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."
"If you so much as raise your spear. I'll bite your nose, I'll chew
your ear!
You'll vanish, melt and disappear. We're all magicians, do you
hear?"
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:
"If this be scorning, we are scorned!
With what a nose he is adorned."
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.
"Isn't this doggone?" groaned Peter glumly. "Jack's lost his head,
I've lost the sack and Belfaygor will probably smother in whiskers! If
someone doesn't warn Ozma, the Emerald City will be taken in no time.
There's only one Knight and one soldier in the palace and the soldier
can't fight at all. If Ozma doesn't know Mogodore is coming, so that
she and the Wizard can start up their magic, they'll all be captured
and the whole city destroyed. I wonder whatever put the notion of
conquering Oz in Mogodore's head? Darn! Doggone! I wish I could get out
of here!" Doubling up his fists, Peter pounded on the dungeon door.
"Maybe I can squeeze through the bars and fly off to warn Ozma of this
villain's coming," said the Iffin, but the bars were so close together
that even Snif could not slip through and in great discouragement the
two prisoners sat side by side on the hard stone bench. Presently ten
shrill blasts from the bugles and the clatter of hoofs on the cobbles
below told that Mogodore had really started for the Emerald City.
"Now I'll never have any grandchildren," choked the Iffin, a tear
trickling off the end of his nose.
"And I'll never get back to Philadelphia, or be an air mail pilot,"
sighed Peter, clasping his hands behind his head and staring gloomily
at the wall.
And I am sure each of you would have felt gloomy, if you had been in
Peter's plight.