“Hey!” an ape shouted from the far wall. “Why’s that wheel stopped?! Start movin’ before I crack your noggins wide open!”
The children resumed marching, Peg with them. She watched as they passed the goblet amongst themselves and rubbed the substance onto their rusted shackles. She looked at the hundreds of other slaves around her who would need to do the same. The job for which she had summoned a hero was now in the hands of children. She glanced behind her at the waterline, which was creeping ever closer. “Wherever you are, Peter,” she whispered. “Hurry up.”
Were it not for the fact that he was already in the deep end, Peter was at risk of going off it. None of the other fish would talk to him on account of his being a ferocious sea monster—eels, sharks, and even giant squids swam the other way when they saw him coming. Peter tried to make his voice sound tame and innocent, but every word he uttered—no matter how polite—came out as a bloodcurdling shriek. He was so desperate for help that he resorted to cornering fish against the reef just so he could talk to them. He didn’t like bullying harmless creatures, but had no other way to get them to listen.
“DO YOU KNOW GOOD OL’ FREDERICK?!” he would shriek.
“P-p-please, M-m-mister Serpent! Don’t eat me up!” the flounder, or shark, or narwhal would beg. “I have a wife and guppies!”
“I DON’T WANT TO EAT YOU!” Peter would bellow, somehow unable to not yell. “I’M JUST LOOKING FOR GOOD OL’ FREDERICK! HE’S A DOGFISH!” By this point, the other creature would usually have passed out from fear, forcing the serpent to continue his search elsewhere.
After several hours, Peter finally gave up. His fins were strained from swimming, his throat was sore from screaming, and his stomach was sick from drinking. Even worse, he had no idea where he was anymore. “I DON’T EVEN KNOW HOW TO GET BACK,” he hissed, collapsing onto a bed of kelp. “THIS IS TOTALLY HOPELESS!”
It was in that moment of total hopelessness that Peter heard a faint voice echo through the water. “Hey, mate!” the voice hollered. “Heard you was lookin’ for a dogfish?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
THE WINDS of WAR
Steering the flying machine was proving more difficult than Sir Tode had originally anticipated. In all honesty, he had sort of hoped the thing would run on its own, like all the king’s other contraptions. This vessel, however, demanded a bit more input from its operator. It took several minutes of experimentation with the damper before he was able to keep the craft at a level altitude. The rest was straightforward enough; two pedals were linked to a small propeller that generated just enough wind to push the machine forward. Having no hands made working the rudder a bit tricky, but after some practice, Sir Tode was able to use his forehooves to control the levers and keep the vessel on course.
For Simon, the difficulty came in discovering that he was rather prone to airsickness. When flying with his own wings, all was fine, but perched aboard a rocking basket, he was poor-footed and bilious. After one particularly nasty bout of purging, the bird decided he would glide alongside the basket, landing only when his wings got tired.
In the meantime, Simon busied himself with throwing all the weapons in the basket overboard in the hope that it might speed their journey. He took up pikes, shields, nets, and knives in his charred talons and tossed them all into the great chasm below. As the flying machine became lighter, it did begin to move faster. Soon, flying alongside the craft became impossible, and Simon was forced to give up and ride in the basket the rest of the way, suffering through the occasional wave of nausea.
The palace soon disappeared behind them, blending into the dim horizon. They flew for many miles like this, with only a vast darkness surrounding them on all sides. Simon spent much of the time staring into the abyss, no doubt steeling himself for the battle to come.
Sir Tode was the first one to spot land on the other side. “Enchanted desert ho!” he exclaimed, squinting into the horizon. “Wait, scratch that. It’s just some big, dusty cloud.”
Simon hopped to the edge of the basket. “Those are the Winds of War,” he said. “The ravens’ wings are beating with such fury that they summon a phantom in the air, which draws the very stones from the earth, stinging the enemy’s eyes.”
“That means the Royal Guard is alive and flapping!” Sir Tode said.
“It means they are desperate,” Simon corrected.
The knight took a lever between his teeth. “Then we haven’t a moment to spare!” He tipped the rudder, piloting their vessel into the storm.
The winds became stronger, and Sir Tode had to raise the booms on either side to prevent the ship from capsizing. They reached the desert border and found what remained of the Nest, now a mountain of splinters. They could make out the shapes of bodies scattered among the wreckage—casualties from both sides. A trail of corpses led away from the border and disappeared behind a bank. “Looks like the battle’s moved inland,” the knight said, steering them on.
As they approached, a hundred violent sounds swirled through the air below—metal striking claw, beak tearing flesh, stones crushing bone. Unable to see through the sandy gusts, the pair let their imaginations fill in the grim details. Individual voices were becoming clear now. Sir Tode could hear the thief named Twiddlesticks shouting orders above the din: “Clip away, chums! Tear up your skivvies if you have to! Just keep them pigeons down!” It sounded like the thieves had used up all their nets and were resorting to making sacks from whatever scraps of cloth they could find.
There were smaller voices moving more quickly through the cloud. “Ravens deploy!” one of them squawked.
Simon’s talons gripped the edge of the basket. It had been many years since he had heard that caw. “Captain Amos,” he whispered.
Another familiar voice rang out. “Slash those canvases! We must free our brothers!”
“And Titus?” Simon was now beside himself. “Make haste, Sir Tode!”
“I’m trying, but these blasted winds keep knocking us back!” Sir Tode bit down on some rigging and pulled with his full weight. “Can you make out who’s winning?”
Simon blinked, trying to listen. “Our numbers sound depleted. Ravens rely on a single leader to guide them in battle, but thieves are disorganized and unpredictable—I fear this chaos is working to the traitors’ advantage.” He loosed an anxious breath. “Still, Captain Amos is a great warrior. As long as he is on the wing, Justice will prevail.”
The knight was not so confident. It sounded to his ear like the thieves were having significantly more fun than the birds. There was a giddy edge to their shouts of “Revenge!” and “Get ’em!” that made him nervous.
The flying machine broke through the eye of the storm, at last revealing the battle. Feathers and flesh covered the dunes. Directly below, they saw a great pit filled with canvas sacks. The ravens inside the bags were thrashing madly, trying to claw their way free. “They’re taking the birds prisoner?” Sir Tode was confused.
“It is more efficient for the thieves to capture the ravens first and kill them later,” Simon explained. “When our numbers fall low enough, they will start the executions.” From the looks of things, that moment was fast approaching. Captain Amos and his troops tried to free their captive brothers, but every attempt just resulted in more losses. The pit of bags was fast turning into a pile.
The birds circled around for another attack, but the thieves were ready. A dozen men leapt out from hiding spots, bags in hand. “Got one!” Twiddlesticks was rolling on the ground, trying to stuff a bird into his sack.
It was Captain Amos.
“Leave me!” he called to his troops. “You must free your brothers!” He twisted his body around, trying to break loose. But no sooner had he looked up than he went still. “It cannot be,” he whispered. Through the haze, he saw the outline of a magic barge . . . and perched on the edge of the bow was a face he had not seen for many years.
With a surge of new strength, Captain Amos tore himself from Twiddlesticks??
?s grip. “Look to the sky, brothers!” he cried. “It is Simon, returned to us! Justice has—!” But his sentence was never completed. A small thief named Skip threw a knife clean through his heart. The bird gave a bloody cough, stopped midflap, and fell to the ground.
In the same moment, the other ravens tumbled to the sand as though their hearts, too, had been pierced. They stared at the fallen body of their brave leader—dead as a rag doll. Simon watched from above, the same horrified look on his face. The great Captain Amos had been slain.
With the ravens stricken, the thieves wasted no time in starting their executions. Twiddlesticks and the others waded through the pit, giddily stabbing the canvas bags. The few uncaptured ravens did nothing to stop them. They only watched—paralyzed with grief.
“Why aren’t they fighting?” Sir Tode demanded from his seat. “They have to do something!”
“Do what?” Simon squawked hoarsely. “Without a leader, we can do nothing.”
The knight rolled his eyes. “Then you bloody give them a leader!”
Simon was incredulous. “Me? I haven’t even a beak to snap with. What do you expect me to do?”
Sir Tode hopped down from his controls. “I really don’t have time to throw your own speech back at you. Suffice to say, ‘Justice’ compels you!” He snatched Simon by the tail feathers and flung him overboard.
The raven flapped in place, gripped with fear. How could he succeed where Captain Amos had failed? He shut his eyes, unable to watch the slaughter below. With each scream, he clenched his talons tighter, until the points cut through his charred flesh. The pain made him recall the words spoken to Sir Tode on the tower: There are moments when Justice demands from us more than we would give. The bird took a sharp breath, and when he opened his eyes again, they were full of determination. “Stoke the fire!” he cawed.
Sir Tode’s chest swelled. “That’s more like it, Captain Simon!” He clopped across the deck and pumped the billows with all his might.
Simon flew into the open furnace, scooping up two clawfuls of red-hot coals. He dove toward the sand and released them on the thieves below. The men screamed and cursed. Smoke, then flame quickly spread across the canvas bags—and within seconds the entire pit was consumed by a roaring blaze.
The birds surrounding the pit watched in awe. “Long live the True King!” Simon cried as he unleashed another fiery volley.
A thousand ravens burst free from their restraints, exploding into the sky. “AND LONG LIVE HIS LINE!!!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
PEG’S BREAKTHROUGH
Once she had been able to recruit her friends, Princess Peg found that the lock-greasing operation went surprisingly well. Word spread from one slave to another, and in a matter of minutes, every child there knew that the princess had come to rescue them and needed their help. The goblet of slug lard moved quickly among them. Each child applied the glop to the keyhole of their shackles, while taking care never to stop marching so the apes wouldn’t get suspicious.
Just before daybreak, the goblet came back to Peg, empty as a yawn. Every lock had been greased up good and proper and was now ready for the ravens’ arrival. I hope Sir Tode and Simon get here soon, she thought as she watched the clockwork beast chew away at the cavern wall. Huge salty streams of water were now gushing out from both sides of the rumbling drill, drenching the slaves below. The water level was steadily rising, allowing the sea serpents access to the whole cavern—were it not for the iron leashes holding them fast, they probably would have gobbled up half the slaves by now.
To avoid getting wet themselves, the apes had relocated to the raised stairway in back of the cavern. They passed the hours with a game in which they took turns pretending to momentarily lose hold of one of the monsters’ leashes. Each time, the loosed sea serpent would instantly bolt for the children, only to be jerked backward at the very last moment. “Don’t you tots worry!” the apes would howl, jingling their chains. “You’ll all get a chance to pet these beasties soon enough!”
Peg couldn’t help but worry about what was taking Peter so long. What if Scrape had been right? What if her brother, the long lost prince, had been gobbled up by sea serpents? She felt the precious box of Fantastic Eyes knock against her side with each step—she would have traded them in a second to see her brother’s face once more.
By now the children were suffering from severe exhaustion. A few of them had even passed out and were rolling along the bottom of the cages, tripping up their fellow slaves. “What’re you doing?!” one of the apes snarled when he noticed the disruption. “None of you sleeps till you’ve finished diggin’!” He let his serpent take a few good nips at the cages. The children pulled their sleeping neighbors to their feet and continued marching. “Aw, don’t you worry,” the guard said with mock concern. “When the drill breaks through, you can sleep as much as you want.” This joke sent the other apes into fits of snorting laughter.
“Listen up!” one of the guards roared. “This here’s your official slave-master speakin’!” The voice belonged to the ape named Maul. He had recently been put in charge of the mines, and he was enjoying his new position immensely. “From now on, all you maggots keep lookin’ straight at the wall ahead of you. First one of you who turns ’round will be fish food. Got it?”
Peg and the others did as they were told. They marched forward, eyes fixed on the rumbling drill. “YEAH, JUST LIKE THAT!” Maul said. “KEEP IT UP!” Peg noticed that his voice had grown distant and slightly metallic.
“KEEP THEM HEADS FORWARD!” another voice snickered, also metallic. “NOTHING TO SEE BACK HERE!” Several of the others chuckled with him.
Peg listened to the tinny laughter echoing behind her. The sound reminded her of the brass horn the king had used to summon LongClaw. Deciding to take a chance, she disobeyed Maul’s orders and glanced toward the back tunnel. Sure enough, the apes were gone. They had tethered the twelve sea serpents to a stalagmite near the base of the stairs.
“But why would they leave?” she muttered to herself. As she turned to resume her pace, a spurt of water burst from the wall and struck her in the face. She sputtered, glaring up at the clockwork drill—
And in that moment, she finally understood what was happening.
Peg realized that this magic beast was like a giant shovel. And the wall of the cavern was not endless rock, but a thin layer. On the other side was the “ocean” that Sir Tode had shown her on the map . . . and when that ocean broke through, each and every one of them would be drowned in the flood!
“It’s a trap!” she screamed. “Everyone stop!” But the noise of the digging machine was so great that none of the slaves could hear her. She would have to make them listen.
Peg jumped out of her wheel and into the murky water. The sea serpents sensed her immediately and strained violently against their leashes. The girl kept a safe distance between herself and the monsters as she swam to a spot of dry rock. This had at one time been the island of rock where the children slept—now only the middle remained. Bolted to the center was an enormous iron ring, and from that ring ran a single chain that snaked across the cavern and through the shackles of every single slave. Peg took the chain in both hands and braced her feet against the floor.
There are some times when a person is in such dire straits that they are able to achieve the impossible—less by their own strength than by a strength that moves through them. For example, consider the old story of the long-haired judge who toppled a palace with his bare hands. For Peg, gripping the rusted chain in her thin fingers, this was just such a moment. With a mighty cry, she heaved against the chain, yanking it with all her might. Because it was attached to their ankles, when the chain moved, the children moved with it. The boy nearest to Peg was whipped right off his feet. He fell, knocking over the girl next to him and so on in a sort of “chain reaction.” Soon there were hundreds upon hundreds of children sputtering and bickering in the knee-deep water, trying to figure out who had just tripped them.
/>
The wheels of the digging machine stopped moving not a moment too soon. Peg could almost hear the ocean straining against the cavern wall. She dropped the chain and cupped her hands around her mouth. “Attention, subjects! I need you all to listen very carefully!” This time the children heard her and rose to their feet awaiting instructions. “Right now, we are all in grave danger,” she called out. “On the other side of this wall is something that could kill us all at any moment!”
As it happened, Peg had much to learn about speech making. Her words, while accurate, were indelicate at best. No sooner had she uttered “something that could kill us all” than hundreds of children were seized with panic. Without even knowing what they were doing, they started running frantically away from the horrible “something” that was hiding just behind the rock. The drill jolted back to life, this time rotating in the opposite direction. Water gushed out as the drill slowly extracted itself from the wall.
Peg knew that the drill was acting as a giant cork, and if it became dislodged, they would be sunk. “Stop running! You’re making it worse!” she shouted. But it was no use; the children simply wouldn’t listen.
“CHILDREN!” a woman’s voice boomed over the confusion. All of the slaves instantly stopped. They looked up to see Lillian standing atop a horizontal gear—drenched and furious. She waited, hands on her hips, until she had the full attention of every slave in the cavern. “The princess was in the middle of saying something, when you so rudely interrupted.” She said “you” in such a way that made every child bow their head in shame.
Lillian curtsied to the princess. “We apologize, Your Majesty. Please continue.”