Peter, groggy from the blow, was having difficulty following their conversation. “Wh-wh-what happened?” He propped himself up with his arms. “What are you all talking about?”
Simon ignored the question. “Why didn’t you tell us about these earlier, Sir Tode?”
“We were instructed by the professor to keep them secret. Can’t believe I didn’t make the connection before . . . seems rather obvious now.”
Peg ran to Peter and helped him to his feet. “You should have told us,” she exclaimed. “You should have told me.”
The boy couldn’t follow exactly what they were talking about, but he was starting to form an educated guess. “I didn’t tell you because it’s none of your beeswax,” he muttered, rubbing his bruised skull. He pulled away and went to inspect what had caused the stir. It was just as he had feared: the Haberdasher’s mysterious box had broken open, and lying on the deck were his six Fantastic Eyes.
“All this time, they were right there in your bag!” Peg tried to touch one, but Peter pushed her hand away.
“They’re mine.” He fired a scowl in Sir Tode’s direction. “And they’re supposed to be a secret.”
“There was no getting around it, Peter. When they saw what was inside, I had to come clean.”
Simon shook his head. “The eyes . . . Mordecai . . . It all fits too well . . .”
“What are you squawking about?” Peter replaced the last of the eyes and closed the box.
The raven hopped close and rested a talon on his hand. “I need you to listen to me carefully, my child, because what I am about to say concerns you a great deal.”
The boy was curious despite himself. “I’m listening,” he said, holding the box to his chest.
“When Lord Incarnadine stole this kingdom so many years ago, he had only one fear: that someday a true heir would grow up to avenge his murdered parents. And so he ordered his apes to hunt down and kill the king’s newborn son.”
“Why not the daughter, while he was at it?” Peter grumbled. He was still a bit sore at Peg for that knock on the head.
“I cannot say for certain. I suspect that in his arrogance, Incarnadine assumed a girl would be less of a threat to his immense power. And so he instead had her locked away with the other children.”
“Why waste a perfectly good slave?” Peg said bitterly.
“Why indeed? I have no doubt Her Majesty’s uncle has since revised his opinion.” The old raven studied the girl with a touch of pride. He turned back to Peter. “Regarding the second heir, the boy, Incarnadine was unsuccessful. This is because the child’s mother, Queen Magnolia, spirited him away before he could be captured. She delivered him into the care of her personal guards—myself and a raven named Mordecai—and gave us our final mission: save her unchristened son.”
“Prince NoName,” Peter said.
“We knew that Lord Incarnadine would stop at nothing to capture this child. The apes were searching the palace high and low for a male infant with emerald-green eyes, just like his father . . . just like the ones you hold now.”
Suddenly, the box in Peter’s arms felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. He bit his lip, almost afraid to ask. “What happened to the baby?”
“We had few options. We knew that so long as the child wore those eyes, he would be in grave danger.” The raven hesitated, almost unable to speak the words. “And so we blinded him to protect his true identity from ever being discovered.” The horrid memory sent a shiver through his plumage. “After that, we were able to spirit him away without detection. Mordecai took the screaming baby in a basket and carried him beyond our ken. He was never heard from again.”
Peter was having trouble hearing, feeling, smelling, or tasting anything now; his whole being was overwhelmed with memories, long forgotten. “When I was a baby,” he whispered, “some sailors found me floating in the water . . . there was a raven perched on my head . . . and my eyes had been pecked out.”
“Peter . . .” Peg stepped closer and touched her hand to his face. “You are Prince NoName.”
PART THREE
EMERALD
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
THE RETURN of NONAME
I’m . . . what?” Peter took a step backward; his knees had suddenly grown very weak.
“Do you not see, child?” Simon said, momentarily forgetting that Peter, in fact, could not see. “You are a true heir of HazelPort.”
Tears welled in Peg’s emerald-green eyes. “I just knew you would come back!”
Peter had no idea what to say. A minute before, he’d been a common orphan, and suddenly he was a prince? He didn’t know the first thing about courtly manners, or fancy clothes, or politics—he was a hardened criminal! “I—I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” he stammered. “It’s some kind of mistake. Those eyes . . . they’re not even mine.”
Sir Tode scoffed. “Utter nonsense. The professor made those eyes for you alone. Perhaps he knew something you didn’t?”
The boy allowed himself to consider the question. Maybe, just maybe, Professor Cake did have a more specific reason for sending Peter to this place? He opened the lid of the wooden box and smelled the sweet odor of the emerald-green eyes—could they really belong to a prince?
Sir Tode chuckled. “Face it, friend. NoName has a name.”
Peter steadied himself against the iron bell. “I’m sorry. I just need a moment to sort all this out.”
Simon alighted beside him. “Your Majesty. It is clear you are startled by this discovery. But I tell you without flattering that it surprises me not a bit. Justice often works in ways beyond our understanding. And when I look at the courage and sacrifice you have already shown on this quest, I see a true prince indeed.”
Peg burst into sobs, throwing her arms around Peter. “I knew it! It’s really you!” Peter didn’t like touching girls all that much, but he thought it might be allowed if they were brother and sister.
“It’s all right. I’m here now,” he said, patting her on the back. “We’re together again.” Somehow, speaking it out loud made it more real. Perhaps it was possible that he was a lost prince with a twin sister? And that meant the note, the sea voyage, and the deserts weren’t all just random occurrences . . . they were his destiny. Peter had journeyed across the world—beyond the borders of the map—to free his subjects and reclaim his crown.
The boy returned his sister’s embrace, squeezing her with all his strength. He could feel her heartbeat against his own, and he knew he was finally home.
When all tears were spent, Peter let go of his sister and addressed the group, a new hope in his voice. “However stupidly I might have acted before, I was right about one thing: unlocking the children’s shackles leaves them no more free than their parents. They’re all still under the king’s control. If we’re really going to save these people, we have to liberate them once and for all.”
Peg took her brother’s hand. “How do we do that?”
He loosed a slow breath. “We’re going to kill the king.”
Peter knew they had little time to waste. He could already feel the setting sun dipping below the clock face, which meant suppertime was coming soon—and he did not want to be on this platform when the Bedtime Bell struck. But coming up with a plan for assassinating the king seemed impossible; Incarnadine and his forces were just too powerful. Peter thought more than once about donning the green eyes in hope that they might grant him great speed or strength, but he knew the time was not yet right—he could feel it. Until that feeling changed, he would have to rely on his own wits and abilities.
After yet another heated argument over poisoning the king’s wine—Peg refused, knowing he sometimes used children as food-testers—Peter decided to approach the problem from a different angle. Professor Cake had told him to trust his nature, but Peter wasn’t sure which nature the man was referring to. Was he a prince or a thief? Having exhausted all princely solutions, the boy decided to imagine their situation as a lock that he had to open. What type of lock
was it? Well, it was the sort that could kill you, one rigged with all manner of booby traps. There was Incarnadine, protected by his deadly clockwork armor. Supporting him was a horde of vicious apes and at least a dozen horrible sea serpents. Soon, hundreds of thieves would be joining him as well.
If their situation resembled any lock, it would definitely be the Bigelow Brank. The Brank contains a mechanism that, if jarred, releases a thousand spikes from the ceiling down on the perpetrator. The only way to crack the Bigelow Brank is to pick it oh so delicately, and then at the exact moment the latch releases, you have to smash the entire lock with a sledgehammer. When Peter was six, Mr. Seamus had forced him to open one at the local treasury. The boy had no difficulty picking the lock, but was not strong enough with his safe-mallet. The release mechanism went off and great spikes shot down at him. Were it not for his being so thin and frail, he would have been skewered like a shish kebab. As it was, the spikes missed his vitals—if only by a hairbreadth.
So, since their mission seemed to be this type of lock, Peter knew that two things would have to happen at the same time: First, he would have to free the captured slaves (this was the lock-picking bit); and second, he would have to smash the king and his army (this was the sledgehammer bit). The boy knew exactly which part would be hardest. “I’m going to need reinforcements,” he concluded.
“Well, you’ve got us three,” Sir Tode offered. “But I don’t suppose that’s what you meant.”
“What about the slave children?” Peg said. “If we can arm them, my subjects will fight.” She corrected herself. “I mean our subjects.”
Peter gave his sister a smile. “You’re not the only one who will have to get used to saying that. Do you think there’s enough of them to overpower the apes?”
“I don’t know. But they’ll die trying.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Peter said. “Plus, they can’t fight until they’re free from those chains. There’s just no way I can unlock them all in time.”
“Maybe you could teach me to do it?” Peg said eagerly.
“Lock-picking takes years to master, and even if you could learn, that’s still just two of us. What I really need is an extra hundred pairs of hands.”
“If only my brethren were here,” Simon said. “Their beaks could finish the job in seconds.” The old bird tensed his talons, imagining the conflict raging just across the chasm. He would give anything to be battling alongside Captain Amos and the others. “But alas, there is no way to reach them. The great chasm is too wide. It seems the Just Deserts are a perfect prison indeed.”
“But what good is a prison if you can’t check up on it?” Peter said, turning to Sir Tode. “The king mentioned communicating with Officer Trolley. And he ordered LongClaw to send weapons . . . he must have a secret tunnel or bridge of some kind.”
“And you think we should tag along,” Sir Tode said, nodding. “Fair enough . . . but how do we find this LongClaw chap? It’s an awfully big palace, and we haven’t much time.”
Just then, they heard a roar from below. “Oi! Who left this ruddy hatch open?!”
The four were on their feet in a flash. “Apes!” Peter said, stuffing maps into his bag. “We’ve got to get out of here, quick!”
“Hold on.” The princess stopped him and pulled several parchments from his grip. “I think I have a better idea.”
Jawbone was a simple ape with a simple job: guard the clock tower. His post was a stool set behind the maintenance door; he had to make sure that no one passed without showing papers signed by the king. For ten years he’d performed this rather tedious task without so much as a single incident. It helped that the door was cleverly concealed behind a rosebush; since tramping out-of-bounds was strictly forbidden, it was highly unlikely any human in the palace even knew the door existed—and how could someone walk through a door they didn’t know existed? Still, it was Jawbone’s sworn duty, day in and day out, to protect the tower with his life. His very, very, very boring life.
All of that changed when the king’s address was spoiled by two rotten children and an overflowing sewer system. Immediately after the attack, Jawbone had been called away from his stool to join the rest of the horde for “routine inspections” throughout the palace. The change was as exciting as it was unexpected; Jawbone had gotten to spend nearly two whole days bursting through doors, smashing furniture, shredding sheets, and generally terrifying the hapless citizens. All things considered, it had been the highlight of his military career.
But Jawbone’s blissful mood was spoiled when he returned to his usual post to find that someone had propped open the secret door with his stool. The discovery left the ape reeling. What would the king do to him for letting an intruder slip by? “Oi!” he snarled, charging inside the tower. “Who left this ruddy hatch open?!”
The ape did not climb the steps like a human; instead, he swung and bounded up the wooden rail, which groaned under his weight. “Attention, intruder! I know you’re up there!” If there was an intruder, Jawbone would make certain he or she wouldn’t live to expose the breach—but what if it was a she? What if he had finally found that meddlesome princess? That would be luck indeed!
He burst onto the platform, swinging his mace over his head. “Come here, you royal snot!” But there was no princess waiting for him. Nothing but grinding gears and a gently rocking bell. “Just my ruddy luck,” he said, disappointed at the thought of not getting to eat a princess.
Glancing down at his feet, Jawbone noticed some papers strewn across the deck. The ape took them in his paws and studied the images. He could not read, but the pictures were obvious enough. Someone, whoever it was, was planning a secret attack on the palace—complete with warships and rival apes! A greedy smile played across the beast’s swollen lips as he imagined presenting this most important information to his commander. He would be rewarded for sure—perhaps even be put on slave duty, where he’d get to beat children all day long!
“I gotta find LongClaw!” Jawbone dropped his mace and scooped up the scrolls in both arms. He snorted giddily as he stomped down the steps, out of the tower, and into the palace.
Peter, Sir Tode, Simon, and Peg all listened from their hiding place inside the giant bell. They could hear the guard shouting below, bursting with excitement: “Hey, BloodHorn! Maul! You two seen LongClaw anywhere? It’s really, really, really important!”
Peter smirked as he listened. “I never imagined we’d be using the enemy as a guide.” He nodded to his sister. “Good thinking, Your Majesty.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Peg said back. “Now, let’s get down there and see if he can’t help us find LongClaw.”
Following the ape’s trail was easy enough (between Peter’s keen sense of smell and Jawbone’s big mouth, it would have been hard to miss), and the long shadows of the afternoon created plenty of dark places for the four of them to hide as they ran up stairs and across bridges. “That’s strange,” Peter said as he hoisted Sir Tode onto a ledge. “We seem to be climbing upward.” He had assumed they were going to be led underground—how else could they cross the great chasm?
As they traveled, the group worked out the remainder of their plan: once they found the king’s secret passage, Simon would use it to travel back to the Just Deserts and get the other ravens. “Together, my brethren and I will make short work of those cursed shackles,” the old bird said with relish. Then he dropped his head, remembering that his own beak was no more. “Rather, I will have the honor of watching them do so.”
“He makes a good point,” Peg said with concern. “If Simon lost his beak trying to peck open a lock, what’s to say that won’t happen to the rest of the ravens? We can’t afford to disarm our guards like that.”
Peter nodded. “Actually, I’ve been thinking about that same thing. I was able to examine those shackles firsthand when you chained me up in the den.” Peg gave an embarrassed groan, no doubt remembering how she had tried kidnapping her own brother. Peter went
on. “I noticed that the locks were covered in rust, which meant the mechanism was too clogged to open properly. I’m pretty sure that’s the reason Simon’s beak snapped. But if we were able to somehow oil the locks beforehand . . .”
“I know just the thing!” Peg grabbed his arm excitedly. “The slave kitchen has barrels and barrels of scouring grease. I can steal some, no problem!” The recent discovery that her long-lost brother was a great thief had produced a rather strange effect on Her Majesty—she was now desperately eager to enter into the profession herself.
“We’ll do it together,” he said, smiling.
“Brilliant!” Sir Tode clopped his hoof on the stone. “The war’s as good as won! We’ve got an army and a way to free the children. The only thing left is to hire a bard who can commemorate our bravery in a song.”
“That, and the sea serpents,” Simon reminded him.
“Oh, drat.” The knight’s voice faltered. “I’d forgotten about them.”
“We ravens cannot fight in water. Sir Tode, you are the only one among us who has killed a dragon before. We look to you for guidance.”
The knight emitted a faint squeak from someplace in the back of his throat. Sensing his friend’s discomfort, Peter spoke up. “Sir Tode is a brave knight, but defeating all those sea serpents will take a little more than that.”
“He is a dragon slayer,” Simon said plainly. “What more could we possibly need?”
The boy hesitated. There are times when being a leader is less about having the right answer than about having an answer. Peter knew the others were looking to him for a response—his friend most of all. If he didn’t say something quick, then their faith in the whole operation might falter. “Just leave it to me,” he lied. “I have a plan.”
Right about this time, Jawbone found LongClaw at the base of an enormous stone turret. He began boasting to his superior about the tremendous discovery he’d made in the clock tower, even going so far as to suggest a few ideas about how he might be appropriately rewarded.