“Well, nothing certainly made enough noise,” murmured Jack, straightening his head which had spun round and round at the horrible outcrys. “I wish we were safely out of this, dear Peter.” Peter did not say so, but he heartily echoed Jack’s wish.. As they progressed along the strange corridor the goblin lanterns became more numerous and ugly, and the last turn brought them to a high, red, spiked gate. On every spike there was a frowning scare head, and as the two travellers paused uncertainly, each head stuck out its tongue.
“Boo~OO!” shrieked the heads altogether, so loud and so shrilly that Peter almost took to his heels and Jack, without meaning to at all, sat down. As the little boy hurriedly tugged him to his feet, the red gates swung open.
“Welcome to Scare City!” boomed a horrid voice. “Quake! Shake! Pale and tremble!”
CHAPTER 4 Scary Times in Scare City
ON THE other side of the spiked gate rose a curious cliff city. There was a great court in the center surrounded by a mass ofjagged rocks and from the rocks narrow cliff dwellings had been crudely hewn and cut. Crooked, carved steps led down into the courtyard and every rock and inch of wall space was covered with roughly drawn heads and frowning faces, while set on stone poles at regular intervals were hundreds of goblin lanterns. A bluish green smoke hung in the air and every minute or so it would rise and form into the words “Scare City! Scare City! Scare City!” so that altogether the whole effect was exceedingly grim and unpleasant. So much so, in fact that Peter and Jack turned to flee. But the arm that had pulled them through the gate, held them fast.
“Pause!” commanded a harsh voice. “Pause! Pale and behold the Chief Scarer!” Swallowing hard, Peter took an unwilling look at the gate keeper. He was about six feet tall and his head seemed to be face all round, with eyes on every side and noses that stuck out like spikes in every direction. As Peter, with a little shiver, turned away, he began to speak again. ”You!” rumbled the Chief Scarer, pointing a skinny finger at Jack, “are a perfect fright! But you,” contemptuously he looked Peter up and down, you would not even scare a baby. How dare you come here with that soft white pudding face?” Now Peter, as you can well imagine was thoroughly frightened, but the words of the gate keeper made him angry and anger made him bold. Stamping his foot and drawing his face into a terrible scowl, Peter stuck out his tongue.
“Is this better?” he demanded furiously.
“A little! A little!” sighed the Chief Scarer, leaning thoughtfully on his staff. “Could you cross your eyes?”
“Don’t you do it Peter!” begged Jack. “They might stay that way.”
“Well, suit yourself,” yawned the Scarer indifferently. “I doubt whether either of you will pass the tests anyway, and if you don’t you’ll be turned into Fraid Cats, or scared stiff. You’re supposed to tremble in the presence of the King, you know, and if you run you’ll turn to Fraid Cats and if you scream you’ll be scared stiff. Remember, now, I warned you.” Lifting a red whistle to his lips, the Chief Scarer blew three sharp blasts and then stepped back into his niche in the rocks.
“Who’s afraid?” muttered Peter in a defiant voice. “They can’t scare us, can they Jack?” Before Jack could answer, a perfect horde of Scares rushed out of the rock dwellings and began to tumble and leap down the steps into the court. Halfway down, they paused and one with a particularly frightful face bawled impressively; “Tuh-remble, for you are in the presence of the King!” Jack and Peter had no trouble at all in trembling.
Jack’s knees knocked together so hard that one of the pegs fell out of his joints and his pumpkin head bounced up and down upon its peg. Peter twisted his hands behind him and gritted his teeth to keep from screaming. He felt exactly as he had when he was a small boy and a rough crowd of Hallow’een ghosts and goblins pounced suddenly upon him in his own front yard.
“They’re no worse than masqueraders,” said Peter pluckily. “Don’t run! Don’t scream, Jack, no matter what happens.”
“What I don’t see, won’t frighten me, answered Jack, and reaching up with both hands he turned his head so that the back was toward the Scares. Each Scare was different but each one was dreadful. Some had blue faces, some red faces and others green faces but they all had dozens of noses and the result was more than terrifying. Scurrying here and there in between the feet of the Scares, were the Fraid Cats meowing piteously when anyone trod on them. Instead of tails these singular beasts had two heads, one at each end so that it was impossible to tell whether they were coming or going. Swallowing nervously, Peter resolved that whatever happened he would not run and turn into one of these two headed tom cats. When the Scares almost reached the spot where the two travellers stood trembling, the one they called King stepped out on a high flat rock. He had a horn for a nose, a lion’s mane, pig eyes, donkey ears and billy goat whiskers.
“Three groans for Harum Scarum the Seventh,” shouted his subjects and proceeded to groan most lustily, while Harum Scarum, waving both arms, addressed Peter and Jack in words so long and frightening that the air fairly quivered, and bits of rock, loosened from the walls, rattled down like hail stones.
“What is he saying?” panted Jack, who still had his head turned. “They’re trying to scare us with big words,” shouted Peter above the awful din. “Don’t move, Jack; whatever you do, don’t move.
“But suppose they run over us?” wailed Jack Pumpkinhead dolefully. Peter had thought of this himself and as the Scares, evidently disappointed at not making them run, stopped shouting and prepared to attack, he seized Jack’s hand and whispered frantically.
“Here they come! Here they come! What shall we do? What shall we do?” How Jack, with only a pumpkin head, ever thought of the magic dinner bell Peter often wondered afterward. But he did think of it, and before the Scares had advanced a foot he snatched out the bell and shook it furiously. Instantly the little slave appeared, set a tray before Peter and vanished. And Peter, without delay, seized the silver dishes full of food and hurled them at the oncoming foe.
The astonishment of Harum Scarum and his band was comical to behold. Hit by flying forks, spoons, tumblers, bowls of chicken and mashed potatoes and finally by the silver tray itself, they paused in utmost confusion. Before they could pick up the flying missiles they had disappeared and when, with yells and shouts they started forward again, Jack rang the Jinn’s bell a second time and a third time and a fourth time and with never a pause Peter flung dinners and dishes at their heads. But when Jack rang the bell a fifth time, the little slave appeared and, looking reproachfully at Peter, set down only one small bowl of soup. Five dinners in less than five minutes was too much for even a magic dinner bell.
With a gasp of dismay, Peter flung the bowl at Harum Scarum and then snatching the pirate sack from his shoulder swung it defiantly round his head. Nothing could save them now, but at least, decided Peter, he would go down fighting. Jack, too, seemed to realize the hopelessness of their situation and, turning his head, boldly confronted the Scares, doubling up his wooden fists prepared to struggle till he fell. With noodle soup in his goat’s beard and fury in his pig eyes, Harum Scarum rushed at Peter. As he did, the pirate sack jerked out of the little boy’s hand. The strings had been loosened by Peter’s wild swings and now the mouth was open wide. Sailing through the air like a small Zeppelin, it scooped up Harum Scarum, then the ten Scares behind him, then the ten Scares behind them, snapping and swallowing, snapping and swallowing till not a Scare nor a Fraid Cat remained in the courtyard. Then swiftly the sack returned to Peter and quietly collapsed at his feet. There was not a sound in that whole strange city, nor a single Scare in the sack.
“Why didn’t you tell me you had a grab bag?” stuttered Jack. “Tie it up quick; do you want it to grab us?” With trembling hands and stiff fingers Peter pulled the cords in the top of the sack, and sinking down in a tired heap leaned his head against the stones.
The battle with the Scares and the strange behaviour of the pirate’s sack had almost been too much for him. Where
in Pete had the Scares gone and how could the sack be empty? Jack equally agitated took several jerky steps up and down and then paused in front of Peter.
“What now?” asked Jack Pumpkinhead inquiringly. “What now?” “Let’s get out of here!” exclaimed Peter, and taking a long breath he jumped to his feet. “Are we going to take that?” Fearfully Jack pointed to the pirate’s sack. “Of course!” said Peter, trying to speak in a matter of fact voice. “It might help us out again.”
“Do you wish to be helped out of sight?” wheezed Jack sarcastically. “Why, it may swallow us any minute that our backs are turned.”
“Not if we keep it tied,” answered Peter with more confidence than he felt. “We really ought to take it to the Emerald City to show the Wizard. I don’t believe even the Wizard has seen a sack like this. It’s a trained sack, I suppose. That pirate taught it to swallow his enemies and now it will swallow ours.
“All right, bring it if you must, but don’t swing it near me. Straightening his head resignedly, Jack began looking around for the peg that had fallen out of his knee joint.
When Peter had found and replaced the little wooden piece, they hurried quickly to the entrance of the city. The gate keeper had been swallowed with the rest of the Scares and though Jack and Peter pulled and pushed and tugged they could not budge the iron bolts.
“Maybe there’s another way,” puffed Peter, finally giving up the attempt. Turning from the entrance, they walked round and round the courtyard and climbed wearily up and down the rocks, but could find no break in the wall, nor any way out of the grim City.
The dead silence, now that the Scares were gone, was dreadfully depressing.
Thoroughly discouraged, Peter and Jack sat down on a block of granite. Leaning his head against a red pillar, Peter took a last despairing look around. As his eye travelled slowly over the court, a red stone griffin, or what Peter had supposed to be a red stone griffin, rose majestically from the base of a pillar. With a terrific stretch and yawn it opened its eyes, blinked in surprise at Peter and Jack, then raising one claw called gently, “Who? What? Whither? Why?”
CHAPTER 5 Peter Meets the Iffin
“BOY! Pumpkin! Emerald City! Because!” answered Jack who was extremely literal. “If everyone would answer me as sensibly as he does,” said the griffin, “I’d talk all day. So you say you’re leaving this place because-”
“Because we hate it,” said Peter, looking steadily at the strange speaker. So many things had happened in the last hour that Peter felt only a slight twinge of surprise at the creature’s curious appearance and conversation. “Are you a griffin?” Peter asked, rubbing his forehead wearily. It looked not unlike pictures he had seen of this rare and fabulous monster-being sandy red in color, with a huge lion’s body and dragon’s claws. Its head, instead of being the usual eagle head, was of rather a doggish nature with a stand-up mane and inquisitive, pointed ears.
“You must be a griffin,” repeated Peter, noting the powerful wings starting from the monster’s shoulders.
“I am a griffin without the gr-rr,” answered the animal, sitting dolefully back on its haunches. “I used to be a real griffin, but since my capture and imprisonment here I’ve completely lost my gr-rr, which makes me by the process of simple subtraction an Iffin.
To while away the hours of my captivity, it went on patiently, “I acquired the habit of thought. I thought and I thought and thinking brought on iffing. I began to if about this and that till I became a philosopher.”
“What is a philosopher?” asked Jack suspiciously. “A philosopher is an Iffin too,” rumbled the singular beast, scratching his ear reflectively. “He thinks practically all the time and he says to himself:
“If this and that are really so, then so are that and this; That being so, ‘tis best to go so far, then one can’t miss!
“Everything hinges on the if,” he finished brightly. “See?” “I’m afraid I don’t,” said Jack, shaking his head stupidly. “Do you, Peter?” “Well, I understand about the if,” answered the little boy, who could not help grinning at Jack’s puzzled expression. “If the Iffin will just show us the way out of Scare City, we’ll go and not miss a single thing.”
“If it were not for the Scares, I would,” wheezed the big beast, peering nervously up at the rocks. “But it’s no use; they’ll only turn you to Fraid Cats or statues. Besides I’m chained.” He lifted one paw to which a heavy chain and padlock were attached. The other end of the chain was fastened to the base of the pillar.
“Say, you must be a sound sleeper,” marvelled Jack. “Didn’t you hear the big battle? This boy and I have conquered the whole city and Harum Scarum and the Scares are gone-vanished, done for.”
“Gone!” cried the Iffin, lashing its tail in astonishment. “How? When? Where?” Jack pointed silently to the sack which Peter still had over one shoulder, and Peter quickly told of their exciting encounter with the citizens of Scare City, of the great usefulness of the Red Jinn’s dinner bell and the way the pirate sack had finally swallowed down the whole company of horrors. At Peter’s recital, the Iffin’s eyes grew rounder and rounder and as he finished it put up both wings and with short agitated jumps shrieked:
“The Scares are gone, then what scare we! The Scares are gone, we’re free, we’re free!
“Loose this chain,” it panted, tugging impatiently away from the post. As Peter, now as excited as the Iffin, looked hurriedly around for a bar or stone to break the padlock, Jack stepped forward and warningly held up his hand.
“Just what do you eat?” asked Jack Pumpkinhead in an anxious voice. “Are you carnivorous?”
“If an Iffin were carnivorous, would he relish red geraniums? I live on flowers, solely, so please get that through your craniums.
“What did you think I ate, little boys?” finished the Iffin sulkily. “Well, you never can tell,” murmured Jack, with a worried glance at Peter. “I just wanted to be sure.” Peter chuckled to himself, and while looking for a spike discovered a gold key suspended from a nail on one of the red pillars. Taking the key, he fitted it into the rusty padlock and after several unsuccessful attempts it turned and the heavy chain fell with a loud clank to the red paving stones.
“Do you really eat geraniums?” asked Peter, as the Iffin sprang away from the post and rushed in crazy circles around the court yard.
“Of course,” it snorted boisterously. “Of course!” Then spreading its wide red wings it soared majestically into the air-up, up and out of sight.
“Why it’s gone!” shouted Jack Pumpkinhead indignandy. “There’s gratitude for you! Gone and left us without even a claw shake or thank you.
“Maybe it will come back.” Kicking aside the chain, Peter strained his eyes to catch a glimpse of the flying monster, but not one speck showed in the murky sky overhead. If Jack and Peter had been blue before, they were navy blue now. With their only means of escape removed they looked blankly at one another, while the goblin lanterns glowed and smoked and the sulphurous air of the cliff city grew more dry and unbearable.
“If I’d only made it promise to help us before I turned the key,” sighed Peter regretfully.
“Hah! So you’re an Iffin, too.” Peering around a pillar, the bright red eyes of the sandy colored beast winked merrily into Peter’s. “Just trying out my wings,” it explained gruffly, “and they’re wonderful!
“If you don’t think so, listen to them swirl and whirl and swish; Climb on my back, I’ll carry you to any place you wish.”
“Will you really,” cried Peter, falling joyfully on the Iffin’s neck. “Can you take us to the Emerald City?”
“If you want me to,” answered the Iffin, wagging its tail bashfully. “Have you a name,” inquired Jack Pumpkinhead, getting stiffly off the granite block.
“Well,” said the Iffin slowly, “I’ve been here so long I forgot my real name but the Scares called me Snif. I’m not sure I know the way to the Emerald City, but I will fly over the wall into the Land of the Baron
s and there we can surely find someone to direct us. Since you have freed me from my captors I will serve you faithfully for seven years.
“Hurrah!” shouted Peter, hugging Jack. “I’m not sure I can stay in Oz that long, but I’m certainly glad we fell into this city. Meeting you was worth all the trouble.” In reply the Iffin chortled:
“If you hadn’t come, I’d be here yet, So I’m glad as a Gluckbird that we met.”
“What’s a Gluckbird?” asked Jack, straightening his head and looking rather severely at the irrepressible monster.
“If I knew I’d tell you,” confided the Iffin, coming close to whisper in Jack’s ear.
“Let’s make ourselves scarce around here,” he called boisterously in the next breath.
“Oh let’s,” agreed Peter, swinging up the pirate’s sack. “You mount first Jack and be sure to hold fast to your head.”
“And be sure that bag’s shut,” added the Iffin, wiggling his nose rapidly. “I’ve never travelled with a magic sack and though I fly I’m no swallow!”
“Is the dinner bell all right?” asked Peter, tightening the cord of the pirate’s sack and helping Jack climb on Snifs back. There was just room for the Pumpkinhead to sit astride in front of the Iffin’s wings and Peter settled himself comfortably back of Jack between the mighty pinions. With one last scornful look at the red city, the Iffin rose into air, mounting higher till the goblin lights of Scare City were no larger than fire flys twinkling below.
L. Frank Baum - Oz 23 Page 3