“Why not order lunch,” asked Jack, as Peter continued to gaze longingly at the apples.
“Eat as you fly!”
“Why not?” chuckled Belfaygor, slipping his shears into the pocket of his coat. “I could make some food fly right now.” As Peter was wondering just how they would manage the trays, Jack rang and up beside the Iffin flashed the faithful slave of the bell.
But he did not carry the tray this time. It was borne by Biggen, Mogodore’s bodyguard, and the great fellow trod clumsily through the air, his eyes rolling with fright and fury. At a haughty gesture from the slave, he set the tray on Peter’s lap. Then raising his fist, he was about to pound Peter on the head, when the little black seized him by the coattails and both disappeared.
“Whew,” whistled Peter ducking his head, “what do you think of that? Look out, here comes the other one!” As Jack rang the bell again, Little, just as angry as Biggen, came hurling toward them with the baron’s dinner. The slave winked mischievously at Peter as the enraged bodyguard placed the tray on Belfaygor’s knees; then catching the surly fellow by the ear, he vanished before Little could do any harm.
“Good enough,” roared Snif, who had witnessed the whole proceeding over his shoulder. “What sweet little sprites they do make.
“If Mogodore could see them skipping lightly through the sky, He’d shiver in his great red boots, and shake like custard pie.”
“That’s what we have for dessert,” said Peter, lifting the cover off his tray. “Say, it’s too bad you don’t eat pie, Snif.”
“Or roast guinea,” murmured Belfaygor, between rapturous bites. “I’ll give you three horses and a couple of hunting dogs for that bell, Peter.” Peter smiled to himself, for he could not help thinking how crowded three horses and a dog would make the small back yard at home. But he tactfully said nothing, for he had decided to present the magic dinner bell to Ozma. Enjoying the Red Jinn’s delicious dinner, looking dreamily down at the lovely mountain scenery beneath, Peter concluded that this was even more exciting and interesting than eating on the train.
“I shall think nothing of airplane trips after this,” mused the little boy, sipping his chocolate complacently. “I don’t believe anything could ever surprise or frighten me again; not even a highwayman.” Finishing off his pie, Peter closed his eyes and was fighting an imaginary duel with a Mexican bandit, when he was suddenly seized by the shoulders, jerked from the Iffin’s back and hurled like a ball through the air. His first thought was that Biggen, returning for the magic tray, had taken this means of revenge, but there was no sign of either bodyguard. In spite of his recent boast, Peter’s heart beat with dreadful thumps as he turned over and over in the air. But just as he gave himself up for lost, he was skillfully caught by the ankles.
“Howde-do!” called a pleasant voice, and looking up Peter saw a jolly fellow in silk tights swinging by his heels from a high trapeze. He wore a crown, which was held in place by ribbons tied beneath his chin. Now hanging head down, if you are not accustomed to it, is terribly upsetting and Peter was too upset to say a word. “Welcome to Swing City,” said this strange sovereign in his high, jolly voice. “I am the King and the highest Swinger here. In fact, Hi-Swinger’s my name, he coughed self consciously. “But you must meet the Queen, Tip Toppsy the Tenth!” As he said “Meet the Queen,” Hi-Swinger flung Peter carelessly downward. Any desire Peter had ever had to do circus Stunts, he lost in that second dizzy drop through space. Fortunately, he did meet the Queen, somewhere in mid air. Like the King she was hanging head down from another swing, and grasping both of Peter’s wrists swung him gently to and fro.
“Isn’t he perfectly precious,” cooed her Highness, smiling amiably down at the little boy. “I hope he’ll stay with us always. What lovely hair! What sweet red cheeks.
He’ll make a perfectly splendid swinger, Highty.” Now if there was one thing Peter detested it was being fussed over, and the Queen’s speech made him squirm with embarrassment and rage. But before he could do more than mutter, Tip Toppsy swung him back to her husband. “Shall we dress him in pink or blue?” she called anxiously.
“Blue,” answered the King, catching Peter and drawing him up close so he could look into his eyes. “But, my dear, see what’s coming now. Who is this pomiferous person?” Throwing Peter carelessly aside, the King caught Jack Pumpkinhead, who had just been tossed up by someone below. Peter himself was seized by a smiling trapezist, some twenty feet beneath. Before the fellow could throw him further, Peter pulled himself desperately up on the trapeze, and holding tight to the side rope stared dizzily around. Over his head, and under his feet, pink and blue clad figures swooped and darted like birds. With lightning speed they shot from swing to swing, skipped recklessly across spidery ropes and balanced perilously on swaying cords.
“Trapleased to meet you,” murmured the owner of the trapeze, swinging up beside Peter. “Hang around a while. You’ll like it. ‘Tis an easy life we lead-trapeasy, ‘ he added with a sly wink. “Have you met the Queen?”
“Yes! Yes!” shuddered Peter, moving as far from the tumbler as he could. “I’m looking for my friends.”
“Is that one of them?” inquired the acrobat, pointing off toward the left. “Ha! Ha! Ha! The tight rope walkers will never let that fellow go. They are great cut-ups, you know, great cut-ups. Why, look at his beard! It’s growing longer every minute. They can cut rope after tight rope from it. Ha! Ha! Ha! Rope after rope!”
“No they can’t,” shouted Peter angrily, “and you’d better be careful. We’re wizards, and will destroy you like that.” Letting go of the side rope with one hand, Peter snapped his fingers sharply.
“Will you?” said the trapezist in an interested voice. “Then that means a battle, an acrobattle. Hello! It’s begun already. Look at that old Nibblywog down there. Come on, we’re missing all the fun!” Jerking Peter from the swing, the acrobat hurled him to the next trapeze and the next and the next, until everything turned topsy-turvey. Peter could no more have opened the pirate’s sack than he could have counted the somersaults he took in the air. Jack had long since lost his head, and Peter could see the acrobats tossing it about like a ball.
Below that a troupe of tight walkers were dancing merrily on Belfaygor’s beard, which had been stretched between two swings. The baron himself was held fast by a dozen swing citizens and Snif, trying to help first Peter then Belfaygor, was buffetted and banged with the hard fists of the aerialists.
“How dare you hold us up in this high handed manner,” roared the Iffin, nearly beside himself with rage and indignation. There is no telling how long Peter and his friends would have been tossed about had not a sudden shake dislodged Mogodore’s sauce box from the little boy’s pocket. Opening as it fell it immediately filled the air with such a thunder of screams, threats and brazen screeches, several swing citizens lost their hold upon the swings and fell trembling through space.
“Magic,” squealed Hi-Swinger, clutching his crown with both hands. “Drop them! Drop them at once!” So Peter and his companions were dropped as suddenly as they had been taken up by these fickle folk of the air, and with sickening speed went whizzing downward. Peter was too dizzy to realize he was falling again, and Snif, trying to catch all of them at once succeeded only in rescuing Jack’s head as it whirled past. But he need not have worried, for under this strange city a great net was suspended and into this net they all landed with a bounce that promptly sent them skyward again.
“Score one for the sauce box,” panted Peter as he fell back. “Gee-whiz-I never want to see another swing as long as I live!”
“Neither do I,” muttered Belfaygor, unwinding himself from his long red whiskers and feeling for his shears. Snif said nothing, for he was trying to hold Jack’s body steady and place his pumpkin back on its peg. Peter hastened to assist him and soon Jack was himself again.
“Ups and downs,” he mused sadly. “Nothing but ups and downs! And how are we to get out of this net, may I ask?”
&
nbsp; “I’ll cut a hole in the net and we’ll drop through,” said Belfaygor promptly. “It’s not far to the ground!”
“Another fall,” groaned Jack, holding his head with both hands. “Oh, think of something else!” “If we stay here,” said the Iffin, “the Swingers will probably come back and if we don’t hurry, we’ll miss that rascally baron and he’ll capture the Emerald City before we catch him.”
“I’ll fall,” quavered Jack, crawling toward the opening Belfaygor was cutting in the net. “I’ll do anything for Ozma!”
“We’ve certainly done a lot of falling for her so far,” sighed Peter, scrambling after Jack. “Let me fall first and then I can help you.” Holding for a moment to the edge of the opening, Peter dropped lightly to the ground. Then reaching up he caught Jack under the arms and carefully eased him down. Belfaygor quickly followed Jack and Snif bounced through in short order.
“Well, we’ve lost the sauce box and a lot of time but we’ve met a new and curious kind of people,” said Peter, pulling down his jacket.
“And so did they,” smiled the Iffin, giving himself a shake and examining two places where he had lost some fur. A hurried search proved that the magic bell, the sack and flagon were still in their possession. Jack was no worse for his swinging and though Snif, Peter and Belfaygor still felt dizzy and shaken by their unexpected experiences in Swing City, they decided not to stop and rest but to push straight on for the capitol.
“From now on,” said Snif gravely, “we must keep a sharp look out for trouble.” “I’ll watch the air,” said Jack, seating himself quickly. “I’ll watch the ground,” promised Peter, springing up briskly behind him. “And I’ll see that we’re not followed,” said Belfaygor, climbing on last of all.
“Then off we go,” rumbled Snif. “What a lot I shall have to tell my grandchildren, if I ever have any grandchildren. I hope they’ll be just like you, Peter,” he added with an affectionate glance over his shoulder. Peter smiled faintly to himself, for he did not see how this could be but he was too polite to argue the question, and fixing his eyes upon the road below looked eagerly for some sign of Mogodore and his men.
CHAPTER 15 Peter Opens the Pirate’s Sack
WHAT a curious existence,” mused Belfaygor, as Snif came to the end of Swing City’s net and soared joyfully into the air. “Well, everybody has his own idea of comfort, but as for me, I prefer a castle with someone to serve the soup and bring on the venison.
Snipping off his beard, the baron gave a homesick sigh and looked glumly at the tiny farms and villages below.
“A place where a fellow can keep his feet on the ground and his head on his shoulders, suits me,” declared Jack in a weary voice. “I’ve never lost my head so often as on this trip. Did you see those savages using it for a ball?”
“They used my beard for a tight rope,” said Belfaygor in an exasperated voice, “so what could you expect?”
“And they called Snif a Nibblywog,” laughed Peter, “and threw me around like an old shoe. All they need to make them monkeys is tails!”
“Don’t insult a monkey,” said Snif, looking reprovingly over his wing. “I’ve known some polite monkeys in my day. But those highway-men!” Snif gave a disgusted grunt. “I’ve a notion to fly back and settle with them after this other affair is all over.”
“I hope we didn’t miss Mogodore while we were being held up there,” worried Peter. “It must be nearly four o’clock now and we certainly ought to overtake him soon. Are you sure we are flying in the right direction, Snif?”
“Yes,” said the Iffin expertly circling a dark cloud. “Why there he is now!” Flapping both wings violently together, Snif pointed with his claw. “There, coming out of that forest Mogodore and all his men! See the sun shining on their spears.” With a swoop that nearly unseated his riders, the Iffin hurled himself over the wood and the next instant they were hanging motionless over a tossing sea of spears.
“The Princess,” cried Belfaygor, leaning far over. “There’s Shirley Sunshine riding out ahead. Fly lower, Snif, fly lower and we’ll snatch her up and be off!”
“No we won’t,” muttered the Iffin grimly. “We’ll open the sack and catch this kingdom stealer, first. Open the sack, Peter! Open the sack, there’s no one to stop you now.” So intent upon their purpose were the warriors below, they never saw the red monster above their heads. Now Peter had untied the pirate sack. Now it was ready to open. Seizing Snifs wing to balance himself, Peter stood up in order to hold the sack directly over the enemy. As he did a great gust of wind tore the sack from his hands, filled it full of air and sent it spinning up like a balloon high above their heads.
“Oh,” choked the little boy, nearly losing his hold on Snif, “nothing ever happens right. Doggone that sack anyway!”
“The flagon,” screamed Jack. “Throw the flagon. Quick before he gets away!”
“I’ll do it,” whispered Belfaygor eagerly. “Give it to me, Peter. Quick!” Tugging the forbidden flagon from his pocket, Peter was about to pass it to the baron, when a hoarse scream from the Iffin made him pause.
“The sack,” panted the red monster, flapping his wings desperately. “It’s coming straight for us! Look! Look! Look out! Look up! Hold on!”
“If that comes nearer, we are gone!” Jack took one startled glance upward, and then instead of holding on, snatched the flagon from Peter’s hand and dove recklessly to earth. As he did, and as the last of Mogodore’s army galloped out of danger’s way, the wretched sack, its mouth wide open came hurling down upon the rescuers. Jack had been wise to jump. Before Peter or the baron could follow him, they were snapped up, I mean down. An ear splitting growl came to Jack as he turned over and over in the air. The fright of vanishing had restored Snifs gu-rrr! And it was a real Griffin, not an Iffin who disappeared into the fathomless depths of the pirate’s grab bag. Then floating calmly to the ground, the terrible sack settled calmly against a pink hay stack and was still. Not far away, Jack lay face down on another soft mound of pink hay. So tightly had he held to his head and the flagon, he lost neither during the fall and the hay had saved both from smashing, but when Jack rolled over and started to rise, he found that his left leg had bent under and broken off at the knee. Being of wood, Jack suffered no pain, but it was frightfully inconvenient, and it was now impossible for him to walk, or even hobble.
Shaking his fists as the last of Mogodore’s riders disappeared in a cloud of dust, Jack sank dejectedly against the hay mound and tried to collect his scattered thoughts. His purpose in plunging from the Iffin’s back, had been to break the flagon over Mogodore’s head and save the Emerald city at any cost, even if he himself were destroyed. But now it was too late! Mogodore was gone, Peter, Snif and Belfaygor had vanished and he himself was a broken man. The wicked Baron of Baffleburg, with none to stop him, would march boldly to the capitol, fall upon its unsuspecting inhabitants, enslave them all and seize the magic treasures for himself. This dark picture fairly made Jack groan and when he spied the magic sack resting against the next hay stack he positively shuddered.
“All that is left of three faithful friends,” mourned Jack. “I hope there’s room for Belfaygor’s beard in that bag or they’ll all be smothered. I hope they’re not mixed with Scares. I must get that sack. Whatever happens I must get that sack and take it to the Wizard of Oz.” At the thought of touching the enchanted bag, Jack shook like a tree in a hail storm, but controlling his fear and distaste, he dragged himself to the haystack. First he pulled the cords that closed the top, then hanging it carefully over one shoulder, dragged himself back. His broken leg and the forbidden flagon lay side by side in the straw, and raising his voice Jack shouted loudly for help. But the pink hay field was a long way from the farm house and no one heard him except a few curious crows who answered his cries with dismal screeches. Finally Jack grew so hoarse he could shout no more and, holding his head in both hands, he tried to think of some way to reach the Emerald City.
“If the Scarecrow we
re only here,” sighed Jack dolefully, “he would be sure to hit upon some clever plan, “but I am only a poor stupid pumpkin head with only a few dried seeds for brains.” Realizing that the whole fate of the Kingdom of Oz depended upon him, poor Jack pressed his head with his wooden hands and thought so hard that the seeds inside skipped about like corn in a corn popper. And one must have been a seed of thought, for presently Jack gave a little bounce and feeling in his pocket drew out the Red Jinn’s bell. “I’ll make that slave help me,” muttered Jack determinedly. Just how the slave could help him Jack did not stop to figure out, but anything was better than sitting foolishly on a haystack while little Ozma was facing capture and possible banishment. So Jack tucked his broken leg under one arm, tightened his hold on the pirate’s sack, put the precious flagon in his coat pocket and boldly rang the silver bell.
“I hope he does not bring those meddlesome bodyguards,” muttered Jack leaning forward anxiously. The slave of the bell appeared so promptly this time that his tray almost hit Jack in the nose. Placing the tray on Jack’s lap the little fellow backed away and was preparing to vanish when Jack sprang to his feet, and scattering dishes in every direction seized the small servitor by the arm.
L. Frank Baum - Oz 23 Page 9