CHAPTER 18
Mogodore Meets More Magic
Soon the fragrance of an appetizing repast began to float out to the unhappy prisoners in the garden. Dusk turned to darkness, lights shone from every room in the palace, and in dreadful suspense and discomfort they waited for Mogodore's next move.
"That robber baron really means to marry you," groaned Trot, who was tied to a tree near Ozma, and as if to confirm her words two spearmen came marching determinedly toward them.
"Her Majesty, Queen Ozma is wanted within," bawled the first man, looking around. "Ozma of Oz, this way please." Immediately the little fairy was released from her chains.
"Never mind," she whispered as Trot burst into tears, "remember, Scraps is free and will find a way to help us."
"She'd better hurry," shivered Dorothy, and with sinking hearts they all saw their little leader marched away between the guards. Well-filled plates were being brought out to the soldiers in the garden, but no refreshment of any kind was offered to the prisoners, nor did Betsy Bobbin, crouched in the center of the butterfly bush, find any opportunity to escape from her hiding place. Inside a great feast was laid in the banquet hall and the rude warriors were already seated and banging on the table with their gold forks and knives. Wagarag, an apron tied hastily over his armor, was supervising the festivities and Mogodore, seated at the head of the table, without even rising waved Ozma to a place beside him. With a little sigh of despair, Ozma slipped into the green throne chair.
"Your future Lady in Waiting," grunted Mogodore, pointing rudely to Shirley Sunshine, who sat on his other side. "I did truly intend to marry this Princess, but find you so much more charming I have chosen you instead."
"Hurrah for the Queen of Oz and Baffleburg!" yelled the spearmen boisterously. Shirley, under cover of the rattling knives and forks tried to whisper her story to Ozma, but Mogodore's loud roars for food soon put an end to that and, pale with distaste and fright, the two little Princesses sat silent, scarcely touching a mouthful of the food that was unceremoniously dumped upon their plates. With a shudder, Ozma looked around her tidy castle. Mud had been tracked over all the velvet rugs, pictures hung sideways and the floor was strewn with broken vases and plates that spearmen playfully hurled at one another between courses. If Scraps succeeded in reaching the castle of Glinda, the good Sorceress who ruled over the South, Ozma knew this powerful ally would immediately fly to her assistance. With agonized ears, she listened for the wings of Glinda's swan chariot. But time went on and no one came. Now that the hunger of the rough company was appeased, they grew more noisy than ever.
"Call this a battle," wheezed Bragga to Mogodore, "are there to be no hangings, no bon fires, no killings of any kind? You promised us a real war. This is as tame as a taffy pull." Tugging discontentedly at his long mustache, the Captain of the Guard looked sulkily at his chief.
"After the wedding you may kill whom you please," promised Mogodore indifferently, "but now I'm going to have another try at that magic belt."
"Take care! Take care!" bleated Wagarag, from the other end of the banquet hall. "I'll wager you're thinking of that forbidden flagon again."
"Right," boomed the baron, sweeping a dozen plates to the floor with his arm. "And right now, I'm going to transport that flagon to this castle and find out what is in it and why it is forbidden. What will happen if the seal is broken? It cannot harm me now. I am no longer Baron of Baffleburg, but King of OZ--King by right of seizure and conquest."
"You'll not be the lawful King till you marry this Princess," quavered Wagarag, raising a trembling finger and pointing to Ozma.
"The old bone is right," grumbled Bragga. "Why not marry her now and be done with it?"
"Marry her now," echoed all the spearmen, "and let us get on with the killing." Pushing back her chair, Ozma jumped up and glanced desperately around the table. Would no one save her from this robber baron and his band? Mogodore, too, rose to his feet.
"I'm King now, I tell you," he insisted stubbornly, "and I'll marry when I'm ready, but now I am going to end the miserable mystery of the forbidden flagon. I command the forbidden flagon and its guard to appear before me," bellowed Mogodore, staring around defiantly. Scarcely had the sound of his voice died away before there came a crash and splinter of glass and in through a window back of the baron burst a strange flying figure. It was Jack Pumpkinhead, clasping the precious flagon in one hand and holding to his head with the other; brought all the way from the Red Jinn's palace by the mysterious power of the magic belt. With a hysterical little cry, Ozma rushed forward.
"Jack! Jack!" panted Ozma, "have you come to save us?" Solemnly Jack nodded and before a man at the table could move, he whisked off his head, set it on a chair and then and not till then did he hurl the forbidden flagon straight at the Baron of Baffleburg. How he ever managed to aim so true without his head to help him I have no idea, but with a resounding crack the flagon splintered to bits on Mogodore's nose and a thin red liquid began to pour down his cheeks and drop off his chin.
No longer need Mogodore wonder what would happen, when the seal on the forbidden flask was broken! For what would happen, had happened! Stars! Yes!