“A Knight, a Knight, as I live! So I am to begin the day with night
The day is young, the Knight is old; now is he brave, and is he bold?”
“Never mind that!” blustered Sir Hokus, hopping up in great excitement. “Who are you and how came you here?”
“Can’t you guess?” With a delighted bounce, the fellow shook his belled stick:
“I’m just a jester gesturing To keep the company gay, I’m just a jester gesturing My whole long life away!
“As a matter of fact,” he continued, sobering down suddenly, “I think I’ve been enchanted. I seem to have been a funnysuckle vine and my head’s still full of twits and twitters. Even as a funnysuckle vine I still could be gay. Did you hear the birds laughing at my riddles?”
“So that’s what made them laugh!” roared Sir Hokus, slapping his knee and then rubbing the side of his hand where the armor had bruised it. “A funnysuckle vine, and when I flung the date seed you became-”
“Myself!” announced the jester, with a sweeping bow, “And as my beneficent restorer, I thank you upon bended knee.”
“Go to, now! Go to!” puffed the Knight, pulling the fellow to his feet. “And a bother on this ‘bended knee stuff. Canst tell me aught of yon golden castle?”
“Castle?” murmured the jester, shaking his head with a puzzled frown. “Castle? I remember no
castle!”
“But you must have lived in a castle,” insisted Sir Hokus, “and if you were enchanted, so must the others have been. What country is this, and what King did you serve?”
“King?Country? Faith, and I remember nothing! Nothing!” Shaking his head again until all the bells on his cap tinkled, the jester looked uneasily at the Knight. “I’ve been a vine so long I guess I’m still
twisted,” he admitted regretfully. “But come, there are other Kings, and other castles; the sun shines and the sky is blue. Let us forget the past and address ourselves to the future. You, being a Knight, must serve some King. Let me go back to his court with you!”
“I serve Queen Ozma of Oz, but I am now bound upon a quest to render assistance to a maiden, slay a monster, or serve a monarch.”
“Maidens, monsters, monarchs,” chanted the jester, counting them off on his fingers, “how I dote upon all three. I, too, will go upon this quest and make the going merry, be assured of that; most merry.” Turning a somersault, the jester winked mischievously at Sir Hokus, but the Knight, with a little frown, was looking for the package of dates, Some mysterious power was in that date seed and if one enchantment had been broken, so reasoned Sir Hokus, might not others be dispelled? Why, he might even discover the King of the Golden Castle! But though he kicked aside the leaves and went carefully over every inch of ground where he had been sitting, and where the funnysuckle vine had been, there was not a trace of the dates anywhere. The jester, meanwhile, delighted to find himself alive, skipped and danced from tree to tree, seeming to care nothing for his former life or master, and when, with a sigh, Sir Hokus finally gave up searching for the dates, he tugged him impatiently by the arm.
“Let us be off and be gone,” he begged earnestly. “This forest is enchanted and if we tarry here we may be caught in some evil spell. To horse! To horse, good Knight! Let us be away and seek our fortunes elsewhere!” Then, his eye falling for the first time upon the sleeping Camel, he gave a great bounce and burst into such a roar of laughter that Camy awoke with a startled grunt of surprise. “Since when!” shrieked the jester, holding both his sides. “Since when have Knights ridden camels?” Without bothering to explain, Sir Hokus hurried over to the Comfortable Camel and quickly told him all that had happened. The Camel, after an amazed glance at the jester, lurched hurriedly to his feet,
“The fellow is right,” he snorted anxiously. “This forest is bewitched; let us get off before we take root and turn into turnips.”
“Many happy returnips!” chuckled the jester, jumping over a tree stump. “To camel! To camel, good Knight! Will you never be moving? Come on, Comical,” he roared, snatching the Camel’s bridle and giving it a playful twist.
“Mind what you’re about,” said Sir Hokus in a vexed voice, for he was not going to have Camy insulted. Then, as the strange murmuring of the forest was beginning to oppress him terribly, he started to walk rapidly along the banks of the little stream, for this, he felt, would sooner or later lead them out into the open.
CHAPTER 11
The Knight Loses His Camel
THEY had gone but a few yards when the jester, capering along ahead, turned round and leapt three times into the air,
“Stop!” he called imperiously. “Stop! I’ve just remembered something.”
“How now, and what is it?” demanded the Knight, rushing forward impetuously and hoping it would be something about the golden castle and its owner.
“My name!” exulted the jester, tossing his cap into the air and catching it on his belled stick. “My name is Peter Pun.”
“Oh bother your name, ‘fumed Sir Hokus in a disappointed voice. “That’s not important.” ‘Well, it’s important to me,” insisted the jester, hopping across the stream and back for pure joy:
“Peter Pun gives everyone A taste ofjollity and fun.”
“I’d rather have a taste of biscuit, or bacon and eggs,” sighed the Knight. “Six figs and one date make a poor enough breakfast for a fighting man.
“Date!” chattered the Comfortable Camel, taking several quick steps and resting his head on the Knight’s shoulder. “Do you realize you’ve eaten a magic date, Hokus, and may turn into something else any minute?”
“He’s turning! He’s turning!” yelled Peter Pun, pointing his finger warningly. “Turning!” groaned Sir Hokus, clapping his hand to his forehead.
“Turning round,” laughed Peter, hopping behind a tree to escape the Knight’s long arm. “You’re a fool,” hissed the Camel angrily. “Can’t you understand that this is serious?” “How can a fool be serious?” inquired Peter, tickling the Camel on the nose with a long
branch.
“There’s really no harm in him,” whispered Sir Hokus in Camy’s ear. “And methinks all the magic in the date rested in the seed I flung at the funnysuckle vine.
“Methinks you’re right, Good Knight! Good Knight! We’ll solve the riddle later; At any rate, you ate the date,
And now are full of dayter!”
“Data,” corrected Sir Hokus. “Odds pasties, would I had the rest of that package!”
“Well I don’t,” said the Comfortable Camel, compressing his lips severely. “We’ve trouble enough with this one fellow without disenchanting any more. Much better to have left him a vine. Can’t you walk along sensibly and stop climbing every tree you come to?” he snorted fretfully, as Peter swung along from branch to branch more like a monkey than a person.
“If you’d been a vine as long as I, you’d climb trees too,” laughed Peter, dropping lightly on the Camel’s hump. “I keep thinking I’m a vine,” he murmured dreamily, winding both arms around the Comfortable Camel’s back and hugging him vigorously. “And how I do dote on you, old potato!”
“There! There!” cautioned the Camel. “Don’t choke me to death.” In spite of his sauciness, there was something so lovable about the little jester that Camy did not mind the embrace nearly as much as he pretended. “Get back in the saddle,” he grunted gruffly, “and see if you can’t keep quiet for five minutes. It’s so much more comfortable keeping quiet.”
“Who wants to be comfortable?” said Peter, standing on his head in the middle of the high seat, “Who wants to be comfortable? I’d rather be gay! Say:
“A company of four tried to walk through a door, But the door slammed them all on the nose. Can you tell me just why? Or at least have atry? It’s easier than you’d suppose!”
“Was it a true door?” asked the Knight, who was foolishly fond of riddles.
“As true a door as you’d find anywhere in your travels,” admitted Peter, settling
down cozily in the seat on the Camel’s hump.
“I don’t see how it could slam anyone on the nose unless there was someone back of it,” put in the Comfortable Camel, pulling a long wisp from an overhanging vine and munching it thoughtfully. “Nor do I,” agreed the Knight.
“Come now, what kind of door was it, Peter?”
“A troubadour!” sang out the jester, kicking up his heels. “And if you were a troubadour, and four tried to walk through you, would you not slam them on the nose?”
“Humph!” grunted Sir Hokus, striding ahead to hide his grin. “One more pun and there’ll be a slam on your own nose, odds buttons! A slam and some more things, too!”
“Best save your slam for the monster,” yawned Peter, curling up comfortably and pretending to snore. “Heigho, what’s that?” Leaping to his feet, he held his hand to his ear. “Methinks I hear a monster now!” Sir Hokus had already stopped and was listening intently. The dip and splash of some great creature churning its way through the water came to them quite distinctly, and as they all peered curiously ahead, it swept round a bend in the stream and bore straight down upon them. Sir Hokus, who had expected to see a ferocious river beast, let his sword fall in bitter disappointment. It was no monster after all, but a boat, a boat rowed by twenty strong slaves, its yellow sails flapping jauntily in the breeze. As the Knight continued to gaze gloomily at the curious craft, a huge fat person heaved himself out of a chair on deck, and after one long look at the Comfortable Camel began barking out orders and directions so fast that the three watchers on the bank could understand nothing of what he said. But the slaves apparently did, for dropping their oars they seized a long, thick rope, and before Sir Hokus had time even to blink, it whirled through the air and settled with a vicious hiss around Camy’s long neck. With a choked gurgle the poor Camel slid forward into the water so quickly that Peter circled into the air and fell flat upon the mossy river bank.
“Halt! Yield! What dost thou there?” Brandishing his battle-axe, Sir Hokus scrambled to the edge of the stream in a vain effort to seize hold of the Comfortable Camel or slash the rope that was hauling him away, before it was too late. But it was already too late, and the Knight, slipping into deep water, was forced to watch his old friend dragged ignominiously off by the neck. The slaves, urged on by Tuzzle-for of course it was the very Grand Vizier-were rowing like mad, and Sir Hokus in his heavy armor had no chance at all to swim after them. Indeed, had not Peter jumped up in the nick of time and held out a stout branch, Sir Hokus would have sunk like a stone to the bottom of the stream. Peter, somewhat sobered by the unexpected capture of the Camel, helped the Knight to a nearby tree stump. Hurriedly emptying the water from his helmet and boots, Sir Hokus made ready to pursue the yellow boat.
“Had this been a land battle ‘twould not have gone so easy with them,” rumbled the Knight, snatching the long slippery stem of a water lily from around his neck.
“Well, they’ll land sooner or later and then we can give them what for and what ho! Come on!” cried the jester, dancing with impatience. “If we follow this river we’re bound to catch them, Are we going to let those old camelnappers steal our good steed?”
“No, odds thumpeny! A thousand times, no!” roared Sir Hokus, and catching up his battle-axe he began running along the edge of the yellow river. But twenty pair of arms are stronger than two pair of legs, and in less than three minutes the royal barge of the Sultan was out the river grew broader and more turbulent. The forest, too, thinned out, and after a stiff twenty-minute sprint the two rescuers found themselves in open country. Pausing a moment to catch his breath, Sir Hokus squinted inquiringly around. A luxurious orange grove lay ahead of them, but the river branched sharply in two directions. Refreshing himself with an orange and throwing one to Peter, the Knight paused to reflect.
“Toss up your sword,” advised the jester. “If the hilt comes down first, we’ll follow the left branch; if it comes down point first, we’ll take the right!” It seemed as good a way as any to choose, and when the gleaming sword fell point first at the Knight’s feet, they both felt relieved.
“When the sword point points the way, Truly one can’t go astray!” chanted Peter Pun.
“And that fat rascal shall have the sword point where it will do him no good,” promised Sir Hokus, striding fiercely along the right bank of the stream. “Dost see a sail, Peter?”
“Neither a sail nor a camel’s tail,” admitted the jester, shaking his head regretfully:
“But round that turn ahead, who knows? We’ll find alike our friend and foes!”
“Then come on!” breathed the Knight, breaking into a run. “Come along with you!” “Coming!” piped Peter, his mouth full of oranges.
CHAPTER 12
Camy at the Sultan’s Court
NOW the Comfortable Camel, though nearly choked and almost drowned, had instantly recognized Tuzzle. Like a bad and half remembered dream, his former life in Samandra came back to him. The long, tiresome journeys across the desert, the bad temper of the Sultan, the heavy loads he was forced to carry in order that his peppery little master might travel in comfort and luxury. He opened his mouth to cry out, but found to his horror that he could not speak a word. Instead of indignant protests against his captors, he was uttering only camelish grunts and gurgles, and when three minnows swam down his throat he gave up in despair, and closing his eyes and his mouth allowed himself to be towed along in silence. In Samandra, he recalled bitterly, he had not been able to converse at all. How dreadful to be but a dumb beast of burden after his interesting and cozy existence in the Emerald City of Oz. It was not to be thought of or endured.
“I’ll run away first chance I have, and let them try to stop me if they dare,” he decided grimly, beginning to work his feet to keep the rope round his neck from strangling him. Tuzzle, meanwhile, leaning proudly over the rail, was already counting up the rewards he might claim for his cleverness in capturing the Camel. Rubbing his hands with anticipation, he bade the slaves row faster. This they did, and in less than an hour the Royal Sampan drew alongside the golden dock in the Sultan’s city. The Sultan, warned of their arrival by watchers he had stationed along the bank, came hurrying down from the palace, followed closely by the Grand Bozzywoz and other dignitaries.
“Am I a good Seer, or am I not?” queried Chinda, waving complacently at the Camel swimming feebly after the yellow barge. “Behold your Majesty’s Comfortable Camel!”
“It certainly does not appear to be very comfortable at the present moment,” observed the Keeper of the Royal Records. “A most uncomfortable camel I should call it,”
“Hold your tongue,” advised the Sultan disagreeably, and after a quick glance to assure himself that the Camel’s saddle sacks were in place, he called impatiently to the slaves to bring the half-drowned creature ashore. The Camel’s first action was to shake himself violently, drenching everyone on the dock. Then with an angry snort he trod heavily on the toes of Tuzzle and as many more as he could manage to get near.
“Patience! Patience, my precious little parsnip,” wheezed the Sultan, wiping the water out of his eyes with his sleeve and motioning for the Keeper of the Camels to approach. “Let him be given a triple portion of dried peas and rice, and with my own hands I will remove his heavy trappings.” At this, Camy, remembering the ill-natured kicks and prods given by his former master, let out such a squeal of defiance that the courtiers tumbled in every direction to get out of his way. But the Camel Driver, slipping a stout noose over his head, forced him unwillingly up the bank and toward the Royal Camel Quarters behind the castle. The Sultan, fairly bubbling over with relief and excitement, pattered after him, for he, for very good reasons of his own, did not want the Camel out of his sight for an instant.
L. Frank Baum - Oz 24 Page 7