around!” All of a sudden he felt incredibly tired—tired of running, tired of getting kidnapped, tired of feeling hungry and cold. But most of all, he was tired of being responsible for people he barely knew. “Besides, what’s the point? Even if I could pick all the locks, what good would it do? We’re still trapped here with apes! Thieves! Sea serpents!” He grabbed a scroll from the floor and waved it in her face. “Don’t you get it, Princess? WE HAVE NO CHANCE!”
Little girls, especially royal ones, do not enjoy being yelled at. As much as Peg projected the confidence of a strong leader, she could still be hurt. Her face was now red, and she was fighting back tears. “Fine!” she shouted. “Then we’ll all just die! You stupid, blind, selfish . . . BOY!” She knocked the parchment from his hands.
“YOU’RE the selfish one!” he spat back. “This isn’t about the kids at all, it’s about you getting revenge for your dumb parents.” Peter knew it was an awful thing to say, but he didn’t care anymore. “And by the way, I’m glad I’m blind . . . that way I don’t have
to look at your ugly face!”
She lunged at him before he could say another word. Peter had not been expecting the assault, and he failed to jump clear in time. Within seconds, both children were on the deck, cursing, kicking, and scratching with all their might. Peter was a brilliant escape-artist and hard to pin down, but Peg was far stronger and knew a thing or two about headlocks. It was an even match. Sir Tode and Simon looked at each other and sighed. They watched the children roll across of the floor, trading insults back and forth.
“YOU’RE the ugly one!”
“YOU are!”
“No, YOU are!”
Peter had one leg around Peg’s neck and clutched her hair with both hands. The princess was cramming several fingers into his nose and using her free hand to grab whatever she could to batter the boy with: a stray cog . . . a wooden plank . . . Sir Tode . . .
Peter wriggled free, rolled over, and pinned his adversary to the ground. “YOU are!” he said with a triumphant laugh. “Ha! I just beat you blindfolded! What do you say to that?!”
In reply, Peg took hold of the box of Fantastic Eyes and brought it down on his head, knocking him out cold.
As Peter came to, he expected the others to be crowded around him, asking if he was all right, feeling good and sorry for letting things get so out of hand. Instead, they were huddled in the corner, talking in hushed tones.
“Sweet Justice . . .” Simon murmured. “Is it truly possible?”
Sir Tode gave an amused chuckle. “Well, that certainly would explain the quarreling.”
“Are mine that pretty?” the princess asked.