"But what shall we eat?" said Belfaygor, clipping at his whiskers despondently. Jack chuckled at this, and drawing out the Red Jinn's bell rang it imperiously. At once the little black slave, bearing his silver tray, appeared before them. Placing the tray on Peter's knees he faded out of sight so suddenly that Belfaygor dropped his shears with a clatter. Though he had heard about the magic dinner bell the unexpected appearance of the dinner quite upset him.
"You take this one," said Peter generously, "and if you sit with your back to the chasm and throw your beard over your shoulder it will grow down into the opening and let you eat in peace."
"How can I ever thank you?" exclaimed the baron, seating himself as the little boy suggested. "Odds pasties, this looks most tempting!" With a long, tremulous sigh, Belfaygor fell upon the appetizing repast of roast beef and plum pudding. Then Jack rang the bell again and the slave appeared with a tray for Peter. He was about to ring up another dinner for Snif but the Iffin shook his head.
"I've had enough for one day," he told them firmly, "and if Peter will give me that bunch of violets, everything will be perfectly perk!" As an extra touch a small bunch of violets had been placed beside Peter's dinner plate. Tossing them gaily to the Iffin and thinking as he did so how curious it was for so huge a beast to dine upon flowers, Peter started in on his own dinner. With both hands clasped behind him, Jack watched the sun sink down behind the grim red mountain, and Peter and Belfaygor were so hungry that neither spoke till all the plates on their trays were empty. Then, with a satisfied sigh, Peter stood up and as the trays disappeared began looking around for Snif. But there was no sign of the Iffin anywhere!
"Oh!" gasped Peter anxiously, forgetting for the moment that Snif could fly, "he must have fallen into the chasm." Calling to Jack and the baron, he started to run along the edge of the ravine, striking impatiently at a small creature that kept beating its wings in his face. He thought he had brushed it aside when, with an angry screech, it fastened its claws in his shoulder.
At the familiar verses, Peter did stop, and glancing down he saw a creature no bigger than a squirrel perched on his shoulder.
"It's me," wailed a desperate voice, as the tiny beast leaned over and rubbed its head against his cheek.
"Those violets," it choked bitterly, "those violets were shrinking violets, Peter. Look at me! I've shrunk! I might just as well throw myself away."
"Don't," gulped Peter, as the Iffin started to hurl itself from his shoulder. "I like you little."
"Well I like him big," announced Jack unfeelingly. "And who's to carry us over the chasm now, may I ask?"
"Oh!" groaned Belfaygor, tripping over his whiskers after one horrified look at the little monster, "everything is over! Everything is over now!"
"So's your old beard," mumbled Jack in an annoyed voice. Picking up the shears Belfaygor had dropped he cut length after length from the enchanted red beard, while the baron continued to wring his hands and groan and Peter tried in vain to comfort the Iffin.
CHAPTER 8
A Way to Cross the Chasm
"I'll wager that old Jinn did this on purpose," declared Jack indignantly. "I'll ring that dumb-bell again and the boy's neck, too!"
"It wasn't his fault," put in Peter, lifting Snif from his shoulder and thoughtfully stroking the small red head. "I don't suppose those violets were meant to be eaten."
"If I only hadn't eaten them," wailed the Iffin, as two tears rolled down his cheeks. "You've no idea how it feels to shrink, boys.
"Oh, yes you are," Peter reassured him hastily. "Why look, you'll fit right in my pocket and I'll carry you for a change and when we reach the Emerald City the Wizard of Oz will soon make you large again."
"Are we to reach the Emerald City?" inquired Jack, looking up from snipping Belfaygor's beard. "And how do you know you won't shrink yourself?"
Peter turned a little pale at Jack's question.
"The baron and I didn't eat any violets," he answered, swallowing hastily.
"Yes, but how are we to cross the chasm?" Belfaygor, taking the shears from Jack, rolled his eyes sadly at Peter.
"We'll just have to think of some other way," said Peter, staring off at Mogodore's mountain. "Let's all think."
"I can only think of poor little Shirley Sunshine, locked up in that dismal tower," retorted Belfaygor despondently.
"I can only think how far it must be to the bottom of this crevice," muttered Jack, looking sadly down into the ravine.
"It looks to me as if we'd have to do all the thinking for this party," murmured Snif, flying up on Peter's shoulder. "Never mind, I still can think, even if I am little.
"I'm glad you can still make verses," said Peter with a sigh. "It helps, and makes things seem a little less awful."
"Yes," said the Iffin, resting his cheek against Peter's. The sun had dropped down behind the red castle and in the gray light of early evening the grim city on the rocks looked more forbidding than ever. Great black crows circled about the towers and turrets and their hoarse crys drifted like threatening jeers across the chasm.
"If we had an ax," said Peter gloomily, "we might chop down a tree on the edge of the chasm so it would fall across." He was just wondering whether the ravine was narrow enough to jump at any point, when Snif gave a little bounce and, flying off his shoulder, announced shrilly: "I have thought of a way! We'll cross on the baron's beard!"
"You mean grow across?" asked Jack Pumpkinhead doubtfully.
"Impossible!" roared Belfaygor, throwing up his shears and hands indignantly. "Wouldst jerk out my whiskers? Besides they grow down and not up."
"Pause!" Holding up one claw, the Iffin looked solemnly from one to the other. "First," explained Snif quietly, "Belfaygor must walk three times around a tree. That will make his beard fast and keep it from pulling. Then I will take the end of the beard in my claws, fly across the chasm and fasten it to a tree on the other side. Then when Peter and Jack have crossed, the Baron can snip off the beard close to his chin and cross himself in safety. What think you of that, my brave comrades?"
"Why, that's a perfectly splendid idea!" cried Peter, jumping up enthusiastically. "How ever did you think of it?"
"Well," Snif reminded him gaily, "for five years I did nothing but think—so thinking comes easy to me. How about it Baron, will you lend us your beard?"
"Yes," answered Belfaygor readily enough, now that he had heard the Iffin's plan, "even if it hurts I will do it. I'll do anything to save Shirley Sunshine from that villainous bandit."
"Then everything's settled!" cried Peter, who hated delay or inactivity of any kind. "Let's start!"
"Not now," said the Iffin, shaking his little head seriously. "We must wait till morning Peter. As I cannot carry you all up to the castle itself, you will have to climb over the rocks and cliffs to the city gates. This will be bad enough by daylight, but impossible at night."
"That's so," agreed Peter regretfully.
"And what's to become of us when we reach the city gates?" quavered Jack in a hollow voice. "Will not these Baffleburghers impale us upon their spears?"
"Oh, I hope not," muttered the Iffin, settling down on Peter's shoulder, "but we'll have to take a chance on it. My guess is that the guards will seize and carry you to Mogodore. Once in Mogodore's presence, Peter can open the sack, and after the sack swallows everyone, we'll find the Princess and return to the capitol on foot."
"What about my beard?" asked Belfaygor nervously. "If they make us prisoners and take away my shears, we'll all be smothered."
"Well, so will they," Snif reminded him philosophically, "and that will be some comfort." Already Snif seemed to have forgotten his dreadful mishap and to have recovered his former good spirits, and under the influence of the merry little monster the whole party grew quite cheerful and gay.
"Come along," he called, flying on ahead. "Let's find some place to sleep. Is that a cave I see over there?"
Back among the rocks at the foot of a tall cliff there was a cave, sure enough, and Peter, after a little exploring, decided it would be just the place in which to spend the night. Lengths cut from Belfaygor's beard and piled on the floor made splendid mattresses and, as Jack Pumpkinhead required no rest, he offered to stand guard at the entrance. The baron himself lay with his head just outside the cave, and the obliging Pumpkinhead promised to cut his beard from time to time and see that it did not choke up the opening, nor suffocate the sleepers. So much had happened since Peter fell into the pumpkin field, he was weary as a walrus and glad enough to rest. By the time the moon had climbed to the top of Mogodore's mountain, he was fast asleep, the Iffin curled cozily in the bend of his arm, and soon only the snores of Belfaygor and the snip of Jack's shears broke the deep dark silence of the night.
CHAPTER 9
The Forbidden Flagon
While Peter and his friends rested in their hidden cave, the lights in the castle across the chasm burned far into the night, as the Baron of Baffleburg sat in converse with Wagarag, his chief steward and Major Domo. Biggen and Little, the baron's body guards, dozed stiffly at their posts behind his chair, while the huge hunting dogs snored upon the hearthstones. Flaring torches, set in stone holders in the wall, flung a flickering light into the dim corners of the great stone hall. Bear rugs were strewn about the flagged floor; swords, daggers and glittering armor hung upon the walls and the furniture, the carved chests, tables and chairs were big and clumsy, like the owner of the castle himself.
With his chin resting in the palm of his hand, Mogodore stared moodily into the fire, but Wagarag, a thin anxious little Baffleburgher, moved about restlessly, straightening a tapestry here, a table cover there, and never still for a moment.
"If I only knew what was in that miserable flagon," muttered the baron for about the fiftieth time. "If I only knew! Why must it be hidden? Why is it forbidden? What would happen if I broke the seal?"
"Buttered billygoats," spluttered Wagarag impatiently. "On the very eve of your wedding must you still worry about that wretched flask? Can you think of nothing but that miserable flagon?"
Flicking at a bit of gold dust on the mantel, Wagarag paused in exasperation before his master.
"If your father and grandfather before you were able to guard and keep it safely why cannot you let it rest where no one will discover its secret? Is it not written in the Book of Baffleburg that if aught disturbs the seal on the forbidden flagon, or one drop of the contents spills, a dreadful disaster will befall? Are you not Mogodore the Mighty, slayer of an hundred bears, subduer of an hundred barons and Lord of this mountain? Have you not stolen for your bride the loveliest Princess in the valley? Pray dismiss this mischievous flagon from your mind. Think of something else," begged Wagarag earnestly.
"Something pleasant, this Princess for instance."
Wagarag clasped his hands and rolled his eyes upward. "A beauteous damsel, if I may be permitted to say so!"
"But she refuses to marry me," growled Mogodore, crossing his legs irritably.
"What difference does that make," sniffed Wagarag, poking the fire energetically. "Your word is law in Baffleburg. Marry her anyway!"
"But I can't understand it," breathed Mogodore, taking up a mirror that lay on the arm of his chair and surveying himself long and earnestly. The reflection in the mirror stared as earnestly back, but Mogodore could see nothing amiss with the red face, bristling black whiskers and hair, small blue eyes, great nose and crooked mouth that confronted him. "No, it cannot be my looks," grunted the baron, setting down the mirror. "What does this precious Princess want?" he demanded fretfully.
"Why not ask her?" suggested Wagarag, prodding Biggen and Little vigorously in the ribs. "Here, you lazy rogues, fetch down the Princess from the tower!"
"Mayhap the Princess sleepeth," mumbled Biggen, rubbing his eyes and yawning terrifically.
"Then wakeneth her and bringeneth her thither," commanded Wagarag, giving Biggen a push and Little a poke.
But the Princess, as you may well imagine, was far from sleeping. Pacing restlessly up and down the small tower room, she was trying to think of some way to escape, and when Biggen and Little thumped on the door and explained that her presence was desired below, she went readily enough, hoping it might give her another chance to plead with the baron for her liberty, or wheedle the guards into releasing her. But Biggen and Little paid small attention to her entreaties. Roughly thrusting back the ruby necklace she offered if they would help her slip out of the castle, they picked her up bodily and carried her down to their master.
"Well!" exclaimed Mogodore, as Shirley Sunshine drew herself up proudly against one of the great stone pillars, "do you still refuse to marry me?"
"Of course," answered the little Princess haughtily. "Release me at once or my father and Belfaygor will come and destroy you utterly."
"Destroy me!" roared the Baron, with an evil wink at Wagarag. "Do you not know that I am Mogodore the Mighty, boldest of all the barons and Lord of this mountain?"
"Only one mountain," said the Princess shaking back her long brown curls scornfully. "If you are as mighty as you pretend, I should think you'd conquer several."
"There are no more mountains worth conquering," stormed Mogodore, thumping the arm of his chair with his fist, "and you know that well enough."
"Yes, but there are other countries," said the Princess haughtily. Seeing the baron give a surprised start, and realizing that he was as vain as he was cruel, Shirley decided to flatter her villainous conqueror and delay the wedding by any trick or plan she could manage. "If I had your strength and fighting ability, I'd conquer and keep on conquering until I was a King," said the Princess, with an imperious gesture.
"Would you like me better if I were a King?" asked Mogodore, leaning forward eagerly. The Princess nodded so emphatically that her curls danced briskly to and fro and with a cry that shook the very rafters Mogodore leaped out of his chair.
"Then I'll be a King!" he shouted exuberantly. "I'll march across the Red Mountains, capture the Emerald City, depose this foolish little fairy Ozma and proclaim myself King of Oz."
"Better let well enough alone," cautioned Wagarag, running anxiously after his master, who was striding excitedly up and down the hearth. "There is a Wizard in the Emerald City who is exceedingly powerful and Ozma herself is a practiced magician."
"Puff on their magic," cried Mogodore, snapping his fingers contemptuously. "How can Ozma, who is small and weak, overcome a big fellow like me? Nay—argue not. I'll conquer the Emerald City and be a King, King Mogodore the First of Oz. I wonder I never thought of it myself. You're going to be a great help to me, my dear!"
Pausing before the Princess, Mogodore patted her clumsily on the head. "And what's more, you shall accompany me to the capitol, see this capturing done, be married in the Emerald City and crowned with Ozma's crown," he promised recklessly. "But now you must have some rest, for we'll start to-morrow morning.
"See that I'm called early," he blustered, shaking his finger at Wagarag. "See that my fighting men are roused at daybreak," he roared, knocking the heads of Biggen and Little smartly together. "When I'm King of Oz I can open that forbidden flagon," he confided hoarsely, leaning down to whisper in Wagarag's ear.
"No more of this wretched wondering. What will Baffleburg matter when I'm King of the realm? I'll put an end to this unbearable mystery. This Princess has brought me luck. Come, kiss me little one!"
But Shirley Sunshine, with a horrified glance at the boisterous Baron, picked up her skirts and fled from the room.
"See that she does not escape," rumbled Mogodore indulgently, and Biggen and Little, clattering after the Princess, locked her securely in the tower. Alone in the comfortless room, the captive Princess leaned against the barred windows and, fixing her eyes upon one steadfast star, wondered how long it would be before Belfaygor or her father came to rescue her. Her heart sank at the thought of this cruel baron marching upon the Emerald City, laying waste its parks and palaces and enslaving all of its gay and gentle inhabitants. Terrified by the frightful forces she had set in motion, the tired little Princess threw herself upon the hard bed and cried herself to sleep.
Below in the castle hall, Wagarag endeavored to turn the baron from his audacious purpose. "Listen not to this mischievous maiden," begged the steward. "Stay here where you are known and powerful. It is better to be a ruler among fools than a fool among rulers. Many have attempted to conquer the Kingdom of Oz—not one has succeeded."
"Then I will be the first," boasted Mogodore and, snatching a broad sword from the wall, he swung it expertly round his head. "Shine up your shin guards, Waggy old Lad, for you're going with me and I hereby appoint you Royal Chancellor of Oz! Keeper of the King's Custard and Imperial Purveyor of Puddings!"
Laughing uproariously, Mogodore brought the flat of his sword down with a resounding thwack upon the thin shoulders of his disapproving steward.
"Come to bed, Dunce!" he cried good naturedly. "You mean well, but know nothing."
"At least I know my place," muttered Wagarag, shaking his head gloomily. "We both belong on this Mountain and no good will come of this expedition."
"You forget the flagon," exulted Mogodore. "I shall at last know the secret of the forbidden flagon."
"Have it your own way," sighed Wagarag, with a resigned shrug. "But don't blame me if we're all turned to sticks by the Wizard of Oz and thrown into the fire."
"Ha! Ha!" shouted Mogodore, more amused than frightened by this terrible threat. "You'll make a splendid stick, old fellow." Laughing noisily, the bad, bold baron tramped cheerfully off to bed.
CHAPTER 10
The City of Baffleburg
A strange, shrill squeaking wakened Peter next morning, and starting up he saw that it was the Iffin. Sitting on a flat stone, the tiny monster was practising his gr—rrs. "If only I could growl again, I wouldn't mind my size," mourned Snif, looking sadly up at Peter. "Can't fight! Can't growl! A fine fix for a fabulous monster!"
"But you can think," answered Peter cheerfully. "And you're free. Just wait till we've conquered this silly old baron and come to the Emerald City. You'll be a sure-enough griffin then. But I kinda like you little," he added loyally, "and I should think it would be rather an interesting experience."
"Well," acknowledged the Iffin, scratching his ear reflectively with his third hind claw, "at least it will be something to tell my grandchildren, if I ever have any grandchildren." Raising his voice to a tiny roar he rushed to the front of the cave calling loudly, "What ho without!"
"I do not see a hoe of any kind," answered Jack Pumpkinhead blandly. "But the sun is up and the wind is changing and unless we move away from here we'll be buried in whiskers."
Stepping outside Peter saw a red mound as huge as ten hay stacks rolled into one. All night Jack had faithfully cut Belfaygor's beard and raked the cut lengths neatly together, but now the wind was whirling the top off the stack and filling the air with a blinding tangle of red strands. Hastily waking the Baron, the four adventurers hurried to the other side of the cliff and watched the great red cloud sweep into the chasm.
"And now to beard this baron in his den," proposed Snif, swinging himself gaily back and forward on the branches of a small tree.
"Yes, let us be off at once," sighed Belfaygor, taking the shears from Jack and starting in on his weary work of clipping.
"Let's have breakfast," suggested Peter, who was always hungriest in the morning. "Ring the old bell Jack."
"Then goodbye," quavered Snif, flying into the air. "I'll be back when those trays have disappeared and not before. No more magic repasts for me!"
While Peter and Belfaygor breakfasted royally on beef steak and fried potatoes, Snif nibbled daintily at the red honeysuckle that clung to the rocks and muttered little iffish verses to himself.
"Have you ever been to Baffleburg," asked Peter, after the trays had vanished and Snif came back to perch upon his shoulder. "Is it so very dangerous?"
"I have flown over Mogodore's mountain many times," said Snif thoughtfully, "and from what I have seen, it must be pretty bad.
"No tweaking," advised Jack Pumpkinhead nervously. "Let us just sack the city and leave."
"All right," agreed Snif good naturedly, "but we can't leave till we start, so let's get started." He looked inquiringly at Belfaygor and Belfaygor, after a nervous glance across the chasm, stepped to a tree on the edge of the ravine and walked solemnly three times round, till his beard was securely fastened. Now that the time for action had come, the adventurers said little. Belfaygor stood proudly erect, waiting for his beard to grow long enough to stretch across the chasm and soon it did, and Snif, taking the ends in his claws, flew over the deep ravine and fastened the beard tightly to a tree on the other side. Now, all was ready and Peter, dropping boldly over the edge, swung himself skillfully across on the swinging red cable. He dared not look down and once safely over watched uneasily while Jack pulled himself across.
"Whatever you do, don't lose your head," breathed Peter, leaning forward nervously. Halfway over, Jack's wooden fingers almost lost their hold, and his Pumpkin head spun about upon its peg, but Snif, flying valiantly to the rescue, held it in place and, when at last Jack came near enough for Peter to reach, he clutched both wooden arms and dragged Jack thankfully to safety. Belfaygor now clipped off his beard close to the chin and crossed himself without mishap or difficulty.
Belfaygor clipped off his beard and crossed, himself, without mishap or difficulty.
The first step of the dangerous undertaking had been made in safety but straight ahead was a steep wall of rock. If it had not been for Belfaygor's beard they would never have been able to scale this dreadful precipice. But Snif, taking the beard in his claws, flew up till he found a boulder or sturdy sapling. Then, winding the beard several times round, he would signal to Belfaygor who would immediately snip off his end of the beard and climb expertly up the swinging rope. Peter, hoisting himself up after him, could not help but think what a splendid Alpine guide the baron would make. But Jack, tremblingly following Peter, resolved that if ever he reached the Emerald City again he would stay peaceably at home for the rest of his unnatural life.
In this interesting but perilous fashion they finally reached the top of the cliff, only to find the gates of the city still farther up. A rocky opening into a narrow tunnel apparently led directly to Baffleburg and, with many misgivings, the travellers entered the tunnel. Although it was dark and clammy inside and exceedingly rough underfoot, they reached the end without trouble. In the dim murky light Peter saw a wooden door with an iron ring in the center. He was about to grasp the ring, when the tunnel, without any warning, tipped downward and shot them headlong from the opening. Snatching at a tree just in time, Peter saved himself from pitching over the precipice. Belfaygor's beard, catching on a jagged rock, saved him and fortunately the baron had hold of Jack. His head did bounce off, but by some miracle rolled into a hollow in the rocks. Snif went over the edge of the cliff, but spreading his wings flew back to safety.
"Something else to tell my grandchildren," grumbled the Iffin, shaking himself angrily, while Peter hastily recovered Jack's pumpkin head and put it back where it belonged. "I'll pay him up for that slide. Come on boys, let's try it again. Can a trick tunnel hold us back now?"
Peter looked inquiringly at Belfaygor and Belfaygor clipping a length from his beard looked doubtfully at Peter but Jack, holding his head with both hands, expressed in no uncertain terms his complete unwillingness to ever enter the treacherous tunnel again.
"But we must go on," said Snif stubbornly:
"Well I'm not May, and I think the way we came was simple enough," complained Jack. "I never felt more simple in my life, and look at the dent in my head!"
"Maybe if we run through as fast as we can and get hold of the iron ring in the door before the tunnel tilts we won't spill out," suggested Peter, examining a long scratch on his knee. "I'll go first," he volunteered gamely, "and all of you can hold on to me." Snif and Belfaygor immediately approved of this plan and Jack finally, not desiring to be left, consented to go. First Peter put Snif in his pocket, then Belfaygor caught hold of Peter's coat-tails and Jack caught hold of Belfaygor's. Taking a long breath, Peter dashed into the tunnel and never, even when he was making a home run, had he sprinted along any faster, Jack and the Baron clattering along as best they could behind him.
Just as Peter reached the tunnel end and grasped the iron ring, the tunnel tipped a second time. But Peter hung on to the ring and the others hung on to Peter. Several coat seams ripped, but when the tunnel finally righted itself they were still inside. Before it could tilt again, Peter turned the ring, opened the wooden door and stepped into a large cobble-stone courtyard.
Straight ahead rose the grim gray walls and buttressed towers of Baffleburg. As they tip-toed nearer, they could hear the sharp ring of horses' hoofs on the other side of the wall.
"Shall I fly over and see what's going on?" asked Snif, fluttering excitedly out of Peter's pocket.
"No! No!" begged the little boy hurriedly. "Let's all stay together. I'll ring that bell over the city gates and when the guards carry us to Mogodore we'll open the sack as we planned!" Running forward, Peter seized the chain attached to a huge bell over the gates and gave it a tremendous pull. It was impossible to see into Baffleburg, as the gates were backed with panels of wood and the walls themselves were high as sky scrapers. As the wild clanging of the bell died away, the four adventurers drew closer together. But nothing at all happened. Again Peter jerked the iron chain but still no one came to open the gates.
"They refuse to admit us," puffed Belfaygor, with a furious clip at his whiskers. "What now?" Before they had time to decide upon any plan, four towers rising from the city's walls suddenly tilted downward, and shooting from their tops came a perfect shower of golden spears. Throwing themselves flat upon the cobbles, Peter and his companions managed to escape injury. Time and again the tilting towers rose and fell, spraying the courtyard with spears. By crawling close to the walls and lying perfectly flat, the four adventurers were able to keep out of their way, but as Peter reflected gloomily, they could not lie under the wall forever. He was considering whether or not to open the pirate's sack and see if it would swallow the spears, when Belfaygor touched him on the shoulder.
"When the tower nearest me tilts again, I shall jump in the window," whispered the baron. "You and Jack must follow. By keeping directly under the tower you will avoid the spears."
"Wait!" gasped Peter, horrified at Belfaygor's daring scheme. But Belfaygor, shaking his head determinedly, leaped to his feet, and as the tower came tilting down he plunged headfirst into the window nearest to the ground.
"Hooka-ma-roosters!" choked the Iffin. "How did he do that?"
"How are we to do it?" panted Peter, as all four towers shot up into place again. Motionless and terrified they waited for them to descend, but the Baffleburghers, evidently deciding that their visitors were utterly routed, had turned off the machinery and all four towers stopped tilting. There was no possible way into the city now, and completely baffled Peter stared angrily up at the thick gray walls.
"Now I'll have to fly over," muttered Snif nervously. "Maybe I can open the gates."
"A signal!" called Jack suddenly. "A signal! Squash and turnip tops! It's Belfaygor's beard!" Looking where Jack pointed, Peter and the Iffin saw Belfaygor himself outlined in the window of the nearest tower. And pouring over the sill and growing steadily downward were the wonderful and ever dependable red whiskers.
"We can climb his beard," cried Peter excitedly. "Come on, it's almost long enough!" This was evidently what Belfaygor intended, for when they looked again, they could see him twining his beard round a huge spike on the sill. Then he waved his hand, and Peter, tightening his belt, climbed boldly aloft, looking back now and then to call encouragement to Jack Pumpkinhead. In less than a minute they were all safely inside the tower, for the Iffin had flown up with no trouble at all. The tower room was cheerless and without furniture. A spiral stairway in the center led downward. At the thought of conquering another city, Peter's impatience and excitement grew. If only some of the boys could be along, or his grandfather! He tried to picture Belfaygor's amazement when the pirate's sack should come into action, and seizing the baron's arm fairly dragged him to the stair.
"I suppose if we go down these steps we'll come out in the courtyard, for this certainly is the fort," puffed Peter, clattering ahead.
"All we do is climb up and down," groaned Jack Pumpkinhead. "I'll bet it's a million steps to the bottom.
"Oh, not that many," grinned Peter, looking down at Snif, who was comfortably seated on his shoulder. Quietly cutting his beard Belfaygor stepped after Peter and Jack resignedly brought up at the end of the procession.
CHAPTER 11
In the Castle of Mogodore
"Now to get ourselves captured," whispered Peter eagerly, as they finally reached the bottom of the stair.
"It should not be difficult," answered Snif, who had flown ahead and now come back to rest on Peter's shoulder. "Behold! Be bold! Look! Gaze and tremble!" Stepping out of the dim tower into the courtyard of the fort, Peter gave a little whistle of consternation and surprise. Drawn up in glittering rows were a thousand mounted men in armor, each holding a golden spear.
"Something's afoot here," muttered Belfaygor behind his waving whiskers.
"You mean ahorse, don't you?" corrected Jack, straightening his head and dusting a cobweb off his chin. "Is that sack quite ready Peter?" Peter nodded and as one of the armored riders caught sight of the intruders and galloped furiously forward, he called boldly, "Conduct us to your chief. We have important tidings to impart."
"Impart them to me," ordered the horseman, lifting his visor and frowning down at the little boy. "Impart them to me, or I'll prick ye over yon wall."
shrieked the Iffin, flying in dizzy circles about the rider's head.
"Avaunt varlet," rasped Belfaygor, tossing his beard over his shoulder with a lordly gesture, "our business is with your Master!" The circling little Iffin, the strange appearance of Jack Pumpkinhead and the wildly waving whiskers of Belfaygor all tended to bewilder the horseman. For a moment he hesitated, then galloping back, conferred anxiously with one of his companions. After much head shaking and arm waving, they both rode forward, and beckoning for the travellers to follow them, trotted briskly under a stone archway that led up to the town itself.
"That was easy," chuckled Peter, trudging gaily after the mailed riders. "They think we're magicians, Snif."
"We'll have to be to get out of here," muttered the little monster uneasily. "Be careful, boy, be carefuller than careful!"
"Every step brings us nearer to the Princess," said Belfaygor, tripping over his beard and fixing his eyes hopefully on the castle tower. But it was many weary steps to the palace, and the one cobbled street of Baffleburg was both steep and narrow. Red stone cottages perched on the cliffs at either side, and now and then a curious head was stuck out, as the little procession went pounding by. But at last they came to the red gates of the castle itself, and after a short parley with the guards were admitted. Leaving their horses in the courtyard, the two warriors hustled their charges into the baronial hall of the mountain chief. Looking around the great hall, Peter decided that it was just the kind of castle he had always dreamed of owning. His eyes shone as they rested on the jewelled swords and armor that decorated the walls. But he was quickly brought back to the dangerous business in hand by the stern voice of their guide.
"Magicians with an important message to impart," announced the first man, dipping his spear in a salute to Mogodore. In full fighting regalia, the Baron of Baffleburg sat at a long table in the center of the hall, poring over an old map of Oz and trying to decide at what point to attack the capitol. Back of him stood Wagarag, in a hastily assembled armor of iron pots and sauce pans. Next to Wagarag lounged Bragga, Captain of the Guard and Smerker, Chief Scorner of the realm.
"Magicians!" rumbled Mogodore looking up impatiently. "That accounts for them getting into the city. Magicians, eh! Well they look like a pack of peddlars. Scorn them," he ordered, contemptuously jerking his thumb at Smerker. Now Peter had never been scorned in his life and wanted to see how it was done. So instead of immediately opening the pirate's sack he stood staring curiously at Smerker. Leaning forward, the Chief Scorner seized a key-like handle that seemed to be attached to his nose and turned it straight upward. At the same time he curled back his lips in a truly astonishing manner.
"Ho! Ha! Ha!" roared Snif, holding on to Peter with both claws:
Peter felt like laughing himself, but the Chief Scorner, paying no attention at all to the Iffin, now snatched a sauce box from his sleeve and opening it with a quick jerk, held it out toward the travellers. Immediately the sauce box began to scold and berate them in the most harsh and abusive terms making more noise than a dozen radios and filling the air with such a horrid racket that Peter covered his ears and the others, without meaning to, backed toward the door. Satisfied that his Chief Scorner had subdued the intruders, Mogodore motioned for Smerker to close the sauce box.
"Now throw them out," he barked with a wave at Bragga. "I've wasted too much time already." But as Bragga stepped forward to obey this command, Belfaygor, snipping a long piece from his beard stepped boldly up to the baron and thumping his fist on the table demanded in a loud voice, "What have you done with my Princess? Where is Shirley Sunshine?"
Boldened by this spirited action, Jack Pumpkinhead stepped up beside him. "Release this maiden at once, you rude, rash robber, you—you Princess snapper," he cried.
"Have the sack ready, quick," whispered Snif to Peter, as Mogodore stared angrily at the strange pair.
"So that's it," grunted the Baron of Baffleburg. "I see now that you are Belfaygor of Bourne, hiding like a coward behind false whiskers. Well, you shall not marry this Princess, for she is to marry me—Mogodore the Mighty!"
"Mighty what?" inquired Jack Pumpkinhead curiously.
"Mighty mighty, you impertinent fool, mighty important you ridiculous pumpkin head. Smite him," bellowed the Baron with a wrathful wave at Jack. "Remove this whiskered pest," he roared in the next breath with another wave at Belfaygor.
"So you're Mogodore the smite-y. Well don't you dare smite me," challenged Jack, shaking his wooden fist under Mogodore's nose. "There stands Peter, the pitcher from Philadelphia. On his shoulder sits a fabulous monster who may devour you any minute."
As Mogodore, rather startled by this long rigamarole, half rose in his chair, Jack vigorously rang the Red Jinn's bell and down upon the table flashed the little black slave, set down his tray and vanished. Mogodore's retainers screamed with fright, and the Baron himself blinked with astonishment, but when Jack rang the bell a second time, Biggen and Little sprang forward and seized the little slave by the wrists. In a twinkling the slave disappeared. Biggen and Little, also disappeared.
"You see," quavered Jack in a slightly unsteady voice, "I am a great magician!"
"Then bring back my guards," yelled Mogodore, stamping his foot furiously.
"Give back my Princess," retorted Belfaygor just as furiously. Thinking it about time to put an end to this dangerous discussion, Peter pulled the pirate's sack from his shoulders and was about to unfasten the cord, when he was seized suddenly from behind and both arms pinioned closely to his sides.
"This pitcher's trying some more magic tricks," panted the spearman indignantly. He had crept up quietly behind Peter, and in spite of the little boy's struggles, Mogodore's big soldier held him fast.
"We hang pitchers on the wall here!" boomed Mogodore, glaring fiercely at Peter. (I regret to say the big baron did not know the difference between picture and pitcher.) "Hold that pitcher—seize that whiskered rascal and behead that pumpkinheaded dunce! Enough of this nonsense. When I return from the Emerald City I'll make them produce Biggen and Little and behead them all!" promised Mogodore, striding up and down with a great clash and clatter of armor. "Is Princess Shirley ready? I wait for no man and precious few women!"
"I will see, your Highness!" Touching the iron pot he was wearing for a helmet, Wagarag hurried from the hall and while Peter in helpless rage looked on, Bragga seized Belfaygor, the other spearman caught Jack and flung him across the center table and unfeelingly struck off his head. Such was the force of the blow, Jack's pumpkin bounced to the floor, rolled through a tapestry-curtained door and disappeared. At this dreadful turn of affairs, Peter gave a groan and Snif almost succeeded in growling, but being unable to open the pirate's sack they were completely at the mercy of Mogodore and his men.
"Lock them up on the North tower till my return, and know that I will return a King," boasted Mogodore, placing his hand proudly upon the hilt of his sword. "We march upon the Emerald City this very morning, I'll marry Shirley Sunshine in the capitol and be crowned King of Oz before night fall."
"What!" gasped Peter, scarcely believing his ears.
"You'll be sorry for this," bawled Belfaygor, slashing with his shears at the Captain of the Guard. Poor Jack said nothing, for without a head what could he say? Threatening and struggling, Peter and Belfaygor were dragged off to the dungeons in the North tower, Snif doing what he could to release them by biting and scratching the hands and faces of the guards, but he was too little to help much and both were securely locked up. In his struggle with the spearman, Peter had dropped the pirate sack, and exhausted and discouraged he sank down on the stone bench in his dark little dungeon. The window was high above his head and let in only a feeble ray of light and the stone cell so small he could touch both sides by extending his arms. Snif had come with him, but Belfaygor had been locked in a dungeon higher up in the tower. Things certainly had not gone as planned—in fact they were in worse plight than anyone could have imagined.