"Have a care, Larmin!" exclaimed the Chancellor.
"I DO have a care," said Larmin indignantly. "I am, in fact, the care-TAKER. As I am sure you are well aware. Anyway, I bring important tidings!"
"Important tidings? As important as the time you came running out because there was a spider in the Prince's room?"
"No, no, no, no, MUCH more important, Chancellor! The Prince, Prince Pazil himself, has gone missing!"
"Missing? Are you sure?"
"Well, he's not in his chambers at all. Unless he's shrunk or turned invisible. But that's not very likely, is it?"
"No, Larmin, that isn't very likely. Now, if you would kindly calm down, I shall endeavor to assist you in your search for the absent Prince."
Larmin and the Chancellor, whose name was Cranthus, began searching the castle. They looked in the dining halls, the storerooms, the laundry room, the ballroom, and the music room. Just as they were passing through the entrance hall, they noticed an out-of-breath guard leaning against a pillar and panting.
“What’s wrong, man?” questioned Cranthus. “You look like you’ve run all the way across town!”
“I HAVE run all the way across town! I bring…important…just let me catch…my…breath…”
About two minutes later, the guard finally announced, “There’s a revolution! An invading army! Outside the city gates! They demand the Prince’s immediate surrender!”
“But the Prince is lost, so he CAN’T surrender!” exclaimed Larmin.
“Not that he would even if he WERE around,” added Cranthus.
“True. But really, we ARE in a fix! No Prince, and a revolution, on the same day!”
“Do we know where the invaders are from?” the Chancellor asked the guard.
“Most of them are our fellow Parlonian citizens. Others look to be Tralmians and Darsonians. And I’m sure I saw a Quillonian in there.”
“Why would our own people be rebelling? The last opinion poll said that 85 percent of respondents would rather live here than anywhere else in Oz.”
“Shouldn’t we go ask them?” inquired Larmin.
“Send a page out to ask them. Here, I’LL do it.”
Chancellor Cranthus summoned one of the castle pages, a teenage boy named Sarn, who had blond hair and a rather lanky frame. Sarn walked out through the capital city of Parlon, and up to the city gate, outside of which an army of one hundred or stood, holding torches and makeshift weapons, and demanding entrance.
“What is it you want?” asked Sarn, in his high-pitched voice.
“We demand the immediate surrender of Prince Pazil!” shouted a tall man in a uniform identifying him as an employee at Coltan’s Coffee Shop, and a badge showing that his name was “Dristan Drorian, Premiere Latte Artist.”
“But why? What’s the Prince ever done to you?”
“We’ve been ruled by a prince long enough! We want some say in the government, and we have won some allies in Tralmia, Darson, and Quillonia over to our side.”
“And are you in charge of this revolt, Mr. Drorian?”
“No, I’m just the appointed spokesman. Our esteemed leader has more important matters to attend to.”
“Well, um, I’ll tell the Prince about your demands, but I have a feeling he won’t surrender.”
“We’re prepared for that eventuality. It would be a lot easier on you if he DOES surrender, though.”
“We’re going to give the Prince four days to surrender!” added a curly-haired waitress who was standing behind Dristan. “If he doesn’t, there will be trouble!”
“Um, what kind of trouble, ma’am?” asked the page.
“Believe me, you’d rather not find out!” replied Dristan, trying his best to sound threatening, but not really succeeding.
Sarn then returned to the castle to tell the others what the revolutionaries had said. Larmin responded by panicking, but the cooler-headed Cranthus advised seeking help from Ozma.
“Ozma! Of course!” said Larmin. “She would never let this revolt succeed! How are we going to contact her, though?”
“Sarn will take the Royal Coach out the back entrance, and take it down Darzo Highway to South Rellow,” replied Cranthus, while consulting his memorandum book. “Make a left turn at the pharmacist’s, and stay on that road until you reach the statue of Prince Pelzor. Then take the pine needle trail, which will eventually turn into a gravel road, and come right out to the Yellow Brick Road. Going north on that will take you right to the Emerald City.”
“Um, maybe it would be best if I DIDN’T take the Royal Coach, so as not to arouse suspicion, Your Honor,” objected Sarn nervously.
“Good point, Sarn. You should take Mottle, then.”
“Right. I’ll leave right away, Your Honor.”
Sarn ran to the stables, which were in back of the castle, and explained the situation to Mottle, the Royal Donkey. Mottle had belonged to Prince Pazil’s grandfather Paloz, and was now retired, and was given a place of honor in the stables. He had not left in years, but he was loyal to his country, and was quite willing to take Sarn to the Emerald City. Soon, the page had mounted the donkey, and Mottle hurried down to Darzo Highway. Fortunately, the rebels were all on the other side of town, so they did not see the boy and the donkey hurry along the road through the desolate plains that made up most of the Principality of Parlon. He had soon reached the town of South Rellow, and followed Cranthus’ directions to the pine needle trail. Upon crossing the Parlonian border, the trail became a gravel road, just as the Chancellor had said. This road led through Quadling farming territory, where friendly farmers wove at the page from their fields. When night fell, Sarn accepted a beet farmer’s invitation of dinner and lodging for the night. The Parlonian did not especially enjoy beet soup, but he made the most of it, and was glad to have a comfortable bed in which to sleep. According to the farmer, the bed had belonged to his son, before he moved off to Jinxland to get married and start a hardware store. In the morning, after a quick breakfast of a beet omelette, the page had returned to the donkey’s back, and to the gravel road, which eventually ended at a road of yellow brick. As most Ozites know, there is at least one of these roads in each country, and they lead toward the capital of Oz. The first such road was laid in the Munchkin Country, to connect the old Munchkin capital to King Oz’s city. These highways were then built in the other quadrants, with the Quadling one actually being the most recent.
The very next day, in the late afternoon, a red wagon drawn by a wooden horse came speeding down Darzo Highway to the back entrance of Prince Pazil’s castle. The wagon stopped right outside the back gate, allowing the guard at this gate to see that it contained a young lady in a green jacket and a multi-colored skirt, and a younger girl, dressed in blue overalls and wearing glasses. The guard alerted Cranthus and Larmin, who hurried out to see the newcomers.
“Are you from the Emerald City?” inquired the Chancellor.
“Well, actually, I live in the Munchkin Country, but I was in the capital on business, and, when your page boy showed up asking for help, I decided to come down here and see if I could do anything. I have some experience with revolutions, after all.”
“What kind of experience, may I ask?”
“Why, I led the Army of Revolt that overthrew the ruling patriarchy in the Emerald City, and ruled as Queen for a few days. It might have been before your time, though.”
This was a bit of an odd thing for the woman to say, since she did not look to be any older than twenty, at the most, while Cranthus was in his late sixties. In Oz, however, no one ages unless they want to, and, while most people prefer to retain their youth, some Ozites choose to grow older to better fit their positions. As it was the style for chancellors and prime ministers to be old men, it was not unusual to find such officials who looked old, but were technically younger than some of the children in their respective countries.
“General Jinjur?” asked Cranthus.
“At your service,” replied Jinjur, offering her hand for the Chancellor to shake. “And this is Henrietta Fairfax, a farmhand of mine.”
“Fairfax? Of the Old Munchkinland Fairfaxes?”
“Yes,” sighed Henrietta. “We’re a pretty famous family in the region. My father, Jimron, is the Mayor of Waujiton. My Aunt Beatrice is a soldier at Glinda’s palace. I was hoping to visit her while I’m down here in the Quadling Country. Anyway, I go to boarding school in Ventville, and I work on Jinjur’s ranch during the summers.”
“And her mother was in the Army of Revolt,” added Jinjur. “That’s one reason why she ended up working for me.”
“Yes, although my father wasn’t quite as fond of the idea,” laughed the girl.
“Yes, yes, that’s all well and good and all that. But what happened to Sarn?” put in Larmin.
“He’s staying in the Emerald City until Ozma gets back, and then she’s going to transport him and his donkey back here.”
“The donkey was quite exhausted,” added Henrietta. “It didn’t look like he was used to such a long journey.”
“So, where IS Ozma?” asked the Caretaker.
“She went with Dorothy and the Wizard to Ev, for the Founding Day celebration. They should be back either tonight or tomorrow. I was hoping we might be able to quell this revolution before that, but, if we can’t, Ozma will come here to help.”
“And, if it’s really urgent, we’ll go get help from Glinda,” stated Henrietta, causing Jinjur to groan involuntarily. “So, do you know why these people are revolting?”
“They say they want more say in the government, and are tired of being ruled by the Prince,” replied Cranthus.
“Well, that’s not all that unusual. While most of the countries of Oz are satisfied with absolute monarchy, more democratic systems are becoming popular in many areas. In Hyrystalia, for instance, they now have a representative assembly to assist the Queen.”
“I think we should have a meeting with the leader,” declared Jinjur. “Do you know who’s in charge of the revolt?”
“Nobody knows! It’s a total secret!” replied Larmin, in his frantic manner. “It could be a horrible monster from the nether regions!”
“There was a representative who talked to Sarn, though,” added Cranthus. “He worked in a coffee shop in the next town over. Coldan’s, I believe.”
“I think you mean Coltan’s, Your Honor,” corrected a guard. “I’ve been there before. They make a really good caramel latte.”
“Yes, that’s right. Coltan’s Coffee Shop, in Garzin.”
“All right. We’ll head over there now,” said Jinjur.
“Are you sure you don’t need to rest first?”
“No, we’re still quite full of energy. You need to be, when you work on a farm.”
“And I never tire,” added the wooden horse drawing the wagon.
“Very well. Prall here will show you the way to Garzin,” announced the Chancellor, indicating the guard who had announced the Red Wagon’s arrival. Prall appeared to be in his twenties, and had light red hair and a rather scrawny build. The guard climbed into the wagon, and the Sawhorse set out down a road to the nearby town of Garzin.
Prall pointed out the coffee shop, which was close to the fountain in the center of town. Jinjur then unhitched the Sawhorse, and the horse joined the General, the guard, and Henrietta in walking up to the door of the shop. When Jinjur knocked on this door, the top opened, and a man in a helmet asked, “What’s the password?”
“The password? For a coffee shop?” asked Jinjur incredulously.
“Yes. We need to know whether you’re with us or with THEM.”
“I’m not with EITHER, but I AM here on the authority of Ozma of Oz. I don’t think she would appreciate it if you didn’t let us in.”
“And, um…do you have any proof that you have Ozma’s authority?” asked the man in the helmet, in a nervous voice.
“I’m Ozma’s royal steed,” put in the Sawhorse. “Have you seen any other live sawhorses?”
“No…you have a point there. Very well. Come on in.”
The man opened the door, letting Jinjur and Henrietta enter the shop. He refused to admit Prall, though, since the guard was wearing the royal insignia of the Prince of Parlon. The store was full of people, all of them wearing head coverings of various sorts. Some of them wore helmets like the first man, but others had stocking caps, oversized peaked hats in the Munchkin style, scarves, and even pots and pans. Dristan stood behind the counter, wearing a scarf over his head, but still wearing his name tag.
“So, Mr. Drorian, you represent the leader of this rebellion?” inquired Jinjur.
“Drorian? How did you know…oh,” Dristan said, remembering his name badge. “Yes, I am the local representative of our leader. And who are you?”
“Jinjur. GENERAL Jinjur, that is.”
“The General Jinjur who conquered the Emerald City?”
“The very same. I’ve come to ask you why you’re launching this rebellion.”
“Because we’re tired of being ruled by the Prince! We want the opportunity to elect our own leaders!”
“And have you tried to meet with the Prince and discuss your concerns?”
“Hah! You’re one to talk, General!” put in a nearby man, whose voice was somewhat muffled by the large saucepan on his head. “Did YOU try to talk to the Scarecrow and discuss YOUR concerns? From what I hear, you just marched on the city with a mess of girls, and started pokin’ everybody with knittin’ needles.”
“That’s enough, Crin—um, comrade,” said Dristan, catching himself in time. “In truth, we DID try to arrange a meeting with the Prince and his advisors, but old Cranthus told us there was no need, because the laws establish that a prince from the Parl family must always rule Parlon. There’s no choice in the matter, because someone wrote it down hundreds of years ago. So our only option seems to be to conquer the country.”
“Ozma has the authority to change the law, though,” argued Jinjur.
“And why would Ozma listen to us? Besides, we believe that it’s best to take matters into our own hands, and not let princes and queens dictate these things.”
“What about your mysterious leader?” asked the Sawhorse.
“Our leader has no thought of power for himself. He merely wants to see the present order overthrown, and will then help us create a more successful society.”
Jinjur and the Sawhorse both found this quite unlikely, but neither of them mentioned it. Instead, the General merely told Dristan, “You do realize that, if you don’t cease with your plans of rebellion, I must report to Ozma.”
“I—I suppose I do,” stammered the coffee clerk.
“Oh, come on, Drorian!” objected the man with the saucepan on his head. “All we need to do is capture this so-called General and her walking log, and there’ll be no one left to report to Ozma.”
With that, the man and a few people sitting near him stood up and advanced on Jinjur and the Sawhorse. Dristan made a few nervous attempts to calm them down, but to no avail. The clerk need not have worried, however. A few swift kicks from the equine were all that was needed to stop these would-be captors, who really knew next to nothing about fighting. The General and the horse quickly backed out of the store, and Pral, who was waiting outside, quickly hitched the equine to the Red Wagon. The General and the soldier then climbed into the wagon, which the Sawhorse drew at a rapid pace back to Prince Pazil’s castle. A few of the rebels tried to follow, but they soon gave up when they saw how quickly the Sawhorse could run.
“It doesn’t look like those rebels are really much of a threat,” declared Jinjur, as she rode along in the Red Wagon.
“But what about their leader?”
“Yes, if this mysterious leader really does exist, he could have some kind of power at his command. Then again, he could just as easily be as ineffective as those rebels, if not more so. I wish there were some way to find him, and find out the truth about him.”
“Hey, I hate to interrupt,” put in Prall, with a slight cough, “but wasn’t there another girl with you before?”
“Oh, right! Henrietta! I’d forgotten she was here with us! I didn’t see her when we left, though. What could have happened to her?”
What actually did happen was that, as soon as the man with the saucepan began threatening Henrietta’s companions, the girl quickly grabbed a pot from the counter, and put it on her head. With this slight adjustment, she was able to blend in perfectly. The revolutionaries thought that she looked unfamiliar, but then, was it not the case that no one in the coffee shop was familiar? This was not totally the case, as most of the rebels recognized their friends and neighbors regardless of what ridiculous headgear they were wearing, but it was SUPPOSED to be the case, so they paid no attention to an unfamiliar girl with similar headgear, even if she WAS dressed in blue instead of red.
Not long after Jinjur and the Sawhorse had left, Dristan addressed the crowd. “The castle staff refuses to release the Prince, or to listen to our demands. If this continues, something must be done!”
“Yeah, like stormin’ the palace!” shouted the saucepan-headed man. “We’ve been meetin’ for three nights now, and we still haven’t done anything!”
“Our leader says we must wait another three days.”
“Like they’re goin’ to change their mind in that time! We need to act NOW! How come YOU’RE in charge, anyway?”
“Calm down, dear,” said a female-voiced person at the saucepan man’s table, who was wearing a colander. “Our leader obviously trusts Dristan, or he wouldn’t let him remain in charge.”
“Oh, right. Our leader! How come we never see this mysterious leader? I’m startin’ to think there IS no leader!”
This suggestion brought gasps from many in the crowd, but also some murmurs of agreement. One man in particular, who was dressed in a baker’s outfit and had a bandana over his head, spoke up with, “If this leader is so great, why doesn’t he show himself?”
“Our leader has not considered it prudent to show himself at present,” replied Dristan nervously. “He most definitely DOES exist, though. In fact, I plan to meet with him tonight, and tell him of your concerns.”
Most of the noise died down after this announcement, although there were still a few scattered mumblings. Henrietta was particularly interested to hear this, because she thought it might be her chance to discover the identity of this mysterious leader. All she would have to do would be to follow Dristan without his knowing it. She reminded herself that this might not be easy as all that, yet she was still determined to try it. Henrietta had always wanted to be a detective, but there really was no need for such a person in Waujiton, where she had grown up. There were very few mysteries there. This, however, could be her big chance to do what she had always wanted.
Since she figured that Dristan would not go to see the leader until everyone else had left, she decided to hide in the coffee shop’s bathroom. Sure enough, after about an hour, she could hear the clerk telling everyone else that the shop had closed, and that he would meet with the leader shortly. The sound of the door opening and closing repeatedly, and people filing out, soon followed. Finally, Henrietta heard a key turning in a lock, and Dristan sighing and saying, “Well, it looks like everyone’s gone. Time to go, I suppose.”
Henrietta heard footsteps coming toward the bathroom, and was afraid that Dristan would enter the room and find her there. She looked around for a place to hide, but this turned out not to be necessary, as the clerk walked right by the bathroom, and farther back. He then apparently opened a door, which Henrietta figured must have been a back exit. It was not long after this that the girl exited the bathroom, and found the back door that Dristan had used. She was about to leave that way, when she remembered that Dristan would presumably still be within hearing distance, and that she definitely did not want to call attention to herself. So, instead, she found a nearby window with crates stacked under it, climbed on one of the crates and looked out through this window. The coffee shop employee was hurrying along a road that led out of town and toward a small forest. After he had entered the forest, the Munchkin girl removed the pot from her head, left the shop through the back door, and took the same path that Dristan had.
The girl had no idea how to follow the man without having him catch on. She had heard of trackers following footprints, but Dristan did not appear to leave any, or at least she did not know how to find them. So she decided to climb a tree, and see if she could catch a glance of the clerk. The wood was not particularly thick, so it did not take long to locate him. He was running down a dirt road, and not paying much attention to his surroundings. At one point, he tripped over a tree root, and took some time to get back up again. After he had brushed himself off, though, he set out again, and had soon left Henrietta’s sight. So she climbed back down the tree, and tried to follow Dristan’s trail. She had no idea of whether she was going the right way, but she decided to stick to the road, which eventually left the forest, and led to a small cluster of buildings that must have been another village. The only one of these buildings that had any lights on was a rather large inn. An incredibly large man, who must have been at least eight feet tall, and was dressed in a neat uniform that must have been tailor-made, stood in front of the door. Fortunately, he did not notice Henrietta, who was examining the inn from behind a stone.
After a few minutes, Henrietta figured she might as well try to enter the inn. After all, strangers were supposed to enter inns. The large man must have simply been there as a guard, unless someone tried to bring weapons in, or something like that. So she walked up to the door, and greeted the man, who grunted in response, but made no effort to stop her from entering.
“Welcome to the Wayfaring Stranger’s Inn!” said a male voice, in what appeared to be a put-on pleasant tone. This voice turned out to belong to a man behind a counter, who was dressed in a red uniform similar to the guard’s, and had some rough-looking stubble on his face. He really gave the impression of a shady individual who was trying to appear respectable.
“Hello! I’m from the Munchkin Country, and I was just passing through your country,” said the girl. “I was wondering if I could get a room for the night?”
“Ah, the Munchkin Country! I’m from there, too, actually. Yes, I should have a room for you. Let me see here.”
With that, the man opened a book, and looked through the recent pages. “Hmm…yes, it looks like Room Seventeen is free. I’ll give you the key.”
The innkeeper took a key from the wall, and handed it to Henrietta. He told her that the room was upstairs, around the first right, and the third door on the right. She followed these directions, and, on the way, happened to catch a glimpse of a person entering a room on the way. While she could not tell for sure, it certainly looked like he was wearing an apron and a scarf. No, she had to have been imagining it. The chances that Dristan would have gone into the same inn after she had lost his trail were incredibly slim. On the other hand, he definitely went in that direction, and what better place to meet with a mysterious figure than at a somewhat shady inn? With this in mind, she tried putting her ear to the door and listening, but she could hear nothing. The door was apparently too thick. What was it she had read in the mystery books she had so enjoyed as a child? Something about how eavesdropping was easier if you put a cup to the wall, she thought. She could try getting a glass from downstairs, but she decided against it. Henrietta was generally a rule-abiding person, and she had already tried following someone. She decided she would just stay in her room for now, then find her way back to the castle tomorrow, and tell Jinjur and the Chancellor about the inn. If she discovered anything else before then, good, but she would do no more to pursue the matter on her own. Not tonight, anyway. She did take note that the room the person had entered was number fourteen, though.
So Henrietta found her room, unlocked and opened the door, entered the chamber, and closed and locked the portal behind her. There was a large bed in the room, with a patchwork quilt on top. The Munchkin immediately took off her shoes, climbed into this bed, and tried to get to sleep. It should have been easy to do so after such a busy day, but it still proved impossible. Henrietta was lying there, tossing and turning, for twenty minutes. Finally, she decided she would go back downstairs, and see if the innkeeper might be able to provide a glass of warm milk she could drink.
The girl returned to the hallway, making sure to lock the close and lock the door to her room. While on her way back to the stairs, she noticed the door to Room Fourteen opening. Surely she would not be lucky enough to see Dristan again? It was definitely not Dristan who came out of the chamber, though, but rather a young boy with messy black hair and a red uniform.
“Hello,” said the boy, in a shy but friendly manner.
“Hello,” said Henrietta, in return.
“My name is Lizap. I am the bell hop here. What is your name, child?”
“Child? I’m older than you!” laughed the girl. “Anyway, my name is Henrietta.”
“Pleased to meet you, Henrietta. Can I get you anything?”
“I was just heading downstairs, to see if I could get a glass of warm milk.”
“Oh, I can get you one. Which room are you staying in?”
“Seventeen.”
“Very well. I shall fetch your milk, and return anon.”
“Anon?”
“Um, in a minute or two, I mean,” corrected the boy hastily.
“All right.”
With that, the Munchkin girl returned to her room, and awaited Lizap’s return. He came back in a minute and a half, carrying a glass of milk, which he handed to Henrietta.
“Thank you. And here,” said the girl, as she drew an ozzo coin from her pocket.
“Oh, you need not give me any money. It is my pleasure,” said the boy, as he waved away the coin.
“Well, good night, then.”
“Good night, child.”
As the boy turned to leave, Henrietta called out, “Why do you keep calling me ‘child’? Aren’t you a child yourself?”
“Hmm…yes. It is just the way I was raised. I apologize if it bothers you.”
“No, it’s fine. I was just wondering. Good night.”
With that, Lizap left the room, and Henrietta drank the milk and went to sleep. She managed to sleep quite soundly for seven hours, after which she arose, made the bed, and left her room. The innkeeper was still at the counter, so she returned her room key, and paid him for the room. It struck her as a ridiculously high price for one night and a glass of milk, but she had earned more money working at Jinjur’s ranch than she planned to spend during the summer, so she did not object. She also asked for a map of the area, and the keeper provided her with one, which she used to get back to the castle fairly quickly.
************************************************************************
While Henrietta had been following Dristan and spending the night at the Wayfaring Stranger’s Inn, Jinjur and the Sawhorse had already returned to the castle, and were discussing what to do about Henrietta, and how they might manage to make contact with the mysterious leader of the revolution. The horse suggested that search parties should be sent out to find the girl.
“All of the pages are already out searching for the Prince,” said Cranthus. “If I see any of them, though, I shall let them know that they should also keep an eye out for Miss Fairfax.”
“For now, I would advise that we sleep,” suggested Larmin. “There doesn’t seem to be anything else we can do tonight.”
Jinjur and Cranthus followed this advice, but the Sawhorse was incapable of sleeping even if he had wanted to. Instead, he took a walk around the castle grounds. While he spent the time thinking primarily of the oak trees that featured in his ancestry, he made sure to look around for anything suspicious. He saw nothing until morning, however, when he noticed Henrietta herself rushing up the castle gate.
“Henrietta!” called out the equine. “We had no idea what happened to you!”
“I’m sorry, Sawhorse,” apologized the Munchkin. “I might have found out something about the revolution, but I’m not sure. Is Jinjur up yet?”
“I don’t know. I was just about to go inside and check.”
It turned out that Jinjur, who was used to getting up early, had already been awake for an hour. She was glad to find out that nothing bad had happened to Henrietta, and interested to learn what the girl had found out the night before. They gathered with Cranthus, Larmin, and the other available members of the castle staff in the Council Chamber, which had pictures of former rulers on the walls. One particular painting of a young boy with red hair, which hung right above the fireplace, caught Henrietta’s eye.
“Who’s that boy, in that picture?” asked the girl, pointing to the one she meant.
“Why, that’s the Prince himself!” replied Larmin.
The young Munchkin had a sudden flash of insight, but she decided to keep it to herself, and wait to bring it up with Jinjur and the Sawhorse in private. The General reported what she had seen in the coffee shop. A page declared that no sign had been seen of the Prince, and he and his fellows had looked everywhere. Henrietta said that she had seen Dristan leaving his shop and walking through the forest, and that he might have stayed at an inn on the other side. Finally, the meeting was adjourned, and Henrietta accompanied Jinjur to the guest room where the General had stayed the previous night.
“As usual, the meeting accomplished nothing,” said Jinjur angrily, as she sat down in a mahogany chair.
“Jinjur, I think I might have found the Prince,” said the girl, who did not think she needed to keep this information secret any longer.
“What? Where? How? And why didn’t you say this at the meeting?”
“Because I’m not sure he wants to be found. There was a boy at the inn where I stayed last night, who looked just like the boy in that picture. His hair was black instead of red, and a lot messier, but otherwise he looked exactly the same. And isn’t the Prince’s name Pazil?”
“Yes, Prince Pazil. That’s right.”
“The boy said his name was ‘Lizap.’ That’s ‘Pazil’ spelled backwards! Just the kind of alias a little boy would come up with.”
“Not just little boys, from what I’ve heard. I remember hearing about a wizard named Gorba, who also called himself Abrog, when he was working as a prophet for some town in the Winkie Country.”
“So do you think the Prince WANTED to leave?”
“Could be. But it’s also possible he was kidnapped by someone at the inn.”
“Yes, that innkeeper definitely looked like someone who would have done something like that. But the boy didn’t seem unhappy or anything.”
“Could have been brainwashed. I think it’s worth checking out.”
“I don’t want the people here at the castle to know, unless we really need them, though.”
“Very well. I’ll go down to that inn with you, and we’ll see what we can find out.”
The two girls set out for the inn, using Henrietta’s map to help them find the way. Jinjur noticed that the border of the Principality of Parlon ran through the forest, so the inn was just outside that border. The borderline was not marked all that well, though. There was just a dark brown line drawn in chalk, which Henrietta had not even noticed earlier that day. Upon reaching the inn, the Munchkin girls entered the building with no trouble from the security guard, and asked the innkeeper if they could see the bell hop.
“What do you need to see him for?” asked the keeper suspiciously.
“We talked last night, and I wanted to give him something, but I forgot,” said Henrietta quickly.
“Well, he’s out right now,” insisted the man. His timing could not have been worse, however, because the boy chose that moment to come down the stairs and ask the innkeeper, “Mr. Vaga, is there anything else for me to do at present?”
“Oh, Lizap. I thought you were out. This young lady says she had something she wanted to give you.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yes. And it’s somewhat private, so do you think there’s anywhere we can go?”
The innkeeper was suspicious about this, but he went along with it, and pointed out a nearby room that was vacant at present. The boy and the two girls entered this room, and shut the door behind them.
“So, what was it you wanted to give me?” asked the bell hop.
“Actually, that was a lie,” admitted Henrietta. “I just wanted to ask you a question. Are you the Prince?”
“The Prince of what?” inquired the boy nervously.
“You know,” said Jinjur. “Pazil, the Prince of Parlon.”
“They’re really worried about you back at the castle,” added Henrietta.
“Well, why should I be concerned with them? They were never concerned with how I felt!” objected the boy. “I had no desire to rule the kingdom. As if I ever did any real ruling anyway!”
“Why didn’t you just quit…um, I mean, abdicate, then?”
“It is impossible for the Prince of Parlon to abdicate! The position must be held until death, except in the case of a violent overthrow. No one dies in Oz anymore anyway, and I would not have wanted to even if it had been possible, so the only choice was an overthrow.”
“So YOU’RE the mysterious leader of the revolution! And that’s why I saw you coming out of the room that Mr. Drorian went in last night!”
“Yes, that is true. I never let him see me, though. I hid behind a screen. It was an idea I had found in a book about the Great Wizard of Oz.”
“So the innkeeper didn’t kidnap you?” inquired Jinjur.
“No, Mr. Vaga has always been nice to me. I think he knows I am the Prince. If not, he almost certainly knows now. I suppose we are even, though, because I know he was once a bandit.”
“A bandit?”
“Yes, he was once the leader of a band of robbers in a forest in the Munchkin Country. When the authorities found out about him, he came here and started this inn. As far as I know, he has not robbed anyone since then.”
Henrietta, thinking back to the price he had charged her, thought that this might not be entirely true, but she kept her mouth shut about it. Instead, she asked, “So why did you demand that you be surrendered to the rebels, if you were leading them, and you knew the people in the castle had no idea where you were?”
“Well, it WAS my first revolution. I really have no idea how to lead a proper one.”
“Maybe I could give you some advice,” smiled Jinjur. “Something has to be done about this revolt, though. I don’t think those revolutionaries would be able to do much damage, but they might try.”
“Yes, I really did not want them to injure anyone. I was worried about that, but had no idea what else to do. Chancellor Cranthus is unlikely to relinquish power without a fight. He has a great respect for tradition and the law.”
“Can’t Queen Ozma change the law?” asked Henrietta.
“She would have that power, but I don’t think she likes to unless it’s absolutely necessary,” replied Jinjur. “Still, maybe we should talk to her about this, because I really don’t know how to resolve this otherwise.”
“Well, before we give up, what does the law actually say?”
“I have it memorized,” groaned Prince Pazil. “Cranthus was always making me memorize the laws of Parlon. ‘The eldest member of the Parl family will be the reigning Prince, and will stay in that position until death.’ I had hoped there would be a chance that they would make an exception if there were a violent overthrow, though.”
“Violent overthrows are usually the exception to any rule,” agreed Jinjur. “Magic, too.”
“Parl? There’s an Ellen Parl who goes to school with me. She’s in my drawing class—Wait! That’s it! The law doesn’t say WHICH Parl family, does it?”
“No, but there is only one Parl family in Parlon,” stated Pazil.
“But NOT only one in Oz! I only wish I knew where Ellen lived. We don’t really know each other.”
“You could check the school files, couldn’t you?” suggested Jinjur.
“Yes, but is there time?”
“The rebels are not due to attack for another two days,” declared the Prince. “Could you make it there and back in that much time? I do not think I can delay the attack any further. Mr. Drorian informs me that many of his comrades are already restless.”
“The Sawhorse could do it! I’m going to go right now!” And before anyone could stop her, Henrietta had run out of the inn to where the Sawhorse was waiting, and told him, “Run! We need to get to Ventville in the Munchkin Country now!”
“All right. Hop on, and we’ll be off,” said the wooden horse, who knew better than to ask further questions in an emergency situation.
The girl climbed on the Sawhorse’s back, and the equine set out at a lightning-fast pace through the Quadling Country. The horse had been all over Oz in the course of his adventures, but did not know the area in which he found himself at the moment. Henrietta still had her map, however, and was able to guide the Sawhorse toward the Emerald City. This would not be the most direct route to Ventville, but it was not usually a good idea to travel through unknown parts of Oz when in a hurry, as one was liable to encounter all kinds of strange and often hostile communities. It took two hours to reach the capital, using mostly the same roads that the horse had used on the way there. Once there, the equine rang the bell at the southern gate, and was soon admitted to by the Guardian of the Gates, after which he hurried along the road to the palace. The people of the city were used to the Sawhorse’s mad dashes, and quickly jumped out of the way when they saw him coming. A brief conversation with the Soldier with Green Whiskers, who was on guard outside the palace, revealed that Ozma and the Wizard were still in Ev. So the steed lost no time in speeding down another road, through another gate that was opened by the same Guardian as before (how he moved between the gates so quickly was something the Sawhorse had never cared to ask), and down the road of yellow bricks through the Munchkin Country.
The Sawhorse had previously been to Ventville, a village that was the chief manufacturer of ventilation systems in Oz, and the location of a prestigious Munchkin school. It was located on the eastern bank of the Munchkin River, a few miles to the north of the Great Blue Munchkin Forest. The horse dashed past the sign reading, “Mayor Robert Shafto welcomes you to Ventville,” and to the school. The gate to the school was locked, but the equine’s frantic pounding soon attracted the attention of a security guard, who had been napping in the gatehouse.
“What is it? The school is closed,” said the guard sleepily.
“We need to check the records, and find out where a student lives,” declared the Sawhorse.
“You can’t just come in and look at those! They’re confidential!”
“But I am a representative of Queen Ozma.”
“How do I know? How do I know this girl isn’t an enchantress, who turned her horse into wood in order to sneak in and look at the school’s private files?”
“Why would anyone bother doing that? Anyway, Private Files lives in Oogaboo.”
“Don’t get wise with me, horse!”
“Look, are you going to let us in or not?”
“I think not.”
“I hope you know I’m going to report you to Ozma!”
“Oh, right. Ozma. Sure. You go ahead and do that,” said the guard incredulously. He then returned to his gatehouse for another nap.
“What a stupid man. Is there another way into this school?” asked the Sawhorse impatiently, as he walked along the surrounding wall.
“I don’t know of any, but my friend Ulda might. Her ancestors founded the school, and I think she knows more about it than anyone else, even the headmistress. She lives around here, too. Just the other side of the big fan tree. She had a bunch of us down there for her birthday party last February. Actually, I think Ellen was there, too. Ulda is friends with just about everybody, really, although we sometimes suspect there might be ulterior motives.”
“Do you think she’d be home?”
“No idea, but it’s worth a try.”
The girl guided the Sawhorse to Ulda’s house, which was an old and impressive stone affair near the town’s largest fan tree. As with most of the houses in Ventville, there were no proper windows, just a lot of ventilation shafts. The Sawhorse waited at the bottom of the stone steps to the front door, while Henrietta climbed them and knocked on the enormous oak portal itself. It was soon answered by a sturdy-looking girl about Henrietta’s own age, who had blonde hair that she wore in pigtails. She was wearing a light blue dress and reading glasses, and held a book in her left arm.
“Henrietta!” exclaimed the girl. “What are you doing here?”
“Hello, Ulda. I’m here on a matter of politics, trying to prevent war,” replied Henrietta, hoping that this would impress the other girl.
“Wow! How did you get involved in that? I thought you were working at Jinjur’s ranch for the summer. She hasn’t decided to invade the Emerald City again, has she?”
“No, we were down in Parlon, in the Quad—“ “The Quadling Country, yes,” interrupted Ulda. “I wrote a report on it last term. I thought it was interesting that their royal family has the same last name as Ellen. You know, from our drawing class? I checked to see if there was any relation, but there isn’t.”
“That’s exactly what I’m here for!” exclaimed Henrietta, who was an odd mixture of glad that they had been able to get to the point so quickly, and annoyed that Ulda already knew about Parlon, which, while rather large in area, was not exactly known very well in most of Oz. SHE certainly had not known about it until a few days ago, when Jinjur, at the behest of Sarn, had decided to go there. Why did Ulda have to know everything?
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I need to know where Ellen lives, in order to save the country and its Prince!”
“You mean Prince Pazil?” asked Ulda, who seemed anxious to show off her knowledge. “Ellen lives in Galeburg, I believe. Let me see if I can find her address for you. You can come in, if you’d like. So can your horse, who, if I’m not mistaken, is Queen Ozma’s own Sawhorse.”
“Yes, exactly,” said the horse, glad that he had been noticed. He ascended the steps, and entered the house right behind Ulda and Henrietta. Because of the lack of windows, there was no natural light in the house. It was still quite bright, however. There were no candles or electric lights, so how this was accomplished was not immediately apparent. Henrietta had, however, learned in her local history class that the lighting process had been invented by the witch Vaneeda, and that the school buildings were lit in the same way. The girl had no idea how it actually worked, but she knew that it did, and that it was never known to wear out or break down. Since no one still living in Ventville actually DID know how it worked, though, the architects were forced to add windows to the newer buildings in town. They knew they were breaking tradition, but no one would have wanted to live in a house with no light in the daytime.
While Henrietta and the Sawhorse waited in the elegantly carpeted foyer, Ulda walked to her bedroom and retrieved her address book. She paged through until she reached the P section, and then said, “Yes, here we are. Ellen Parl. 38 Kansas Road, Galeburg. Why do you need to know that, anyway?”
“We’re actually wondering if she might have any relatives who would be willing to become Prince of Parlon,” explained Henrietta.
“I already told you that they aren’t related. See, ‘Parl’ in the old Munchkin tongue meant ‘strong’, while…”
“I know they aren’t related, but I don’t think that’s important. I’ll explain later. Actually, would you like to come with us?”
“Sure, why not? This sounds very interesting, and all I was doing today was reading. My parents are away at the market the next town over.”
So, with that settled, the two girls and the horse left the house, and Ulda locked the door. They then descended the stairs, and the girls mounted the Sawhorse, who set off toward the southeast.
Galeburg was a town located not far from the national historic site where Dorothy Gale’s house had landed, crushing the Wicked Witch of the East. It was fairly new, having been built primarily to house the caretakers and curators for the historic site. 38 Kansas Road was a small house, built in the typical Munchkin style, nestled between the chocolate shop and the dressmaker’s. A short, chubby man stood outside, sweeping the stoop with a broom.
“Excuse me,” said Henrietta. “Are you the eldest male in the Parl family?”
“No, that would be my brother, Arbrun the blacksmith. Why do you need to know?”
“Do you think there’s any chance your brother would want to be Prince of Parlon?”
“Prince of what? Is this a joke?”
“It’s no joke,” replied the Sawhorse. “If he’s willing, he might be able to prevent a war in a Quadling principality.”
“Well, he’s inside right now. I’ll go ask him.”
The man went into the house, and soon came out with his brother. While there was certainly some family resemblance in the face, the two brothers were not built at all similarly. Arbrun was quite tall and muscular, and had a bushy black beard. Really, he looked much like you would probably expect a blacksmith to look.
“So, what’s this about becoming a Prince?” asked Arbrun, in a big, hearty voice.
“We want to know if you’d be willing to be the new Prince of Parlon,” replied Henrietta. “It’s in the Quadling Country, and their current prince really wants to abdicate, but he can’t unless you take his place.”
“But why me? I’m just a blacksmith.”
So Henrietta and the Sawhorse explained to Arbrun about how the laws of Parlon did not specify WHICH Parl family had to produce the Prince. The girl made sure to mention that she did not know for sure that the plan would work, but that it was worth a try. Arbrun, who was tired of his job (he really only became a blacksmith because his parents had insisted that anyone built like he was HAD to be one), was quite eager to agree. He was not sure he believed the story, but he figured he had nothing to lose by volunteering to become a prince.
Thus, Arbrun had soon joined Henrietta on the back of the Sawhorse, who was racing back toward the Emerald City. Fearing that too many passengers would slow the steed too much, Ulda decided to remain in Galeburg and visit with Ellen, but Henrietta assured her that she could come to Parlon for the coronation. This time, the Sawhorse skirted the Emerald City itself, and managed to reach the Principality of Parlon in a matter of three and a half hours. By this time, the sun was beginning to set, and Jinjur had returned to the castle. After a quick conference with Henrietta and Arbrun, the General found Cranthus, who was reclining in the back parlor, and proudly announced, “We have found the Prince!”
“You have?” said the Chancellor, jumping up from his chair as quickly as his age would allow. “Where is he?”
“Right here,” said Henrietta, pointing to Arbrun.
“That’s not the Prince! That is some sort of Munchkin blacksmith, if I am not mistaken.”
“Chancellor Cranthus, is it true that your law says the eldest male from the Parl family will be the Prince of Parlon?”
“Exactly. And that is Prince Pazil. There is no one else in the family.”
“But Arbrun here is the eldest male in the Parl family.”
“’S true,” confirmed the blacksmith. “Got genealogical documents back home that prove it.”
“That is impossible! There are no other remaining relatives!”
“Oh, he’s not a relative at all,” explained Henrietta. “But, if I understand your laws correctly, they don’t say WHICH Parl family.”
“But this is highly irregular!” objected the Chancellor. “I—I—I suppose it doesn’t, now that I think about it.”
“Well, Arbrun here is willing to become the Prince, and Pazil has been wanting to abdicate.”
“Abdicate? Ha! The Prince of Parlon cannot abdicate! I, myself, have told him this, on various occasions. Why, just last week, he was asking—“
“He can’t even abdicate if there’s another person with an equal claim to the throne?”
“But he’s not even a Parlonian! But—wait, how do YOU know Prince Pazil wanted to abdicate?”
“We know where he is,” declared Jinjur, “but we won’t reveal his location unless you agree to have Arbrun here crowned as the new Prince.”
Cranthus hemmed and hawed about the possibility, but could find no valid argument against it. The laws really did not specify which Parl family. He had never thought of it that way, but it was indeed the case. So he grudgingly accepted, and the coronation was scheduled for the next morning. The Sawhorse planned to return to Galeburg to retrieve Ulda and the remaining members of the Parl family (the Munchkin one, that is), but, during his stopover in the Emerald City, he found that Ozma and the Wizard of Oz had just recently returned. It was a simple matter for the Queen to use the Magic Belt to transport herself, the Sawhorse, Ulda, and the Parl family (Ellen, her father and Arbrun’s brother Orral, and Orral’s wife Maryanne) to Parlon. She then explained this to Ulda and the Parls, the former of whom made sure to point out that she suspected Ozma had used the Belt. While this was happening, Jinjur strolled over to the Wayfaring Stranger’s Inn, and explained to Pazil that Cranthus had agreed to have a new Prince crowned. Pazil was still too nervous to return to the castle, but he said he would be there in the morning for the coronation. The guests all spent the night in the castle, which had plenty of spare rooms.
In the morning, the coronation ceremony was held, complete with all of the pomp and circumstance that usually accompanied such events. Pazil was indeed there, and his resignation was grudgingly accepted by Cranthus. Larmin was so glad to see his young charge that he embraced him warmly, causing his cap of office to fall off in the process.
The matter of the revolution was quickly settled. The new Prince was actually quite fond of the idea of a representative council to assist with the governing of the principality, and even with Cranthus’ best efforts, no law that forbade it could be found. So, much to the disappointment of a grocer named Crinran (whom Henrietta and Jinjur recognized immediately as the man who had worn a saucepan on his head at Coltan’s), there was no actual fighting. The foreigners who had been convinced to join the revolution, mostly due to the lack of any excitement back at home, soon returned to their own countries. Since Arbrun was old enough not to need a caretaker, Larmin was out of a job, but he soon found a new one as an odd-job man at the Wayfaring Stranger’s Inn. The Munchkin Parls decided to settle in Parlon, where they would be members of a royal family, rather than just simple townspeople. And, to this day, a popular story in the Quadling Country is the one about the Prince who rebelled against himself.