L. Frank Baum - Oz 17 Read online

  “That person,” cried Tazzywaller, with a wave toward Notta, “is undoubtedly a-wizard. Instead of snatching off his head, which will be of no use to us, even as an ornament, why not compel him to serve us? He is a wizard, or he would not be in Mudge. Well then, let him go to the Emerald City and

  bring back the Cowardly Lion!”

  Mustafa stared at his former chamberlain in amazed admiration, then flinging both arms about his neck, hugged him almost to suffocation. Next instant he had clapped his hands and issued a dozen orders to as many little servitors. At the first the shouting Mudgers retired backward from the tent, at the second Panapee also retired, leaving Bob and Notta alone with Tazzy and their Majesties. Outside, the marching and countermarching of the blue guard could be heard as they surrounded the royal tent.

  “The rules aren’t working at all well, Bob,” breathed Notta anxiously. Bob said nothing.. He just clutched the clown’s hand a little tighter and stared at Mustafa in open-eyed wonder.

  “Now then,” chuckled the monarch of Mudge, “now then, my handsome wizard, what do you call yourself?”

  “Notta,” began the clown, resolved to be polite as long as possible, “Notta Bit More.” “Notta!” coughed Mustafa, opening his eyes wide. That doesn’t sound like a name. It sounds

  like-”

  “A joke,” put in the clown, with one of his broad smiles, “a little joke on me. You see it is meant to be funny.”

  “Well, it doesn’t amuse me at all.” Mustafa stared solemnly into the clown’s face. “Why are you so white? And why is his hair,” Mustafa jerked his thumb at Bob-“so red?”

  “For the same reason that your Majesty’s whiskers are blue,” replied Notta promptly. Mustafa did not quite like this answer.

  “Your business?” he inquired next. “I suppose you deny being a wizard?”

  “Oh, absolutely!” said Notta. “But my busi ness, if your Majesty insists, is fun. I make people laugh and thus prolong their lives.”

  “A funny business,” sniffed Mustafa, with a puzzled look at Tazzywaller. “Well, you will have to make me laugh to prolong your life, and the only thing that makes me laugh is lions!”

  “Lions!” Notta wrinkled up his forehead. “I’m afraid lions are not in my line at all. You see I didn’t work in that part of the show.”

  “You pretended to be a lion,” interrupted Mustafa sternly, “and you haye proved yourself a wizard. So unless you can capture the Cowardly Lion of Oz and bring him back to Mudge, you shall be thrown into the lion reservation, whereby nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine lions will tear you to bits. Do you agree?”

  “Tear me to bits!” gulped the clown. “My father often said I’d go to the dogs, but he never dreamed I’d be thrown to the lions. Say, is this Cowardly Lion very fierce?” Instead of answering, Mustafa handed him Panapee’s lion book, saying, “You may read that while I make preparations for your journey.

  Smiling almost pleasantly, the Monarch of Mudge linked his arm through Tazzywaller’s and disappeared behind the blue curtain at the back of the tent. Mixtuppa also drew in her head and Bob Up

  and Notta were left alone.

  “Isn’t it time to run?” asked the little boy anxiously. He had never in his whole life heard so much about lions. But Notta put his fingers to his lips and shook his head.

  “No use,” whispered the clown. “The tent’s surrounded. We must pretend, my boy pretend we are going to hunt this Cowardly Lion. Then, once out of the country, we’ll take the first train home.” He sat down on a huge cushion and began turning the pages of the lion book, Bob Up looking curiously over his shoulder. They were both quite interested in a description of the Cowardly Lion and Princess Dorothy, when Mustafa came whirling back. He was followed by a small Mudger servant, with three white packets upon his head.

  “Here,” said Mustafa, with a wave at the packets, “are provisions for three days. Travel straight north until you reach a yellow brick road and follow that road till you come to the Emerald City. There you will find the Cowardly Lion.”

  “But, see here,” began Notta, who had been doing some quick thinking, “why does not your Majesty transport this lion to Mudge by the magic verse?”

  “For a wizard,” sniffed Mustafa, “you are astonishingly stupid. That verse only transports people, and one must touch the person.

  “Well then, why not send some of your valiant tribesmen to capture him? I, I am a stranger here and have never captured a lion in my life.”

  “Because it is written in the book of Mudge that any Mudger leaving his country will lose his head,” droned Mixtuppa, thrusting her turban through the curtain. “And if you take my advice you will go at once. All this arguing keeps me awake, and when I’m awake I lose my temper, and when I lose my temper other folks lose their heads, and when that-”

  “I’ll go,” sighed Notta, seeing that no sense at all was to be had from this ridiculous pair. He stepped out of his lion disguise and, rolling it up into a small bundle, thrust it into his trouser leg. Next he slung the three packets around his neck and, taking Bob’s hand, declared himself ready to go.

  Rubbing his hands gleefully, Mustafa led them out of the royal tent, through a double line of the Mudger Guard, to the great iron enclosure that surrounded his kingdom. The lions were snarling and quarreling among themselves, but as soon as Mustafa came in sight they began calling him names and screaming for their dinner.

  “Be quiet, my little pets,” chuckled the Monarch of Mudge good-naturedly. “This is not dinner, only a silly wizard.”

  “Give us the boy, then,” roared the largest of the lions, licking his chops. “Give us the boy,” roared all the other lions immediately. Notta and Bob Up stared at Mustafa’s pets in horror and disbelief, for neither had in their lives ever heard a lion talk before. Bob, especially, was terribly dismayed by the personal nature of their conversation. But, while they were still trembling, two heavy doors were slipped through the bars, about five feet apart, making a safe and narrow passageway through the enclosure. The gates on the inside and outside of the enclosure were unlocked and Mustafa waved imperiously for them

  to go.

  This Notta and Bob lost no time in doing.

  “Remember,” called Mustafa warningly, as they scurried through, “if you run away instead of hunting for the Cowardly Lion, I shall know of it. When a messenger disobeys me, my magic ring turns black. If it turns black I shall know you are deceiving me, and in that case Mustafa held up his thumb so that Notta could see his ring”in that case I shall take it off, and if I take it off you will both turn as blue as my whiskers and find yourselves unable to move until you decide to do as I have commanded. Goodbye, my chalk-faced wizard, a pleasant journey and a swift return!”

  Notta was too shocked and astounded to answer. Grasping Bob Up more firmly than before, he rushed out the iron gate and off through a field of blue daisies, until the dreadful roaring of the lions of Mudge could no longer be heard.

  “And this,” puffed the clown at last, sinking down under a great tree, “this is what comes of trying to be funny. Never try to be funny, my boy.”

  “No, sir,” answered Bob, staring anxiously over his shoulder to see whether any of Mustafa’s lions had followed them.

  CHAPTER 5

  Two Cowardly Lion Hunters

  FOR a time Notta and Bob Up sat quietly under the tree, each busy with his own thoughts. The clown was repeating to himself Mustafa’s warning, and trying to recall some mention of such a country as Mudge in the geographies he had studied. The little boy was thinking that at this time yesterday he was calmly eating oatmeal and apple sauce, with nothing more exciting ahead than lessons and bed. Perhaps he was asleep, and dreaming about lions and blue whiskered Mudgers. He touched Notta experimentally, to see if he would disappear or turn suddenly to the harsh-voiced matron of the orphan asylum. But the clown only turned a neat somersault, walked a few paces on his hands and sat down again.

  “Bob,” asked the clown,
tilting his cap forward so he could scratch his ear, “do I look like a lion hunter?”

  Bob Up shook his head slowly and almost laughed. Something inside tickled tremendously, but he remembered, just in time, that laughing was against the rules of the orphan home, so he swallowed instead.

  “We’re both lion hunters,” observed the clown reflectively, “and that being the case we had better start hunting at once, for it would never do for the lions to find us first. It’s like a game of hide-and-seek, Bob. So long as we are hunting him, this Cowardly Lion is it. But if we stop hunting, then we’re it. In a game of hide-and-seek with a lion, it’s your hide or his. Being it, means being et, hide-and-seek and all!”

  Notta glanced slyly at Bob out of the corner of his eye to see whether he were going to smile. Bob was looking uncertainly at the forest, stretching so darkly ahead, and thinking he would just as soon not play this game of hide-and-seek at all. But as Notta had already started toward the forest, there was

  nothing for him to do but follow. The short, spring afternoon was drawing to a close and a round silver moon showed faintly over the tree tops.

  “Things might be a lot better, and again they might be a lot worse,” mused Notta, as they walked along under the trees. “Why, if you were in the home, you would probably be eating corn meal mush for supper and-”

  “What are we going to have for supper, Notta?” asked Bob, looking up at the clown inquiringly. “Well, hurrah!” shouted the clown, turning a rapid cartwheel. “You’re getting on, my lad; called me Notta as natural as a brother. As to supper, that depends on Mustafa. Let’s see what the old rascal has given us.”

  On a flat stump that happened to be near, Notta opened one of the packets and set out a regular feast. There were dozens of small meat sandwiches, there were ripe figs, a jar of honey, and a little jug full of blue tea, which they found most refreshing. After they had feasted, Notta carefully packed up the rest and, feeling more cheerful, the two cowardly lion hunters stepped along through the forest.

  “I can’t make out where we are, at all,” said the clown presently, “but in a country where lions talk, and verses fling one about, it’s safer to obey orders, don’t you think so, Bob Up, my boy? So long as we travel towards this Emerald City we are obeying orders and are safe from Mustafa’s ring. When we get there is time enough to worry about the Cowardly Lion. Now take an Emerald City, Bob; did you ever hear of such a place? Why, it’s as strange as blue whiskers and cowardly lions. Everything’s strange. In fact, I think we’ve fallen into one of these fairy tales. I always had a kind of notion they were true!”

  “But the Cowardly Lion liked Dorothy,” burst out Bob quite unexpectedly, “so maybe he will like us.” He had been turning slowly over in his mind the few facts he had managed to read in the lion book.

  “Why, bless my heart!” cried the clown, looking down at Bob admiringly, “so he did, and furthermore, didn’t that book say Dorothy was from Kansas?”

  Bob Up nodded solemnly.

  “Well, then everything’s clear as candy!”

  Notta turned a somersault from pure relief. “We’ll go straight to this Emerald City and tell our troubles to Dorothy, and when she learns that we are from the United States, surely she will help us to get back, and if we could take a couple of talking lions along our fortune would be made. Why, even Barnum and Bailey never showed a talking lion.”

  Notta was so enthusiastic by this time that he fairly bounced along. But Bob was growing sleepy. He found it harder and harder to keep pace with Notta’s long legs, and finally fell sprawling over the roots of a large tree. Notta had him up in a minute.

  “Lights out?” chuckled the clown, touching Bob’s eyelids gently. “Well, then, let’s go to bed. It’s too dark to go on, anyway.

  “I don’t see any beds,” sighed Bob, leaning wearily against the clown’s knee.

  “Neither do I,” admitted the clown, “but we’ll just pretend we’re flowers, and sleep on the ground.” In a minute the clown had raked a pile of leaves together under the tree and placed Bob

  carefully in the center.

  “Are there any bears in this wood?” asked Bob, looking around doubtfully. It was quite dark now, and the moonlight sifting through the leaves made queer shapes out of all the shadows. “This isn’t a bear forest,” said Notta positively. “I think it’s a fairy forest, Bob, and that reminds me of a song I used to know.”

  Reaching over, Notta pulled the little boy into his big, comfortable lap, and with a twinkle in his eyes he put his back against the tree and began to sing:

  “Oh the moon’s a balloon On a silvery string, And the Sandman holds on to it tight! ‘Tis a ticklish task-What would happen, I ask, If he let it fly off some fine night?

  “But he knows that there are Seven points to a star, That might puncture the moon; and a steeple Would finish it quite! How we’d miss it at night, For the moon means so much to some people!”

  There was another verse to the song, and Bob, leaning drowsily against Notta’s chest, thought he had never heard anything so perfectly beautiful. He had never sat on a real lap before, nor had a song sung especially for him. So the little boy snuggled down contentedly, his eyes straying to the moon, just visible above the tree tops. Why, there was a string on it, a bright silver string, and a little, old man was holding to the end, just as Notta had sung!

  “Fast asleep,” muttered the clown, holding Bob a bit tighter. And so he was fast asleep and dreaming of the sandman’s balloon. Notta meant to keep awake, for he was not so sure there were no bears in this dark forest, but the day’s experiences had so tired him that, in a short time, he was sound asleep himself.

  No sooner had Notta’s eyes closed, than a little, bent fairyman came tiptoeing from behind the tree. He held his lantern close to Notta’s face.

  “Such a beautiful voice,” sighed the little fellow to himself. “It would be a shame to have it swallowed up by one of the forest creatures. And this must be a child.” He held his lantern close to Bob’s red head. He watched them for a while in silence, then pulling his silvery beard thoughtfully, set the little red lantern beside them and pattered off into the darkness.

  Notta had been right. It was a fairy forest. Every forest in the wonderful land of Oz is a fairy forest, inhabited by strange creatures and peoples. But the clown’s song had so pleased the old fairyman that he determined to protect the two strangers from all harm, and though many bears and other beasts came snuffling past, they dared not approach, for the red lantern told them plainly it was “Claws off.” So grumbling and growling, they went searching further for their dinners.

  The little lantern disappeared with the first ray of sunshine and, quite unconscious of the dangers they had slept through, Notta and Bob awoke almost at the same minute.

  “Well,” yawned Notta, winking the only eye he had open, “we’re still here, I see.” He rolled over and over and turned a dozen handsprings to get the kinks out of his back. “I’ve often wondered what made flowers so stiff and now I know. It’s sleeping on the ground. I’m glad I’m not a flower, aren’t

  you, Bob?”

  Bob nodded and hopped up quite briskly. There was a fine breeze blowing, and the day was so sunny and bright that he felt ready for anything, and just to look at Notta made him feel happy.

  “Do you think we’ll find the Emerald City today?” he asked, skipping along beside the clown, who was making for a little brook just ahead.

  “Well, according to Mustafa, it ought to take three days,” answered Notta. “But Mustafa was never in a circus, and anyone who has been in a circus can travel three times as fast as other folks, so I shouldn’t be surprised at all if we were to be eating our supper in this Emerald City tonight. If I had only wished old Billy along he could have carried us in style.”

  “The elephant?” exclaimed Bob, with round eyes. The clown nodded and, kneeling down on the edge of the brook, began to splash water on his face and hands. Bob did the same, and had just taken off hi
s shoes in order to paddle properly, when a cry from Notta made him pause.

  “Now I’ve done it,” wailed the clown dolefully, jumping up and down.

  “What?” asked Bob curiously.

  “Washed my face.” Notta pointed to his face, which was quite red and shiny from the cold water. ‘And I haven’t any powder! Have you any powder, Bob? Oh, my! Cold pie! It’s hard enough to be funny with a white face, but without one I simply could not joke at all. Whatever’s to become of us? I’m no clown this way.

  Bob was terribly distressed, for if Notta couldn’t be funny nothing would seem the same. He felt hastily in his pockets-not that he expected to find anything, but because he didn’t know what else to do and in the last one his hand closed on a bag of candy the old gentleman had bought for him at the circus. It was squashed and sticky from being slept on,. but mechanically Bob handed it over.

  “Why, it’s marshmallows!” cried Notta in delight. “Bob, you have saved the honor of my profession. We must preserve these carefully.” He patted his face with a small sugary marshmallow and surveyed his reflection with pleased satisfaction. “I feel funny already,” he announced cheerfully. Bob was much relieved and Notta did look more natural with his face whitened.

  “Now for breakfast,” said the clown, licking the sugar off his lips. It was great fun, Bob thought, washing in a brook and having breakfast under the trees. After finishing off some more of Mustafa’s sandwiches, they started quite briskly through the forest.

  “I think the rules are going to work better today,” chuckled the clown, “I will use disguise number three. Number three’s a bear, Bob Up. Now, here’s our program, first disguise, then politeness, then joke and run. We shall get along famously.” Notta sprang into the air and clicked his heels together for very lightheartedness.