THE DESERTED CITY

Untangling himself from the tent folds, Sir Hokus sprang to his feet and looked eagerly around him. They had tumbled into the courtyard of a tall, strange castle of gold, but grass grew a foot high between the gold bricks in the court, the windows of the castle were all broken, and birds flew twittering in and out, while the castle itself was almost buried under a waving mass of vines. As Sir Hokus, pushing back his helmet, squinted uneasily upward, three page boys, just visible on the tallest tower, lifted their arms and blew three long, shrill blasts upon their trumpets. As the clear silvery notes, leaving a hundred rippling echoes in the still, morning air, finally died away, the pages let their arms drop stiffly at their sides and stood as rigid as statues, which was not surprising because they were statues--statues of pure gold.

"Camy! Camy!" wheezed the Knight, dragging the rest of the tent off the Comfortable Camel. "Dids't hear yon curious clamor?"

"Well," mumbled the Camel, heaving himself upward with a great creaking of harness and saddlery, "I heard something. Maybe it's the call to breakfast," he continued, sniffing the air hopefully. Then, as he took in the perfectly deserted courtyard and forsaken castle, his eyes bulged with disappointment and dismay. "Who blew?" he wheezed hoarsely. Without speaking, Sir Hokus waved his sword at the golden statues. "No!" murmured the Camel, flattening back his ears and wriggling his nose very fast. "Great grandmothers! In a mere moment the inhabitants may fall upon us with swords, spears, and daggers!"

"Methinks," sighed Sir Hokus, walking slowly toward the castle, "methinks we'll find here neither friend nor foe. What ho! What ho, within!" he called loudly, but only his own voice came echoing sadly back to him, so pushing open the gold studded door he stepped cautiously inside, the Camel treading timidly at his heels. But though they walked through all the grand rooms, upstairs and down, they found no one. The furniture, being solid gold, had happily withstood the ravages of time, but the curtains and tapestries had crumbled to powder, and the dust blown in through the windows lay so thickly on the floors and sills that flowers had taken root there and grew as luxuriously inside as out. Rabbits and other small forest creatures peered out anxiously as the Knight and his Camel went thumping through the halls. Sir Hokus tried to extract some information about the former owner of the castle from a tiny fawn he cornered in the dining hall, but if the little fellow could talk he did not choose to, and with one bound leapt out of the window.

"Some mighty monarch, mayhap, lived here," mused the Knight, leaning thoughtfully against the great mantel, while the Comfortable Camel nibbled the top of a young tree that had grown up in the fireplace. "But what boots it? He is not here now. What a curious quest this is turning out to be, Camy. I seek a maiden to rescue and find a swamp witch determined to marry; I seek a monster to slay and am seized by a snake tree; I search for a monarch to serve and find only his empty castle."

"Yes, but wouldn't you call the way we reached this castle an adventure?" observed the Camel, speaking a bit indistinctly because his mouth was full of leaves. "Not many have travelled on a flying field, Hokus, and there may be a dragon lurking in these very forests, for all we know."

"A dragon! Odds thumpenny! Why, so there may! I'll slay me a dragon yet! How you comfort me, Camy. And perchance I'll find a breakfast, too." Completely cheered, Sir Hokus strode briskly toward the door and down the golden steps.

"Which would you rather find first," inquired the Camel, ambling slowly after him, "the breakfast, or the dragon?"

"The dragon," answered the Knight promptly. "One can eat any time, but to slay a dragon!--Ah! how that would refresh me!"

"These leaves refresh me more," said the Camel calmly. "Too bad you cannot enjoy some of these nice, tender twigs." Sir Hokus nodded absently.

"'Tis strange, most strange, about yon trumpets," he mused, looking thoughtfully back at the deserted castle.

"Everything's strange," admitted the Camel readily, "but that's what we're seeking, isn't it? Perhaps those trumpets go off like the burglar alarms in our castle at home when strangers tread in the courtyard."

"But there's no electricity here," objected the Knight. "This castle is centuries old, Camy, and so is this city."

"And so is this forest!" exclaimed the Camel, peering uncertainly into the tangle of vines and trees ahead. "Shall we go on?"

"Most certainly. Hast forgotten the dragon?" Rushing ahead, Sir Hokus forced his way between two giant oaks, and stepped into a great, rustling, green forest. Moving cautiously between the mighty trees, many times having to slash a path for the Camel and himself with his sword, Sir Hokus looked sharply about for signs of a dragon or a breakfast. But after an hour's tramp he had found neither, and weary and somewhat downhearted seated himself beside a silvery forest stream and tried to forget how ravenously hungry he was. Camy, after quenching his thirst and storing up a vast quantity of water for future use, knelt down beside the Knight and was soon asleep. Sir Hokus, sitting with his back against the smooth trunk of a lyre bush, was presently aware of faint music, strange old tunes he had not heard since he was a boy, seven centuries ago. He jumped up, and parting the branches of the bush looked all around for signs of the singer, but could see no one. But as soon as he sat down the music began anew. It seemed to come from the bush itself. "Odds pasties! I'm dreaming!" muttered the Knight, starting to walk briskly up and down the banks of the little river. "There's no one here to sing!" Great green willows dropped their branches into the stream, and as Sir Hokus paused under one of the largest and loveliest, the willow began to weep in real earnest and big tears splashed down upon the Knight's armor. Its long feathery arms touched him on the cheek and rested gently on his shoulders, and Sir Hokus could have sworn he heard a voice sorrowfully calling him.

"'Tis hunger that makes me imagine all this!" puffed the Knight, uneasily wiping away the tears. "When the stomach is empty the head is full of fancies." But the tears were certainly real tears, and extremely upset and puzzled, Sir Hokus started back toward the Comfortable Camel. Several horse chestnuts, as he passed under their branches, shook themselves violently so that a shower of chestnut burrs pattered down upon him, almost, thought Sir Hokus, as if they were trying to attract his attention. Leaning against the Comfortable Camel, the Knight mopped his brow, and turning his back upon the willows fixed his gaze upon a gaudy vine that clambered riotously over a dead tree. It was covered with bell-like flowers that rang and jingled pleasantly in the wind. Birds, after resting among its pink blossoms, began immediately to laugh, chatter, and fairly rock with merriment. "Funny!" thought Sir Hokus as two crows, alighting on the vine, burst into loud haw haws and then flew screaming away over the tree tops. "I'm feverish!" panted the Knight, feeling his pulse anxiously. "Odds goblets, I've heard crows caw but never haw before. I'm feverish and starving by inches." Falling upon the Comfortable Camel's saddle sacks he began burrowing wildly among their contents in search of a stray cracker or jar of jam left from some palace picnic. It seemed to the Knight that the birds perched upon the gay vine laughed more hilariously than ever as he rummaged through the great basket-like containers, almost as if they were making fun of him, but the Comfortable Camel never awakened at all, snoring peacefully through the whole performance. There was nothing eatable in the right hand saddle sack, and Sir Hokus, after emptying the left, had about given up in disgust, when he discovered a tiny catch, and turning the catch found a hidden compartment in the bottom of the sack. In this compartment were two fat packages wrapped in silver paper. Sir Hokus had the cover off the first in no time. Inside lay six large, fat figs, and without delay he popped one into his mouth, then another, and another, and another, till the whole six were gone. Feeling a little better, but far from satisfied, he now opened the second package. This contained six large dates, and settling back with a contented sigh the famished Knight tried one of the dates. Both figs and dates were dry and hard and had evidently lain in the sack for a long, long time, but to Sir Hokus they tasted perfectly delicious. A company of jays were now swinging on the vine and laughed so saucily at the Knight that when he finished the date he sent the date seed spinning into their midst. With little shrieks and chatters, the jays flew into the air, but the vine--swords and swordfish!--the vine gave itself a brisk shake that set all the pink bell-flowers ringing merrily, and then slowly began to unwind. Now it twisted and whirled and spun till Sir Hokus could see nothing but a flying blur of pink and green. Dropping the package of dates, he rubbed his eyes and stared again to make sure he had seen aright, and as he did so the whirling ceased, and where the vine had been stood a mirthful and care free person in a belled cap. He seemed as puzzled as Sir Hokus and after blinking at him a moment in silence, remarked in a confidential aside to himself:

"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. Cans't 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.