Mr. Pound hummed over the stove, mulling a fresh pot of sweet tea. Peter sat at the table behind him, deep in thought. He had encountered so much in recent days-magical eyes, enchanted knights, and now this. The boy didn't yet trust Professor Cake, but this was one of the only times in his life that an adult had treated him with true kindness, and that alone was enough to make him listen. Still, he was afraid of what might be waiting inside the tiny bottle.
"Oh, uncork the thing, already!" Sir Tode, who sat beside him, took the bottle in his teeth. With some struggling, he removed the stopper and shook the message free. "It appears to be a riddle of some sort," he said, smoothing out the paper with two hooves.
"Can you read it to me?" Peter asked.
Sir Tode squinted at the faded scrawl:
"Oh, blast," he said. "The last bit's smudged. I can't make it out."
Mr. Pound appeared behind them to refill their mugs. "The notes we get usually don't rhyme so well. This one must have been written by a poet, or a troubadour. When the professor found it, he thought of you immediately, Peter."
"Whatever it is, it sounds terribly exciting," the knight said.
"And terribly confusing," the boy added.
"Right on both counts!" Professor Cake creaked down the workshop stairs. He pulled an armchair next to Peter and joined them at the table. "The second line of that note leads me to believe that this bottle came from the Vanished Kingdom."
"The what?" Peter said.
Professor Cake leaned back in his chair and lit the bowl of his briar pipe. "Many years ago, there was a land surrounded by ancient seas. The soil was dry and unforgiving, but also full of magic. It is said that the people there lived in harmony with the beasts, who could think and speak like men. Together they constructed a spectacular palace-a walled paradise of unparalleled beauty. It took them years to build. And then, on the eve of its completion, the whole place… vanished. Disappeared completely." He leaned back, tamping the ash in his pipe.
Peter and Sir Tode waited for more information, but none came. "That's it?" the knight said, somewhat frustrated. "That's the whole story?"
"It's as much as I know," Professor Cake answered. "Of course, disappearing lands aren't all that uncommon-my own island, for example, is fairly well hidden-but the real question is why did the kingdom vanish, and what's happened to it since?"
Peter was confused at hearing two adults discuss impossible things as though they were everyday occurrences. "Don't you think there's a simpler explanation?" he said, thinking of a rule he had once overheard about how the easiest explanation was usually the right one. "Maybe the sailors just got turned around? Or someone marked the kingdom down wrong on the map?"
"Do not confuse simple with simpleminded," the professor said. "A boy your age should know better than to consider anything impossible." He rose from his seat and went to the cupboard. Inside he found a long roll of paper, which he brought back to the table and unrolled for Peter. "I had Mr. Pound purchase this map while visiting your hometown," he said, placing a mug on each corner to keep it from curling up. "It contains every speck of land your mapmakers have ever seen."
Peter lowered his head over the parchment, taking in its musty odor. "I know this map," he said with a trace of a grin. "I stole it from the town museum last month, and Mr. Seamus sold it to Uncle Knick-Knack's Pawn Shop." He placed his fingers on the map, feeling where the ink had formed tiny ridges on its surface. Peter could trace the various seas and rivers that divided the land. Having the whole world reduced to a few squiggly lines made him sad, somehow. He stopped at a speck of ink near the middle of the page. "That's my port, isn't it?" he said softly.
"It is," the professor answered. "Only made smaller in every way. Maps have a way of doing that." He took the boy's hands in his own and moved them to the far edge of the paper. "What do you feel now?"
Peter ran his fingers over the smooth surface. "I don't feel anything," he said. "It's blank."
"Not blank. Undiscovered. Out there lie wonders beyond anything your merchants and sailors have ever dreamed of. Impossible worlds waiting to be explored."
These words filled Peter with a sharp longing, like the feeling that came over him every time he found a lock. The map was telling him where he couldn't go-and Peter wanted to prove it wrong. "So you think the message came from somewhere out there?" he said. "Is that where the Vanished Kingdom is?"
"There's only one way to know for sure," Professor Cake said.
Peter took the note from inside, turning it over in his fingers. "What about the rest of the riddle? All that stuff about kings, and darkness, and… ravens?"
The old man lowered his pipe, releasing its smoke in a perfect globe. "Those things are for you to discover. All I know is that the author of this message needs someone to seek them out and save them. I think that person is you."
"A real, live quest," Sir Tode said, his voice full of yearning. "Just like the old days."
Much as Peter wanted to share the knight's enthusiasm, he couldn't. "Why would they need me?" he said to the professor. "Shouldn't you go help them? Or Mr. Pound?"
"Mr. Pound will be detained on other business. As for myself, I'm not much for travel. I'm afraid it has to be you, Peter."
"But I'm just a kid," he insisted. "I'm small. And I'm blind-"
Professor Cake cut him off. "Not anymore you aren't." He reached over and scratched Sir Tode behind his horsy ears. "Sir Tode will be your eyes. That is, of course, if he's willing to join you on your quest?"
The knight nearly fell from his stool. "Me?" he said, hardly daring to believe it. "Well… if you need someone, I suppose I might be persuaded."
"Then we're settled," the professor said.
Peter stood up from the table. "Nothing's settled!" he said with surprising force. He could feel a kind of anger building within him-the kind born from shame. The old man remained still and waited for him to finish. "You said it yourself, Professor, the person who wrote that note needs a hero-someone noble and good." He slumped back into his seat. "I'm just a criminal."
"So what if you are?" the professor replied flatly. "How many well-behaved boys would have made it this far? Would they have broken into that carriage? Would they have battled that gang of bullies? Yes, you've broken a few laws, but there's one law to which you've always remained true." Peter heard this and somehow knew exactly what the man was talking about-it was that stirring inside him that had made him help the zebra. Professor Cake went on, "In my experience, heroes are no more good than you or I. And though occasionally noble, they are just as often cunning, resourceful, and a little brash. Who better fits that description than the great Peter Nimble?"
Now, just because you and I are well aware that Peter Nimble was a great thief does not mean that Peter himself knew. Being raised by someone as nasty as Mr. Seamus, he had never actually received a compliment in his lifetime-unless you count being called a "great nuisance" or "the world's biggest maggot" as compliments. For Peter, being told he was anything more than nothing was something of a shock.
"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 other 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.
