“Your Majesty,” began Tuzzle, stepping pompously from the sedan chair and bending himself almost in half, “his Serene Highness, the Sultan of Samandra, sends you his royal loyal greetings and salutations.”
“The greetings of his Highness are graciously received,” answered Ozma kindly, though she had never heard of the Sultan in her whole life. “And what is it his Serene Highness desires of us?” she inquired, with a curious glance at the Samandran slaves. Long experience at ruling had taught her that strange sovereigns seldom sent gifts unless they wanted something in return.
“His Highness,” continued Tuzzle, a little embarrassed by Ozma’s frank query, “desires nothing more valuable than a camel. This camel was lost in a great sandstorm and has been missing ten long years from the royal herd. It is the favorite mount of his Excellency, so kind and comfortable a creature that since its loss our sovereign has been inconsolable. After countless unsuccessful searches, Chinda, our Chief Prophet and Seer has, with the aid of a magic telescope, caught a glimpse of the beast in your Majesty’s stable.” Casting down his eyes, Tuzzle waited anxiously for Ozma to speak.
“Why, it must be the Comfortable Camel Sir Hokus brought to the Emerald City long ago!” exclaimed Dorothy, with a little hop of excitement, “Come on, let’s go ask him.”
“Well, it will do no harm,” answered Ozma, readily enough. “And if our Comfortable Camel really belongs to the Sultan of Samandra, and really wishes to return to his master, I see no reason why he should not do so, though we’ll be sorry indeed to lose him.”
“Very good, your Highness!” mumbled Tuzzle, who was a little confused by the informal procedure at Ozma’s court. Scraps, Trot, and the Scarecrow were playing leap frog at one end of the throne room. Tik Tok and the Cowardly Lion were running races at the other, and all the rest of the
celebrities were grouped about the Lost King and the Soldier with Green Whiskers, who were in the midst of an exciting game of checkers. But when Ozma and the Grand Vizier started for the Royal Stables, they all stopped what they were doing and trooped along, causing Tuzzle much anxiety and uneasiness by their boisterous skips, vigorous claps upon the back, and continuous friendly questioning. But when the company reached the stall usually occupied by the Comfortable Camel, it was empty, and though grooms and stable boys were dispatched in every direction, no trace of the kindly creature could be found. The Doubtful Dromedary knew nothing of his whereabouts, and when a page was sent to question Sir Hokus, he reported that the Good Knight of Oz was also missing from his apartment. It was, as a matter of fact, the day after Sir Hokus had started upon his quest; but everyone in the palace had been so occupied preparing to accompany him that they had not missed the Good Knight at all.
“Perhaps Sir Hokus has taken the camel to the next village for supplies,” suggested Trot, and after many speculations and conjectures they all agreed that she might be right.
“Never fear, they’ll both be back,” predicted the Scarecrow, winking cheerfully at the Grand Vizier, “and meanwhile, why not enjoy our hospitality? No, you seem to be well stuffed already,” he observed, thumping Tuzzle upon the chest.
“Nay, nay, the Sultan can illy spare me, muttered the Grand Vizier. “I must return at once!” And stepping into his sedan chair he motioned for the slaves to start.
“And what about the shawls?” demanded Scraps, who had taken a great fancy to a white one embroidered in scarlet. “It’s not our fault the Comfortable Camel has gone away.
“Sh-h!Sh-h!” warned Ozma shaking her finger reprovingly at the Patchwork Girl, while Dorothy and Bettsy giggled in spite of themselves. “As soon as the Comfortable Camel returns we shall send a message to your illustrious master, promised Ozma, bowing politely to Tuzzle. “I am sure it will not be longer than a week.”
“Well, in that case,’ wheezed the very Grand Vizier ungraciously, “I hope your Majesty will accept this small gift from the Sultan.”
“With pleasure,” smiled Ozma, but before the slaves had time to present the shawls, Scraps snatched all twenty and throwing one to Dorothy, one to Trot, and one to Bettsy, dropped the rest in Ozma’s lap and, wrapping herself tightly in the red and white one, whirled madly round and round Tuzzle. Fearing to linger longer at a court where animals conversed as sensibly as people, and such strange conduct was permitted, Tuzzle scrambled into his sedan chair. Bidding Ozma a hasty farewell, he ordered his attendants to carry him at once to the Royal Sampan. This they did, and at such a brisk run that the Oz folk burst into loud cheers of admiration and approval, for considering the size and weight of the very Grand Vizier, the speed of his slaves was remarkable.
“Do you think the Comfortable Camel really belongs to this Sultan?” asked Dorothy, as the last Samandran disappeared from view.
“Let’s look in the magic picture!” suggested Bettsy Bobbin. “Let’s see what he’s like and find out where Sir Hokus and the Comfortable Camel have gone, too.” As this seemed a sensible plan, they all hurried up into Ozma’s sitting room. The magic picture, as most all of us know, is one of the most important of Ozma’s treasures. She has but to ask the magic picture where a person is, and immediately he is shown in the exact country or city where he happens to be at the time of the question. So, with the celebrities looking breathlessly over her shoulder, Ozma pulled the cord that drew aside the curtain covering the picture, and said quietly, “Show us the Comfortable Camel.” But stars! Nothing at all
happened, for the magic picture was not there, and with little exclamations of alarm and dismay they gazed at the empty space on the wall.
“Who can have taken it?” cried Dorothy indignantly.
“Call the Wizard,” shrilled the Scarecrow, and ran off, himself, to fetch him, But the Wizard, deep in his preparations for the Good Knight’s quest, could throw no light upon the subject at all. In the huge encyclopedia of Oz they did learn a bit about Samandra, its ruler and its customs, but of the whereabouts of the Comfortable Camel, of Sir Hokus of Pokes, or the famous picture of Oz, even the Wizard’s magic could tell them nothing.
“But do not despair,” begged the little man earnestly, that night at dinner. “I have almost perfected a new and marvelous invention. If our Good Knight and Comfortable Camel do not soon return, and if the magic picture is not found or discovered, I will seek them out with the help of my powerful searchlight. This searchlight, shot like an ordinary shell from a cannon, will travel all over Oz until it finds what it is sent for and then flash back with the exact location of the missing objects and people.” Taking them down to his laboratory, the Wizard endeavored to explain the strange rays and phosphorescent material to be used in this latest magic contrivance. It was a little difficult to understand, but Ozma and her courtiers had great confidence in the Wizard’s powers and, much cheered and comforted, they went off to bed.
CHAPTER 7
The Cruise of the Skyrocket
“ARE you sure it s all right this time, Uncle Billy? And will it take us straight to Mars?” Tightening the strap on his leather helmet, the boy looked up at the tall man who was going over, for the last time, the strange craft that was to carry them on an exploration of the sky.
“Well,” answered the tall man, wiping his hands on a piece of waste, “it may not take us straight, Speedy, but we’ll get there somehow. I’ve calculated the distance down to the last inch, and I can be on Mars by to-morrow morning. I’m not sure yet that I ought to take you, but on the other hand, I don’t see how I can leave you behind.”
“Neither do I.” Speedy spoke with feeling and finality. “You’re the only one I’ve got, and I’m the only one you’ve got, so we’d better stick together, don’t you think?” Uncle Billy nodded soberly, for Speedy was an orphan and had lived with him since he was a little fellow of two. The boy’s real name was Bill, but his quickness on the track and baseball field had earned him the nickname of Speedy. At ten he was such a good chum and so helpful with Uncle Billy’s inventions that the great scientist could not bear to l
eave him behind on this, the most important of his undertakings.
“It isn’t as if there was any real danger,” he mused, tapping the steel sides of the torpedo. “In this we’ll be as safe as if we were on a trolley car.
“Safer!” exclaimed Speedy scornfully. “Oh, come on, Uncle Billy, set her off! I can hardly
wait!’ It was a bright, clear May morning, the weather and wind conditions just right, and Uncle Billy, as eager as Speedy to be off, helped the boy into the back seat and prepared to light the fuse that would send them skyward. The Skyrocket, as you’ve probably guessed, was a flying torpedo, and the explosion of the rocket attached to the tail would carry them straight and swiftly to the stars.
“Now then,” puffed Uncle Billy, with a quick glance at the Skyrocket’s gears and brakes. “Remember! As soon as I jump in, slam down the top and slide the bolts. And if anything should happen, though of course it won’t, pull the lever on your right. That will release the parashuter. Press the button in the parashuter and it will carry you safely down to earth. All ready?”
Speedy nodded, clutching both sides of the leather seat, tense with excitement. He could hear the hiss and sputter as the electric lighter touched the fuse of the rocket. In one second more Uncle Billy would be in the driver’s seat, the steel re-enforced lid of the torpedo ship would be down, the oxygen sprays, to keep them in comfort during the long trip, would start, and they would be off like a flash on their journey through the air. With a tremulous gasp, Speedy looked over his shoulder. As he did, there came a terrific jolt, and with an earsplitting explosion the Skyrocket shot up toward the clouds. But Uncle Billy! Where in heck was Uncle Billy? Almost torn from his seat by the force of the start, Speedy looked desperately downward; then, as the wind ripped and tore past his head, he slammed the top of the torpedo and jumped into the front seat.
Uncle Billy had not been quick enough. Uncle Billy had been left behind. Forgetting all about the parashuter, forgetting everything except that he was tearing through space at a terrific rate toward a strange and undiscovered world, the boy grasped the steering wheel and gave it a sharp twist. His one thought was to get back to earth and pick up his uncle. With a sickening swerve the Skyrocket turned and sped downward so swiftly that Speedy, with his face glued to the thick glass window, could see nothing but a flying blur. A flash of green told him they were nearing earth, a tiny figure wildly waving its arms became visible, but only for the fraction of a second; then, with a frightful impact, the Skyrocket hit the flying field back of Speedy’s Long Island home, broke through, and bored its way tumultuously downward, down through the dark, pathless depths of the underearth! The splintering crash of the torpedo, as it ripped and tore through roots, rocks, and metal, almost deafened the boy, and the violent vibration made him faint and dizzy. Mechanically he grasped the wheel and despairingly wondered what would ever become of him. Too late he realized that the torpedo could not be stopped until the force of the rocket was spent. Why hadn’t he jumped with the parashuter, as soon as he discovered that Uncle Billy was not aboard? It was pitch dark inside, and as the roar of the Skyrocket grew louder Speedy touched an electric button. The cherry glow of the small lamps in the ceiling comforted him a little, but the vicious shake and rumble of the car made thinking almost impossible. Snake-like roots flashed past the window and snapped against the glass. Through rock strata streaked with gold, copper, coal, and silver, the Skyrocket splintered a pathway, and once they dove into a boiling mass of lava; the steel walls of the ship grew so hot that Speedy gave himself up for lost, but as the heat grew unbearable they plunged with a hiss into a deep, oily, underground sea filled with phosphorescent fish and terrifying monsters. Crouched behind the wheel, poor Speedy gasped, blinked, and shuddered. Would he go straight through the earth and drop out into nothingness on the other side? But just then the Skyrocket hit a particularly impervious piece of rock, and the ship gave such a bounce and backward leap that Speedy was flung out of the seat and knocked quite senseless. How long or how far he traveled in this helpless condition he never did discover; in fact he knew nothing at all till loud hammers and thumps on the outside of the torpedo finally aroused him. Surprised to find himself alive at all, he sat up and looked uncertainly around. The Skyrocket had really stopped. Strange square faces peered in through the window and motioned to him through the glass. Where on earth was he? Was he on the earth at all? Doubtfully Speedy stared up at the strangers; then, as the supply of oxygen was exhausted, and the air inside hot and stifling, he rose unsteadily, threw back the bolt and lifted up the top of the torpedo. Looking down into the faces of the curious crowd surrounding the Skyrocket, he wondered what Uncle Billy would do in such a situation
But the strangers stared so hard and so unblinkingly that “Where am I?” This question, spoken in his ordinary tone of voice, burst like three sharp explosions on the quiet air, echoing and reverberating till the crowd covered their ears and fell away from him in terror.
Astonished at the loudness of his own voice, Speedy swayed backwards himself. Then, as he was debating whether to stay in the ship or to alight and try to find out where he was, a little square-faced fellow separated himself from his companions and slowly approached him. He had scribbled something on a card, and handing the card to Speedy he hastily scuttled back to his place.
“Lower your voice,” directed the card in a nervous scrawl. “You are in Subterranea.” Very much relieved to find he could understand the language of this odd race of underearth dwellers, Speedy nodded to show that he understood, and rather timidly the Subterraneans began to draw nearer. They were undersized, thin and undernourished little fellows, but dressed with great magnificence in metal-cloth robes, tall, stiff headdresses and shoes of pure gold, decorated with precious stones. Their square, not unpleasant faces were almost granite in color and though not of stone, seemed hard and mummy-like. Probably from this queer air and no sun, decided Speedy, staring at them with frank curiosity, and beginning to think that Subterranea might prove almost as interesting as Mars.
The Skyrocket had come to a stop in the public square of this quaint underground city. Crooked pillars of irregular rock held up the blue stone sky in which the torpedo had cut a terrible gash. Radium stars in the sky sent out a misty phosphorescent glow. From the square, arched passageways branched out in every direction, not unlike the subways at home, except that they were much higher and lighter, beautifully tiled, and decorated with precious stones. Speedy was about to whisper a question, when a loud trumpet blast made him turn quickly to the left.
“The Shah!” hissed the square faces impressively. “His Imperial Lowness, the Shah!” And waving their arms they bent down all together, like a field of wheat swept by a sudden wind, Wide-eyed with interest, Speedy saw an important little man dressed all in cloth of gold, with a headdress at least a yard high. He was seated cross-legged on a giant blue earthworm. It was as large and ugly as a sea serpent and its center section was raised to form a comfortable seat for the queer little monarch. On either side walked gorgeously attired attendants waving metal flags. As the great earthworm came to a stop, the Shah glanced inquiringly at Speedy, next up at the hole in the sky, and then, leaning down, took from the slave at his right a large mask and held it up to his face. The mask wore a ferocious scowl and Speedy began to feel rather uncomfortable. “Oh pshaw, Shah!” he whispered in an embarrassed wheeze, “how could I help breaking through the roof?” Instead of answering, the Shah clapped his hands twice and handed the mask back to the slave. Now out stepped a stiff little Subterranean, whom Speedy quite rightly guessed to be the Chief Counselor of the Shah. He seemed also to be a rhymer of no mean ability, and in low rapid verses began to drone out the following:
“The Shah The Shah! Of SubterraneAH!
In the tenth year of his splendid subter reign;
And whom the Shah displeases, his Headman quickly seizes
And hurls instanter from the Shah’s domain!
I’m his Headman, as you see,
all his subjects bow to me,
My name is Rhomba, see that you attend,
Why have you come at all? Did you fly or jump or fall,
Are you interloper, enemy, or friend?”
“Friend,” answered Speedy in a low voice, and chuckling in spite of himself. But his answer did not seem to appease his Imperial Lowness at all. Looking again at the hole in his sky, he took up the frowning mask and turned it again toward the boy.
“Gosh!” thought Speedy uneasily, “I’ve certainly got to do some tall explaining; now what in Sam Hill shall I tell them?” All the little men were staring at him expectantly, and the one who had given him the card whispered aside to the monarch.
“I think, from his high voice, he must be one of those Upperdwellers.”
“Speak, Upperdweller,” hissed Rhomba, while the Shah changed his frowning mask for one whose blank expression upset Speedy even more than the frown. But remembering that he was the nephew of a famous scientist, and the holder of several records for high jumps and track events, he pulled himself together and in a calm whisper explained how the Skyrocket, in which he and Uncle Billy had intended to explore the sky, had gone off without the inventor; how he had turned the ship downward and crashed through to the center of the earth and landed in Subterranea through no intention or fault of his own. During this recital the Shah changed his mask twice. The first showed faint surprise, but the mask held up and slightly awry as Speedy finished his story was frankly yawning. Smothering his resentment at such treatment, Speedy went on hurriedly, “You see, if Uncle Billy had just been a little quicker, we’d have gone up instead of down and I’d never have come here at all. It was just a mix-up,” he concluded earnestly.
L. Frank Baum - Oz 24 Page 4