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?"
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 hopeless," 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.
But however slow their progress, progress it remained. The tiny green bottle never stopped its song, and the steady wind guided them ever forward, past the fringes of the known world to the great, unmapped waters of possibility. The change of setting was subtle, and they did not fully notice it until a certain dark night when they were paid a visit by a dogfish named Frederick.
The two travelers were sleeping soundly beneath the starry sky when a fishy voice whispered from the water.
"Hey! Psst!" it said, nudging the boat.
Peter leapt up, grabbing his baguette. "Who goes?!"
"Sorry to wake you, mate. I was hoping you could spare a tick to help out a fish in need?"
"A what?" Peter could have sworn the voice said fish.
"Down here, in the water. The name's Frederick. Frederick the Dogfish."
"Fish don't talk," Peter insisted, still too groggy to realize he was no longer in charted seas.
"Well, I'm talkin', ain't I?" The dogfish chortled. "Me and pretty much everything else that swims 'round these parts… except maybe the krill. Dumb as dinghies, they are."
This gave Peter pause. He had encountered so many impossible things since his journey began that he couldn't rule out a talking fish, no matter how absurd it seemed. "Where are we?" he asked.
"Edge of the world, mate. Deepest waters there is."
"The edge of the world," Peter murmured, recalling the inkless void on the professor's map. He sniffed the night air, catching a faint mustiness, like the waft of yellowed pages. Maybe the fish was right? Maybe this place was different?
Frederick continued, somewhat impatient. "Look, I need your help with something real quick, then I promise to leave you be." Peter listened as the dogfish sloshed to one side. Then he heard a loud clank against the edge of the boat. "I got this hook in my cheek and I can't seem to shake it," he said.
Peter reached out his hand to discover a long metal barb. "It's awful big," he said.
"An' that's just the tip! See, I was out swimming near some murky port and I spot this big old cow just floating in the water, right? Well, of course I take me a little nibble, and next thing I know-whammo!-I got this whopper of a hook in my mouth. Ruddy thing's stuck clean through my cheek."
A cow? Peter wondered just how big this fish was. Still, his instincts were pushing him toward compassion. "So you want help pulling it out?" he said, inching closer.
The action was interrupted by a sudden scream. "Ahhh!" Sir Tode cried, dragging Peter back from the boat's edge. "Shoo, beast! You'll find no midnight snack here!"
The knight had woken only the moment before to see Peter reaching into the mouth of the most enormous dogfish imaginable. Frederick was the size of three elephants, maybe four. Each of his bulging fish eyes was bigger than a meat pie, and just one of his great floppy ears could have covered their tiny boat like a blanket. Poking out from his scaly cheek was a huge silver fishhook longer than a man's arm. "He'll swallow the boat whole!" Sir Tode exclaimed as he shinnied up the mast. "Begone, vile monster!"
"Aw, calm down, mate. I weren't gonna eat no one. I was just hopin' to…" and here Frederick's words trailed off. "Just forget about it. Sorry for waking you." He hung his giant head (if fish can indeed hang their heads) and swished back out into the darkness.
Peter leapt to his feet. "Frederick, wait!" he called.
"Shhh!" the knight hissed. "He's almost gone!"
Peter quite literally put his foot down. "Sir Tode, I'm captain of this ship, and I say we help him. You of all people should know what it feels like to be judged by appearances." There was a long silence between the two of them. Despite his lack of eyes, Peter was staring the poor knight down. Finally, Sir Tode relented, grumbling something about waste of time and respecting one's elders.
The boy hailed Frederick, who swam back, tail swashing behind him. All told, it took them nearly an hour to remove the jagged hook from the fish's enormous mouth. "Bloody gill!" Frederick cursed when they finished. "Feels good to get that out-thing tasted somethin' awful! I tell you, that's the last time I go swishin' around them giants' ports."
"Giants' ports?" Sir Tode said, glancing out over the dark waves.
"No worries, furball. Those waters is nowhere you can get to. And it's a good thing, too-they don't take kind to littles floating about. No, seas 'round here is more full of leviathans, turtles, blood eels… and now one grateful dogfish."
"All those things live here?" Peter said, straining to hear giant fins moving in the water below. He reasoned that any place with talking dogfish might also contain other wonders. "You don't happen to know if there used to be a kingdom in these waters?" he asked. "It had a big, fancy palace that vanished."
"Don't know about a kingdom, mate, but there's definitely some good coral a few dives thataway… or was it thisaway?" He swished in a circle, nearly capsizing the boat.
Peter steadied himself on the rocking deck. "That's all right," he said, reasoning that any fish careless enough to get stuck with a hook was probably not too good with directions. "I just thought I'd ask."
"Don't mention it, mate," Frederick said. "You pair ever need a favor, I'd be glad to lend a fin."
"Oh, splendid!" Sir Tode muttered. "I don't suppose you have a mailing address?"
"Nah, just ask around for Good Ol' Frederick. You do that, I'll find you all right. Thanks again!" And with that, Frederick the enormous dogfish turned around and disappeared beneath the surface.
Peter and Sir Tode sat in silence, contemplating what had just transpired. "Well, Peter," the knight said at last. "It seems I owe you an apology."
The boy shrugged, wiping his hands dry. "Sometimes it's best not to judge people for being different."
Sir Tode gave an exasperated groan. "I meant about it being a waste of time." He tapped the fishhook lying on the deck. "It appears that you just won yourself a sword."
Peter picked up the hook, noting its balance. He gripped the eye loop in one hand and ran his other across the curved barb, which tapered into a perfect point. He swiped the blade in the air-it responded with a pure ringing sound that sent a prickle along his arm. "It appears so," he said, suppressing a smile.
And that is how Peter Nimble acquired the silver fishhook from the land of Gog and Magog, where no man has-or ever will-set foot.
As it happened, Frederick the Dogfish had been right about Peter and Sir Tode being close to dry land.
Very dry land.
Sir Tode was the first to make the discovery. He had just awoken from a fitful night's sleep-the result of some particularly strong winds. Morning had since broken, and the knight was enjoying a good stretch when he noticed something strange: the Scop was not moving. In fact, no matter how he wriggled his body, the dripping vessel remained completely still. He rolled over, shook himself dry, and climbed the mast for a better view at his surroundings. What he saw made him gasp aloud.
"Peter?" he said hoarsely. "I-I think you should wake up now."
The boy, who had slept horribly during the previous night's storm, was not pleased at the suggestion. "Get up yourself," he muttered, pulling a blanket over his ears.
Sir Tode gave him a hoof to the rib. "Peter!" he repeated. "It's gone."
"What's gone?"
"The sea… It's totally disappeared."
By this point, Peter had noticed that the ship wasn't rocking like usual. Also missing was the familiar sound of waves lapping against the prow. He reached a hand over the edge of the boat and found not water but dry, hot sand. "Last night's storm must have washed us ashore," he said.
"I don't think you're listening," Sir Tode insisted. "We couldn't have been washed ashore because there is no shore. There's just sand-miles and miles of it." However unlikely this sounded, his description was accurate. The Scop was surrounded by dunes that stretched out in every direction without interruption. The knight swallowed hoarsely. "Why, it's almost as though-"
"The seas withdrew." Peter said these words with him. This was, of course, a line from the riddle and possible evidence that they had at last reached their destination.
"The Vanished Kingdom!" Peter shouted, clambering overboard.
"The Vanished Kingdom!" Sir Tode called, leaping after him.
The two ran circles around the boat, heaving armfuls of sand in the air like hot, granulated confetti. "We made it!" they cheered. "The Vanished Kingdom!"
This celebration, however, was cut short by a new voice. "All right, you lot!" it barked. "On your feet!" Peter couldn't see that the voice belonged to a great, burly man wearing a ragged military uniform. Upon his head sat a gray moth-eaten barrister's wig. He was marching straight for them. "Line up, nice and orderly! Let's see them hands!"
"Sir Tode, be my eyes," Peter whispered.
"It's a man, a big man… and he has an even bigger axe." The knight was not exaggerating. Strapped across the fellow's back was an enormous, rusted battle-axe.
The man lumbered closer, reaching for his weapon. "I know you heard me say 'on your feet,' "he repeated, "so's I won't bother repeating myself."
Given the size of his weapon and relative proximity, Peter and Sir Tode thought it best to oblige. They scrambled to their feet, awaiting further orders. "Right," the man said with a sniff. "Gather your things from the vessel-quickly now." Peter found his burgle-sack in the bow and slung it over one shoulder.
"Step aside, please." Peter and Sir Tode did as they were told. The moment they were clear, the man swung his axe and chopped the Scop clean in half.
Sir Tode gawked at their now-shipwrecked ship. "I say! You'd better have a bloody good explanation for that!"
The man grinned at them. "Can't have you lot tryin' to escape, can we?"
"Escape?" Peter protested. "I don't understand."
He gave a cruel snort. "Why, boy, you've landed yourselves in the Just Deserts. And you're gonna be here for a long, long time."
