CHAPTER 16

In the Palace of the Red Jinn

In about three whirls and one spiral Jack found himself on the steps of a glittering red glass palace. It stood on the edge of a green glass sea, whose waves broke with a melodious tinkle and crash on the beach below. The beach itself was a gleaming stretch of glass splinters, most dangerous to the tread of unwary travellers. Jack was so confounded by his sudden arrival in this strange place that for several moments he was scarcely aware that the slave of the bell was addressing him.

"Be pleased to enter the castle of the Red Jinn," murmured the little black boy politely, repeating the words till Jack at last did hear him.

"Is the owner of this palace also the owner of the magic dinner bell?" asked Jack uneasily. The slave nodded brightly and after an inquisitive glance at Jack's broken leg which he still carried under his arm, he offered his shoulder to Jack. With his assistance, Jack began hopping doubtfully upward. There were nearly a hundred steps, and moving up and down was a vast and colorful company of turbaned gentlemen, who might have stepped directly from the Arabian Nights. As each one passed he took off his slipper and tapped Jack smartly on the head.

"What, what have I done?" stuttered Jack, trying to protect his head with his arm. "Why do they strike me and why do they smile as they do it?"

"It is the custom in this country to take off the right shoe and tap a visitor upon the head as a polite method of salutation and greeting," explained the slave calmly.

"Greeting," groaned Jack, ducking back to avoid another slipper waver, "well, if we meet many more of your countrymen my head will be a squash instead of a pumpkin. Why can't they shake hands, like we do in Oz?"

"Every country has its own customs," answered the slave stiffly. "Why do you wear such a soft head, pray?"

"Because I'm accustomed to it," replied Jack a little sulkily. "It's the kind of head that goes with my kind of person."

"A turban would help," observed the slave as another citizen greeted Jack boisterously with his slipper.

"I don't need a turban," said Jack, hopping desperately up the last step. "But I do need help. My friends have disappeared into an enchanted sack and my country is in danger of destruction. I must have help. Do you think your master is powerful enough to help me?"

"It depends on how you strike him," murmured the slave indifferently. "There he is now. You might ask him." The glass doors of the palace were wide open, and Jack looked anxiously into the great red glass throne room. The doorways and arches were hung with strands of strung glass triangles and the musical tinkle of these strange curtains was both pleasant and delicate. All of the furnishings were of sparkling red glass and a double line of tall vases led directly to the throne. A strange drowsy incense rose in pink clouds to the ceiling. At first Jack thought the Jinn was merely another vase, but as with the black boy's aid he hopped nearer, he saw that the vase-like figure on the throne had legs crossed on the spun glass cushions and hands clasped round his fat and shiny middle. No head was visible; nothing but a lid with a round knob on the top. A sleepy black wielded a great fan drowsily over this portly person, and Jack after pausing uncertainly took the leg he still carried under his arm and tapped the Jinn sharply on the lid. Instantly it raised up and from the vase-like interior of this strange sovereign rose an enormous red head with an exceedingly pleasant, round face. He blinked curiously at Jack and then turning to the slave wheezed good naturedly, "Well, well! Ginger, my boy, what have you brought me this time? I am delighted that our bell was stolen. It keeps us in touch with the outside world and has already got us two extra slaves. But this one is the best yet." He looked Jack up and then down. "I haven't been so amused in a thousand years."

"Don't you want the bell back?" asked Jack, holding it out uneasily. He had expected the Jinn to be very angry at the holder of his magic treasure.

"No! No! Keep it and welcome! Just to look at you is worth a hundred dinner bells," said the Jinn, smothering a chuckle behind his fat hand. "An odd enough appearing gentleman, Ginger, is he not? And so polite! Where we but remove the slipper he has taken off the entire leg to do us honor. Tell me, who and what are you, most curious sir?"

"You struck him exactly right," whispered the slave encouragingly. "Speak up and he may help you."

"I am Jack Pumpkinhead, your Majesty," said Jack, balancing himself with great difficulty, "and a simple citizen of Oz."

"I believe you," puffed the Jinn and forthwith broke into such a series of strange sounds that Jack drew back in dismay.

"What language is that?" he asked in a faint voice. "I do not seem to understand your Majesty's remarks." The Red Jinn's lid, which he wore quite jauntily for a hat, was still quivering, but controlling himself with a great effort he wiped his face on a red silk hanky.

"'Tis the laugh language, Jack," he confided with a wink at the little slave. "The ha, ha, and ho, ho, of great merriment. Do you not speak this language in your country, fellow? The guffaw and the snicker, the giggle and roar of pure hilarity! Ho! Ho! You are doing me good, great good! Come join me in a little roar and we'll speak the laugh language in all its branches."

"But I do not feel like laughing," said Jack wearily. "I have lost my best friends and will lose my country too, if your Highness does not help me. Are you very powerful? Are you important enough to help me?"

"Terribly important," answered the Jinn, pursing up his lips. "At least to myself." He nudged the slave of the bell, who nodded delightedly, and Jack, without further parley, held up the pirate's sack.

"In this bag," said Jack solemnly, "are a little boy, a baron and a flying red monster."

"No?" murmured the Jinn leaning forward incredulously. "How did they get in the bag? How will they get out again and if they stay in an age will they become baggage? Ha! Ha! Ho! Ho!" The Red Jinn's mirth was extremely distressing to poor Jack, but feeling that everything depended upon the wizard's help, he smothered his resentment and patiently told the whole story of his adventures since Peter's arrival in Oz. As he proceeded the Jinn's expression grew more sober and at the conclusion of the story he clapped his hands sharply. Immediately Jack's broken leg snapped back into place, and with a surprised skip, Jack began marching up and down.

"That is the first step toward helping you," smiled the Jinn, holding up his hand to silence Jack's outburst of gratitude. "Now we must find a way to send you to Oz, release the prisoners from the sack and break the forbidden flagon without disaster to yourself. My magic looking-glass would show us where your friends are but not how to rescue them, my magic umbrella would carry you to Oz, but I need that myself. Let me think! Let me think!" Wrinkling his brows, the Red Jinn retired into himself and shut the lid.

"Will he come out again?" asked Jack, turning nervously to the little slave. The slave nodded impressively. So Jack, fixing his eyes earnestly on the Jinn's red lid, waited for him to reappear. And presently his head popped up and with snapping eyes he leaned forward. First he whispered nine words in Jack's carved ear and next, eight more. Then, leaning back, he regarded Jack with a pleased and satisfied smile.

"Now all we have to do is to arrange for your journey to Oz," said the Jinn, tapping his fingers upon the arm of his glass throne. "I believe I'll send you off in my Jinrickasha. Would you like that?"

"Why he's gone," shouted Ginger, leaping into the air. "Gone! Vanished! Departed!"

"So he has," spluttered the Jinn, lurching forward and rubbing his eyes with astonishment.

"Was it by your Majesty's magic?" queried the Slave of the Bell breathlessly.

"Not by my Majesty's magic, but some other meddlesome magic. Hash and horseradish! Now I shall never hear the end of the story!" Pulling in his head so suddenly that the lid came down with a crash, the Red Jinn dropped back on his cushions, and the little slave, having experienced the extreme of his master's temper when disappointed, tip-toed hurriedly from the royal presence. What had become of our hero? Who had spirited Jack Pumpkinhead away from the palace of the Red Jinn?