“Regular signals, aren’t we, Bob?” The clown thoughtlessly turned a handspring, but the short rope spoiled it and the Cowardly Lion was quite choked.
“We don’t twin very well, old fellow, do we?” sighed Notta. “But let’s see which is the way to Mudge, for it seems that to Mudge we must trudge.”
Hopping on the Cowardly Lion’s back he waved him to the left, but at the first step both Notta and Bob turned quite blue.
“Try the right,” suggested the clown, pulling the lion’s right ear. So the Cowardly Lion pranced to the right, but had not gone a dozen steps before Bob and Notta were bluer than ever.
“Back!” directed Notta, swinging around and seizing the lion’s tail. But their blueness only
increased.
“Straight ahead then,” cried Notta, standing up and waving his arms. So the Cowardly Lion obligingly trotted a few paces straight ahead, and as Bob and the clown promptly turned back to their natural complexions, they concluded that straight ahead was the road to Mudge.
Bob could hardly help feeling pleased that it also led toward the strange city, for Bob was very curious about Oz and its singular peoples, and the little fellow was enjoying every minute of his adventures. Even the wreck and the thunderstorm had given him a new kind of thrill.
“We must all think of a way to outwit Mustafa,” said Notta, as they took their places in the Flyaboutabus. “But until we do I shall simply follow my usual rules.” So saying, he untied, for a moment, the rope that bound him to the Cowardly Lion and stepped into another of his disguises. This was almost the strangest of the lot. It covered him all but the feet, and in place of their jolly companion stood a huge goggle-eyed fish. The fish skin buttoned down the front, and Notta’s arms protruded under the fins, but he was unable to sit down. This, however, he bore quite cheerfully and, standing up very straight and stiff, seized the wheel of the Flyaboutabus, pressed the button marked “Go,” and away they did go in a series of bumps and bounces, for the feathery vehicle could not seem to keep its wheels on the ground.
“Too bad you did not put on that rig during the storm,” chuckled Nick, hanging on with both claws. “Then you could have swum to earth. But what good is it now?”
“Just you wait,” promised Notta confidently. “When these people, whoever they are, see a fish walking about on dry land, they will do just as I ask them to. You see!” Nick looked rather nervous as he adjusted his nose, and the Cowardly Lion shook his head doubtfully.
“But he cannot help his disguises any more than Nick can help his snoring, or I, my cowardice,” whispered the big beast huskily to Bob. Bob Up said nothing, but he always felt uncomfortable when Notta put on one of his queer costumes. The bus was bouncing and jerking so crazily that conversation was now impossible. As they came nearer and nearer to the strange city, it became at once apparent that it was unlike any city or town any of them had ever seen or visited. Even the Cowardly Lion, old Oz adventurer that he was and accustomed to unusual sights and places, gave a snort of surprise as the Flyaboutabus rushed through the glittering glass gates.
CHAPTER 15 Mustafa Keeps Watch
MUSTAFA, seated on his blue throne, stared steadily at his magic ring. He had done little else since Bob and Notta’s departure, and in consequence was beginning to squint fearfully. On his lap lay the lion book, and when he was not gazing at his ring, the blue-whiskered Monarch looked longingly at the picture of the Cowardly Lion.
In one corner of the tent, in a large cage, crouched the twenty Uns Notta had wished into Mudge, and in the tent top were twenty blue patches where they had burst through. At first Mustafa had been terribly angry and ordered the Featherheads thrown to the lions. But Mixtuppa, pleased by the color and brilliancy of their feathers, begged that they be saved, so she might always have fresh feathers for her turbans. Then the Uns, seeing that Mustafa was almost as wicked and bad tempered as themselves, promised to teach him all the Unish they knew-so that every hour Mustafa was growing unhappier and unpleasanter.
Panapee stepped about breathlessly on tiptoe, for each time Notta had done anything to turn Mustafa’s ring black the ruler of Mudge had flown at his royal chamberlain and shaken him unmercifully.
“He is escaping, you villain!” screamed Mustafa the first time-that was when Notta had determined not to betray his faithful four-footed friend.
“Help! Ouch! Does your Majesty expect to stop him by pulling my beard? Let go! Take off your ring,” spluttered the unhappy Mudger, “there is no magic in my whiskers.”
Realizing the truth of this, Mustafa snatched off his ring, with what alarming consequences to Bob and Notta we all know. Since then his watchfulness had increased, and even while he ate he held his thumb before his eyes so that no move of the clown would escape him. While Mustafa kept watch, the royal jewelers worked day and night upon a gold collar, studded with sapphires, and the forger of swords and scimitars hammered early and late upon a heavy gold chain-for once the Cowardly Lion entered Mudge, Mustafa was determined he should never leave the kingdom. Tazzywaller, who was still lion feeder, peering at intervals through the tent flap thanked his lucky stars he was no longer high
chamberlain of Mudge.
“When this Cowardly Lion actually appears will be time enough for me to be reinstated,” muttered the wily fellow to himself. “Meanwhile let Panny take his Majesty’s ill-tempered thumps and shakings!”
CHAPTER 16 A Fall From the Sky
TENTS and trapezes!” shouted Notta Bit More, as he tried to keep the Flyaboutabus in the center of the glass street.
“I think we had better run straight through,” roared the Cowardly Lion, beginning to tremble slightly. “I don’t like the look of this at all.”
“Well, whatever happens, try to remember you’re tied to me,” begged Notta, straightening his fish head hastily.
“Then woe betide us,” sighed the Cowardly Lion.
Nick put his wing around Bob and all of them gazed in bewilderment at this bewildering city. “Preservatory,” said a large sign just beyond the glass gates, and over the whole city hung a sweet, smoky haze. The houses had glass fronts and were more like cupboards than ordinary dwellings. Each had three stories, or as Bob Up explained later to Dorothy, three shelves. And on these shelves, swinging their legs, sat the oddest individuals in Oz. From head to knee they were enclosed in glass jars. Their arms and legs came through especially cut places, but these were carefully soldered so as not to let in any air. And their heads, somewhat flattened by the glass lids, had a squashed and foolish look.
As the Flyaboutabus bounced merrily along the main street, they began to tumble off the shelves and run down the glass steps of their comical houses. They made no attempt to keep out of the way, so Notta hastily stopped the bus. But even so, one managed to get under the wheels and Bob shivered as the creature’s jar splintered to bits on the glass paving stones.
“Now you’ve done it,” groaned Nick, slamming his nose back on its hook. The jarred populace evidently thought so too, for they began hopping up and down, shouting all sorts of threats and abuse. The four travelers could only hear a dull muttering, for the voices of the creatures did not carry through their lids, but the Visitors could tell from the dreadful faces they were making through the glass that they were being threatened and abused. The cries of the unhappy victim under the wheels were quite distinct.
“Save me! Save me, or I shall spoil!” he cried in heartrending tones. Notta was so moved by his evident distress hat he impulsively started to jump out of the bus, forgetting the tie between himself and the Cowardly Lion. He therefore got a terrible wrench that twisted his fish head sideways, so he could not see at all. While Bob was straightening this out, the jarmen dragged their companion from beneath the feather wheels, and a simply enormous fellow came running down the street. In one hand he had a pad and in the other a pencil, “Looks like the Prime Pickle,” chattered Snorer, as the jarman began scribbling on his pad. “You have broken the peace,” read Notta, as the an
gry official held up his pad. He was magnificently attired under his jar and was evidently a person of some importance. He had, however,
been preserved by pickling and was of an unhealthy shade of green.
Notta leaned out of the bus and, seizing the pencil and pad, wrote back, “He broke himself, save the pieces.”
The rage of the Preserves, as they read these words, increased to a perfect fury. One, evidently a relation of the broken man, snatched off his lid and cried shrilly, “You’ll be minced for this!”
The Prime Preserve again scratched furiously on his pad. “You are under arrest. Come with me,” directed the pad, when he held it up.
“This is because I forgot the rules,” sighed Notta. “If I had been more polite this would not have happened. Shall we fly or follow?”
“Let’s follow,” rumbled the Cowardly Lion. “We can fly any time, and I’d like to see all the Preserves while I’m about it, for I think Dorothy will enjoy hearing about them.” Notta ran the Flyaboutabus slowly and carefully down the glass street after the solemn jarmen, the rest of the population following at a safe distance. Bob’s eyes grew larger and larger and when a preserved dog ran briskly in front of the bus he gave a shout of glee. “I think Oz is the funniest place in the world, don’t you, Nick?” cried the little boy merrily. “Well,” chirruped Snorer, “as I was never any place else, I can hardly say. Look, look! There goes a canned cat!” And so it was, as canned a cat as you’d ever want to see. But right here their guide turned the corner and they found themselves in the presence of another Queen. They knew she was a Queen, for on the pad held up for their inspection the guide had written, “Preserva the Great.” Notta stopped the bus before the low glass throne and they stared in wonder at her Majesty. Preserva seemed as much surprised as they.
“Well, I’ll be jellied!” wheezed the Queen, taking off her lid and thrusting out a moist head. Bob thought she need not have said this, for she was jellied already-her face and royal robes being a quivery and delicious pink.
The Prime Preserve seemed very much alarmed at the Queen’s action and quickly wrote on his pad, “Shut your lid.” Bob considered this dreadfully disrespectful, and Snorer began to chuckle with enjoyment. Preserva quite meekly obeyed, but her eyes, behind the thick glass of the jar, grew larger and larger, and finally, snatching the pad from the Prime Preserve, she dashed off in great excitement these words, “A tomato can would be about right for him!” Holding up the pad she pointed joyfully at Notta.
“Serves you right for coming as a fish,” chortled the Cowardly Lion. “So we’ll have to take you back in a can. Well, well!”
Then he craned his neck to see what else the Queen had written. A rapid conversation was going on between Preserva and their guide. One would write a message and pass it to the other. The other would snatch the page and dash off an answer, and so quickly was it done, the four in the bus had all they could do to keep up with the conversation.
“Pickle the boy, Can the fish, Mince the lion And pot the fowl,”
commanded the Queen.
“Now that’s what I’d call taking pot luck,” chirped Nick, balancing himself on the edge of the
bus.
But the Prime Preserve replied, “Why not preserve them whole for the royal museum?”
While the Queen was considering this suggestion, Notta began feeling in the pockets under his disguise for a paper and pencil, so that he could get into the conversation, but without result.
“No use being polite! Let’s joke and run,” puffed the clown, after an unsuccessful search. Leaning over the edge of the bus, he tapped the Queen sharply on the jar. Preserva dropped her pad and pencil and almost rolled from the throne. Inside the jar, they could see her jellied figure bubbling with fright and indignation. The Prime Preserve also trembled in his jar, then leaning down to read the last command of her Majesty, he ran off as fast as his crooked green legs would carry him.
“Fetch the Imperial Squawmos,” read the Cowardly Lion, with an amused twinkle in his yellow eyes as Notta tore off the page.
“If we stay here it is plain we shall be pickled to death,” scrawled the clown, “so we bid you a fond but final farewell.”
The Queen leaned forward, the better to read Notta’s message and, while Nick, Bob and the Cowardly Lion fairly rocked with merriment at her discomfited expression, she suddenly unscrewed her lid. “Help!” screamed Preserva loudly, sticking her head out of the jar. “Help! Help!” Then back went her head and down went the lid, only to have the whole performance repeated the next second. This she kept up at regular intervals until the whole party were simply convulsed. But it would have been wiser had they, instead of laughing, looked behind them, for presently a terrible thump on the back sent all the scales on Notta’s disguise to trembling. It was the Imperial Squawmos, followed by all the Preserves in the city. While a dozen ran to calm the agitated Queen, who was still quivering in her jar, the rest surrounded the Flyaboutabus. Most alarming of all, the Imperial Squawmos was not in a jar. She was, in fact, a huge and towering cookywitch with a passion for preserving. And a cookywitch, I don’t mind telling you, is next in wizardry to a sorceress. She had put up the inhabitants of the entire city and was the real ruler of the Preserve.
“A fish!” shrilled the Cookywitch, prodding Notta with a fork as long as an umbrella. “Ah, what an extreme pleasure. I have canned cats, dogs and people, but never a fish. And a boy,” she chucked Bob familiarly under the chin. “Spare the jar and spoil the child,” she quoted with a dreadful wink that sent Snorer circling into the air, where he flew uneasily over the heads of his luckless companions.
“Off to the preserving kettles with you!” shrilled the Squawmos, and Notta, in real alarm, made a dash toward the buttons to start the bus, but the Cookywitch brought down a heavy iron spoon, that she carried in one hand, and crushed the entire steering gear. The clown, seeing that escape for the time being was impossible, decided to go back to rule two and gain a little time by politeness.
“Imperial and Imperious Squawmos,” began Notta, speaking somewhat stuffily through the fish head, “why are you so determined to preserve us against our wills, and why have you preserved these
others?”
The Squawmos immediately put down her fork, for she was terribly fond of conversation, and she could not very well converse with the Preserves, whose language at best was an indistinct jargon.
“Strangers,” wheezed the Squawmos, “since I am to have the pleasure of putting you up I don’t mind explaining my little system. In a jar, barring breaks, you will last for years, and needing neither food nor drink will find it quite unnecessary to work. So you see, we put ourselves up here for the same
reason most housewives preserve their fruit-to keep from working.”
“Put yourselves up to keep from working,” gasped Notta. “But I love my work!”
“Then you are very different from most people,” observed the Squawmos, looking at the Cowardly Lion with great interest. “But, never mind, you will soon be a perfect Preserve. And this lion-he will look perfectly handsome in a jar. Let me see, shall I put him up in vinegar or preserve him in spices?”
The Cookywitch closed her eyes and Notta, winking warningly at the Cowardly Lion, who was about to spring on the Imperial monster, cautiously moved his hand toward the only button in the Flyaboutabus that the iron spoon had not smashed-the button that said “Up!” The Prime Preserve saw him and made indistinct gurgles of protest under his lid, but before he could warn the Cookywitch or the Prime Preserva, Notta had pressed the button, and the Flyaboutabus, with a jerk that sent hundreds of the jarmen crashing to the glass pavement and knocked Squawmos head over heels, rose into the air. Snorer made a flying leap and caught it on the wing, so to speak, and in a flash they were hurtling toward the sky. Notta, jerking off his disguise, frantically felt for all the buttons, but they were hopelessly broken. “This continual flying about makes me light-headed,” groaned the lion, hanging on to the arms o
f the seat with both paws.
“Where are we going, Notta?” gasped Bob, edging close to Snorer and peering giddily over the edge of the bus.
“Up as far as it takes us, and then-” Notta shuddered and clung dizzily to the wheel. And up they did go, faster and faster, until they lost all track of time and place and had not even breath enough to talk. Then, with a terrific crash, the Flyaboutabus ran into a small day star, turned completely over and spilled out the whole company.
There, caught by its feather wheel, it hung on the point of the star, while Notta, Bob, Nick and the Cowardly Lion fell head over heels through the air. Nick caught himself first and, flying after Bob, edged himself around until the little boy was on his back. Notta and the Cowardly Lion were falling together, first one and then the other on top, and Nick had to fly rapidly to keep pace with their falling.
“Oh, my quills and feathers!” spluttered the faithful bird, “they’ll be shattered to bits! Oh, my tail and top knot! What shall I do? Bob I can save, but that beautiful clown will be broken to pieces!” Though falling, as Notta explained afterward, did give one a sinking sensation, it was not nearly so unpleasant as he had expected and, when he looked up and saw Bob safely on Snorer’s back, he fell more calmly, trying now and then to do the side stroke and calling encouragement to the Cowardly Lion. Earth as it came in view was not very encouraging and Snorer screamed with fright when he saw the rocky nature of the country into which his friends were tumbling. “Goodbye!” roared the Cowardly Lion, looking up mournfully at the clown, who was at that minute a little above him. “I’ll never forget you, for you are a brave man in spite of your disguises.” The clown was too affected by this speech to answer and, when he glimpsed the jagged rocks below, he decided that soon he would be disguised as a pan cake. So he merely waved to the others and closed his eyes.
L. Frank Baum - Oz 17 Page 11