“We’ll change you to a fritter, We’ll fry you in a pan, You rude uncultured critter Do you call yourself a man?” yelled Scraps defiantly, and all the other celebrities joined their voices to hers, till the din was so dreadful that even Betsy had to cover her ears. But it had no effect upon Mogodore. Quite calmly he continued to gaze down at Ozma and the longer he looked the broader grew his ugly grin.
“A little beauty,” he mumbled half to himself, “prettier far than this Shirley Sunshine. I shall marry Princess Ozma,” he shouted, suddenly clapping Wagarag so heartily upon the back that the poor steward’s iron pot helmet fell over one eye. “Into the palace, fellow and prepare a feast for the wedding! Farewell for the moment, slaves!” Shaking his spear at the furiously struggling Ozites, Mogodore tramped off to the palace, followed by two hundred and fifty of his men. The others he left to watch the prisoners, and Betsy continued to crouch uncomfortably in the butterfly bush. As the Baron of Baffleburg strode into the castle, Ozma began to speak quietly and comfortingly to her people.
“For the moment,” sighed the little sovereign sadly, “we are overpowered and at the mercy of these rude ruffians. But let us be patient and brave and surely some help will come to us.
“I hope there will be no shooting,” quavered the Soldier with the Green Whiskers, trembling so his chains rattled dismally.
“If I only had my black bag,” fumed the Wizard, trying desperately to free himself. From the screams and crashes indoors, the anxious company in the garden knew that the servants were being overpowered. Presently a long file of them came out between two lines of Mogodore’s men, who marched them to a small summer house and carefully locked them in.
“I hope they don’t find the magic belt,” breathed Dorothy, wriggling into a more comfortable position and trying to smile reassuringly at the Scarecrow who was tied to the next tree. But even while Dorothy was hoping, out dashed Mogodore waving the belt.
His helmet had been removed and Ozma’s small emerald crown perched ridiculously upon the top of his head.
“I beg that your Majesty will be careful,” cried Wagarag, running anxiously after the excited baron. “Remember that belt is very powerful, very dangerous. Have a care.
“I haven’t a care in the world,” shouted Mogodore, fastening the belt round his arm, for it would not begin to go ‘round his waist. “Am I not a King and about to marry a fairy? Go play marbles, Waggy, and let me alone! I am a King and if I choose can destroy this entire country.” And then as Wagarag continued to plead and beg him to be cautious he yelled angrily, “Go, attend to the feast, you meddlesome weasel and leave this magic to me. I shall test the powers of this belt at once. Do you know that I can transform anyone here to anything I wish? Begone, before I turn you to a bone and throw you to the dogs.” Now indeed did the helpless Oz folk tremble, and as Wagarag, shaking his head sadly, backed away from his foolish master, Mogodore began to look around the garden for someone to transform. Perhaps, because the PatchWork Girl was the oddest and most amazing person he had ever seen, his eye rested longest upon her.
“I command this ridiculous maiden to become a bird,” called Mogodore in a loud voice. And instantly, Scraps was a bird, an exceedingly scrappy bird, too. Wildly flapping her patchwork wings she quickly disengaged herself from the gold chains that bound her to the tree. Then swooping down upon Mogodore, she snatched Ozma’s crown from his head and hurled herself into the air.
“Quick! Quick! Change her back! I knew you’d do something silly,” groaned Wagarag, as Mogodore stared dumbly upward. “Now she’ll fly off and spread the alarm!”
“You bet I will,” screeched the Patchwork Bird, and with an ear-splitting screech she soared over the castle and disappeared.
“I told you something would happen,” whispered Ozma, smiling quietly at Dorothy. Now if Mogodore had been more practiced in magic, he would instantly have changed Scraps into a stone and she would have dropped heavily and helplessly to earth.
But utterly confused and mortified by the unfortunate outcome of his first transformation, the baron pushed his steward furiously aside, rushed into the castle and slammed both gold doors.
CHAPTER 18 Mogodore Meets More Magic
SOON the fragrance of an appetizing repast began to float out to the unhappy prisoners in the garden. Dusk turned to darkness, lights shone from every room in the palace, and in dreadful suspense and discomfort they waited for Mogodore’s next move.
“That robber baron really means to marry you,” groaned Trot, who was tied to a tree near Ozma, and as if to confirm her words two spearmen came marching determinedly toward them.
“Her Majesty, Queen Ozma is wanted within,” bawled the first man, looking around. “Ozma of Oz, this way please.” Immediately the little fairy was released from her chains.
“Never mind,” she whispered as Trot burst into tears, “remember, Scraps is free and will find a way to help us.”
“She’d better hurry,” shivered Dorothy, and with sinking hearts they all saw their little leader marched away between the guards. Well-filled plates were being brought out to the soldiers in the garden; but no refreshment of any kind was offered to the prisoners, nor did Betsy Bobbin, crouched in the center of the butterfly bush, find any opportunity to escape from her hiding place. Inside a great feast was laid in the banquet hall and the rude warriors were already seated and banging on the table with their gold forks and knives. Wagarag, an apron tied hastily over his armor, was supervising the festivities and Mogodore, seated at the head of the table, without even rising waved Ozma to a place beside him. With a little sigh of despair, Ozma slipped into the green throne chair.
“Your future Lady in Waiting,” grunted Mogodore, pointing rudely to Shirley Sunshine, who sat on his other side. “I did truly intend to marry this Princess, but find you so much more charming I have chosen you instead.”
“Hurrah for the Queen of Oz and Baffleburg!” yelled the spearmen boisterously. Shirley, under cover of the rattling knives and forks tried to whisper her story to Ozma, but Mogodore’s loud roars for food soon put an end to that and, pale with distaste and fright, the two little Princesses sat silent, scarcely touching a mouthful of the food that was unceremoniously dumped upon their plates. With a shudder, Ozma looked around her tidy castle. Mud had been tracked over all the velvet rugs, pictures hung sideways and the floor was strewn with broken vases and plates that spearmen playfully hurled at one another between courses. If Scraps succeeded in reaching the castle of Glinda, the good Sorceress who ruled over the South, Ozma knew this powerful ally would immediately fly to her assistance. With agonized ears, she listened for the wings of Glinda’s swan chariot. But time went on and no one came. Now that the hunger of the rough company was appeased, they grew more noisy than ever.
“Call this a battle,” wheezed Bragga to Mogodore, “are there to be no hangings, no bon fires, no killings of any kind? You promised us a real war. This is as tame as a taffy pull.” Tugging discontentedly at his long mustache, the Captain of the Guard looked sulkily at his chief.
“After the wedding you may kill whom you please,” promised Mogodore indifferently, “but now I’m going to have another try at that magic belt.”
“Take care! Take care!” bleated Wagarag, from the other end of the banquet hall.
“I’ll wager you’re thinking of that forbidden flagon again.”
“Right,” boomed the baron, sweeping a dozen plates to the floor with his arm.
“And right now, I’m going to transport that flagon to this castle and find out what is in it and why it is forbidden. What will happen if the seal is broken? It cannot harm me now. I am no longer Baron of Baffleburg, but King of OZ-King by right of seizure and conquest.”
“You’ll not be the lawful King till you marry this Princess,” quavered Wagarag, raising a trembling finger and pointing to Ozma.
“The old bone is right,” grumbled Bragga. “Why not marry her now and be done with it?”
“Marry her now,
” echoed all the spearmen, “and let us get on with the killing.” Pushing back her chair, Ozma jumped up and glanced desperately around the table.
Would no one save her from this robber baron and his band? Mogodore, too, rose to his feet.
“I’m King now, I tell you,” he insisted stubbornly, “and I’ll marry when I’m ready, but now I am going to end the miserable mystery of the forbidden flagon. I command the forbidden flagon and its guard to appear before me,” bellowed Mogodore, staring around defiantly. Scarcely had the sound of his voice died away before there came a crash and splinter of glass and in through a window back of the baron burst a strange flying figure. It was Jack Pumpkinhead, clasping the precious flagon in one hand and holding to his head with the other; brought all the way from the Red Jinn’s palace by the mysterious power of the magic belt. With a hysterical little cry, Ozma rushed forward.
“Jack! Jack!” panted Ozma, “have you come to save us?” Solemnly Jack nodded and before a man at the table could move, he whisked off his head, set it on a chair and then and not till then did he hurl the forbidden flagon straight at the Baron of Baffleburg.
How he ever managed to aim so true without his head to help him I have no idea, but with a resounding crack the flagon splintered to bits on Mogodore’s nose and a thin red liquid began to pour down his cheeks and drop off his chin.
No longer need Mogodore wonder what would happen, when the seal on the forbidden flask was broken! For what would happen, had happened! Stars! Yes!
CHAPTER 19 The Forbidden Flagon Acts
THE GREAT banquet hall seemed suddenly deserted, and except for faint squeaks and muffled screams quite silent. Shirley Sunshine, hurrying around the table, clasped Ozma’s hands and both girls stared in stunned silence at Jack, who was calmly replacing his head.
“Why, where have they gone?” cried Ozma. Then all at once she saw, for tumbling from the chairs, scurrying under tables and vainly trying to hide themselves, was a host of men no bigger than brownies.
“They’re shrunk,” shouted Jack delightedly. “Ha there, Mogodore the Mighty, mighty little you are now!” Fuming and raging, the midget baron tried to quiet his frightened retainers, but when Toto, Dorothy’s little dog, came bounding through the doorway, he fled ignominiously and hid behind the hearth broom.
“Good dog, Toto, drive them in the corner, approved Jack and Toto, much as a shepherd dog chases sheep, drove the terrified horde of invaders into a corner and gravely sat down to watch them, snapping at any who tried to escape and snuffing at one and then another most curiously.
“It was the forbidden flagon,” explained Jack, as Ozma dropped into a chair and looked in complete bewilderment at the brownie baron and his band. “Is anyone hurt? Did I come in time?”
“Yes! Yes!” sighed Ozma, pushing back her tumbled curls. “But how did you know? Where have you been, Jack dear?”
“Where haven’t I been,” puffed Jack Pumpkinhead, striding excitedly up and down. “Say, what’s that noise? Where is everybody?”
“Oh!” cried Ozma, jumping up hurriedly. “The others are in the garden. We must free them at once.” But before Shirley Sunshine, Ozma or Jack were halfway to the door it burst open, and the whole company of courtiers and celebrities came charging into the banquet hall.
“Surrender, villains,” bellowed Sir Hokus, glaring around furiously. “Where is that braggart Baron!”
“We’ll pull his nose! We’ll tweak his ears! Glinda the Good has come, she’s here!” exulted Scraps, shaking her cotton fists joyfully, for she had been immediately restored to her own cheerful self by the Good Sorceress of the South. Glinda, in her lovely red robe and headdress, peered sternly over Scrap’s shoulder, ready to bring her strongest magic into play. Seeing no one in the room but Ozma, Jack and Shirley Sunshine, they all stopped short; then catching sight of Mogodore and his midgets, cowering in the corner, they surged forward in still greater astonishment.
“What happened?” demanded Dorothy, seizing Ozma’s hands. “The spearmen in the garden suddenly disappeared. Scraps reached Glinda’s castle and Glinda came and released us. But what ever happened in here? How did that monster grow so tiny?”
“Perhaps Jack can tell you,” sighed Ozma, who was as puzzled as anyone over the curious occurrences of the last few minutes.
“I can,” announced Jack, stepping forward importantly, “but it is a long, long story.”
“Then do let’s sit down,” groaned Trot, for she was mortally tired from the long stand in the garden.
“Are we saved?” quavered the Cowardly Lion, as the stiff and weary company fell into the chairs so recently vacated by the conquerors of Oz. Jack nodded emphatically.
“Then I will attend to the prisoners,” boomed the Soldier with the Green Whiskers, springing out from behind a pillar, and very brave since the enemy had been reduced. Striding over to the corner, he stood over the disconsolate warriors, his gun sternly pointed downward. Now Betsy picked up the magic belt from the floor, where it had fallen when Mogodore shrunk, and fastened it thankfully round Ozma’s waist. Scraps set the emerald crown upon her curly head, and with great gentleness and ceremony the Scarecrow and Tin Woodman conducted the little ruler to her rightful place at the head of the table. Then the Scarecrow ran out to release the servants, who were locked up in the summer house, the Wizard ran to see if his black bag was safe, Trot wound up Tik Tok, who was completely run down by his terrible experiences, and everybody settled back expectantly to hear what Jack Pumpkinhead had to say.
“Now tell us exactly what happened,” begged Betsy Bobbin, as the Scarecrow and all the servants came marching into the dining hall and the Wizard, tightly clutching his black bag, slipped into a seat beside Dorothy.
“Well,” said Jack, with a dignified little cough, “before I begin to tell you that, there is something I must do and three brave comrades to be released from an enchantment. The advice of my friend, the Red Jinn, worked once and I shall therefore try it again.”
“Before he speaks he must act,” chuckled the Scarecrow, who had completely recovered his good humor. “Well, my boy, actions speak louder than words.” Leaning on both elbows, the Scarecrow looked on with great interest as Jack snatched the pirate sack from his shoulder, turned it inside out and gave it three quick shakes.
CHAPTER 20 The Wedding Feast
IS IT a nightmare?” shivered Betsy, clutching Trot’s arm, “or a Hallowe’en party? Am I really here, and are they?” And well might she ask, for the last shake of the pirate’s sack had filled the room with Fraid Cats and Scares. Screaming, groaning, snatching at one another and the Oz folk, the Scares swarmed this way and that, until the confusion was terrible.
“Actions speak louder than words,” mumbled the Scarecrow. “Well, I do not like their actions at all. Call these comrades, friend Jack? Help! Begone! Away with you!” Jumping up the Scarecrow waved his napkin wildly around his head, and all the others, hastily pushing back their chairs, rushed to the assistance of Ozma, who was completely surrounded by the ugly intruders. Jack Pumpkinhead was so stunned and startled by this unexpected happening that he stood perfectly still. Then, resolved to go through with the matter, he shook the sack three times more and this time with the desired result.
“Why it’s Peter!” roared Sir Hokus, disentangling himself from ten Scares and hurrying over to the little boy who had just tumbled out of the sack. “Peter, the pitcher-and-” Thumping Scares both left and right, the Good Knight looked doubtfully at the Iffin and Belfaygor, who had rolled out of the bag after Peter himself. “Who are these?” muttered Sir Hokus, making ready to whack the great red monster if it showed signs of attack.
“Don’t mind us,” begged the Iffin, glaring around the banquet hall. “Keep working! Keep working. I’ll help you!” And help he did, with teeth, tail and claw.
“Where am I? How did I get here? How did they get here?” muttered Peter, rubbing his eyes dizzily and trying to collect himself, for he remembered nothing since he h
ad been swallowed by the sack. But he soon recovered, and fighting his way through the frenzied crowd till he reached Ozma’s side, cried excitedly. “They’re Scares, your Highness. Quick! Send them back to Scare City, before they break everything to pieces!” Glinda and the Wizard had already started an incantation to rid the castle of the horrible horde, but before it was half spoken, Ozma, without waiting for Peter to explain, arose and in a slightly trembling voice called, “I command these people and creatures to return to Scare City at once.” And at once, and all together they did. And now straightening their collars and settling their ties, for the encounter had been rough and furious, the Oz folk gazed at Peter and his comrades as curiously as they had gazed upon their pigmy conquerors and the unlovely citizens of Scare City.
“If someone will just explain,” said Ozma. “Everything’s so terribly mixed up.” “If someone doesn’t explain, I shall burst,” declared Betsy Bobbin, bouncing out of her chair.
“Have you come back to stay, Peter dear, and who are these others?” Peter was a bit breathless and confused himself and looked anxiously around for the baron. But Belfaygor had slipped off unnoticed with Shirley Sunshine.
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