Genre Fantasy. Page - 17
"But I didn't " wailed Hashem, falling on his knees. "Only eggs, your Highness--very best eggs--sugar, flour, spice and -"
"Bombshells!" cried the King angrily.
"The cake disappeared before the party, your Majesty!" cried Eejabo.
Everyone jumped at the sudden interruption, and Eejabo, who had crept in unnoticed, stepped before the throne.
"Disappeared," continued Eejabo hoarsely, dripping blue water all over the royal rugs. "One minute there it was on the pantry table. Next minute- gone!" croaked Eejabo flinging up his hands and shrugging his shoulders.
"Then, before a fellow could turn around, it was back. 'Tweren't our fault if magic got mixed into it, and here we have been dipped for nothing!"
"Well, why didn't you say so before!" asked the King in exasperation.
"Fine chance I had to say anything!" sniffed Eejabo, wringing out his lace ruffles.
"eh-rr-you may have the day off, my good man," said Pompus, with an apologetic cough-- "
owardly Lion has kingly parents and a palm tree! But I must keep thinking. My brains have never failed me yet. Who was I? Who were I? Who were I?"
Often he thought so hard that he forgot to look where he was going and ran headlong into fences, stumbled down gutters, and over stiles. But fortunately, the dear fellow could not hurt himself, and he would struggle up, pat his straw into shape, and walk straightway into something else. He made good time in between falls, however, and was soon well on his way down the yellow brick road that ran through the Munchkin Country. For he had determined to return to the Munchkin farm where Dorothy had first discovered him and try to find some traces of his family.
Now being stuffed with straw had many advantages, for requiring neither food nor sleep the Scarecrow could travel night and day without interruption. The stars winked out one by one, and by the time the cocks of the Munchkin farmers began to crow, he had come to the banks of a broad blue river!
he Chief of Police47. Al-Malik Al-Nasir and the Three Chiefs of Policea. Story of the Chief of Police of Cairob. Story of the Chief of the Bulak Policec. Story of the Chief of the Old Cairo Police48. The Thief and the Shroff49. The Chief of the Kus Police and the Sharper50. Ibrahim Bin Al-Mahdi and the Merchant's Sister51. The Woman Whose Hands were Cut Off For Giving Alms to thePoor52. The Devout Israelite53. Abu Hassan Al-Ziyadi and the Khorasan54. The Poor Man and His Friend in Need55. The Ruined Man Who became Rich Again Through A Dream56. Caliph Al-Mutawakkil and His Concubine Mahbubah57. Wardan the Butcher; His Adventure With the Lady and the Bear58. The King's Daughter and the Ape
The Book of the Thousand Nights and A Night
Ni'amah bin al-Rabi'a and Naomi his Slave-girl.
There lived once in the city of Cufa[FN#1] a man called Al-Rabí'abin Hátim, who was one of the chief men of the town, a wealth
ing packages by the door. Dayne didn't know what the fuss had been about. The man's hair had regrown in a mere matter of months.
"Just a moment, please."
Whoever was calling after midnight could only be bringing trouble with them. For a while, after what was later called: the tribal massacre, the lone hero had darkened his door, convinced Dayne was up to something nefarious and had to be taken down. Or another Cary Town villain decided to rise to infamy and needed Dayne out of the way to do it.
He'd eventually managed the right formula on the wards, and most steered clear, deciding it wasn't worth it. It had been quiet for the past decade. Either the wards were working or he'd been deemed irrelevant. Either way was fine by him.
The wards dropped as Dayne opened the door to reveal a diminutive black cat with bright golden eyes sitting primly on the middle of his front stoop. She blinked up at him full of rehearsed pet store innocence, her tail wrapped around her tiny paws.
indeed to be such a warrior as she neededin her enterprise, and her hopes of success tooka sudden bound when Files told her he knewwhere a gun-tree grew and would go there atonce and pick the ripest and biggest musket thetree bore.
Chapter Two
Out of Oogaboo
Three days later the Grand Army of Oogabooassembled in the square in front of the royalpalace. The sixteen officers were attired ingorgeous uniforms and carried sharp, glitteringswords. The Private had picked his gun and,although it was not a very big weapon, Files triedto look fierce and succeeded so well that all hiscommanding officers were secretly afraid of him.
The women were there, protesting that Queen AnnSoforth had no right to take their husbands andfathers from them; but Ann commanded them to keepsilent, and that was the hardest order to obeythey had ever received.
The Queen appeared before her Army dressed in animposing uniform of green, covered with goldbraid. She wore a
y) allthat discontent and trouble seemed to slip off him.
It was a beautiful night of early winter, the air just sharp enoughto be refreshing after the hot room and the stinking railwaycarriage. The wind, which had lately turned a point or two north ofwest, had blown the sky clear of all cloud save a light fleck or twowhich went swiftly down the heavens. There was a young moon halfwayup the sky, and as the home-farer caught sight of it, tangled in thebranches of a tall old elm, he could scarce bring to his mind theshabby London suburb where he was, and he felt as if he were in apleasant country place--pleasanter, indeed, than the deep country wasas he had known it.
He came right down to the river-side, and lingered a little, lookingover the low wall to note the moonlit river, near upon high water, goswirling and glittering up to Chiswick Eyot: as for the ugly bridgebelow, he did not notice it or think of it, except when for a moment(says our friend) it struck him that he missed the row
>"I b'lieve, Cap'n," remarked Trot, at last, "thatit's time for us to start."
The old man cast a shrewd glance at the sky, thesea and the motionless boat. Then he shook his head.
"Mebbe it's time, Trot," he answered, "but I don'tjes' like the looks o' things this afternoon."
"What's wrong?" she asked wonderingly.
"Can't say as to that. Things is too quiet to suitme, that's all. No breeze, not a ripple a-top the water,nary a gull a-flyin' anywhere, an' the end o' the hottestday o' the year. I ain't no weather-prophet, Trot, butany sailor would know the signs is ominous."
"There's nothing wrong that I can see," said Trot.
"If there was a cloud in the sky even as big as mythumb, we might worry about it; but -- look, Cap'n! --the sky is as clear as can be."
He looked again and nodded.
"P'r'aps we can make the cave, all right," he agreed,not wishing to disappoint her. "It's only a little wayout, an' we'll be on the watch; so come along, Trot."
Together they descended the win
b. The Breslau Textc. The Macnaghten Text and the Bulak Editiond. The same with Mr. Lane's and my VersionAppendix II--Contributions to the Bibliography of the Thousand andOne Nights and their Imitations, By W. F. Kirby
The Book Of TheTHOUSAND NIGHTS AND A NIGHT
MA'ARUF THE COBBLER AND HIS WIFE
There dwelt once upon a time in the God-guarded city of Cairo acobbler who lived by patching old shoes.[FN#1] His name wasMa'aruf[FN#2] and he had a wife called Fatimah, whom the folk hadnicknamed "The Dung;"[FN#3] for that she was a whorish, worthlesswretch, scanty of shame and mickle of mischief. She ruled herspouse and abused him; and he feared her malice and dreaded hermisdoings; for that he was a sensible man but poor-conditioned.When he earned much, he spent it on her, and when he gainedlittle, she revenged herself on his body that night, leaving himno peace
used a youngman, the following day in the little hamlet of Tafelberg, towhistle as he carefully read it over.
"I am glad that I am not the mad king of Lutha," he saidas he paid the storekeeper for the gasoline he had just pur-chased and stepped into the gray roadster for whose greedymaw it was destined.
"Why, mein Herr?" asked the man.
"This notice practically gives immunity to whoever shootsdown the king," replied the traveler. "Worse still, it givessuch an account of the maniacal ferocity of the fugitive asto warrant anyone in shooting him on sight."
As the young man spoke the storekeeper had examinedhis face closely for the first time. A shrewd look came intothe man's ordinarily stolid countenance. He leaned forwardquite close to the other's ear.
"We of Lutha," he whispered, "love our 'mad king'--noreward could be offered that would tempt us to betray him.Even in self-protection we would not kill him, we of themountains who remember him as a boy and loved his fatherand hi
e others might not be likely to stumble upon it. So finally hedecided it must be written somewhere in his own house.
Bini Aru had a wife named Mopsi Aru who was famous for making finehuckleberry pies, and he had a son named Kiki Aru who was not famousat all. He was noted as being cross and disagreeable because he wasnot happy, and he was not happy because he wanted to go down themountain and visit the big world below and his father would not lethim. No one paid any attention to Kiki Aru, because he didn't amountto anything, anyway.
Once a year there was a festival on Mount Munch which all the Hyupsattended. It was held in the center of the saucer-shaped country, andthe day was given over to feasting and merry-making. The young folksdanced and sang songs; the women spread the tables with good things toeat, and the men played on musical instruments and told fairy tales.
Kiki Aru usually went to these festivals with his parents, and thensat sullenly outside the circle and would not danc