Chris put down his spyglass and the two boys, hidden on the piny
knoll, watched the procession out of sight.
"I'm supposed to take something from her," Chris said with his eyes
sparkling, "but I know now what I'm going to give her back in return.
I feel sort of sorry for that girl," he added thoughtfully.
"What're we going to do, Chris?" Amos wanted to know. "What-all comes
next, and have we some more of those dates?"
Chris passed him some. "We have to wait until dusk anyway," he said,
his voice abstracted, "and by the look of the light that won't be
long."
The piny knoll was steep and rocky and only two adventurous boys would
ever have reached the top. Too precipitous on which to build houses,
it rose far above the surrounding roofs of Peking. The green and
scarlet of curved tiles spread under the boys' sight like a curling
sea. Before them, stretched out in long angular wings to right and
left, swept the palace walls.
Listening and watching, the boys gathered by the silver trumpet notes
that the Princess and her retinue had re-entered the palace walls by
another gate.
Thinking about it Chris mused: I wonder if that first palanquin held
someone she's to marry? It could be. And if so, this may be her last
appearance to the people of the city before leaving for a new domain.
She would probably take the Jewel Tree with her. I can't imagine a
woman leaving a thing like that behind. He paused, remembering. She
held a spray of jeweled flowers in her hand, maybe off the Tree, and I
never saw anything like it. Well, can't do a thing until dusk comes
down.
The evening was not long in coming, and Chris, who had been sitting
cross-legged under the little crooked pines, looked across with great
concern to where Amos lay on his back, dozing.
I can't take him along, Chris thought, and I can't leave him alone, if
I should get caught. What in the world do I do?
Then, remembering the bag of magic "odds and ends," Chris put his hand
inside it and drew out a small folded piece of silk and netting. On it
a piece of paper, like a label, showed Mr. Wicker's fine script. Chris
looked closer and read: "Strike 3."
"Strike 3."
Chris held the folded object in his hand, and then glanced at Amos.
Amos slept. Going softly out of the pine grove to a narrow ledge of
rock where he was out of sight, Chris put the object down and said:
"Strike three."
Nothing happened. The object remained an object. Then, suddenly
understanding, Chris struck the stone ledge three times.
At once the folded object began to unfold itself and to puff itself
up like a little mushroom. In a matter of seconds, Chris could see
what it was becoming, and before he could wink ten times, a balloon
with a basket hanging from it, quite big enough for two boys, hung
swaying in the air. Chris examined it with pleasure and then struck
the ground three times again. The balloon gently collapsed and
refolded itself, basket and all, into its original neat shape.
[Illustration]
"Now, if that isn't handy!" Chris exclaimed. Then, looking at the
light fading from the sky, he picked up the folded balloon and went to
waken Amos.
"Amos!" he said, shaking his friend's shoulder, "it's time for me to
go. Are you awake?"
Amos blinked a few times and said he thought so.
"Then listen to me," Chris told him earnestly, "and listen hard!" Amos
sat up more alertly.
"I have a handy thing here which is for you to use only--do you hear?
_only_ if I don't come back."
Amos's eyes began to get brighter and he swallowed.
"Don't come _back_? Law! Chris, don't you leave me in this heathen
country where nobody understands good English!" he cried. "Why, unless
I'd steal, and Miss Becky told me _never_ to do that--but unless I
did, how could I eat in these foreign parts?"
Chris sat back on his haunches. "Well, I don't know how you could,
myself. But don't you cross any bridges until you come to them. Look."
He held out the folded balloon. "If I'm not back by two sunups from
now--I may have to hide all during tomorrow--if I'm not back by then,
put this package out beyond the trees in the clearing. That's very
important. You've got that?"
"I haven't got anything but a few old dried-up fruits," Amos pouted.
"That's all."
"_No_, Amos!" Chris gave him another rousing shake. "I mean, do you
understand that much?"
Amos brightened at once and broke into a broad grin.
"Oh yes, of course. Why didn't you say so in the first place? You
said, put the package out in the clear. Where's that, on this
tippy-top of a hill?" Amos asked, looking about.
"The ledge near where we climbed up. That's big enough," Chris
reminded him.
"Oh yes," Amos said, looking wise.
"Well," Chris took up again, "you put the package on the ledge and
strike the ground three times--"
"Like this?" And before Chris could stop him, Amos had struck the
earth beside him twice before Chris seized his hand in mid-air.
"_Amos!_ Not now! I said _only_ if you have to get away. If someone
comes after you, or if I don't come back. Promise me not to strike
three _at all_ except for either of those two reasons."
Amos raised his right hand looking very solemn. "I promise," he said.
"Only," he added, looking bewildered and already somewhat forlorn,
"what happens when I do hit three times?"
"Why, it's a mag--it's a special kind of balloon," Chris began, after
correcting what had almost been a bad slip.
"A what?" Amos stuck his head forward, trying hard to understand.
"A _balloon_. Oh."
Chris stopped and stared at Amos. Perhaps balloons had not yet been
invented. How very confusing!
"It's something that will hold you up in the air. There's a basket for
you to sit in--"
"No _sir_!" Amos cried, wagging his head decisively from side to side.
"Me in the air over the roofs and high up? No _indeedy_, Chris! Not
me."
Chris was becoming exasperated. He had important things to do.
"Look, Amos. If you have to use it, you'll be in such a bad fix that
being up in the air will seem like the very best thing that could
happen. Stop running. I'll be back--I hope."
He turned away toward the ledge and clearing.
"And now, wish me luck, and stay here and wait for me. Don't follow me
now, or watch, or I might fail."
Amos jumped up from the pine-covered ground. "Oh, Chris!" he cried,
his voice sharp with distress, "can't I go? You might get hurt.
There's no telling what could happen if you're all alone!"
Chris was tempted to take his friend with him but someone must get the
news back to the _Mirabelle_ if he should fail. If this happened, he
did not doubt but that the magic balloon would carry Amos safely to
the ship.
"No," he said after a long moment. "Better not. But I'd sure like to,
Amos. Now don't lose that package. It's your escape. Wish me luck."
Amos clasped his hand, and then, rushing off, dashed back again.
"Here, Chris. Our fruits. Better not to eat strange food in this
foreigny place. Good luck," he added.
Chris stuffed the dried fruit in his pocket. Amos turned back into the
darkening pine knoll, and Chris pushed his way out to the narrow steep
ledge, hanging high above the roofs of Peking.
Chris uncoiled the magic rope from around his waist, and standing as
far out on the rock ledge as he dared, in order to have the greatest
possible freedom of movement, he attempted for the first time to draw
an eagle in the air with the rope. It was a complicated, fast
maneuver. The rope twisted and whipped in the air, and the result was
a molted-looking, droop-tailed buzzard. Its wings were not wide
enough, its back very insecure to look at. In short, Chris knew, it
was a total failure.
He tried again, racing against the oncoming darkness, and this time he
succeeded, although, when he pulled it close and straddled the body of
the magic bird, his heart was in his throat that it might unfurl
itself, become just a rope, and hurl him to his death far below.
But this second eagle seemed secure enough. Chris pressed his hands on
the wings spread out on either side, with a jolt they flapped, and the
boy's strange conveyance moved somewhat unsteadily through the air.
Chris, frightened but resolute, found that by touching the head of the
bird in the direction he wanted to go, the magic eagle would turn, and
after a few moments to test out his new method of travel, Chris
coasted over the gaily tiled roofs as he hunted for something.
[Illustration]
Peking at that time had many palaces. Wealthy Chinese and people of
title and family owned beautiful houses set in terraced gardens
surrounded by parks and ancient trees. Somewhere, Chris had heard of
this and remembered it, and now in the dusk that was nearly night,
the eagle carried him silently over the city as he looked for what he
wanted to find.
At last the very fragrance, rising up toward him on the night air,
guided him to a large palace set in gardens. Pools of water reflected
the first stars among their lilypads. The shaded walks and lawns were
deserted at that hour.
Swooping down and flying back and forth to make sure he would not be
seen, Chris grounded the eagle, and holding fast to one wing tip in
case he should have to take off in a hurry, he walked up and down,
examining and searching.