constitution, so I shall be ready. But suppose this curious camel is
not in the Emerald City? Suppose this is just another false vision of
our precious Prophet?"
"We'll talk about that when you return," said the Sultan, panting up
the steps of his throne and dropping heavily on his yellow cushions.
"And meanwhile, I'm the Grand Bozzywoz," exulted Chinda, brushing
rudely past the Grand Vizier. "I'll head all the processions and take
orders from no one but his Supreme Excellency! Way for the Grand
Bozzywoz! Way, I tell you!"
"There, there, not too bozzy!" warned the Sultan, as Chinda pushed
Tuzzle out of his path and strode haughtily from the throne room. Then,
as the Grand Vizier, muttering with vexation, rushed in the opposite
direction, the Sultan hugged Confido tightly to his breast.
"Stupid fools!" wheezed the fat sovereign breathlessly. "They think
I want the camel. It's not the camel we want, little treasure, but
what's in the camel's left hand saddle sack. Without that package I am
lost, ruined, done for. How much longer must I wait and worry? Why,
oh, wherefore did I ever let that package out of my hands or ever stow
it in such a place?" Confido shook his head and licked the Sultan
sympathetically on the nose, and much comforted his Majesty thumped
upon the golden gong at his side and called in a loud voice for his
afternoon coffee.
Meanwhile, so well were the orders of the very Grand Vizier carried
out that when the orange crescent moon rose over the turrets and domes
of the Sultan's city, the Royal Sampan, fully loaded and ready for the
journey, tugged impatiently at its golden chain. Not one, but twenty
satin robes for Tuzzle, twenty fine embroidered shawls as a gift
for Ozma of Oz, twenty roast fowl and twenty baskets of provisions
had been stowed in the cushioned cabin of the ship. Under the orange
awnings forward, a tremendous deck chair had been placed for the Grand
Vizier, and a table beside the chair was heaped with apricots, figs,
dates, oranges, almonds, and sweetmeats of every description, for
Tuzzle had no intention of starving on the voyage. Rubbing his hands
complacently, the Grand Vizier regarded everything with bland approval,
for he anticipated a tranquil and pleasant trip and had always wished
to visit the court of Ozma. Though no one in the Emerald City had
ever heard of Samandra, the Samandrans, being one of the most ancient
races in all Oz, knew all about the Emerald City and the famous folk
who lived there. Samandra, you must know, lies at the very top of the
Winkie Country, bordered on the North by the Deadly Desert and on the
South by the Winkie River, and is directly between the Kingdoms of
Corabia and Corumbia. But for five hundred years all three countries
have been under the rule of the wily Sultan, who by some strange magic
conquered both of his kingly neighbors, stole all their treasures, and
transformed all their subjects. Carrying most of the treasure by
caravan to Samandra, he let the conquered Kingdoms severely alone, and
uncared for and deserted they have lain for long dusty centuries, their
little villages overgrown with weeds, and their stately capitals fast
falling to ruin and decay.
[Illustration: THE ROYAL SAMPAN]
Samandra itself, though largely made up of a golden-sanded desert,
has many fertile valleys and plains--lovely flowerful spots, gay in
the spring with daffodils and lotus, having an abundance of orange
groves, date, palm and fig trees--so that life there is very lazy and
luxurious. Though most of the Samandrans are more than seven centuries
old, they do not show their age at all and are as happy and handsome a
people as you could wish to find anywhere. The Sultan himself was as
happy as any, except for occasional spells of remorse when he thought
of his wicked treatment of the Corumbians and Corabians. But even
this did not seriously interfere with his pleasure until he lost his
favorite camel in a sudden sand storm. Since then he had not known
a peaceful moment and had so harassed his slaves, his attendants,
and advisors, that life in the yellow castle had become well nigh
unbearable.
"But now," thought the fat little rascal, rolling off his silken couch
long before sunup, "now all my worries are over. In three or four days
this wretched beast will be safely restored to me." Picking up Confido,
he told the little dog in an earnest whisper just where he would stow
the precious package once it was in his hands again. Then, without
waiting for his body servants to come and dress him, he struggled into
his royal robes, and with each of his yellow shoes on the wrong foot
shuffled down to the Winkie River to speed Tuzzle upon his mission.
By the time he reached the royal dock, the orange sails of the sampan
were snapping in the wind. Tuzzle, having given orders to cast off, was
already asleep in the deck chair forward, fanned by ten of his faithful
servitors. At the Sultan's loud cries he opened one eye and waved his
plump hand reassuringly.
"Before the fire dies four times upon the hearth-stones, we will return
with the sacred camel," promised the Grand Vizier in his oily voice.
And while Confido barked and the Sultan called further frantic orders
and entreaties, the Royal Sampan slipped smoothly round a bend in the
river and disappeared. If you have an Oz map handy, you will see that
the Winkie River winds in a lazy fashion through the Great Empire of
the East, turning here and then there till it comes finally to the
outskirts of the Emerald City itself. Drifting gently with the tide,
Tuzzle and his twenty slaves arrived a little before sundown on the
second evening at Ozma's lovely capital. Tying their boat to a willow
on the edge of the stream, the Samandrans stepped ashore, and Tuzzle,
arrayed in his grandest garb, prepared to present himself to the ruler
of all Oz.
CHAPTER SIX
TUZZLE AT THE COURT OF OZ
About fifteen minutes later, Bettsy and Dorothy, looking up from a
game of croquet on the palace lawn, dropped their gold mallets and
simply stared, for moving toward them under the lime-drop trees was
a perfectly amazing procession. First came eight tall, splendid
slaves bearing flowering orange branches, then the very Grand Vizier
of Samandra in a very grand sedan chair, carried by four more
slaves; back of him stepped the eight other slaves bearing the twenty
embroidered shawls. Tuzzle, on his part, was as amazed as the little
girls, for though he was accustomed to comfort and even elegance
at the Sultan's court, the Emerald City so surpassed in beauty and
magnificence any place he had ever seen or visited that he had done
nothing but grunt and exclaim with admiration and surprise as he was
rapidly borne along the jewelled streets of Ozma's lovely capital. By
the time he reached the castle itself, he had barely breath enough to
speak.
"Princess!" puffed the Grand Vizier, as his chair came opposite
Dorothy, whom he instantly recognized, "Princess, I would speak with
the Queen of Oz."
"Certainly! Certainly!" stuttered Dorothy, reaching up hastily for her
crown, which she had hung on the branch of a tulip tree, while Bettsy
in her interest and excitement tripped over a wicket and sat down. But
picking herself up quickly the little girl ran ahead to announce the
arrival of distinguished visitors, so that by the time the procession
reached the castle, Ozma was already seated upon her throne, waiting
with dignity to welcome them.
[Illustration: TUZZLE AT THE COURT OF OZ.]
"Your Majesty," began Tuzzle, stepping pompously from the sedan chair
and bending himself almost in half, "his Serene Highness, the Sultan of
Samandra, sends you his royal loyal greetings and salutations."
"The greetings of his Highness are graciously received," answered Ozma
kindly, though she had never heard of the Sultan in her whole life.
"And what is it his Serene Highness desires of us?" she inquired, with
a curious glance at the Samandran slaves. Long experience at ruling had
taught her that strange sovereigns seldom sent gifts unless they wanted
something in return.
"His Highness," continued Tuzzle, a little embarrassed by Ozma's frank
query, "desires nothing more valuable than a camel. This camel was
lost in a great sand storm and has been missing ten long years from
the royal herd. It is the favorite mount of his Excellency, so kind
and comfortable a creature that since its loss our sovereign has been
inconsolable. After countless unsuccessful searches, Chinda, our Chief
Prophet and Seer has, with the aid of a magic telescope, caught a
glimpse of the beast in your Majesty's stable." Casting down his eyes,
Tuzzle waited anxiously for Ozma to speak.
[Illustration: "HIS HIGHNESS DESIRES NOTHING MORE VALUABLE THAN A
CAMEL."]
"Why, it must be the Comfortable Camel Sir Hokus brought to the Emerald
City long ago!" exclaimed Dorothy, with a little hop of excitement.
"Come on, let's go ask him."
"Well, it will do no harm," answered Ozma, readily enough. "And if our
Comfortable Camel really belongs to the Sultan of Samandra, and really
wishes to return to his master, I see no reason why he should not do
so, though we'll be sorry indeed to lose him."
"Very good, your Highness!" mumbled Tuzzle, who was a little confused
by the informal procedure at Ozma's court. Scraps, Trot, and the
Scarecrow were playing leap frog at one end of the throne room. Tik
Tok and the Cowardly Lion were running races at the other, and all
the rest of the celebrities were grouped about the Lost King and the
Soldier with Green Whiskers, who were in the midst of an exciting game
of checkers. But when Ozma and the Grand Vizier started for the Royal
Stables, they all stopped what they were doing and trooped along,
causing Tuzzle much anxiety and uneasiness by their boisterous skips,
vigorous claps upon the back, and continuous friendly questioning. But
when the company reached the stall usually occupied by the Comfortable
Camel, it was empty, and though grooms and stable boys were dispatched
in every direction, no trace of the kindly creature could be found. The
Doubtful Dromedary knew nothing of his whereabouts, and when a page was
sent to question Sir Hokus, he reported that the Good Knight of Oz was
also missing from his apartment. It was, as a matter of fact, the day
after Sir Hokus had started upon his quest, but everyone in the palace
had been so occupied preparing to accompany him that they had not
missed the Good Knight at all.
"Perhaps Sir Hokus has taken the camel to the next village for
supplies," suggested Trot, and after many speculations and conjectures
they all agreed that she might be right.
"Never fear, they'll both be back," predicted the Scarecrow, winking
cheerfully at the Grand Vizier, "and meanwhile, why not enjoy our
hospitality? No, you seem to be well stuffed already," he observed,
thumping Tuzzle upon the chest.
"Nay, nay, the Sultan can illy spare me," muttered the Grand Vizier. "I
must return at once!" And stepping into his sedan chair he motioned for
the slaves to start.
"And what about the shawls?" demanded Scraps, who had taken a great
fancy to a white one embroidered in scarlet. "It's not our fault the
Comfortable Camel has gone away."
"Sh--h! Sh--h!" warned Ozma, shaking her finger reprovingly at
the Patchwork Girl, while Dorothy and Bettsy giggled in spite of
themselves. "As soon as the Comfortable Camel returns we shall send a
message to your illustrious master," promised Ozma, bowing politely to
Tuzzle. "I am sure it will not be longer than a week."
"Well, in that case," wheezed the very Grand Vizier ungraciously, "I
hope your Majesty will accept this small gift from the Sultan."
"With pleasure," smiled Ozma, but before the slaves had time to present
the shawls, Scraps snatched all twenty and throwing one to Dorothy,
one to Trot, and one to Bettsy, dropped the rest in Ozma's lap and,
wrapping herself tightly in the red and white one, whirled madly
round and round Tuzzle. Fearing to linger longer at a court where
animals conversed as sensibly as people, and such strange conduct
was permitted, Tuzzle scrambled into his sedan chair. Bidding Ozma a
hasty farewell, he ordered his attendants to carry him at once to the
Royal Sampan. This they did, and at such a brisk run that the Oz folk
burst into loud cheers of admiration and approval, for considering the
size and weight of the very Grand Vizier, the speed of his slaves was
remarkable.
"Do you think the Comfortable Camel really belongs to this Sultan?"
asked Dorothy, as the last Samandran disappeared from view.
"Let's look in the magic picture!" suggested Bettsy Bobbin. "Let's see
what he's like and find out where Sir Hokus and the Comfortable Camel
have gone, too." As this seemed a sensible plan, they all hurried up
into Ozma's sitting room. The magic picture, as most all of us know,
is one of the most important of Ozma's treasures. She has but to ask
the magic picture where a person is, and immediately he is shown in
the exact country or city where he happens to be at the time of the
question. So, with the celebrities looking breathlessly over her
shoulder, Ozma pulled the cord that drew aside the curtain covering the
picture, and said quietly, "Show us the Comfortable Camel." But stars!
Nothing at all happened, for the magic picture was not there, and with
little exclamations of alarm and dismay they gazed at the empty space
on the wall.
"Who can have taken it?" cried Dorothy indignantly.
"Call the Wizard," shrilled the Scarecrow, and ran off, himself,
to fetch him. But the Wizard, deep in his preparations for the Good
Knight's quest, could throw no light upon the subject at all. In the
huge encyclopædia of Oz they did learn a bit about Samandra, its ruler
and its customs, but of the whereabouts of the Comfortable Camel, of
Sir Hokus of Pokes, or the famous picture of Oz, even the Wizard's
magic could tell them nothing.
"But do not despair," begged the little man earnestly, that night at
dinner. "I have almost perfected a new and marvelous invention. If our
Good Knight and Comfortable Camel do not soon return, and if the magic
picture is not found or discovered, I will seek them out with the help
of my powerful searchlight. This searchlight, shot like an ordinary
shell from a cannon, will travel all over Oz until it finds what it is
sent for and then flash back with the exact location of the missing
objects and people." Taking them down to his laboratory, the Wizard
endeavored to explain the strange rays and phosphorescent material to
be used in this latest magic contrivance. It was a little difficult
to understand, but Ozma and her courtiers had great confidence in the
Wizard's powers and, much cheered and comforted, they went off to bed.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE CRUISE OF THE SKYROCKET
"Are you sure it's all right this time, Uncle Billy? And will it take
us straight to Mars?" Tightening the strap on his leather helmet, the
boy looked up at the tall man who was going over, for the last time,
the strange craft that was to carry them on an exploration of the sky.
[Illustration: THE SKYROCKET]
"Well," answered the tall man, wiping his hands on a piece of waste,
"it may not take us straight, Speedy, but we'll get there somehow.
I've calculated the distance down to the last inch, and if I can keep
her pointed straight up and northward we'll be on Mars by to-morrow
morning. I'm not sure yet that I ought to take you, but on the other
hand, I don't see how I can leave you behind."
"Neither do I." Speedy spoke with feeling and finality. "You're the
only one I've got, and I'm the only one you've got, so we'd better
stick together, don't you think?" Uncle Billy nodded soberly, for
Speedy was an orphan and had lived with him since he was a little
fellow of two. The boy's real name was Bill, but his quickness on the
track and baseball field had earned him the nickname of Speedy. At ten
he was such a good chum and so helpful with Uncle Billy's inventions
that the great scientist could not bear to leave him behind on this,
the most important of his undertakings.
"It isn't as if there was any real danger," he mused, tapping the steel
sides of the torpedo. "In this we'll be as safe as if we were on a
trolley car."
"Safer!" exclaimed Speedy scornfully. "Oh, come on, Uncle Billy, set
her off! I can hardly wait!" It was a bright, clear May morning, the
weather and wind conditions just right, and Uncle Billy, as eager as
Speedy to be off, helped the boy into the back seat and prepared to
light the fuse that would send them skyward. The Skyrocket, as you've
probably guessed, was a flying torpedo, and the explosion of the rocket
attached to the tail would carry them straight and swiftly to the stars.
"Now then," puffed Uncle Billy, with a quick glance at the Skyrocket's
gears and brakes. "Remember! As soon as I jump in, slam down the top
and slide the bolts. And if anything should happen, though of course it
won't, pull the lever on your right. That will release the parashuter.
Press the button in the parashuter and it will carry you safely down to
earth. All ready?"
Speedy nodded, clutching both sides of the leather seat, tense with
excitement. He could hear the hiss and sputter as the electric lighter
touched the fuse of the rocket. In one second more Uncle Billy would
be in the driver's seat, the steel re-enforced lid of the torpedo ship
would be down, the oxygen sprays, to keep them in comfort during the
long trip, would start, and they would be off like a flash on their
journey through the air. With a tremulous gasp, Speedy looked over
his shoulder. As he did, there came a terrific jolt, and with an ear
splitting explosion the Skyrocket shot up toward the clouds. But Uncle
Billy! Where in heck was Uncle Billy? Almost torn from his seat by the
force of the start, Speedy looked desperately downward; then, as the
wind ripped and tore past his head, he slammed the top of the torpedo
and jumped into the front seat.
Uncle Billy had not been quick enough. Uncle Billy had been left
behind. Forgetting all about the parashuter, forgetting everything
except that he was tearing through space at a terrific rate toward a
strange and undiscovered world, the boy grasped the steering wheel and
gave it a sharp twist. His one thought was to get back to earth and
pick up his uncle. With a sickening swerve the Skyrocket turned and
sped downward so swiftly that Speedy, with his face glued to the thick
glass window, could see nothing but a flying blur. A flash of green
told him they were nearing earth, a tiny figure wildly waving its arms
became visible, but only for the fraction of a second; then, with a
frightful impact, the Skyrocket hit the flying field back of Speedy's
Long Island home, broke through, and bored its way tumultuously
downward, down through the dark, pathless depths of the underearth!
The splintering crash of the torpedo, as it ripped and tore through
roots, rocks, and metal, almost deafened the boy, and the violent
vibration made him faint and dizzy. Mechanically he grasped the wheel
and despairingly wondered what would ever become of him. Too late he
realized that the torpedo could not be stopped until the force of the
rocket was spent. Why hadn't he jumped with the parashuter, as soon
as he discovered that Uncle Billy was not aboard? It was pitch-dark
inside, and as the roar of the Skyrocket grew louder Speedy touched
an electric button. The cheery glow of the small lamps in the ceiling
comforted him a little, but the vicious shake and rumble of the car
made thinking almost impossible. Snake-like roots flashed past the
window and snapped against the glass. Through rock strata streaked with
gold, copper, coal, and silver, the Skyrocket splintered a pathway,
and once they dove into a boiling mass of lava; the steel walls of the
ship grew so hot that Speedy gave himself up for lost, but as the heat
grew unbearable they plunged with a hiss into a deep, oily, underground
sea filled with phosphorescent fish and terrifying monsters. Crouched
behind the wheel, poor Speedy gasped, blinked, and shuddered. Would he
go straight through the earth and drop out into nothingness on the
other side? But just then the Skyrocket hit a particularly impervious
piece of rock, and the ship gave such a bounce and backward leap that
Speedy was flung out of the seat and knocked quite senseless. How
long or how far he traveled in this helpless condition he never did
discover; in fact he knew nothing at all till loud hammers and thumps
on the outside of the torpedo finally aroused him. Surprised to find
himself alive at all, he sat up and looked uncertainly around. The
Skyrocket had really stopped. Strange square faces peered in through
the window and motioned to him through the glass. Where on earth was
he? Was he on the earth at all? Doubtfully Speedy stared up at the
strangers; then, as the supply of oxygen was exhausted, and the air
inside hot and stifling, he rose unsteadily, threw back the bolt and
lifted up the top of the torpedo. Looking down into the faces of the
curious crowd surrounding the Skyrocket, he wondered what Uncle Billy
would do in such a situation. But the strangers stared so hard and
so unblinkingly that he could think of nothing more remarkable than,
"Where am I?" This question, spoken in his ordinary tone of voice,
burst like three sharp explosions on the quiet air, echoing and
reverberating till the crowd covered their ears and fell away from him
in terror.
Astonished at the loudness of his own voice, Speedy swayed backwards
himself. Then, as he was debating whether to stay in the ship or to
alight and try to find out where he was, a little square-faced fellow
separated himself from his companions and slowly approached him. He
had scribbled something on a card, and handing the card to Speedy he
hastily scuttled back to his place.
[Illustration: HE HAD SCRIBBLED SOMETHING ON A CARD.]
"Lower your voice," directed the card in a nervous scrawl. "You are
in Subterranea." Very much relieved to find he could understand the
language of this odd race of underearth dwellers, Speedy nodded to
show that he understood, and rather timidly the Subterraneans began
to draw nearer. They were undersized, thin and undernourished little
fellows, but dressed with great magnificence in metal-cloth robes,
tall, stiff headdresses and shoes of pure gold, decorated with precious
stones. Their square, not unpleasant faces were almost granite in color
and though not of stone, seemed hard and mummy-like. Probably from
this queer air and no sun, decided Speedy, staring at them with frank
curiosity, and beginning to think that Subterranea might prove almost
as interesting as Mars.
The Skyrocket had come to a stop in the public square of this quaint
underground city. Crooked pillars of irregular rock held up the blue
stone sky in which the torpedo had cut a terrible gash. Radium stars in
the sky sent out a misty phosphorescent glow. From the square, arched
passageways branched out in every direction, not unlike the subways
at home, except that they were much higher and lighter, beautifully
tiled, and decorated with precious stones. Speedy was about to whisper
a question, when a loud trumpet blast made him turn quickly to the left.
"The Shah!" hissed the square faces impressively. "His Imperial
Lowness, the Shah!" And waving their arms they bent down all together,
like a field of wheat swept by a sudden wind. Wide-eyed with interest,
Speedy saw an important little man dressed all in cloth of gold, with
a headdress at least a yard high. He was seated cross-legged on a
giant blue earthworm. It was as large and ugly as a sea serpent and
its center section was raised to form a comfortable seat for the queer
little monarch. On either side walked gorgeously attired attendants
waving metal flags. As the great earthworm came to a stop, the Shah
glanced inquiringly at Speedy, next up at the hole in the sky, and
then, leaning down, took from the slave at his right a large mask and
held it up to his face. The mask wore a ferocious scowl and Speedy
began to feel rather uncomfortable.