a path which wound down to the village, and I was presently standing
in the street. All the storks were gone, probably within doors for the
night.
I set forth briskly to find the house of the One-Armed Sorcerer. I
realized that the stork with the necklace was the Princess herself,
and I knew that if she was to be saved from the Ragpicker I must act
quickly.
I remembered the gilded wooden arm and hand, holding a lantern, which
stood out from the one-armed man’s house, and it was only a matter of
time to find it. I found it sooner than I expected. A light was burning
dimly in the lantern, but the house was dark. There was no stork
upon the housetop. I tried the handle of the door quietly, and to my
surprise the door gave before me, and I pushed it open.
_He Peeps into the Sorcerer’s Workshop_
I found myself in a dark room, which I crossed quickly to a door at
the other side. This door I opened on a crack, and through the crack
I looked into a lighted room; a small room, evidently a workshop,
cluttered about with glass vessels of strange shapes, metal machines of
various sorts, wooden hoops curiously interlaced, charts of the skies,
and great, brass-bound books; and at one side of the room was a forge
and in the center a table.
Before this table was standing the one-armed man whom I had already
seen. On the table, the stork with the necklace was lying on its side,
perfectly still, and as I looked the old man plucked a feather from
the stork’s wing and examined it carefully. He then cast it aside and
plucked another, this time from the back. This also he tossed away,
after examining it, and he then plucked a feather from the shoulder,
and holding it up to the light gave a cry of pleasure, and without
turning said, “Come in, Alb, I have been expecting you.”
I stepped into the room, and the old man greeted me with a friendly
smile, and held up the feather.
“Do you see this?” said he.
I looked at it closely. At the point of the quill hung a single drop of
blood.
The stork on the table stirred uneasily. The sorcerer stroked it gently
and said, “Sleep!” and the stork lay perfectly still again.
“Wait a minute,” said the old man. “We must keep this drop from falling
off, and we must harden the point of the quill.”
He produced from a closet a metal box, and out of this he took a small
glass tube, covered with frost. He held the drop of blood for a moment
inside the tube, and then put the tube away in its box.
“Now,” said he, “the drop will not fall off.”
He went to the forge, and blowing up the coals with a pair of bellows,
he held the point of the quill for a moment in the fire.
“Now,” said he, “it is as hard as a pin.”
[Illustration: The One-Armed Sorcerer plucked a feather from the
stork]
“Sir,” said I, “will you tell me what this is for?”
“To save the Ragpicker from herself,” said the sorcerer.
“But it’s the Princess I have come to save,” said I.
“It is the same thing,” said the old man. “If the Ragpicker is saved
from herself, everybody else is saved too. And this drop of blood from
the Princess’s heart will do it, and nothing else.”
“I have seen the Ragpicker to-night, sir,” said I, “and I will tell you
about it.”
“Sit down, my son,” said the old man, and when we were seated I told
him all that I had seen and heard in the Ragpicker’s cavern.
The sorcerer shook his head and smiled. “And so she thinks I wish to
take away her shadows and let the people kill her! Well, well, it’s the
way of wickedness to see nothing but evil. Why should I wish her harm?
What I seek to do is to save her, not to destroy her; but she’ll never
believe that, because she can’t think straight. Anyway, in trying to do
evil she has provided me with the means of making her good.”
“How has she done that?” said I.
“If she hadn’t stolen the Princess’s shadow, I shouldn’t have brought
the Princess here; and if I hadn’t brought the Princess here, she
wouldn’t now be a stork; and if she hadn’t been turned to a stork I
couldn’t have gotten the drop of blood from her heart.”
“Is it true,” said I, “that the Ragpicker protects herself with
shadows?”
“Of course! What could protect her better? What else is there to fear,
but shadows? I confess I’m more than half afraid of them myself. We
all know we shouldn’t be, but we are, just the same. They’re perfectly
harmless, but they’re terrible. There’s nothing so real as shadows.”
“But tell me,” said I, “how we are to save the Princess.”
“All in good time,” said the sorcerer; “in the meantime, you must get a
little rest, for you have an important task to do in the morning.”
I was tired out, in fact. The sorcerer left me, and I sat beside the
sleeping stork, watching it in silence for a long while, and then I
surrendered myself to drowsiness, and fell asleep.
When I awoke, it was morning. The stork was gone, and the sorcerer’s
hand was on my shoulder.
“Come,” said he, and placed in my hand a tiny bow of thin metal, with a
string of fine hair, and showed me how to use the stork’s feather as an
arrow to the bow. He then instructed me in what I had to do, and led me
out into the street.
The stork which had been a Princess was standing on the curb before the
door, and all the other storks were in their places on the housetops.
The street was already busy; shops and houses were being opened for the
day and many people were outdoors.
_He Lies in Wait with a Bow and Arrow_
Carrying the stork’s feather and the bow, I went to the next corner,
round which on the evening before I had seen the Ragpicker turn up
toward her home. I passed this corner, and concealed myself in a
doorway just beyond.
I had not long to wait. I had drawn my head back into the doorway for
a moment, and when I looked again the Ragpicker was standing at the
street crossing with her back toward me, gazing in the direction of
the stork which stood before the sorcerer’s door. On her back was her
bag, and in her left hand she carried a knife. The people in the street
stopped to watch her, muttering together.
“Skag!” said she, “come in!” And she turned sidewise to her shadow,
which lay at a great length on the ground before her. It began to
shorten toward her, and kept shortening until it was no longer than
herself. “Stand up!” said she, and the shadow stood upright beside her,
a black, flat image of herself in outline, looking as if it had been
cut from stiff, black paper.
The Ragpicker let down the bag from her shoulder and opened it on the
ground and said “Come out!” And at this all the people gave a cry of
terror and fled into their houses and shut the doors, and all the
storks on the housetops fluttered their feathers and flapped their
wings.
_The Ragpicker Releases the Shadows in the Street_
Out of the bag poured shadows; hundreds of them; all the shadows of
little children which I had seen go into the bag the night before; and
as they poured out, they ran about in the street as if bewildered.
“Skag!” said the Ragpicker. “To the fore!”
The old woman’s shadow hastened to the front of all the others and
raised its long poker finger, beckoning them to follow. They crowded
behind, and moved noiselessly up the street toward the stork at the
sorcerer’s door. The Ragpicker followed close behind, holding her knife
up in her left hand. The stork which was the Princess stood motionless
on the curb before the door. The sorcerer was not to be seen.
Now was my time for action. I crept silently after the old woman, and
came up just behind her. I fitted the feather with its drop of blood to
the little bow, and as I approached the old woman so close that I might
have touched her, I aimed quickly at her back and let the arrow fly.
Straight into her back it darted, and stuck there fast.
“Skag!” she screamed, but she said no more.
Quick as a wink I plucked the feather from her back, and as I did so
she turned upon me with her knife uplifted. But she stood suddenly
still, her hand relaxed, and the knife fell to the ground. A change
came slowly over her. Her back straightened; she grew taller; the
wrinkles left her face; her skin became fairer, her eyes larger, her
hair longer; and there was standing before me in her place a beautiful
young damsel, tall and erect, with dark eyes in a pale face, and two
thick braids of brown hair hanging to her waist.
She held up her right hand and looked at it, and gave a cry of joy. The
long, black, hooked finger was gone. Her two hands were the shapely
white hands of a young woman, without blemish.
“Free!” she cried. “The enchantment is over! I am myself at last! Oh,
thanks, young man!” And she threw her arms around me and kissed me
soundly on the cheek.
I released myself, awkwardly enough, and as I did so I saw all the
shadows up the street fall flat to the ground, as if they had been
knocked over by a ball; and they began to slip swiftly away in every
direction across the pavement. In an instant Skag, the old Ragpicker’s
shadow, lay at the young woman’s feet. She screamed and shrank away,
but in another instant the shadow’s shape was changed, and in its place
on the ground was the shadow of the young woman herself. She clapped
her hands with joy.
_A Singular Commotion on the Housetops_
The shadows of the children were climbing the walls of the houses;
and all of a sudden I heard a great clamor from the housetops, as of
hundreds of children crying out together.
“We can’t get down! Oh, I’m falling! Help! I can’t hold on! Oh, Mother!
We can’t get down! I’m slipping! I’m going to fall! Hurry! Mother! Come
quick!”
I looked up, and there on the housetops, where the storks had been,
children were clinging to the chimney pots, straddling the ridgepoles,
hanging on to the gables, big children and little children, boys and
girls, shrieking out at the top of their voices, and struggling to keep
from toppling off into the street. One tiny boy suddenly disappeared
down a chimney; a big girl lost her hold and rolled down the roof into
a wide leaden gutter, where she hung, half on and half off. Dozens of
boys and girls sat astride the ridgepoles, as if riding cockhorses.
The big boys began to shout with glee, but the little ones were crying
with fright; and at the hubbub all the doors flew open and all the
fathers and mothers ran out, and when they saw what it was, a mighty
shout went up, and it wasn’t a minute before a ladder stood against
every wall, and not more than two minutes before all the children were
safe on the ground, hugged up in their mothers’ and fathers’ arms, with
such laughing and weeping and cheering as never were, I am sure, in
this world before.
“Oh, isn’t it wonderful!” cried the beautiful young woman. “I’m so
glad, so glad!”
“The Princess!” I cried. “Look at the Princess!”
_The Princess Is Herself Again, but--_
She was her own lovely self again, and she was standing at the same
place on the curb before the sorcerer’s house, and the sorcerer himself
was standing beside her. The young woman and myself ran swiftly to her,
and I shouted a joyous greeting as I approached; but to my surprise,
she did not reply.
She was standing perfectly motionless, with her eyes wide open, and one
hand raised to her neck as if about to unfasten her necklace. On her
shoulder, shown by the open neck of her dress, was a tiny spot of blood.
The young woman kissed the sorcerer’s hand and thanked him.
“But the Princess!” I cried. “What is the matter with the Princess?”
The sorcerer shook his head sadly. “Somebody always has to pay for
these benefits,” said he, “and I’m afraid that when we plucked the
feather we took away something we cannot replace. She cannot move nor
speak. But I will set to work, and in time I will--”
“Come!” said the young woman. “I will help her! We must take her home!
Come at once!”
The sorcerer and myself lifted the Princess between us and carried her
down the street toward the cove. The village people and their children
followed us, and stood in a throng on the beach as we got into a boat
and hoisted a sail.
“Good-bye!” shouted the people, and the sorcerer and myself waved our
hands, none too cheerfully; and at that moment we heard a kind of bark
from the water beside the boat, and a voice cried, “Sister!” It was the
seal. The young woman leaned down toward him and cried, “Brother!”
“Is everything all right now?” said the seal. “What are you going to do
about me?”
His sister raised the Princess and showed him the red mark on the
Princess’s shoulder, and told him about the plucking of the stork’s
feather. Then the seal’s sister said:
“For once you have done a good deed, brother; and if you’ll do
another--you know the promise!--two good deeds!--you will be free too.
Go! and do not return until you have brought that which will cure the
Princess. The milk of the White Walrus who lives in the Far-Alone
Grotto on the Twelfth Ice Floe! Do you understand?”
“It’s a pretty good trip,” said the seal, “and I’ll probably have to
fight the walruses. But if you say so, why I suppose-- When do you
think I’d better start?”
“This instant!” cried his sister. “Off with you! And return to us at
the King’s castle at Ventamere.”
“Oh, very well,” said the seal, and dived. He came up again at the
mouth of the cove, making off at a great rate for the open sea....
We reached the King’s castle at Ventamere in the evening, and pressed
straightway into the Grand Refectory, where the King was at supper with
his court. As we entered, the whole company sprang up, and my father
ran toward me.
_The King Beholds His Child and Is Grieved_
The sorcerer and myself, carrying the Princess, stood her on her feet
and supported her thus between us, and the seal’s sister stood beside
us.
“My daughter!” cried the King, and rushing toward the Princess with
outstretched arms, stopped in amazement as she remained between us as
speechless and motionless as a statue.
I whispered rapidly into my father’s ear, and the sorcerer, kneeling
before the King, began to explain.
The King paid no attention to him, but placed a hand upon his
daughter’s arm and wept.
“My poor child!” he said. “What shall we do now?”
There was a movement at the door. A crowd of the castle people poured
into the room, and parting, opened a lane for a young man, a stranger,
who advanced rapidly from the door; a very fat young man, with a round,
pink face and round, blue eyes, who wore hanging from his shoulders
the skin and head of a seal.
“Brother!” cried the seal’s sister.
“Yes,” said the fat young man, “it’s me; and a pretty little time I’ve
had among the walruses, I can tell you;” and he bowed low at the same
time to the King.
“Have you some business with us, young sir?” said the King.
“Venison steak and hasty pudding,” said the fat young man, with his eye
on the supper table. “Oh; I beg your pardon. I am the milk man.”
“Milk? We want no milk here,” said the King.
“It’s for the Princess,” said the fat young man. “To be taken
externally. Good for lumbago, rheumatism, sprains, chilblains,
strawberry rash--”
“What is this fellow talking about?” said the King, in exasperation.
“Brother!” said the young woman, his sister, fixing him sternly with
her eye.
“Rub a little on her shoulder,” said her brother. “Direct from the
White Walrus on the Twelfth Ice Floe, and the walruses nearly ate me
alive before I got it; but here it is. Excellent for all sorts of skin
and blood diseases, as well as--”
“Brother!” said the young woman, sternly.
“I beg your pardon,” said the fat young man; and with a very grand
manner he took out of his pocket an oyster shell, and pried it open
with a knife from the table. On the lower half of the shell was a
spoonful of white liquid.
_The Seal Introduces His Liniment, Guaranteed to Cure in All Cases_
“Very convenient milk bottle,” said he; and waving the King aside he
stepped up to the Princess and went on pompously, as if he were making
a speech:
“I will now,” said he, “in the presence of the entire company, and
openly before you all, so that you may see that no deception is
practised upon you, apply a modicum of my liniment to the shoulder of
the young lady, at the point where I perceive a stain of red, rubbing
the same in gently thus, with a downward motion of the first two
fingers of the right hand, thus, and thus, and thus.”
He poured the white liquid from the shell on to the red spot on the
Princess’s shoulder, and rubbed it in gently, talking all the while.
“Now, ladies and gentlemen,” he went on, “I call your attention to the
effects of this lotion when properly applied. It is warranted to be
very efficacious in all cases of-- But see; she lowers her hand; she
moves her foot; she speaks; she--”
“Father!” cried the Princess, and threw herself into her father’s arms.
“Hurrah!” I shouted, and all the company cheered, until the rafters
rang again.
“Let the castle people retire,” said the King, and he led the Princess
to the table, where he seated her at his right hand, wiping his eyes
and blowing his nose. When we were all at table, the sorcerer told
his tale, and not until he had heard it to the end would the King
permit the meal to proceed. I observed that the son of the assistant
carol singer was very attentive to the seal’s sister; and as for the
fat young man her brother,--during the repast, which lasted a full two
hours, he spoke not a word.
At the end the King begged him to relate the story of his enchantment
and his sister’s, and he readily consented; whereupon he commenced,
without being asked a second time,
THE STORY OF THE TALKING SEAL AND HIS SISTER
“You must know,” he began--
_“I am very sorry,” said the Princess Dorobel, interrupting, “but it is
Bojohn’s bedtime, and I fear we shall have to hear this story another
time.”_
_“Oh, mother!” said Bojohn. “I couldn’t go to sleep if I tried. Please
don’t--”_
_“No, my dear,” said the Princess Dorobel, “not to-night. Pray go on
with Alb’s story, Solario.”_
When the seal’s story was finished (said Alb), the King begged the
One-Armed Sorcerer to remain with him as his friend and adviser; and
this the sorcerer consented to do.
“And now,” said the King, turning to me, “what reward shall be yours? I
will deny you nothing.”
I knelt before him, and made my request boldly. I knew that my whole
future hung upon that moment.
“The hand of my lady Princess,” said I, “if she is willing.”
“What do you say, my dear?” said the King.
The Princess said nothing, but turned red as a rose, and buried her
head on her father’s shoulder. She was mine! I took her hand in mine
and kissed it.
“_That’s_ settled,” said the King. “And you, sir,” said he to the fat
young man, “what gift shall I bestow upon you?”
“A little more of the custard pie, if you please,” said the fat young
man.
[Illustration]
THE FIFTH NIGHT
THE CITY OF DEAD LEAVES
_Solario was sitting cross-legged on his worktable, and before him, in
a row, sat the Executioner, Bodkin, Bojohn, Prince Bilbo, the Princess
Dorobel, and the Queen._
_“This _time,” said Bojohn, “we want to hear the story of
Montesango’s Cave.”_
_Solario shook his head. “The story is too dreadful altogether,” said
he. “I fear you would lie awake all night if--”_
_“Then tell us about the Roving Griffin,” said Bodkin._
_“Or the Blind Giant,” said Bojohn._
_“I am very curious myself,” said the Princess Dorobel, “to hear the
story of the seal and his sister. What do you say, mother?”_
_“I remember very well,” said the Queen, dropping her knitting in her
lap, “I saw a seal once when I was a young girl, and a very curious
creature it was, too, I’m sure. I’ve never forgotten it, because I
was on my way to be married to your father,--of course he wasn’t
your father then, you know,--and I think the day I saw the seal was
the day your father was expected to meet us, or the day before, I
can’t be quite certain now, it’s so long ago; and we were waiting for
him by the seashore,--but no, we weren’t expecting him on that day,
because he had sent a messenger to say that he couldn’t start until
all the horses were shod, and the blacksmith was just getting over the
measles. I remember that messenger very well; a small, dark man with a
beard, by the name of--what was his name? Something like Manniko, or
Finnikin,--no, it was Tallboy. That was it. Tallboy. He didn’t stay
with the King very long after we were married, because his sister’s
youngest boy was taken down with the--”_
_“Grandmother!” said Bojohn. “Solario is waiting to go on.”_
_“Dear me,” said the Queen, “so he is. I’m glad I brought my knitting
with me to-night.”_
_“I am sure,” said Prince Bilbo, “we would all be glad to hear about
the seal and his sister.”_
_“Your will is my pleasure,” said Solario, very prettily, “and I will
therefore now commence the story of--”_
_Here there was a sharp cry from outside the room door._
_“Let me in!” piped up a voice, loud and sharp as a whistle._
_Mortimer the Executioner opened the door, and at first glance
there appeared to be no one there. But Bojohn cried out, “It’s the
Encourager!” And there, on the sill, was in fact the tiny figure of
the Encourager, no taller than a sparrow, carrying his umbrella folded
under his arm. He opened the umbrella, and leaping into the air floated
up with it to the Executioner’s shoulder, where, folding the umbrella
again, he stood bowing to the company._
_“Dear me,” said the Queen, “I believe it’s the Encourager of the
Interrupter.”_
_“If there’s anything going on,” piped up the Encourager, in his shrill
voice, “I don’t want to be left out!”_
_“Then sit down, Mortimer,” said Prince Bilbo, “and let the Encourager
hear the story too.”_
_The Executioner seated himself, and the Encourager sat down on the
Executioner’s shoulder and gazed solemnly at Solario with his beady
black eyes._
_“Ahem!” said Solario, clearing his throat and picking up his shears.
“I will now, with your majesty’s gracious permission, proceed with the
story as it was related to the assembled company at Ventamere by the
seal, and by Alb the Fortunate to myself. This, then, is_
“THE STORY OF TUSH THE APOTHECARY, AND OF PARAVAINE HIS SISTER.”
I must tell you (said the fat young man), that I am an apothecary, and
my name is Tush.
_“We had a Lord Treasurer once,” interrupted the Queen, “whose name was
Filch. It seemed so odd.”_
My name is Tush; and this damsel, my sister, who was lately a
Ragpicker, is known as Paravaine. So much for that. I now proceed to
the catastrophe which begins my tale, and I hope you will pardon me if
I pause at times to wipe away a tear.
We were left alone at an early age, my sister and myself, without kith
or kin, and we dwelt together in the city of our birth, the city of
Fadz--you have heard of Fadz? A seaport of the Kingdom of Wen, a city
of ships and conversation; and in that city we dwelt quietly together,
and there I kept my shop.
My sister, as you may see by looking at her, was beautiful in the
highest degree; and I am bound to admit to you that she was not a
little vain of her beauty, and prized admiration above all things in
the world. Regarding myself, I may say that I was considered to be
quite handsome, though a trifle fat.
In the art of inventing remedies I greatly excelled; and I would beyond
a doubt have succeeded in my profession, but that I was much given
to the making of songs and the tasting of rare dishes, and these two
occupations consumed the greater part of my days. My sister, on her
part, applied herself so diligently to the adornment of her lovely
person before the mirror, that she had scarcely time for anything else.
In consequence, my business and my house fell into neglect; and another
apothecary, a tuneless fellow in a neighboring street, who knew not
beef from mutton, took away all my trade. But such is the fate of your
true artist, the world over.
I forgot, in the application necessary for the composition of songs,
the foolish moneys which I chanced to owe here and there, and at
length (so dead to the finer things of life is the coarse mind of
trade), I could find no one who was willing to trust us any longer,
even for the meanest knuckle of the least respectable portion of a pig.
I burn with indignation when I think of it,--but I proceed.
_The Misfortunes of Tush the Apothecary_