Terror In Ozma’s Palace
Meanwhile strange things had been happening in Ozma’s palace. For the
people inside it had been a very mean time indeed. During Ruggedo’s run
to the mountains of Ev, they had almost been shaken out of their wits
and when he sat down upon the mountain top there was not a person nor
piece of furniture standing in the whole palace. Courtiers and servants
who were not knocked senseless lay shaking in their beds or huddled in
corners and under sofas and chairs, just as they had fallen when the
first terrible crash lifted the palace into the air.
Ozma’s four poster bed had collapsed, pinning the little Fairy Princess
under a mass of silk hangings and curtain poles. Being a fairy, Ozma was
unhurt, but not being able to move, nor to reach her Magic Belt or even
make herself heard, she was forced to lie perfectly still and wait for
help.
In Dorothy’s sitting room there was not a sound but the ticking of the
Copper Man’s machinery. Trot and Betsy Bobbin had knocked their heads
together so smartly that they were unconscious. Sir Hokus had been
hurled violently against Tik Tok and the poor Knight had known nothing
since. Dorothy lay quietly beside him, an ugly bruise on her forehead,
where the emerald clock had landed.
“Scraps!” called the Scarecrow, sometime after the rumble and tumble had
ceased, “are you there?”
“No, here!” gasped the Patch Work Girl, sitting up cautiously. She had
bounced all around the room and finally rolled into a corner quite close
to the Scarecrow himself. She put out her cotton hand as she spoke and
touched him.
“How fortunate we are unbreakable,” said the Scarecrow, pressing her
cotton fingers convulsively and trying to peer out through the intense
blackness of the room. “What happened?”
“Earthquake!” shivered Scraps. “And maybe it’s not over!”
“Must have knocked everybody silly,” said the Scarecrow huskily.
“Except us,” giggled the Patch Work Girl. “We couldn’t be knocked silly
’cause we were silly in the first place.”
“Now, don’t make jokes, please,” begged the Scarecrow. “This is serious.
Besides, I want to think.”
“All right,” said Scraps cheerfully. “I don’t—but I’m going to feel
around and see if I can find the matches. There used to be some candles
on the mantel and—” As she spoke, Scraps fell headlong over Sir Hokus of
Pokes and as luck would have it her cotton fingers closed over a small
gold match box. Picking herself up carefully, Scraps struck a match on
Sir Hokus’ armor and looked anxiously around the room.
“They need water,” said the Patch Work Girl, wrinkling up her patchwork
forehead.
“So will you if you don’t blow out that match!” cried the Scarecrow in
alarm, for Scraps continued to hold the match till it burned to the very
end. He jumped up clumsily and puffed out the light just in time. Scraps
promptly lit another and as she did so the Scarecrow saw a tall blue
candle sticking out of the waste basket.
“Here,” said the Straw Man nervously. “Light this and stand it on the
mantel there.” By the flickering candle light the Scarecrow and Scraps
tried to set Dorothy’s room to rights. They dragged the mattress from
the bed-room and placed the little girls on it, side by side. Sir Hokus
was too heavy to move, so they merely loosened his armor and put a sofa
cushion under his head. Then, just as Scraps was going for some water,
the room began to tremble again.
“I told you it wasn’t over,” cried Scraps, flinging both arms about the
Scarecrow’s neck. And as they rocked to and fro she shouted merrily:
“Shaker! Shaker! Who art thee,
To shake a castle like a tree?
Shaker! Shaker! Go away
And come again some other day!”
“Now, Scraps,” begged the Scarecrow, steadying the Patch Work Girl with
one hand and catching hold of a table with the other, “everything
depends on us. Do try to keep your head!”
“Keep my head!” shrilled Scraps, as the room tilted over and slid all
the furniture sideways. “I’ll be lucky if I keep my feet. Whoopee! Here
we go!” And go they did with a rush into the farthest corner. Slowly the
room righted itself and everything grew quiet again.
[Illustration: (unlabelled)]
“I know what I’m going to do,” said the Scarecrow determinedly. “Before
anything else happens I’m going to see what has happened already.”
“How?” asked Scraps, bouncing to her feet.
[Illustration: Dorothy and Toto]
“The Magic Picture,” gasped the Scarecrow. “You bring the candle,
Scraps, like a good girl. You’re less liable to take fire than I am.
Then we’ll come back and help Dorothy and the others.”
“Good idea,” said Scraps, taking the candle from the mantel.
Breathlessly the two tip-toed along the hall to Ozma’s apartment. On the
wall in one of Ozma’s rooms hangs the most magic possession in Oz. It is
a picture representing a country scene, but when you ask it where a
certain person is, immediately he is shown in the picture and also what
he is doing at the time.
“So,” murmured the Scarecrow, as they gained the room in safety, “if it
tells where other people are, it ought to tell us where we are
ourselves.”
Drawing aside the curtain that covered the picture the Scarecrow
demanded loudly, “Where are we?”
Scraps held the candle so that its flickering rays fell directly on the
picture. Then both jumped in earnest, for in a flash the face of
Ruggedo, the wicked old gnome King, appeared, on his head a great, green
towering sort of hat.
The Scarecrow seized the candle from Scraps and held it closer to the
picture. He squinted up one eye and almost rubbed his painted nose off.
“Great Kinkajous!” spluttered the Straw Man distractedly. “That’s a
palace on his head—an Emerald palace—Ozma’s palace!”
“But how?” asked Scraps, her suspender button eyes almost dropping out.
“He’s nothing but a gnome. He’s—”
[Illustration: (unlabelled)]
Before Scraps could finish her sentence the palace began to tilt forward
and they both fell upon their faces. Then the picture jerked loose and
fell with a clattering slam on their heads, followed by such ornaments
as had not already tumbled down before. Through it all Scraps held the
candle high in air and fortunately it did not go out, despite the
turmoil.
In a few moments the palace stopped rocking and a muffled call from Ozma
sent the Scarecrow and Scraps hurrying to her bedside. After some
trouble, for they were both flimsily made, they managed to free the
little Princess of Oz from the poles and bed curtains.
“Goodness!” sighed Ozma, looking around at the terrible confusion.
“Not goodness, but badness,” said the Scarecrow, settling his hat
firmly, “and Ruggedo is at the bottom of it and of us.” He quickly
explained to Ozma what he had seen in the Magic Picture.
Slipping on a silk robe, Ozma followed them into the next room. When the
picture had been rehung, they all looked again. This time Ozma asked
where the palace was. Immediately the old Gnome King appeared and there
could be no mistake—the palace was set squarely on his head. The picture
did not show the real size of Ruggedo nor of the palace, but it was
enough.
“He must have sprung into a giant,” gasped Ozma, scarcely believing her
eyes. “Oh, what shall we do?”
“The first thing to do is to keep him quiet. Every time he shakes his
head it tumbles us about so,” complained the Scarecrow, plumping up the
straw in his chest. “And we must look after Dorothy and Betsy and Trot.”
“And Sir Hokus,” added the Patch Work Girl, flinging out one hand. “He’s
yearning to slay a giant. ’Way for the Giant Killer!”
Without waiting for the others Scraps ran back to Dorothy’s sitting
room. Lighting another candle, for all the lights in the palace were
out, Ozma and the Scarecrow followed.
“Odds Goblins!” gasped the Knight, as they entered. He was sitting up
with one hand to his head.
“Not goblins—giants!” cried the Patch Work Girl, with a bounce, while
Ozma ran for some water to restore her three little friends.
“Where?” puffed the Knight, lurching to his feet.
“Beneath you,” said the Scarecrow, clutching at a wisp of straw that
stuck out of his head. “Say! Some one wind up Tik Tok. There’s a lot of
thinking to be done here and his head works very well, even if it has
wheels inside.”
Sir Hokus, though still a bit dizzy, hastened to wind up all the Copper
Man’s keys.
“Thanks,” said Tik Tok immediately. “Give me a lift up, Ho-kus.” The
Knight obligingly helped the Copper Man to his feet. Then both stared in
amazement at the topsy turvy room. Even in the dim candle light they
could see that something very serious had occurred.
Jack Pumpkinhead picked himself up out of a corner, looking very much
dazed.
[Illustration: Jack Pumpkinhead]
Just then Dorothy opened her eyes, and Betsy and Trot, spluttering from
the water the Patch Work Girl was pouring on their heads, sat up and
wanted to know what had happened. In a few words Ozma told them what the
magic picture had revealed.
“Ruggedo to a giant’s grown
And set us on his head.
We’ve made some headway, you’ll admit,
Since we have gone to bed!”
—shouted Scraps, who was growing more and more excited.
“Rug-ge-do will nev-er re-form,” ticked the Copper Man sadly.
“But what are we going to do?” wailed Dorothy. “Suppose he leans over
and spills us all out?”
“I shall take my sword,” said Sir Hokus, speaking very determinedly, and
backing toward the window as he spoke, “climb down, and slay the
villain.” He threw one leg over the sill.
“Come back!” cried Ozma. “Dear Sir Hokus, don’t you realize that if you
kill Ruggedo he will fall down and break us to pieces? Besides, wicked
as he is, I could not have him killed.”
“Yes, we should be all broken up if you did that,” sighed the Scarecrow.
“We must try something else.”
Reluctantly, the Knight dropped back into the room. “Close the windows,”
ordered Ozma with a little shudder.
“I’ve thought of a plan,” said Tik Tok, in his slow, painstaking way. “A
ve-ry good plan.”
“Tell us what it is,” begged Dorothy. “And Oh, Tik Tok, hurry!”
“Eggs,” said the Copper Man solemnly.
“Oh!” gasped Dorothy, “I remember. Eggs are the only things in Oz that
Ruggedo is afraid of; for if an egg touches a gnome he shrivels up and
disappears.”
“Then where are the eggs?” demanded Sir Hokus gloomily. “In faith, this
sounds more like an omelet than a battle. But if we’re to fight with
eggs instead of swords, let us draw them at once.”
“You mean throw them,” corrected Dorothy. But Tik Tok shook his head
violently.
“Not throw them,” said the Copper Man slowly, “threat-en to throw them.”
“But how can we threaten a giant so far below us?” asked Ozma.
“Print a sign,” directed Tik Tok calmly, “and low-er it down to him.”
“Tik Tok,” cried the Scarecrow, rushing forward and embracing him
impulsively, “your patent-action-double-guaranteed brains are marvels. I
couldn’t have thought up a better plan myself.”
[Illustration: (unlabelled)]
Now off ran Scraps to fetch a huge piece of cardboard, and the Scarecrow
for a paint brush, and Sir Hokus for a piece of rope.
“It’s growing lighter,” quavered Trot, looking toward the windows. The
sky was turning gray with little streaks of pink, and the three girls
huddled together on the mattress gave a sigh of relief; for nothing, not
even a giant, seems so bad by daylight.
“Perhaps someone has already started to help us,” said Ozma hopefully.
“But here’s the sign board. What shall we write?”
“How shall I begin?” asked the Scarecrow, dipping the brush into a can
of green paint. “Dear Ruggedo?”
“I should say not,” said Dorothy indignantly.
“Then I shall simply say, Sir,” said the Scarecrow.
“If you move or turn or shake your head a-gain, ten thou-sand eggs will
be hurl-ed from the pal-ace windows,” suggested Tik Tok.
As this message met with general approval, the Scarecrow set it down
with many flourishes and blotches of paint spilled between. Then Ozma
painted her name and the Royal seal of Oz at the end.
Meanwhile, with the help of a pair of field glasses, Sir Hokus had
located Ruggedo’s nose, sticking out like a huge cliff below the middle
window of Dorothy’s room. So, tying a long rope to each corner of the
sign, and rolling it up so it would go through the window, the Knight
let it down till it dangled directly in front of Ruggedo’s nose.
At first Ruggedo did not even see the sign, which was about as large as
the tiniest visiting card—compared to him. But it blew against his face
and tickled his cheek. He tried to brush it away. Then, suddenly
noticing it was dangling from above, he seized it in one hand and held
it close to his left eye. The words were so small for a giant that
Ruggedo had to squint fearfully before he could make them out at all,
but when he did he gave a bloodcurdling scream, and began to tremble
violently.
[Illustration: “Ruggedo gave a bloodcurdling scream and began to tremble
violently”]
Up in the palace the entire company fell over and twenty windows were
shaken to bits. Then everything grew quiet and there was perfect
silence; for Ruggedo, realizing his danger, grew rigid with fright.
Giant drops of perspiration trickled down his forehead. How long could
he keep from moving?
“Well,” said Dorothy after a few minutes had passed, “I guess that will
keep him quiet, but what next? Shall we let ourselves down with ropes?”
“We have none long enough,” said Sir Hokus.
“Then I’ll fall out and go for help,” said the Scarecrow brightly, and
started toward the window. When he reached it he paused in astonishment.
“Look,” he cried, waving excitedly to the others, “here comes someone,
walking right over the clouds.”
[Illustration: (unlabelled)]