THE COMPACT WITH VULCAN
[Illustration]
Over the sea Dragonfel the enchanter waited with increasing impatience
for the Human Octopus to return with whatever information he might glean
in his prowling, sneaking manner. When his grotesque emissary did not
put in a prompt appearance he grew more surly and ill-humored than ever.
He vented his rage upon the poor little mine-sprites by increasing their
working-hours and decreasing their allowance of carrot-tops and
potato-skins.
Whenever he spoke to his followers their knees knocked together with
fright. At no time was he gentle, but when he was particularly violent,
which was nearly always, he was a very bad person who could be well
avoided.
So he became even crankier and crosser-grained than ever, till all
around him quaked with fear. He wondered why the Human Octopus did not
come back, and his inexplicable delay filled him with ungovernable fury.
"He's not attending to business," he said, grinding his teeth with rage.
"Instead of snooping he's just going around, and having a good time. But
wait till he gets back, and I'll show him!" As he spoke these words he
happened to be in his throne room, and he went to the open window to
look out.
It was a wild, terrible night, but the worse the weather was the more
Dragonfel liked it.
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The lightning zig-zagged all over the inky black sky, the thunder
roared, the wind howled, and the rain beat down in slanting torrents.
"Vulcan must have some little job on hand," Dragonfel pondered, as he
returned to his throne.
Scarcely had he done so when there came a sudden fierce gust of wind
that blew the Red Spirit through the window right to his very feet
where he cringed and grovelled and fawned in the most abject manner.
"How now, you rogue?" roared Dragonfel above the storm. "Where have you
been, and what has kept you? Why have you not returned as you went?
Answer, villain, or it will go hard with you! I will have you strung up
by the finger-tips till your toes barely touch the ground and beaten by
a thousand and one whips!"
"Oh, master, kind master," gasped the Red Spirit, trying to catch his
breath, "wonderful things have I seen, and wonderful things have I to
tell you. So incredible are they that you may not believe me, yet I do
assure you most positively that what I am about to relate is the truth,
the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. I would never have believed
them myself had I not seen them with my own eyes."
"Omit all this long, unnecessary preamble," growled Dragonfel, in great
disgust, "and get down to hard facts. What have you discovered?"
"The Brownie prince is to wed the fairy queen!"
Dragonfel's face went from scarlet to white, then from white to scarlet,
then back to white, and then to scarlet again, just like the flashing of
a vari-colored electric sign.
"How do you know?" he asked, trying to control his temper. "Who told
you?"
"No one," said the trembling Red Spirit. "I saw him place an
engagement-ring on her finger."
"Well," declared Dragonfel, in a tone of the utmost brutality, "if they
are planning to get married all I've got to say is they've got another
guess coming!"
"Who will prevent the marriage, kind master?"
"I will prevent it!" irascibly shouted the enchanter, and he clapped his
hands together in an imperious way. "What ho, without there! Here's a
pretty kettle of fish! Come hither instantly!"
Grouthead, Mandrake, Boundingbore, Wolfinger, Snoutpimple, and others
were out in an ante-room, and they almost tumbled over each other in
their frantic haste to answer the peremptory summons.
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"Put on your storm-cloaks immediately," ordered Dragonfel. "I want you
to come with me to Vulcan's."
"It's a terrible night to be out, kind master," ventured Grouthead, with
a shudder.
There came a flash of lightning and a crash of thunder more terrifying
than any that had gone before.
"What's the matter with the night?" snapped Dragonfel. "I don't see
anything wrong with it. I call this particularly pleasant weather."
"Yes, it's all right now," Grouthead hastened to say.
So in their long, flowing cloaks they all sloshed out in the wind and
rain, while the hearts of those who followed after the enchanter quaked
and quailed as they plunged on through the pitch-black darkness of the
night.
The wind howled and shrieked with increasing fury, the lightning grew
sharper, and the peals of thunder more deafening, so that their eyes
were nearly blinded, and their ear-drums rang.
Now not so very far from Dragonfel's palace Vulcan whom they had set
forth to see had his cavern.
It was a very modest establishment indeed, considering the prodigious
results that he achieved, and the wonder was that in such cramped
quarters, and with so few to aid him in his work, he could do as much as
he did.
The cavern was down by the sea, in among huge rocks and boulders, and
over the door, in very modest lettering, was the business sign: VULCAN
GOD OF FIRE.
Inside was a forge with bellows such as any country blacksmith has, and
here Vulcan manufactured earthquakes and volcanos at will.
He could create seismic disturbances all over the world, in a trice
throw Vesuvius into hysterical contraptions, or make things suddenly
red-hot in Mexico or the British Honduras. His wares were known in every
quarter of the globe, and he didn't even so much as advertise.
On this particular night he stood as usual at his forge--a great big,
husky, bearded fellow in a red flannel undershirt bared at his brawny,
hairy chest, and with sleeves rolled almost up to his shoulders to give
the tremendous muscles of his arms full play.
[Illustration: Vulcan threatening his imps with a hot poker.]
He wore a round leather cap and had on a leather apron tied to his
burly waist by leather thongs. Things needed touching up a bit, and he
was getting busy.
"Where are those lazy 'prentices of mine?" he roared, in rumbling tones,
as he pumped the bellows, while the flames in the forge leaped higher
and higher. "Spry, Flash, Nimble, Twist, and the rest of you--where are
you, I say? Has my voice grown so weak, you rogues, that you cannot hear
me? Come hither this instant!"
From all directions in response to the angry summons came imps in red
attire that fitted their lithe, supple bodies as snugly as the skins of
eels.
They somersaulted down the chimney, popped up like jack-in-th'-boxes
from the earthen floor, and described parabolas through the air from the
cavern's ceiling, grouping themselves humbly on their knees before their
irate master, with their arms supplicatingly extended.
"Here at last, are you?" again roared Vulcan. "And none too soon,
either! Where have you been, imps? Idling your time away? Quick! heap
coals on, all of you, or the fire will be out!"
Forthwith they flung balls of living fire into the forge, and, as Vulcan
pumped away at the bellows, he burst out in lusty song:
"When the flames leap high
From the crater to the sky
I roll up my sleeves with delight;
When the strongest buildings rock
To the awful earthquake's shock
The trembling millions all confess my might!"
The lightning flashed, the thunder crashed, and over all the storm was
heard a voice calling: "Vul-can! Vul-can!"
Vulcan stopped work while his imps crept stealthily toward the door to
listen.
"Is Vulcan at his forge?" was shouted in the wind and rain outside, with
the accompaniment of a terrific knock on the door.
"Who dares disturb me on my busy night?" cried Vulcan, in a towering
passion.
[Illustration: DRAGONFEL KNOCKING ON VULCAN'S DOOR.]
"It is I, Dragonfel, the enchanter," said the voice placatingly.
"What brings you here?" asked Vulcan.
"I come on business of great import, mighty Vulcan!"
"Enter, then, and be brief," said Vulcan, with scant hospitality.
"Remember I have work to do."
Dragonfel and his followers thereupon appeared in the doorway, and came
forward escorted by the imps who evinced the greatest curiosity in the
strange, rain-soaked visitors.
When they were within respectful distance of Vulcan the enchanter sank
on one knee before him, and the rest immediately followed his example.
"Why have you sought me out?" demanded Vulcan, with distrust and
suspicion on his seamed, rugged face as he sharply eyed them.
"Oh, Vulcan," spoke Dragonfel, in smooth, oily tones, "powerful as I am,
I acknowledge you my master. Who else can match you in your wondrous
strength?"
"You've come for a favor!" grunted the other. "Well, out with it!"
"I wish to tell you about the Brownies."
"What about the Brownies?"
"There is to be a marriage in Fairyland. The Brownie prince is to wed
the fairy queen!"
"Bah! How does this concern me?"
"It should concern you. Listen, Vulcan! There is no authority for such
a marriage in all the annals of mythology."
The words created a deep impression upon Vulcan.
"No authority?" he repeated slowly, as though he were mentally digesting
what he had just heard. "Are you sure of this?"
"There is none, I tell you," insisted Dragonfel emphatically. "It is
enough to arouse the anger of the high and mighty gods. My own power
will be diminished, if not lost, should this union take place." "Are
you using any measures to prevent it?" asked Vulcan thoughtfully. "Aye!"
was Dragonfel's decided response. "I am going across the sea with these
followers of mine to interfere. Can I rely upon your powerful aid should
I need it?" "How can I help you?" "If I call upon you will you convulse
the earth, and rouse to fury the slumbering volcano?"
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"Trust me for that!" cried Vulcan, beginning to pump the bellows. "The
element of fire is still my own, to use at will."
A lightning-bolt hurled itself right in their very midst, and the
resultant thunder-clap brought Dragonfel and his followers to their feet
in sudden alarm. "Enough!" cried Dragonfel exultingly. "It is a compact,
then!"
"Here is my hand on it!" said Vulcan, and he crushed that of the
enchanter in his grimy fist. "Spry, Flash, Nimble, and Twist, my crafty
imps, shall go with you. Through them appeal to me. But what do you
propose to do?"
"I have a plan, and a good one too!" said Dragonfel, in a confidential
manner. "You can depend upon it, rats will eat the wedding-cake!"
Vulcan's fancy was so tickled that he laughed hilariously, and Dragonfel
made bold to slap him in a familiar way upon the back. "Ho! ho!" Vulcan
chuckled. "So rats will eat the wedding-cake, eh?"
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"Yes," Dragonfel went on. "We're going to the wedding, gain their
confidence with fine presents, and then--"
"Yes," said Vulcan, very much interested. "And then--?"
Dragonfel leaned over and whispered something in Vulcan's ear which
caused him to start back in surprise. "No!" he involuntarily exclaimed.
"Do you think you can do it?" If Florimel and Titania could have heard
the diabolical plan of the enchanter all the happiness would have
vanished from their hearts.