“Plus, you have these.” The professor pushed the box of Fantastic Eyes toward him. “From here on out, they belong to you.”
Peter tried to imagine how the eyes might be of use on such a journey. He had already worn the golden eyes, which made him vanish to the last place they beheld, but what about the other pairs? The black ones and the green ones?
Sensing the boy’s thoughts, the professor spoke again. “Telling you what the eyes do would be akin to telling you what to do. Trust me, Peter”—and here he placed a hand on the boy’s arm—“when the time comes, they’ll be just what you need.”
Peter traced a finger along the corner of the box, feeling a mixture of longing and dread. To think he had once hoped it contained only money. Instead, he found a treasure beyond his imagining—one that could lead him to great adventure . . . and even greater danger. Yet he wasn’t sure the eyes were worth the price the old man was asking. “I suppose I have to give them back if I don’t go?” he said.
“Not at all. The eyes are yours to keep. I’m sure your Mr. Seamus could make a tidy profit on them.”
Peter groaned. He had almost forgotten about Mr. Seamus.
“Listen, my child. Your life up to this point has been an unpleasant one. Hard. Painful. Empty.” He took Peter’s hand in his gnarled fingers. “But all of those trials have prepared you to do something selfless and great. Some people search their whole lives for such a calling. Few are lucky enough to have it delivered in a bottle.”
Peter tried his best not to scoff. “I wouldn’t exactly call myself ‘lucky,’” he said.
“Perhaps you will change your opinion. Someone in that kingdom is in peril. They need a hero. They need Peter Nimble and his Fantastic Eyes.”
Sir Tode stepped close and rested a hoof on the boy’s shoulder. “Think of it, Peter, a real adventure.”
Peter tried, but all he could hear was the voice of Mr. Seamus calling him “worthless,” “filthy,” and “worm.” And with each remembered insult, his faith in himself grew less and less. “I’m sorry,” he said after a moment. “I’m not sure I’m the boy you’re looking for.”
Professor Cake rose from his chair. “Important decisions are seldom easy. It is your destiny, and the choice is yours alone.” He removed the golden eyes from the box and pressed them into Peter’s palm. “I’ve arranged it so that these eyes will transport you back to your home, back to the life you know. There you can safely resume your career of eating scraps and stealing baubles from hardworking people. If you choose to help, however, I can promise you nothing more than risk, sacrifice, and perhaps death. All to aid a stranger in need.” He shuffled across the deck, pausing at the open doorway. “I wish your options were more comforting,” he said, and climbed up the stairs.
Sir Tode lingered behind for a moment. “Peter? If you and I did go—”
“I’m sorry to ruin your adventure,” the boy muttered.
“Of course. It’s only . . .” He cleared his throat. “I should have liked . . . having a friend.” So saying, the knight clopped down from the table and out of the room, leaving Peter alone with his thoughts.
Professor Cake had been right about daytimes on the island. The morning hours were nothing like the dewy dawn of Peter’s port home. Instead, a broiling sun loomed over the whole horizon like a giant, fiery compass.
“Well, it’s about bloody time!” Sir Tode said as Peter shuffled into the kitchen for breakfast.
The boy met the rebuke with a great stretchy yawn. He had been awake the entire night, considering the professor’s offer, trying to decide what he should do. It was a choice between comfortable misery and terrifying uncertainty. More than any argument or reasoning, the thing that persuaded Peter to stay was this: Professor Cake had given him a choice—a gift that no one had ever offered him before.
“You’ve made a brave decision, my child.” The old man led him to a chair at the breakfast table. “Wiser still, you elected to stick around for Mr. Pound’s farewell-fritters!”
Peter took his seat before a mountain of rum-filled pastries and sizzling butter sausages. “You had better eat up,” Mr. Pound said, bringing him a warm plate from the stove. “This may be your last hot meal for a long time.”
“Before this place,” Peter said, gulping down a steamed pickle heart, “I’d never even had a hot meal.”
“Then finish that serving already so we can get you seconds!” Peter didn’t need to be told twice. He was already through half the sausages and a loaf of bog toast. Mr. Pound whistled. “You’ve quite the appetite, lad! I’ll be sure to pack a bit more food in the Scop before you leave.”
“Shrolff?” said the boy, his mouth stuffed full.
“Why, that’s the name of your ship, Captain Peter!”
After breakfast, the two men led them to a small dock where the Scop was waiting. Peter climbed on board and started exploring. This did not take long, as the craft was little bigger than a bed. There was a thin mast with a single-sheet sail. The stern was piled high with food and supplies for the journey. The only things missing were a map and compass. “If the kingdom has vanished,” Peter asked. “How will we know the way there?”
“How indeed?” the professor smiled. He took the green bottle from Peter’s bag, handing him the note from inside. He then knelt down and secured the empty bottle to the prow with a bit of string. The moment the bottle was in place, Peter heard a faint whistling, created by the breeze moving over its open mouth. “That song will tell the wind where it came from,” Professor Cake said, rising with the help of his cane. “It should get you close enough.”
“Our very own vessel, Peter! Isn’t she grand?!” Sir Tode skittered up the mast to practice his lookout. “Adventure-ho!” he bellowed, peering off into the distance.
Peter listened to the endless waves rolling into the shore. The Scop rose with them, knocking against the edge of the dock. “Is she seaworthy?” he asked.
“Worthy and then some,” Professor Cake said. “Mr. Pound built the Scop himself.”
Mr. Pound, who was busy with the sail, proudly patted the ship’s mast. “A lot of my heart went into her planks. If you trust her, she’ll take you wherever the wind leads.” Peter did not find this particularly comforting, as the wind could easily lead them straight off the edge of the world. Still, he was committed now, whatever the course.
The professor faced the sea and took a long breath the way adults do when they have important advice to impart. “My child, there are some things I should tell you before you leave. First, Sir Tode is your companion on this journey, and whatever happens, the two of you must always stay together; he may be the only friend you encounter—and trust me, you will need a friend. Second, the Fantastic Eyes are very precious. They took me a great deal of time and love to create; don’t let anyone you meet learn of them or their power. And whatever you do,” his voice suddenly became grave, “do not try the remaining pairs until the moment is right—you will know when that is. And last, Peter Nimble, I have called you forth not because of what you may become, but because of what you already are. If ever you find yourself in serious trouble, remember your nature above all things.”
Peter did not know how to respond to this; he only nodded his head and hoped that the old man was right.
“If you don’t mind,” Sir Tode shouted from his perch, “I’d like to get some adventure in before nightfall!”
Mr. Pound had finished packing the remaining supplies on the Scop and was now loosing her moorings. A sharp gust of wind snapped the sail tight, nearly dragging him into the water. “Better hop aboard,” he hollered. “The wind’s getting antsy!”
Before he even knew what he was doing, Peter seized the professor in a fierce hug. “Thank you . . . for everything.”
The old man’s jaw tensed. “All right, then; don’t dawdle.” He helped Peter aboard, tucking the box of Fantastic Eyes safely under a pile of dried beef leather. “Remember my words, Peter. And let us hope that we will one day meet each ot
her again!”
As they all shouted their final farewells, the boy waved a hand over his head. Clutched in it was a message he could not read, describing a place he could not fathom. A gentle wind brushed across the water, pushing their vessel away from shore and into the horizon.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE GENTLE WIND, and WHERE IT TOOK THEM
The start of any journey—whether pilgrimage or promenade—is one of life’s true joys. Every moment is charged with an excitement about things to come. Obstacles and complications are seen not as discouragement, but as seasoning that only improves the flavor of one’s adventure. Such was the case for Peter and Sir Tode as they embarked on their sea voyage. The gentle wind that had called the Scop away from Professor Cake’s island pushed them farther and farther into the great blue, charting a course by the bottle’s lilting song.
The food that Mr. Pound had packed for them was delicious. There was, however, the question of how long it would last. Peter had learned to master his hunger through a lifetime of wrestling scraps from Killer. Sir Tode, on the other hand, had to juggle the combined appetites of a man, a horse, and a cat. More than once the knight found himself cursing Professor Cake for not packing a horn of plenty among their rations, “or at least a good ham!” Eventually, the two of them discovered a fishing trick that brought them the food they needed: Sir Tode would lean out over the water, watching for any fish that swam close to the surface; when he spotted one, Peter would dive after it, grab hold of the passing mackerel or sea-hen, and then use the golden eyes to whisk himself—and the very confused fish—back aboard the Scop. However unappetizing raw fish for breakfast, lunch, and dinner might sound, it went down nicely with a few sips of fresh rainwater.
As you probably know, salty water is not good for people to drink, and finding good drinking water in the middle of a vast ocean can be quite a chore. Luckily, Professor Cake had had the good idea of trapping a small bit of storm cloud in a wineskin. Every so often, the wineskin would rumble and—when opened—reveal itself to be full of fresh rainwater. Between this, Peter’s fishnapping, and the gentle wind, the two travelers were well cared for on their journey.
Every so often, Peter would ask Sir Tode to read the riddle again for him, noting that it was important for them to keep their mission in mind.
“If it’s so important,” Sir Tode would grumble, “why don’t you memorize the blasted thing already?”
Kings aplenty, princes few,
The ravens scattered and seas withdrew.
Only a stranger may bring relief,
But darkness will reign, unless he’s—
Every time he read it, they were stumped anew by the missing final words. “What do you think the rest of it means?” Peter asked one afternoon. “What’s that stuff about kings and princes?”
“And why on earth would they bother themselves with birds?” Sir Tode said with a note of feline contempt.
“Perhaps it’s saying that ravens scattered the kings and princes? Maybe they’ve taken over the whole kingdom?”
“But that’s impossible. How can ravens overthrow a kingdom?”
“You would be surprised what evil things ravens can do,” Peter said. (If you recall, it was a raven that had pecked out his eyes as a baby.) “Yes, I’m sure that’s it. The note talks about ‘darkness’ conquering—ravens are as dark as night.” While Peter didn’t actually know what “dark” was, he had often heard ravens described in such a manner.
“So once we find this Vanished Kingdom, we’re supposed to save it from a bunch of evil birds?” Sir Tode shuddered. “I wonder how many of them there are!”
Peter shrugged. “Millions, probably. I only wish we knew how the riddle ended. I’m sure that last part would help everything make sense.” And with that, the two travelers fell into silence as they imagined what might await them on the other end of their voyage.
There is something wonderful that happens between true friends when they find themselves no longer wasting time with meaningless chatter. Instead, they become content just to share each other’s company. It is the opinion of some that this sort of friendship is the only kind worth having. While jokes and anecdotes are nice, they do not compare with the beauty of shared solitude. It was a fact that as the days drew on, Peter and Sir Tode were spending less time talking and more time simply sitting side by side, listening to the sea.
Sometimes, however, while drifting under the glittering night firmament, Peter craved conversation, and he would make Sir Tode describe what he saw in the moonlit water below. Fish much prefer the witching hours, and with the dark came thousands of sea travelers, swishing and splashing alongside their boat. Being an enchanted cat-horse-man creature, Sir Tode took little interest in traditional animal varieties, and he usually tried to maneuver the conversation toward a subject he knew better. “They say,” he would intone in his most ominous voice, “that the deeper you dive, the bigger they are. Why, some of them are so gigantic, their fins can move the very tides of time.”
“Sea monsters?”
“Indeed!” Sir Tode would answer. “Some are called mer-lions, or krakens, or what have you . . . others are too horrible and ancient even to be named. I happen to be something of an expert on monsters, having encountered a few in my former life. Land dragons mostly—which are much more fierce.” And here Sir Tode would segue into his best version of how he came to be knighted, which involved slashing his way out from the belly of a fiery, three-headed swamp dragon. (I say “version,” because the knight’s biography seemed to take on larger and larger dimensions whenever he told it, which was often.)
Sir Tode had, in fact, made something of a career out of this story. In the months after his knighting, he had roamed the countryside on horseback, enjoying a sort of celebrity at the various taverns and inns he passed. He would tell the locals all about his daring exploits, leveraging his status into free room and board whenever possible. Such was his happy life, until his unfortunate encounter with the sleeping hag. “I do wish that I had taken my knight-errancy a bit more seriously,” he confessed one evening, after treating Peter to a particularly harrowing version of his tale. “I never once had the chance to rescue a damsel and always thought that the other knights secretly held that against me.”
“Maybe there will be a damsel where we’re headed?” Peter offered. “Or, better yet, a magician who can remove the curse?”
“Not likely, I’m afraid. When I was younger, you couldn’t kick a stump without turning up a spot of magic. But those days are long past. Hags have all disappeared . . . along with everything else worth the telling.” The old knight blinked up at the sky, thankful Peter couldn’t see the tears in his feline eyes.
Peter also recounted his own misfortunes, telling the story of how he was discovered floating in the bay, his first year with the mother-cat, and his miserable years as the “business partner” of Mr. Seamus.
“Thank heavens you will never have to worry about that nasty fellow again,” Sir Tode said. “Ah, dear boy, I only wish that I had been there to adopt you myself. You could have been my page, or my stable boy. What fun we would have had then!”
Peter was touched by the remark, but knew it was just flattery. “I do not think a blind page would have been of much use to you.”
“Nonsense!” Sir Tode leapt down from his post. “Why, you’ve the makings of a great warrior in you!” And saying this, the knight took a stale baguette in his mouth and swiped it through the air. “En garde, young swain! It’s time you learned to fight!”
“But I already know how to fight,” Peter said. “I can bind a man’s ankles from thirty paces, or stay his tongue with just a needle and thread.”
“Sneaky, dirty tricks—rubbish! What you need to learn is good, proper hero’s fighting. Take your sword.” He dropped the baguette at Peter’s feet and grabbed another for himself. Peter took the loaf in his hand and jabbed it a few times in the air above Sir Tode’s head.
“Heavens, you’re hopeles
s,” the knight said with a groan. “It’s a sword, not a cattle prod. You think I could have slain an entire nest of dragons by poking them to death?! You must swipe! Swipe with all your might!”
And thus Sir Tode began training Peter in the art of dueling. It was not entirely a successful endeavor. The knight was so small that he could not attack above the knees. Things were not made easier by the fact that they were confined to the deck of a tiny boat, which was pitched in all directions by the rolling sea. As you already know, both boy and knight were none too skilled at swimming, so they had to take special care not to swashbuckle themselves overboard. Worst of all, Peter’s blindness meant he had trouble orienting himself amidst the loud huffing and puffing of swordplay. More often than not he would trip over his own weapon and crash into the mast.
“If that baguette were sharpened, you’d be in thirty pieces by now!” Sir Tode would scold. “Elbows up! Knees bent! And never forget to watch the other chap’s feet.”
“But I can’t see your feet!” Peter would complain. “And I can’t hear a thing because I’m too busy trying not to get my head hacked off—it’s useless!” And with that, he would throw down his bread, wallowing in self-pity. Emotions can run high when two people live in such very close quarters for an extended period of time. And though incredibly talented, Peter was as impatient as any other boy. He didn’t like the idea that this hero thing might take some time to master. Slowly, though, over the many days of the voyage, the knight’s lessons began to sink in, and Peter found himself able to thrust, parry, and foin his loaf with the best of them.
Over time the luster of new beginnings wore off, and things that at first were exciting became maddeningly dull. Peter and Sir Tode’s life became a seemingly endless cycle of raw fish and bad weather. The only thing worse than a perilous adventure is a boring one, and the limits of the duo’s patience were tried more than once as they slalomed between squalls, broke through blizzards, and drifted across doldrums.