“Must we fight you?” asked the woman, “or will you come with us peaceably?”
“We’ll go peaceable,” answered Cap’n Bill. “You’re a-makin’ a sad mistake, for we’re as harmless as doves; but seein’ as you’re suspicious we’d better have it out with your Queen first as last.”
Their clothing was quite dry by this time, although much wrinkled and discolored by the penetrating fog, so at once they prepared to follow the Pinkies. The two men walked on either side of them, holding the pointed sticks ready to jab them if they attempted to escape, and the two women followed in the rear, also armed with sharp sticks.
So the procession moved along the pretty roadways to the City, which they soon reached. There was a strong high wall of pink marble around it and they passed through a gate made of pink metal bars and found themselves in a most delightful and picturesque town. The houses were big and substantial, all round in shape, with domed roofs and circular windows and doorways. In all the place there was but one street — a circular one that started at the gate and wound like a corkscrew toward the center of the City. It was paved with pink marble and between the street and the houses that lined both sides of it were gardens filled with pink flowers and pink grass lawns, which were shaded by pink trees and shrubbery.
As the Queen lived in the very center of the city the captives were obliged to parade the entire length of this street, and that gave all the Pink Citizens a chance to have a good look at the strangers. The Pinkies were every one short and fat and gorgeously dressed in pink attire, and their faces indicated that they were contented and happy. They were much surprised at Cap’n Bill’s great size and wooden leg — two very unusual things in their experience — and the old sailor frightened more than one Pinky boy and girl and sent them scampering into the houses, where they viewed the passing procession from behind the window shutters, in comparative safety. As for the grown people, many of them got out their sharp-pointed sticks to use as weapons in case the strangers attacked them or broke away from their guards. A few, more bold than the others, followed on at the tail of the procession, and so presently they all reached an open, circular place in the exact center of the Pink City.
Tourmaline the Poverty Queen
THE open space which they entered was paved with pink marble and around it were two rows of large pink statues, at least life-size and beautifully sculptured. All were set upon nicely carved pink pedestals. They were, of course, statues of Pinky men and women and all had bands of pink metal around their foreheads, in the center of each band being a glistening pink jewel.
About the middle of the open space inside the statues, which appeared to be the public meeting place of the Pinkies, was a small, low house, domed like all the other houses but built of a coarse pink stone instead of the fine marble to be seen everywhere else. It had no ornamentation, being exceedingly plain in appearance. No banners floated from it; no flowers grew near it.
“Here,” said one of their guides, as the procession halted before the little stone building, “is the palace of Tourmaline, who is our Queen.”
“What! that little cabin?” exclaimed Trot.
“Of course. Did you suppose a palace would be like one of our handsome residences?” asked the woman, evidently surprised.
“I thought it would be better,” said the girl. “All the palaces I’ve seen were splendid.”
“A splendid palace!” exclaimed one of the Pinkies, and then they looked at one another in amazement and seemed to doubt that their ears had heard aright.
“These intruders are very peculiar people,” remarked a man in the crowd.
“They seem very ignorant, poor things!” said another, in reply.
“Come!” commanded the woman who led the party; “you three must follow me to the presence of Tourmaline. The people must wait outside, for there is no room for them in the palace.”
So they followed her through the low archway, and in a room beyond, very simply furnished, sat a young girl engaged in darning a pair of pink stockings. She was a beautiful girl of about seventeen years of age, not fat like all the rest of the Pinkies, but slender and well formed according to our own ideas of beauty. Her complexion was not a decided pink but a soft rosy tint not much deeper than that of Trot’s skin. Instead of a silken gown, furbelowed like all the others they had seen women wear in this land, Tourmaline was dressed in a severely plain robe of coarse pink cloth much resembling bedticking. Across her brow, however, was a band of rose gold, in the center of which was set a luminous pink jewel which gleamed more brilliantly than a diamond. It was her badge of office, and seemed very incongruous when compared with her poor raiment and simple surroundings.
As they entered, the girl sighed and laid down her work. Her expression was patient and resigned as she faced her audience.
“What is it, Coralie?” she asked the woman.
“Here are three strange people, Tourmaline,” was the reply, “who say they have entered our country through the Fog Bank. They tell a queer story of an escape from the Blueskins, so I decided to bring them to you, that you may determine their fate.”
The Queen gazed upon our friends with evident interest. She smiled — a little sadly — at Trot, seemed to approve Button-Bright’s open, frank face and was quite surprised because Cap’n Bill was so much bigger than her own people.
“Are you a giant?” she asked the sailor, in a soft, sweet voice.
“No, your Majesty,” he replied; “I’m only — — ”
“Majesty!” she exclaimed, flushing a deeper pink. “Are you addressing that word to me?”
“O’ course, ma’am,” answered Cap’n Bill; “I’m told that’s the proper way to speak to a Queen.”
“Perhaps you are trying to ridicule me,” she continued, regarding the sailor’s face closely. “There is nothing majestic about me, as you know very well. Coralie, do you consider ‘majesty’ a proper word to use when addressing a Queen?” she added, appealing to the Pinky woman.
“By no means,” was the prompt reply.
“What shall I call her, then?” inquired Cap’n Bill.
“Just Tourmaline. That is her name, and it is sufficient,” said the woman.
“The Ruler of a country ought to be treated with great respec’,” declared Trot, a little indignantly, for she thought the pretty little queen was not being properly deferred to.
“Why?” asked Tourmaline, curiously.
“Because the Ruler is the mos’ ‘risticratic person in any land,” explained the little girl. “Even in America ever’body bows low to our President, an’ the Blueskins are so ‘fraid o’ their Boolooroo that they tremble whenever they go near him.”
“But surely that is all wrong,” said Tourmaline gravely. “The Ruler is appointed to protect and serve the people, and here in the Pink Country I have the full power to carry out the laws. I even decree death, when such a punishment is merited. Therefore I am a mere agent to direct the laws, which are the Will of the People, and am only a public servant, obliged constantly to guard the welfare of my subjects.”
“In that case,” said Button-Bright, “you’re entitled to the best there is, to pay for your trouble. A powerful ruler ought to be rich and to live in a splendid palace. Your folks ought to treat you with great respect, as Trot says.”
“Oh, no,” responded Tourmaline quickly; “that would indeed be very wrong. Too much should never be given to anyone. If, with my great power, conferred upon me by the people, I also possessed great wealth, I might be tempted to be cruel and overbearing. In that case my subjects would justly grow envious of my superior station. If I lived as luxuriously as my people do, and had servants and costly gowns, the good Pinkies would say that their Queen had more than they themselves — and it would be true. No; our way is best. The Ruler, be it king or queen, has absolute power to rule, but no riches — no high station — no false adulation. The people have the wealth and honor, for it is their due. The Queen has nothing but the power to execute the laws, t
o adjust grievances and to compel order.”
“What pays you, then, for all your bother?” asked Trot.
“I have one great privilege. After my death a pink marble statue of me will be set up in the Grand Court, with the statues of the other Kings and Queens who have ruled this land, and all the Pinkies in ages to come will then honor me as having been a just and upright queen. That is my reward.”
“I’m sorry for you, ma’am,” said Cap’n Bill. “Your pay for bein’ a queen is sort o’ like a life-insurance. It don’t come due till after you’re dead, an’ then you can’t get much fun out o’ it.”
“I did not choose to be the Queen,” answered Tourmaline, simply. “A misfortune of birth placed me here and I cannot escape my fate. It is much more desirable to be a private citizen, happy and care free. But we have talked long enough of myself. Tell me who you are, and why you have come here.”
Between them they told the story of how the Magic Umbrella had taken them to Sky Island, which they did not know, when they started, was anywhere in existence. Button-Bright told this, and then Trot related their adventures among the Blueskins and how the Boolooroo had stolen the umbrella and prevented them from going home again. The parrot on her shoulder kept interrupting her continually, for the mention of the Boolooroo seemed to make the bird frantic with rage.
“Naughty, naugh-ty Boo-loo-roo!
He’s the worst I ev-er knew!”
the parrot repeated over and over again.
Cap’n Bill finished the story by telling of their escape through the Fog Bank. “We didn’t know what your Pink Country was like, o’ course,” he said, “but we knew it couldn’t be worse than the Blue Country, an’ we didn’t take any stock in their stories that the Fog Bank would be the death o’ us.”
“Pretty wet! Pretty wet
Was the journey, you can bet!”
declared the parrot, in conclusion.
“Yes, it was wet an’ sticky, all right,” agreed the sailor; “but the big frog helped us an’ we got through all right.”
“But what can you do here?” asked Tourmaline. “You are not like my people, the Pinkies, and there is no place for you in our country.”
“That’s true enough,” said Cap’n Bill; “but we had to go somewhere, an’ this was the likeliest place we could think of. Your Sky Island ain’t very big, so when we couldn’t stay in the Blue Country, where ever’body hated us, or in the Fog Bank, which ain’t healthy an’ is too wet for humans to live in for long, we nat’rally were forced to enter the Pink Country, where we expected to find nice people.”
“We are nice,” said Tourmaline; “but it is our country — not yours — and we have no place here for strangers. In all our history you are the first people from outside our borders who have ever stepped a foot in our land. We do not hate you, as you say the Blueskins do, nor are we savage or cruel; but we do not want you here and I am really puzzled what to do with you.”
“Isn’t there a law to cover this case?” asked Coralie.
“I do not remember any such law,” replied the queen; “but I will search in the Great Book and see if I can find anything that refers to strange people entering our land.”
“If not,” said the woman, “you must make a law. It is your duty.”
“I know,” answered Tourmaline; “but I hope such a responsibility will not fall upon my shoulders. These poor strangers are in a very uncomfortable position and I wish I could help them to get back to their own country.”
“Thank you,” said Trot. “We wish so, too. Haven’t you any fairies here?”
“Oh, there are fairies, of course, as there are everywhere,” answered Tourmaline; “but none that we can call to our assistance, or command to do our bidding.”
“How about witches?” asked Button-Bright.
“I know of one witch,” said Tourmaline, thoughtfully, “but she is not very obliging. She says it makes her head ache to perform witchcraft and so she seldom indulges in it. But, if there is no other way, I may be obliged to call upon Rosalie for help. I’ll look in the Great Book first. Meantime you will go home with Coralie, who will feed you and give you entertainment. To-morrow morning come to me again and then I will decree your fate.”
The little Queen then picked up her stocking and began to darn the holes in it, and Coralie, without any formal parting, led the strangers from the miserable palace.
The Sunrise Tribe and the Sunset Tribe
ALTHOUGH Trot and her comrades were still prisoners they were far more comfortable than they had been in the Blue Country. Coralie took them to her own home, where she lived in great luxury, being one of the prominent women of the Pinkies. In this country the women seemed fully as important as the men, and instead of being coddled and petted they performed their share of the work, both in public and private affairs, and were expected to fight in the wars exactly as the men did.
Our friends learned considerable about the Pinkies during that afternoon and evening, for their hostess proved kind and agreeable and frankly answered all their questions. Although this half of Sky Island was no larger than the Blue Country, being no more than two miles square, it had several hundred inhabitants. These were divided into two tribes, which were called the Sunrise Tribe and the Sunset Tribe. The Sunrise Tribe lived in the eastern half of the Pink Country and the Sunset Tribe in the west half, and there was great rivalry between them and, sometimes, wars.
It was all a question of social importance. The Sunrise Tribe claimed that every day the sun greeted them first of all, which proved they were the most important; but, on the other hand, the Sunset Tribe claimed that the sun always deserted the other tribe and came to them, which was evidence that they were the most attractive people. On Sky Island — at least on the Pink side — the sun arose in wonderful splendor, but also it set in a blaze of glory, and so there were arguments on both sides and for want of something better to argue about, the Pinkies took this queer subject as a cause of dispute.
Both Tribes acknowledged Tourmaline their Queen and obeyed the laws of the country, and just at this time there was peace in the land and all the inhabitants of the east and west were friendly. But they had been known, Coralie said, to fight one another fiercely with the sharp sticks, at which times a good many were sure to get hurt.
“Why do they call this an Island?” asked Button-Bright. “There isn’t any water around it, is there?”
“No, but there is sky all around it,” answered Coralie; “and, if one should step off the edge, he would go tumbling into the great sky and never be heard of again.”
“Is there a fence around the edge?” asked Trot.
“Only a few places are fenced,” was the reply. “Usually there are rows of thick bushes set close to the edge, to prevent people from falling off. Once there was a King of the Pinkies who was cruel and overbearing and imagined he was superior to the people he ruled, so one day his subjects carried him to the edge of the island and threw him over the bushes.”
“Goodness me!” said Trot. “He might have hit some one on the Earth.”
“Guess he skipped it, though,” added Cap’n Bill, “for I never heard of a Pinky till I came here.”
“And I have never heard of the Earth,” retorted Coralie. “Of course there must be such a place, because you came from there, but the Earth is never visible in our sky.”
“No,” said Button-Bright, “‘cause it’s under your island. But it’s there, all right, and it’s a pretty good place to live. I wish I could get back to it.”
“So do I, Button-Bright!” exclaimed Trot.
“Let’s fly!” cried the parrot, turning his head so that one bright little eye looked directly into the girl’s eye. “Say good-bye and let’s fly through the sky, far and high!”
“If we only had my umbrella, we’d fly in a minute,” sighed Button-Bright. “But the Boolooroo stole it.”
“Naugh-ty, naugh-ty Boo-loo-roo;
What a wicked thing to do!”
wailed
the parrot; and they all agreed with him.
Coralie belonged to the Sunset Tribe, as she lived west of the queen’s palace, which was the center of the Pink Country. A servant came to the room where they were conversing, to state that the sun was about to set, and at once Coralie arose and took the strangers to an upper balcony, where all the household had assembled.
The neighboring houses also had their balconies and roofs filled with people, for it seemed all the Sunset Tribe came out every night to witness the setting of the sun. It was really a magnificent sight and Trot scarcely breathed as the great golden ball sank low in the sky and colored all the clouds with gorgeous tints of orange, red and yellow. Never on the Earth was there visible such splendor, and as the little girl watched the ever-changing scene she decided the Sunset Tribe was amply justified in claiming that the West was the favored country of the sun.
“You see,” said Cap’n Bill, “the sky is all around us, an’ we’re high up; so the sun really loses itself in the clouds an’ leaves a trail of beauty behind him.”
“He does that!” agreed Trot. “This is almost worth comin’ for, Cap’n.”
“But not quite,” said Button-Bright, sadly. “I’d get along without the sunset if only we could go home.”
They went in to dinner, after this, and sat at Coralie’s own table, with her husband and children, and found the meal very good. After a pleasant evening, during which no reference was made to their being prisoners, they were shown to prettily furnished rooms — all in pink — and slept soundly in the soft beds provided for them.
Trot wakened early the next morning and went out on the balcony to see the sunrise. The little girl was well repaid, for the splendor of the rising sun was almost equal to that of the setting sun. Surely this was a wonderful country and much more delightful than the Blue side of the island, where the sun was hidden by the great Fog Bank and only the moon was visible.
Complete Works of L. Frank Baum Page 318