Chapter 16
“How long are we supposed to wait?” Maggie whispered. Again.
Peter chuckled beside her, his hand gently rubbing her shoulder.
The patience the King of Neverland had felt far beyond what Maggie was used to.
No matter how many times she asked the same question, no matter how many times she fidgeted, no matter how loud her anxiety obviously was, Peter never dared to share any animosity towards it.
He simply listened to every word, acknowledging her thoughts and feelings before delicately trying to comfort her until the anxieties settled down.
“Till Grimsby or someone else comes back,” Peter replied, his voice unbothered. “And it’ll be a piece of cake from there. A trade. Something I have for what we need.”
“I don’t even know about what you’re carrying in that backpack of yours,” she muttered.
He pinched her arm playfully. “Don’t worry about it, Magpie. I’ve got it all figured out.” Peter patted his backpack and grinned. “And it’ll all go well.”
Maggie fell back against her seat, pulling out of Peter’s comforting embrace. Instantly, a deafening cold swallowed her like an unwelcome embrace. She ignored the need to fall back into him and wrapped her arms over herself instead. The thick confines of her sweater swaddled her well enough.
“How can you be so positive?” Maggie finally asked, the words rushing out of her like an exhale.
Peter smirked. “Gosh, that sounded like you’ve been holding that in a while.”
“Sorry,” she murmured as she fought the embarrassment.
“It’s alright, Magpie.” He hooked a finger around her chin, pulling her eyes back up. “I was only teasing.”
Maggie watched him with pursed lips. “Ever since I met you, you’ve been an optimist,” she explained. “Maybe that’s just who you are but –”
“But?”
“But something tells me that isn’t the case,” she finished. “You couldn’t have always been that way.”
Peter watched her with a steady eye, his smile unwavering.
Slowly, as the silence elapsed between them, he let his low laugh fill the small, cozy room.
Eventually Maggie found herself giggling alongside him, falling against his arm like there was nothing to whine about in the first place.
The smile was still lingering on her lips when he spoke, the seriousness behind his words so unlike him, it was almost frightening.
“Sometimes there needs to be a period of darkness before you’re capable of seeing the light.”
Maggie caught Peter’s eyes. Storm clouds brewed in his irises, a hidden world of untold stories waiting to be released.
She wished to fall into him, to spend an eternity learning what it was that made him Peter Pan.
And the smirk on his lips told her that it was exactly what he wanted, too.
Maggie opened her mouth to speak but there was nothing good to say.
What did that sentence even mean? Was he referring to himself? Who really was Peter Pan?
Questions swirled around in her head as Maggie’s eyes drifted to his lips. The King of Neverland loomed closer, his touch warm against her spine. The walls of the small room began to cave in and fade away. There were only the two of them, and Maggie felt no fear with him.
The door Grimsby left through creaked open.
Maggie lurched away from Peter, the nerves returning within an instant.
Out from the shadows came a hunched goblin.
Deeply green skin that was littered with wrinkles and callouses peaked out from beneath a plethora of rags.
Most of the goblin’s skin was carefully covered or bandaged, with only a scrawny face available to truly see.
Aged and narrowed eyes stared back at them.
Though the goblin was obviously old, there was something about his eyes that gave off the aura of power.
Perhaps he was covered in rags and hunched over with a large lump in his back, but Maggie had no doubt that the creature in front of them was not one to scoff at.
She straightened as the goblin approached the table, taking a seat beside them with a ragged exhale.
“Grimsby tells me that you look for a carved copper eye,” the goblin spoke.
Maggie leaned forward, her eyes wide. “Your English is remarkable!”
Behind her, Peter tugged at her sleeve, his laugh muffled by the palm of his hand.
“I’ve been alive longer than this island,” the goblin snapped, his sharp voice raising with every word. Luckily for them, he only looked slightly annoyed. “My English is the least remarkable thing about me!”
Maggie leaned back in her seat, her heart hammering in an unusual way.
Peter looked to be rather laid back in front of their guest, but Maggie couldn’t even pretend to be relaxed.
Something about the air shifted the moment the goblin entered the room.
It was as if the oxygen had been replaced by something else.
It was recognizable, almost. Like a forgotten memory.
The goblin took a moment to settle in his seat, moving past her comment. He had a bright eye focused intensely on Maggie. It only made the feeling grow within her, showing itself in a tremble along her fingers.
Peter leaned forward. “We are looking for a copper eye, Mr…?”
The goblin eyed him warily. “Reader. Call me Mr. Reader.”
“Well, Mr. Reader,” Peter corrected, smiling though there was a twinkle of uncertainty in his eye, “Grimsby brought us to you after hearing what we were looking for.”
“Those are quite rare, you know,” Mr. Reader murmured, hands resting just below his bottom lip.
“And rather tedious to make. They can only be completed after a few years of work.” The goblin paused, his stare boring into Maggie.
“Luckily for you, I happen to be in possession of one. One that I am willing to trade.”
Peter clapped. “Delightful!” Reaching behind him, he retrieved the bag he had been carrying. After pulling at the clasps, Peter stuck one arm in, and retrieved a sheathed blade. It was a short dagger, one with an ornate handle that was studded with a plethora of expensive jewels.
“I have a few things collected off Captain Hook’s ship,” Peter explained after pulling out a few golden trinkets, including a stopwatch. The ticking filled up the small room as he smirked beneath Maggie’s stare. “We picked a few things on our way out,” he sheepishly added.
The goblin still had his eye set on Maggie.
Peter cleared his throat. Reaching into the bag another time, he retrieved a small wooden case.
It looked simple enough, until he popped the latch and let the lid fall open.
Within was a shimmering piece of steel, long and full of complicated runes.
The thing was as beautiful as it was dangerous – though Maggie had never seen it before, the aura around it told her everything she needed to know. It was entirely off limits.
“This once belonged to a great Wizard,” Peter explained, his eyes wide as he extended it toward the goblin. “A wand capable of doing indescribable things. I’ve been saving it for a special occasion. I’m willing to part with it if…if…”
Peter followed Mr. Reader’s stare.
His steely gaze never once left Maggie’s face.
“Ahem.” Maggie cleared her throat and fidgeted around, scooting slightly closer to Peter’s side.
What is the big idea? She wanted to shout at the goblin, to wave in front of his face and to demand to know why he insisted on making her so uncomfortable.
But the confrontation sounded impossible, so she squirmed and frowned instead, avoiding his gaze at all times.
The goblin looked as if he saw more than just Maggie’s face, as if he was more than a reader of words, but also a reader of souls.
“Mr. Reader,” Peter exclaimed. “I’ve got an ancient tome, one that I know someone of your expertise would enjoy.
” He reached into his bag another time, but the enthusiasm was quickly draining.
The goblin didn’t even flinch at his words.
By the time Peter had the book laid out in front of the goblin, Peter was just as disinterested as he was.
“Hey,” Peter snapped, impatience finally slipping out for once. “What’s the big idea?”
“There is one thing I will trade a carved copper eye for,” Mr. Reader cooed.
Peter straightened, a smile twitching across his face.
The goblin leaned toward Maggie. “A memory.”
Maggie opened her mouth but was quickly silenced by the creature’s raised hand.
“One of hers, in particular,” Mr. Reader continued.
It wasn’t long before Peter was launching to his feet, suddenly towering over the aged goblin. “Touch a hair on her head,” he said, his words as clear as day, “and you will wish you picked the damned book.”
Maggie shot to her feet, instantly blocking Peter’s view of the old goblin. The sharp and jagged features of his face began to soften, the familiar curve of his cheek returning with a sheepish grin.
“It’s alright,” Maggie whispered, though she felt a bit odd at having to reassure him for a change. “We need the eye.”
Peter shook his head. “But –”
“We’ve tried it your way,” Maggie interjected, her voice soft. “Now it’s my turn.”
Before the King of Neverland could offer any more of an argument, Maggie turned back to Mr. Reader, and reclaimed her seat. She scooted closer, though the intensity behind his eyes only seemed to strengthen then.
“A memory,” she repeated. “Whatever for?”
Mr. Reader produced a smile. “Goblins are considered to be greedy by most,” he explained as he rose from his seat.
He waddled across the room until he reached a case that stood tall against the wall.
Opening up the small doors, he revealed a series of crystal balls.
Each shone a different color, flickering with a distant foggy image.
“But what others consider to be greed is only collecting things that should never be lost. Things that are often forgotten, things that will always be priceless.”
Maggie slowly stood, her eyes stuck on the crystal balls. “Memories,” she whispered.
“But you can’t hurt her,” Peter blurted.
The goblin laughed, the sound like two rocks being clapped together. “Do not fret, King of Neverland. The memory will be shared, but not removed. I sense that there are many lurking beneath the surface of Marigold Hart –” he reached, one wrinkled hand hovering over her head “ – hidden even to her.”
Maggie’s eyes widened. Marigold. She had never heard her name said in such a way. Or…did she? Maggie shook her head, everything growing jumbled within her. She stepped closer to Mr. Reader. “So if I give you this memory, you’ll give us the eye?”
“Yes. It doesn’t hurt. There are no side-effects.
It’s quick and painless.” The goblin reached into his cabinet and retrieved a blank crystal ball.
The color within was murky and impossible to see through.
Mr. Reader extended the ball forward, his hand gripping the bottom of it.
“Just place your palm on top of the crystal ball.”
Maggie drew in a deep breath. Plenty of times before it had always been on Peter to lead the way, to reveal the information, to bring them one step closer to their goal.
Pride lurked beneath her skin at the idea of being the key, of having some sort of purpose to being there.
Though the hesitation still lingered, Maggie reached forward and rested her hand on the murky crystal ball.
The same sensation she had before, of the air being drawn out of the room, came rushing back.
It was then that Maggie realized it was magic, and in particular, Mr. Reader’s magic.
The power ensnared her like a coiling snake, squeezing until her limbs felt like rubber.
All throughout it, her hand remained fixed upon the crystal ball, her fingers searing into it.
Images flipped through her mind and appeared on the crystal ball, moving fast as Mr. Reader searched for one memory in particular.
She saw the bakery owned, being chased out, working at the tavern, and meeting Peter.
Their first kiss flickered across the crystal ball, but the goblin paid no mind.
He didn’t stop until he dove deep within the trenches of her mind, reaching into a place not even she recognized.
The memory showed itself as though it was happening in real time: Maggie sat in a rocking boat, tall waves crashing over the sides and drenching her.
An unforgettable moon rested high above her head, showering her with a pale mystic light.
Lightning met the horizon in the distance, and thunder crashed almost instantly, met with the sharp and piercing wail of a newborn baby.
The goblin retracted just as fast it began, ripping Maggie out of the world she didn’t recognize.
She blinked a few times and reached for her face, touching her skin as though it wasn’t her own.
Nothing made sense about that memory. It hardly felt like her own.
When was she ever in the middle of the ocean, on a flimsy rowboat?
She was already shaking her head, moments away from telling the goblin he got it all wrong.
Mr. Reader yanked the crystal ball out from her hand.
The memory danced within it but he was quick to hide it, greedily adding it to his large collection.
“This might be my finest addition yet,” the creature murmured.
“Important memories that are capable of shaping an entire life are full of untapped power. This one in particular –” he shuddered “ – holds a similar value.”
Maggie stared with wide eyes. She wanted to snatch the ball from his hand, to figure out what it meant before he stored it away for the rest of time. A series of questions rested on the tip of her tongue, just waiting for the moment to tumble out.
The goblin reached into his sleeve and retrieved the eye. It shone despite the darkness, the bronze glimmering in an earthy sort of way. “A deal’s a deal,” he rhymed.
Mr. Reader dropped the eye in Maggie’s hand, already slinking away.
He snapped the cabinet shut, the lock clicking at the same moment.
The goblin retreated into the darkness, inching back to the door from where he came.
Maggie watched with a heavy heart, a life’s worth of questions building onto her chest, only to remain unanswered.
One, though simple and barely a sentence, echoed within her like a distant shout.
Who am I?
Peter’s hand on her shoulder pulled her back into the present. “You’re unstoppable, Magpie,” he murmured, giving her a tight squeeze.
And though the words were meant to reassure, to congratulate, Maggie could only look down at the bronze eye, the forgotten memory still playing ominously in the back of her mind.