Arrows whizzed past them on all sides. “Down the hall! That one’s the leader!” LongClaw said, pointing toward Simon. “We kill him, and the others’ll fall like finches!” A half-dozen apes followed his charge.
Sir Tode ignored the burgle-tools and went straight for the box of Fantastic Eyes. He snapped the lid tight and stuffed it into the bag.
“My brothers and I shall keep the apes occupied as long as possible!” Simon cawed, lifting Sir Tode off the ground. “You must protect the Line!” With that, he flung the knight through an open window into the chasm below.
Sir Tode, who had not expected to be flung anywhere, clenched his eyes shut and screamed with the full force of his lungs as he sailed toward the bottomless crag. But instead of hitting rock, his body plunged into foamy water. He bobbed to the surface a moment later, coughing and kicking. Before he could even cry for help, a great, lazy wave shoved him toward the castle and deposited him on the stone shore. Sir Tode wobbled to his hooves and looked at the sea before him. The Just Deserts—which had stretched from horizon to horizon—were now completely washed away. The palace behind him was all that remained of the Vanished Kingdom. “Not so vanished anymore,” he said, shaking himself dry.
As if in reply, a hideous sea serpent broke from the waves and loosed a chilling shriek.
The poor knight nearly died from the fright. He leapt back and pressed himself against the wall. “D-d-don’t eat me!”
The serpent remained still, glaring straight at him. It shrieked again, but this time in a slightly less murderous tone.
Sir Tode stared into the monster’s shiny black eyes, which somehow looked familiar to him. All at once, he understood what the princess had been trying to tell him. Get the eyes to sea. “P-P-Peter?” he said, inching closer. “Is it really you?”
The animal shrieked back at him, gnashing its glassy teeth.
“Bloody gill, mate!” Frederick appeared from below. “How many times you gonna make him ask? He needs you to pluck his peepers out so he can change back into a little boy . . . though I can’t see why he’d want to. Fragile as flounders, those humans are.”
Sir Tode swallowed and took another timid step toward the serpent. “All right,” he said weakly. “Let’s get it over with.”
It was a bit of a chore removing a pair of eyes with just hooves, but after some difficulty, Sir Tode was able to manage. The next thing he knew, his friend Peter Nimble was splashing in the water below him. “My goodness,” he exclaimed. “It’s really you!”
“More or less,” Peter said, shivering. He was a bit disoriented, having been an enormous sea serpent only seconds before. He pulled himself ashore and flopped onto his back, taking a moment to remember how all his little boy senses worked. “Is it over? Did we defeat the king?”
“I’m afraid not.” Sir Tode cast a glance toward the palace. “The apes have nearly extinguished Simon’s troops, and the children are being attacked by their own parents.”
Peter listened to the screams ringing out from the Eating Hall. He knew the effects of the previous day’s Devil’s Dram would wear off soon—but from the sound of things, “soon” was not fast enough. “We have to stop the grown-ups before they hurt the children,” he exclaimed. “We have to make them see.”
“I agree completely.” Sir Tode took the burgle-sack, which had washed to shore beside him, and he brought it to the boy’s feet. “I think it’s time, Peter.”
The emerald eyes.
Everything within Peter confirmed that the moment had finally come. At last he would try the third pair of Fantastic Eyes. His heart raced at the thought of what marvelous power they might wield. He knelt down and removed the wooden box from the bag. He took a breath, raised the lid, and reached inside.
But something was wrong.
“No time for cold feet,” Sir Tode said. “Let’s see them in action.”
Peter’s face had gone completely pale. “The eyes . . . they’re gone.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
THE BACK-STABBER'S BLIGHT
At first Sir Tode refused to believe it. But when he looked for himself, he found only an empty place in the box where the emerald eyes had been. “Good heavens,” he said, recalling his skirmish with the ape in the corridor. “This is all my fault. I dropped the box . . . they must have fallen out . . .” His voice quavered. “Peter, I am so sorry.”
Despite his uncanny ears, the boy could not hear his friend. Nor could he hear Frederick bobbing in the water beside him, or the clash of battle, or the children screaming. Peter could hear nothing but the hollow sough of his own despair. He had sailed over seas, trekked across sands, survived thieves, apes, and even dragons—all with the confidence that when the moment was right, the Fantastic Eyes would be just what he needed. He had even let himself half believe that this final pair was proof that he was some kind of prince.
But no more.
Without the emerald eyes, Peter was forced to acknowledge the truth: they were doomed. Incarnadine would execute the children, rebuild his fleet, and sail out to conquer the world . . . and it was all Peter’s fault. His cheeks grew hot when he considered how it was he who had led Peg and the others into this war. A war they couldn’t win. “The eyes are gone . . . along with any hope we had of victory,” he said. “We have to surrender.”
Up to this point, Sir Tode had been sympathetic. But no more. “Surrender?” He planted himself in Peter’s path. “Surrender?! We shall do no such thing! We made a promise to the professor, to Peg, to Simon, to ourselves that we would see this quest through. Our friends are depending on us. You may never have to peer into a looking glass, Peter, but I will. And I don’t want to see a coward staring back at me. I’m fighting, and if that means death, so be it. I’d rather die a martyr than live a milksop.”
The knight spoke with such passion that Peter had no opportunity to interrupt. Instead, he was forced to listen. With every word, he felt more ashamed. Here was his best friend, unable to even hold a weapon, declaring that he was ready to fight to the death. In the silence that followed, Peter again heard voices behind the palace walls, but this time he truly listened. He heard Simon and Titus squawking, “Long live the Line!” He heard Scrape and Lillian shouting, “Protect Her Majesty!” And above them all, he heard Peg telling the children to not be scared because “Prince NoName is coming!”
Peter knew that to give up was to turn his back on destiny. His destiny. Fantastic Eyes or not, he was committed. The boy reached inside his bag and wrapped his fingers around the cold metal of his fishhook. He removed the weapon, feeling its perfect weight in his hand.
Frederick sloshed closer to shore. “Not to pry, mate.” He gave a nervous chuckle. “But you ain’t plannin’ to fish with that, are you?”
“No.” He turned toward the palace, his face grave. “I’m planning to fight.”
Peter and Sir Tode ran as fast as they could. Streams of blood and seawater soaked the floor. Ravens and apes were squawking and snarling all around them. The battle was so loud and confusing that it was all Peter could do not to trip over himself. Even through the chaos, he could tell that his friend’s report had been accurate: the ravens were losing.
They reached the apex of an open bridge, from which Sir Tode could study the movements below. “The apes are at the mouth of a broad corridor that connects to the long courtyard,” he relayed to Peter. “If they reach the far end, it’s over.”
“Then we had better cut them off,” Peter said. He ran through every possible barricade he could think of—but treacle and bear traps were in short supply. Shorter still was their supply of time. He could feel the morning sun prickling against his neck and knew that the Breakfast Bell would soon go off, as if to welcome the approaching horde. It was in thinking of the bell that Peter recalled his first night in the palace. After the chimes struck, all the doors had automatically locked. “We don’t need to build a barrier,” he said suddenly. “The king’s got one ready-made for us!”
This time it
was Peter who led the way through the battlefield. He kept his body crouched low, running his long fingers along the wall. He was looking for the secret passage that Peg’s friends had used when they kidnapped him. If he could just get through in time, there might be a chance. The boy soon found a space in the mortar. “This is the spot!” he said, pulling back a stone. He helped Sir Tode into the passage and wriggled in after him.
Within the walls, the cries of battle lessened to a low roar. The space was too narrow for Peter to carry Sir Tode, and the knight was forced to follow, blindly tripping over sharp metal cogs with nearly every step. “On my first night here,” the boy explained, “I came across a gate that blocked off the Eating Hall from the rest of the palace. I think we might be able to use it to stop the apes!” He decided not to mention that if they were still inside the walls when the Breakfast Bell rang, they would both be crushed flat by the gears.
Peter soon found the iron gate, which hung suspended from motionless clockwork. He could hear battle sounds echoing through a broad slot at his feet. In one direction, apes were hunting ravens; in the other direction, grown-ups were hunting children. “Sounds like we’re just in time,” he said, taking hold of Sir Tode and dropping through the gap.
The two of them landed in the middle of the corridor, just ahead of the approaching apes. Peter ran to the wall and began searching with his hands. “I see a switch just to your left,” Sir Tode said. The boy took hold of the lever and pulled with all his strength. There came a heavy wrenching sound, and the gate clank-clank-clanked down from the ceiling.
“The lock-pick’s cuttin’ us off from the chiddlers!” LongClaw said, tossing a dead raven aside. “Stop him!” He and his grunts charged ahead, hurling whatever weapons they had. Peter and Sir Tode ducked as spears, shields, pikes, and helmets clattered against the descending gate. The assault crescendoed with an ugly screeching sound.
The gate had stopped moving.
“Oh, drat,” Sir Tode said. “There’s a poleaxe wedged in the track along the wall.” He looked up to see the apes racing for them at full bore. “Never fear! I think I can work it loose.” Before Peter could object, Sir Tode ran to the other side and took the handle in his teeth. He pulled the axe free, and the gate crashed down between them.
“Sir Tode!” Peter pulled against the iron barrier.
“Go, Your Majesty,” he called from the other side. The knight arched his back and faced the approaching horde. “I’ll fight with the ravens!”
Peter nodded, and without another word, the two friends parted, each diving headlong into battle.
The situation in the Eating Hall was looking truly hopeless. The adults had gotten the hang of their spears and could now poke and jab like a proper mob. Children ran frantic circles around their parents, trying to wear them out without getting skewered. Scrape had wrestled a weapon from one of the adults and rushed to get Peg away from the king. He and a few others formed a tight circle around her, keeping as much distance as possible between Peg and her uncle.
King Incarnadine stalked them through the chaos. He wielded not one but two swords, which he used to hack down anyone in his path. His face bore a delighted grin—he had dreamed of this moment for ten years and wanted to savor every minute.
The Breakfast Bell began to ring high above them, momentarily drowning out the battle. With each stroke, the water covering the ground trembled. By the time the bell finally stopped, Incarnadine had cornered them. He smirked down at Peg. “Time’s up, Your Majesty,” he said.
“You stay away from her!” Scrape warned, sounding braver than he felt. Marbles and Timothy stood with him, each clutching their own spear.
“Or what? You’ll stick me?” The king walked forward, letting the points knock uselessly against his armor. A sweep of his arm sent all three children sprawling. Peg crouched in the water, defenseless and alone. “Looks like you’re all out of heroes,” he said with mock sympathy.
The princess tried to flee, but her uncle was ready. “Enough running!” He gave her a sharp cut across the Achilles tendon that hobbled her instantly. Peg collapsed, screaming as her wound filled with salty water. “Stop bawling. If I’d known you would grow up to be such a nuisance, I would have murdered you in your crib.”
He took hold of her collar and raised her above the crowd. “Attention, citizens!” he called. The adults all immediately ceased their spearplay. “Do not kill the childr—I mean, monsters just yet. I want them to witness something first. This is what comes of all who defy your Great Ruler!”
“Hurrah for our Great Ruler!” the people shouted back.
Incarnadine carried a flailing Peg to a low stone step in back of the hall. He forced the girl to her knees and placed her head against the step. The princess winced as the rough surface scraped her cheek. She desperately scanned the faces of her shivering subjects—what a fool she had been to think that these children could topple a kingdom. Soon they would be dead, and it was all her fault. “You’ve won,” she said, her throat stinging at the words. “Now kill me.”
“If you insist.” The man carefully positioned his blade above her throat. “Hold still, if you know what’s good for you. As they say: Measure twice, cut onc—”
“LET HER GO, IMPOSTOR!”
A hush fell over the crowd as every adult turned to see who would dare insult their king. Standing in the corridor was a dirty boy of ten, clutching a long silver fishhook.
The vision sent a chill through the king’s armored body. He could see that it was the lock-pick who had stolen his maps—but something about the boy had changed. He now looked less like some filthy urchin and more like Incarnadine’s own brother, whom the king had murdered in this very hall. “What trick is this?” he breathed.
“My name is Peter Nimble,” the boy replied. He walked steadily through the mob, keeping his every sense trained on the king. “True heir to the throne of HazelPort. Ten years ago you murdered my father and stole his crown. I have come to take it back.”
The king knew at once Peter was speaking the truth. He looked to his subjects, who were watching the boy with uncertainty. “I command you not to listen to him!” he blurted. “His voice will turn the whole lot of you into stone!”
The grown-ups jammed fingers into each ear so as not to hear. A few among them also closed their eyes on the off chance that looking at the stranger might prove similarly dangerous. The children, however, defied the command. A murmur filled the Eating Hall as Peter walked past. “It’s really him! It’s Prince NoName!”
“Lies!” Incarnadine bellowed, unconsciously gripping the diadem upon his head. “He’s a saboteur sent to destroy my king-dom!” He had spent ten long years brainwashing these people and wasn’t about to let some prodigal brat ruin it for him. He dug his spurred heel into Peg’s cheek, causing her to scream. “Silence those children this instant—or I’ll cut the girl’s head off!”
“They can’t be silenced,” Peter said calmly. He raised his fishhook, pointing it straight at the king. “If you release her, you can fight me for your precious throne.”
Incarnadine sneered at the quaint proposition. “Risking your life for your sister? How very noble of you.” He lifted Peg from the step and hurled her into the crowd. “Hold her fast,” he ordered the two nearest adults, who set to wrestling her down. “After I finish the boy, I’ll come back for her.”
The thief and the king slowly approached each other. Though Peter could not see it, he bore a striking resemblance to the man before him. They both had the same dark hair, the same sharp jaw, and the same lean frame—though Incarnadine’s was hidden beneath a hundred pounds of polished steel. Peter listened to the sound of clockwork whirrrring beneath the gleaming plate metal: springs tightening, pistons churning, gears grinding. Who knew what terrible powers that suit possessed?
The two were now pacing around each other in a slow circle. “Come along, nephew,” Incarnadine taunted, daring the boy to strike first. “Don’t be shy.” Peter was more than shy—he w
as terrified. But to look at him, you would never have thought so. Sir Tode’s lessons had at least taught the boy proper form, and the king’s clockwork suit afforded him the luxury of hearing his opponent’s slightest movement. He matched his uncle’s every step like a shadow, ever mindful of the blades on each forearm.
At last Peter heard an opening. He lunged forward, sweeping his hook through the air.
The king was caught off guard, but not for long. He raised his armored palms just in time to grab the hook. He flexed his fists around the metal, bending it like taffy. “You’re not much of a swordsman, boy.” He ripped the weapon from Peter’s hands and flung it to the ground. “That’s all right. Neither was your father!”
Now Incarnadine struck back. He swung his swords in constant succession—one high, one low. Peter could barely jump to avoid losing his feet before the second blade came for his head. The boy somersaulted backward across the hall, dodging swipe after swipe. With each attack, the grown-ups cheered louder for their heroic leader—some even unplugged their ears to applaud.
Peter rolled between his uncle’s legs and sprinted back across the hall to retrieve his fishhook. Incarnadine was right behind him, swords still swinging. Silver clashed against stone as the man pursued his prey. Peter tried to block the assault with his crumpled fishhook, but the weapon was useless otherwise. So long as the king wore his armor, it would be impossible to kill him.
“Some warrior you are!” Peter mocked his opponent. “Only a coward would hide behind plate mail to fight someone half his size!”
The king—who did not like being maligned in front of his subjects—stopped to consider this. “Very well,” he said, taking a step back. “Off it comes.” His subjects cheered at this show of valor. He unhinged a clasp around his neck and the breastplate fell to the ground with a hollow clang. The ticking of clockwork grew louder, and Peter could now pick out individual cogs, pistons, and springs as they moved along Incarnadine’s newly exposed torso. “But I should warn you, boy. The armor wasn’t for my protection . . . it was for yours.” He pushed a small lever at his side and the entire suit came to life. A hundred knives, spurs, and barbs sprang out from the clockwork, all spinning and slicing in a frenzied blur!